This Beautiful Day Was Not Made For Me

Antibiotics and steroids

This is my routine

October day near eighty

Not for me

 

Take the dogs for a walk

See my skin revolt

Feel my mind shrivel

Lump in my throat

 

I love the fall

It’s usually for me

My energy returns

Not this year

at Dusk, it Begins…. (revised)

at Dusk, it Begins….

stillness shields the air and
parched earth from the humid day
it begins to lightly rain

a burst of light
brightens the dusk lit eve
diminishing the calm
announcing the arrival

from the West come winds
lifting trees into slow dance

echoes of thunder vibrate
beats from beneath
sprinkles grow to drops
the parched earth drinks

the wind picks up and howls
whipping the huge maple around
around in a frantic dance

reaching boundaries and limits
revealing truths of me

bolts of light explode in thought
forming silhouettes of trees
exposing their surrender
night engulfs day

unlocking the power
two forces explode
releasing their hold

the wind moves on
rain begins to slow

the horizon lights up
in a burst of electric white
scattered across the sky
a distant rumble fades

a smell grows of
new rains and
cleansed earth

renewed in life
imbued in me

once more
River 7/10

his poem was inspired from my ramblings during a thunderstorm.  At one point, sirens went off and we went to the basement. Also, I was inspired by the writings of  slpmartin with the writing style. :)

*revised from a poem earlier in the summer. Are they different? Find the older version and compare them.  🙂    same name just scratch revised.  🙂


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A White Tail Feather

The still of the lake calms my soul
I wait beneath the willow.
A 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.
His calls are 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.

This poem is for One Shot Wednesday held by One Stop Poetry. To read other peoples works click here

at Dusk it Begins….

at dusk
stillness shields the air and parched
earth from the humid day
it begins to lightly rain
a burst of light
brightens the dusk lit eve
the earth drinks the water
thunder echoes
the wind picks up
lifting the trees into dance
bolts of light flash
revealing a dance of movement
in seconds a frightening
boom
booms shake the ground
rain comes down harder and harder
the sky lights up in patches
followed a second later
by deep rumbling
thunder
lightening strikes
thunder booms
lightening strikes from a gigantic
dark cloud
approaching quickly
the wind grows in strength and howls
whipping the huge Maple around
around in a frantic dance of boundary and limits
blackness moves over the land
rain
rain pours down
lightening flashes
the sky and trees light up
exposing their surrender
night engulfs day
rain pours
the ground a puddle not able to keep up
streams line the edges running down the surface
at once
thunder and lighting ignite in light and power
the rain begins to slow down
the winds move on taking the storm clouds with them
turning the rain back to a sprinkle
the horizon lights up in a burst of flickering light
scattered across the sky
a distant rumble fades
a smell grows of new rains
and cleansed earth
renewed in life
imbued in me
once more

River 7/10

This poem was inspired from my ramblings during a thunderstorm.  At one point, sirens went off and we went to the basement. Also, I was inspired by the writings of  slpmartin with the writing style. 🙂          One Shot Wednesday

~Two Elements~ revised

The wind collects secrets
as he soars through the lands.
A river gathers answers
as she travels created paths.

Secrets journey distances
whispered to the trees.
Answers roll with currents;
delivered to the waters edge.

Distances haunt a man
that knows of a secret.
Currents draw a woman
troubled by a question.

A man walks among the trees
listening for a whisper.
A woman sits on a waters edge
raking the earth for the answer.

The trees are the doors
to all the many secrets
caught amongst the air
blowing in the winds.

The banks, edges along her path,
are the keepers of the answers
that move with timeless waters

traveling down rivers.

©River 7/10

The poem is written in a  form called  ‘paradelle’.  This poem is a revision of the first ‘Two Elements’.

Two Elements

The wind collects secrets
soaring by our doors
A river gathers answers
flowing through all time

Secrets travel distances
whispered to the trees
Answers roll with currents
delivered to a waters edge

Distances haunt a man
that knows of  a secret
Currents draw a woman
troubled by a question

A man climbs among the trees
waiting for the words
A woman sits at a waters edge
listening for an answer

The trees are the doors
to all the many secrets
caught amongst the air
blowing in the winds

A waters edge through times
is the keeper of the answers
one with the waters
traveling down rivers

For One Stop Wednesday

ziibi~ Gichigami

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.mnoutcomms.com/Assets/Northshore.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.mnoutcomms.com/ExtrasPage2007.html&usg=__8PXxmeS5wLW2pKWkHDQ10vvG-VQ=&h=450&w=600&sz=84&hl=en&start=4&itbs=1&tbnid=NRFZXvViOniiVM:&tbnh=101&tbnw=135&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dlake%2Bsuperior%2Bnorth%2Bshore%26hl%3Den%26rls%3Dig%26gbv%3D2%26tbs%3Disch:1Gichigami ~

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.
***I explain further in a comment in response to a friends question.

ziibi~ July 5- The full Moon rises to the East

The full Moon rises to the East

She dances under the Birch
To the music of her soul
Bare feet against wet Earth
Freer then she has ever known

She dances a healing dance
To cleanse the invisible wounds
Buried through generations
Deep within the soul

She dances for all women
Young, weak, strong and old
Women across waters and land
Throughout all of time

She dances secret knowledge
Beats of movement and song
Mothers have taught to Daughters
Since the days of Avalon

She dances under the full Moon
Encircled by the magic
As they have for Centuries
And will forever more

River 7/10

The revised poem from June 28th.

Ziibi~ June 11~The Prize

The Prize

Three good friends canoe down the Kinni
Each with their own bag of thoughts.

They navigate through Clapping Waters
All ready to share the contents of their bags
Two being fuller than one
They begin with the artist.

When all of a sudden in mid sentence
Time stops…
The powers of Nature are among them
Before any of them see her
They hear the air between her wings.

The fisherman in the rear
Only noticed the fish.
The artist in the front
Only saw the bird.
The dreamer in the center
Wide eyed, witnessed the marvel of both.

An Eagle great in essence and size came from above
Diving down to the surface of calm waters
A little ahead of the trio
Grabbing a huge trout in her claws
Hovering over the water
Flapping her powerful wings
Gathering her strength
Then flying away with her prize.

Dedicated to Brandy Brenna
©River June ‘10