Tonight we sleep under velvet skies
As we count the days since the caravans have departed in winter’s wake
I find the beloved in a hundred murid images
The clues hiding deep in these crossed roads of a poet’s second-hand notebook.
For those of us left behind to finish with this wayward stroll
The milkiest way is full of light from Andromida’s way star bright
With nights of Blue Moon, Cowboy Junkies, and Sweet Jane
Least we forget the rain, the sky and the Hawk from on high.
Steel on steel will make the rails sing
But tonight my song is for the river the Lakota call Wakan Tanka
Take me into your murky debts amongst the sunken cypress logs
And renew me in the pure water of southern rain.
With great respect and warmth, we bid the day adieu’
May our dreams ever fall true for another nights review
And with my eyes ever-smiling across the waters wide
It’s good to ride the river with you tonight.
Image by Pixabay
“When the dream came I held my breath with my eyes closed. I went insane like a smoke ring day when the winds blow.” -Buffalo Springfield
Take me away to the Black Hills, to a single mountain in the Dakotas where Crazy Horse is imprisoned in the rock. Let me gaze at his unbroken spirit on high… captured in granite only so the multitudes can see and understand his madness. Or is it our madness we must come to terms with?
Take me to the innocence of my youth, through endless days of summer as though I were disappearing in the deserted streets, through sugar cane fields and pastures beyond the old churchyard as we rode each night at the witching hour thru houses for the holy deserted by time and sorrow. We walked for miles upon miles through these hallowed grounds and never grew tired. We will lease forget these days of youth, joy, and laughter.
Keep a piece of my heart and save the rest for the crows as they will remember me long after these days of innocence have run out and are gone.
Image by Pixabay…Copyright 2019-09
Tonight our Pilgrim sleeps under velvet skies
As we count the days since the caravans have departed winter’s rite
He finds his beloved in a hundred murid images
The clues hiding deep in these crossed roads of a poet’s second-hand notebook. Continue reading River Song
The Lakota say that it is not uncommon
To hear something calling your name
In the stillness of a dark moonless night.
This is ‘shungmanitu thanka‘, the Great Wolf.
One night our pilgrim found himself walking deep in a dark wood; overhead a new moon disguised as its shadow self-juxtaposed to an array of stars, as the sound of spent leaves crushed underfoot sounded in the autumnal air. It seemed as though the wind was guiding him towards an expected destination as he found himself facing Sirius, the Dog Star. At this moment, his vision caught sight of a light moving swiftly in front of him in the shadows of an oak grove. Like a slow waxing moon, a white wolf appeared before his eyes lending a radiant glow to the maze of yellow, red, and green on the forest floor. Continue reading Revival
With visible breath I am walking.
A voice I am sending as I walk.
In a sacred manner I am walking.
With visible tracks I am walking.
In a sacred manner I walk.
-Song of the White Bison Woman Continue reading Black Elk’s Vision