Ancient Stones ~villanelle

Ancient Stones

Ancient stones speak tongues of history
a truth of time buried beneath our fears
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

Only a few can hear stones speak clearly
bestowed this dying gift they walk in tears
ancient stones speak tongues of history.

A history if lost is gone in misery
it bears wisdom of times we made unclear
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

Alone among the hills lives a gypsy
she hears stones tell ancient stories when near
ancient stones speak tongues of history.

One must believe and listen gingerly
in hopes to hear an ancient stone appear
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

Stones tell the truths we lost in memory
the day we ran like fools from nature’s sphere
ancient stones speak tongues of history
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

©River 3/11

villanelle rules: 19 lines, 2 repeating rhymes and 2 refrains, 5 tercets and 1 quatrain, A1 b A2 / a b

A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.- capitals refrain lower case rhymes.

1 and 3 line of 1^st tercet repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem's two concluding lines

from the French

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 36 at One Stop Poetry~ come & join the fun!

A White Tail Feather~ revised

The still of the lake calms my soul                    
as I wait beneath the willow.
A light breeze moves through her branches
lightly touching my face,
sweeping the hair from my eyes.
An Eagle calls in the distance.

My mind races with pictures and words,
adventures and quests of self and we.
Along the horizon lined with dark blue waters
bursts colors of red and orange.
I offer my asemaa.
An Eagle glides above calling my name.

Morning rises as I answer my old friend.
A gentle ripple forms on the lake
as the wind delivers our greetings to the other.
I hear his calls carried to my open arms,
his words pass through me.
I hear the call of an Eagle leaving with the wind.

He lands on the broken arm of an ash
on the sands of the shore near the willow.
Praising me for walking the path
many have guided me towards for years.
A choice of life destined to be.
My first tracks are laid down.

He lifts his wings and stretches
to a magnificent size of honor and respect,
wisdom and truth with humility.
He tells me to listen and be open
to what crosses my path
for this is just the beginning.

Rising with every flap of his powerful wings,
he lifts into the blue sky calling his goodbye.
I answer with gratitude and love
as I notice something lying on a rock.
He has left for me a piece of him,
a white tail feather.

  ©River Maria Urke 8/10

thanks to Google images

~Gichigami ~

Gichigami ~

Oh powerful Nookomis!

You take my breath away
Every morning when my eyes set upon you.

One day you will be gentle and soothing
The next day you are raging with passion.

At times people fear you
At most they are in awe!

You are Nookomis to all!

Then why is respect lacking for you?
Why every day are you poisoned?
Why do people fight over what is left of you?

Oh powerful Nookomis!

Are you laughing or crying at us humans?

                                                                    ©River 1996

One of my favorite poems I wrote many years ago. I grew up on the very tip of Lake Superior in Duluth Minnesota. The lake is a big part of who I am along with my Anishinaabe/Ojibwe heritage. I use a couple of Ojibwe words in the poem. Gichigami means Lake Superior and Nookomis means grandmother. There was a battle over the big fresh water lake at the time I wrote the poem. Some Southwest States wanted the States around the lake and Canada to agree to pipe water down to them because they were running out of water. In my opinion and many others they choose to abuse their water so they could have green grass in desert conditions and other reasons. We did not go for it. I have no idea what they ended up doing with their water shortage.

~ ~

A friend asked me this question.  

I was wondering about the initial line “Oh powerful Nookomis!”… in my cultural view “grandmother” is wise and gentle….so I didn’t fully understand the line…but that is my weakness not the poems…which was well crafted. Would you mind expanding on your intent with that phrase?

I guess to start, I should explain water is female and animate in our cultural view. Nookomisag or grandmothers are wise, strong, and gentle. They are the teachers and traditionally were part of the council. “Oh Powerful Nookomis” Lake Superior is one of the largest fresh water lakes in the world. It is part of the St Lawrence Sea Way and the huge ocean liners carrying loads follow the water trail dropping off cargo on their way to Duluth. A bunch of those ships lie on the floor of the lake. The storms are intense. Once a friend and I were knocked down by a wave that crashed against the shore rocks walking on a boardwalk. My old dog that was 110 pounds got away in time but we were on the ground soaked. That is on shore. Anyways, Lake Superior is a Grandmother and very powerful. “Oh Powerful Nookomis” 

On other days, her beauty delights nourishing with peaceful bliss. I feel spiritually woken. I absorb her unconditional love and feel renewed by her waters. Miigwech!

One Stop Poetry- One Shot Wednesday
posted for week 19
Check it out- there's lots of good work to be read.  :)

Nokomisag

Nokomisag

I land in the cradled arms of a river

touched by her grace

embraced in her love

I bathe in her waters

under a full moon

praying to my grandmothers

nibi minowa giizis

for strength and guidance

for their teachings of

releasing and healing

cleansing and cycling

singing

songs

gathering

medicines

replenishing

lost strength

 Miigwech Nokomisag

                         

                            River 10/10

posted for One Shoot Wednesday wk 17 on One Stop Poetry

* thanks to google image for the picture

A Canvas of Music

On the floor, I stand
motionless
soaking in the rhythm
absorbing the beats
feeling the music from within.

My hips are the first to move
to the rhythmic muse
pulsing through my body.

My legs are next
steps that match
the sway to my hips.

My back and shoulders respond
with a lift and a twist.
Following suit, my arms
stay in flow with the tempo.

My body a canvas of music
dancing across the floor

movements of unison
steps of beat
a slow shake of the hip
a shoulder curls
as an arm carves the
rhythms in the air.

My body a canvas of music
the music my muse
dancing across life’s stage.

I wake up
sadly realizing
it was all a dream.

                   9/10 (rewrite)

~I was a dancer and now I dream of dancing. I can still dance with my upper body with no problem but that is not the case for the lower half. I have a right leg and hip that are week and have some balance difficulties all from the progression of Multiple Sclerosis. One of my goals is to dance like I used to again. It can be done with patience, time, and hard work.  :)

 

A  video of me reading A Canvas of Music.  :)I finally figured out how to read them without extra.

A new video 12/5/10

please inform me if the video does not work :)

* For One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry  week 13
*photos from goggle images