Their first Moondance

for Monday Potluck (video & poem prompt)

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when spirits touch….

Duel Poetry
by Charlie Martin & River Urke

the call of a lone wolf
echoes
through the deepest corners
of the northern forest
a sound so primeval
from a forgotten soul
a wanderer of time
a time before men
walked the mossy path
alone, separated
and divided from all
now their relative calls
out their names
pleading for them
to return to the old ways
when men knew their brothers
and walked with their sisters
a time they lived side by side
no blades between or
tar soaked earth
only the warmth of love
for one another
a deep respect
for all who shared this place
and walked upon this path
a thousand miles far
the call of a lone wolf
resonates, passing through
earth, water, fire, and air
a girl lifts her ears
and speaks to the wind
brother I hear you
your voice is my voice
your sadness is mine
the lone wolf replies
young one, I carry
too heavy a burden
for your soft back
the girl smiles
and says to the old one
then let us do as before
and share the burden’s
of this world

Charlie and I did it again! A duel poetry challenge. We were finished in less then a day.  🙂

Duel Poetry:  a prearranged poetry writing challenge  between two people to evolve a new poem where each writer must respond to the other writer’s lines  (4 -5 ) until both parties agree that the poem is complete.

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Come hither…..

Come and Compete
at the
Masquerade of Balls

You may think you will win
The chances are thin
The Joker is here
A court puppeteer

Competing with the final nine
Bulging tights and red wine
He says he will win
A problem knows his twin

Royals will judge the final pairs
Two get specialty of the Airs
The higher the bedder
The finer the rounder

The winner will have the honoralls
The highest of all balls!
Good Luck !

*2nd poem for Monday Potluck. lol! Don’t ask! I couldn’t resist!  🙂

Masquerade Ball

Come one! Come all!
To the Fairies Eve
Masquerade Ball!

Circle around! Enter Here!
Grab a mask of delight
Make sure it’s on just right

Find a seat! Now, don’t be shy!
Dews of rainbows cold & sweet
Wings aflutter with the beat!

Strums of chords of Blue alight!
Poppy seeds and cattail reeds
There stands Joker by the weeds!

Masks of shadows vines of color!
Gowns of petals swirl wonders
With the thought of his blunders!

Night is moving all to fast!
Bits of web and honey comb
Laughter with a friendly gnome!

Beauteous Lunar circles one last hall
Announcing the end
Of this years Ball!

Come again! Until next years call!
To the Fairies Eve
Masquerade Ball!

*For the very first Monday Potluck!

Tea with Fuller and a Few More *revised

thanks to Google images

Wouldn’t it be something
to be at a
Transcendentalism meeting
back in the day with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
Oh…
that would be amazing.

I would fit right in
challenging conventional thought,
challenging each other to
think outside the box
write even better.

I can see it now…
My arms flaring,
eyes glowing,
thoughts pouring,
passion uttered
with every word.

That is when I got a word in
with all those philosophical minds.

Protesting 19th Century
Culture and Society.
Resisting conformity from
Unitarian Doctrines,
Harvard Intellectuals.
Writing and debating for
Freedoms of thought,
Religion, and person.

I would be friends with
Margaret Fuller.
Two women
among a few more
in a group of men.
Intelligent,
Strong
Women.
Feminists
voicing their thoughts,
their opinions
for the centuries of women
that were hushed
and would be for
generations
and still are.

All of them at the table
living way before their times.
The strength,
the perseverance
it took for them to continue
opening the doors for
You and I.
People were laughing at them,
others shunning them,
a few applauding.
While, we will never know
how many hid away
with their writings.

I would love to tell them
their writings are studied today,
praised for the thought and work.
I would love to tell them
they were a part of change,
Inspirational to many,
Revolutionary to thought.

I need to tell them
The truth about Indians.
Culturally
Religiously
Persecuted!
Misunderstood and
unjustly Romanticized
their time through my time.

It would be something
to go back in time
and have tea with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
All the members of the
Transcendental Club.

It would be something,
Unforgettable!
Even if I could only tell them
Thank You!

©River 6/2010

WAU_tab(‘t34ocuyal0ra’, ‘left-middle’)

when the night winds blow

when the night winds blow was written by Charles Martin and me in less then a weeks time. We took turns writing three or four lines of the poem until it was finished.

