Serene in a stilled lair
folded in many layered scales
of sleep, revelry, stupor
hiding flames within.
Will the dragon wake…
struck with a large stick,
dropped onto its drowsy head boulders
heaved from high places and gold palaces?
Forgotten power hidden, long lying
silent, unruffled, unheard, forgetting
the power of fire to forge a world.
Portland, Oregon – December 20, 2016
I try not to get too political in my postings. Read such politics as you will into this little piece.
Waiting…
Waiting…
Wind flutter on fading coal
in this longing season –
shrouded sun hanging low
over the gauzed and furry horizon –
the reaches of self and the world.
Wind, tree rustling cold bare branches,
thrilling spaces between dark limbs
quavering deep reaches
of space beyond our pale light,
trilling starlight gleams while stellar grains
float broadcast in cosmic fields.
Poetic dream to be wind brushed
hushed into warmth of words
from within, hidden in heart shadows,
the heat of breath on cold winter nights.
Portland, Oregon – December 14, 2016
“Poetry is not like reasoning, a power to be exerted according to the determination of the will. A man cannot say, “I will compose poetry.” The greatest poet even cannot say it; for the mind in creation is as a fading coal, which some invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness; this power arises from within…”
Percy Bysshe Shelley, In Defense of Poetry (paragraph 39)
Today, the first snow
in blown flakes and ice;
cold evergreens, tall pacific
giants bending before the will
of winter come at last.
Freeze the year past gone
now the spring green psalms
the warm summer balm
verdant calm of leaves falling
into the now winter twilight.
Come, night long lasting
until the crackling morning
sun illumines sharp shards
of ice encrusted snow.
Portland, Oregon – December 8, 2016
Rivers join, long flowing
in time and space within the land.
The buffalo plains a swept grace –
prairie grass flowing in eternal wind,
heads of grain lifted above the snowfall –
seven fires of unquenchable flame.
Oceti Sakowin
Oyate – born of the land – gather
in unmeasured time, passing
in cloud form, leaf quiver, snow fall
beneath forever stars,
burning sun strewn in layers
across their faces, raised hands
over life-giving streams
blossoming from the far hills
running where horses drink
sacred water of holy places.
Oceti Sakowin
Portland, Oregon – December 6, 2016
Like many, I have been moved by the actions of the water protectors at Standing Rock in North Dakota. I believe it is an important, perhaps seminal action which will long be remembered.
Oceti Sakowin – The proper name for the people commonly known as the Sioux is Oceti Sakowin, (Och-et-eeshak-oh-win) meaning Seven Council Fires. The original Sioux tribe was made up of Seven Council Fires. (Oceti Sakowin – Akta Lakota Museum & Cultural Center – aktalakota.stjo.org/site/News2?page=NewsArticle&id=8309)
In Cascadia 