I would like to say thank you Charles for the opportunity to write with you. 🙂

echoes

I feel the beat of the drum through my moccasins
and hear the song of the people in my heart
as we enter into the circle
in a dance of movements, beats, and song
filled with appreciation and respect
of culture and belief
we celebrate
Miigwech!

The 23rd piece for my column Rivers Ruminations came out today. It is the last piece in a powwow series I have done over the summer.   Vital pieces to Powwows: Dancers of Past & Present There are lots of pictures and links.

As it was….

the room for magpie tales

They left the room
as it was….
holding hands
silently smiling
a taste of freedom
as their lips
gently touch.

They emerge
into the evening
unaware of rain
amid a village
in the mountains
A secret place he chose.

They meander streets

cobblestones clicking                                                                                                             
music fills the air.

They find themselves
gazing into each others eyes
revealing their secrets
red wine amongst their breath
sharing sweet words of longing.

A child cries
braking their trance
reminding them of
what really exists
beyond these mountains.

Her eyes swell
His voice cracks

Their love untouchable
without falsehood
too strong to ignore
to risky to except

Their escapade of chance
permitted by fate
feed by desire
released by hope.

They go back to the room
forgetting the child
forgetting their lives
immersing themselves
within sheets
each other
folds of cloth and self
holding nothing back.

They know it will end
may never be again.

They wrap tighter
not wanting to
ever let go
of the other
the village
as it was
in the room.

Dedicated to Andy

Theatrical Limbs

One night I learned the secret!
Why my body uncontrollably
stretches and twists,
outward one minute
springing back the next
like a tight rubber band.
My foot doesn’t lift.
My knee forgets to bend.
My muscles cringe
as my hand curls
to form a claw.

It was a night I was alert
Open to the unknown
While my body hurt.

I felt the presence of what I could not see.
Then..the shadows revealed strings
that led to me.

I watched the shadows for their source.
They all traced
to one that ran their course.

The shadow was a massive blur.
That resembled..
my words were one big slur.

I nearly fainted from the sight.
Am I dreaming?
Is this right?

A Giant held the strings connected to me
as if I was a puppet
for his glee.

At that moment he became aware
of me peering
opening his mouth with a scare.

I cowered as he spoke
afraid
that he ate folk!

His voice shook the room
by surprise
like a flower in bloom.

“You are my marionette for the theater,”
the Giant exclaimed.
“I picked you amongst the rest
because you were the best.”

The doctors call it Spasticisity!

River © 2010

Inspired by Shel Silverstein

for Thursday Poets Rally week 25

Tea with Fuller and a Few More

Wouldn’t it be something to be at a
Transcendentalism meeting
back in the day with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
Oh…
that would be amazing.

I would fit right in
challenging conventional thought.
Challenging each other
to think outside the box,
to write even better.

I can see it now…
My arms flaring,
eyes blazing,
thoughts pouring,
passion uttered
with every word.

That is when I got a word in
with all those philosophical minds.

Protesting 19th Century
Culture and Society.
Resisting conformity from
Unitarian Doctrines,
Harvard Intellectuals.
Writing and debating for
Freedoms of thought,
Religion, and person.

I would be friends with
Margaret Fuller.
Two women
among a few more
in a group of men.
Intelligent
Strong
Women.
Feminists
voicing their thoughts
their opinions
for the centuries of women
that were hushed
and would be for
generations
and still are.

All of them at the table
living way before their times.
The strength,
the perseverance
it took for them to continue
opening the doors for
You and I.
People were laughing at them,
others shunning them,
a few applauding.
While, we will never know
how many hid away
with their writings.

I would love to tell them…
Their writings are studied today,
praised for the thought and work.
I would love to tell them…
They were a part of change.
Inspirational to many,
Revolutionary to thought.

I need to tell them…
The truth about Indians.
Culturally
Religiously
Persecuted!
Misunderstood and
unjustly Romanticized
Their time through my time.

It would be something
to go back in time
and have tea with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
All the members of the
Transcendental Club.

It would be something,
Unforgettable!
Even if I could only tell them
Thank You!

Revised poem from June 29th & 22nd