Time Stands Still

* For Magpie Tales ~ Mag 32

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.

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. 🙂

Paralysis Times Three

21
The first time I woke all numb
Equally from my knees down
Traveling up and stopping
At the bottom of my ribs

I found my own therapy
In no time at all
I left the Hospital
All weak and tingly legged

We road tripped out west and on the way
I built up my strength with Hacky Sacs
Soaked my legs in Hot Springs
Then tingly I ran the Oregon coast
~
26
The second time my feet hurt real bad
My left big toe was numb
Later that day it moved
Equally from my knees down

It rose up my body to stop at the bottom of my ribs
Then it turned and jumped to my hands
I was 3 months pregnant
They said it was in my head

I perfected my own therapy
Walking once more
I left the Hospital knowing
It would be awhile till the tingly left again
~
31
The third and final time at last I knew why
I was numb and tingly, unable to stand
I faced the battle more angry then afraid
A relapse from MS different then the rest

I felt tremendous pain too mind boggling extreme
At times it could have flipped me out
But I was stronger no doubt
With Morphine on my side

I pulled out my therapy like a pro ready to walk
But I had a limp and a hand that did not feel
I had changed, damage had been done
That’s when I made up mind this was the final one.

Now I am 36!

One Shot Wednesday by One Stop Poetry! If you would like to read poems by great poets or you would like to join the fun click here.

This poem is for a poetry book I’m putting together about coping with living with Multiple Sclerosis. These three paralysis were relapses from MS. Each time my Immune System attacked Mylen Sheath in my spine. In my case it was mostly in my neck.

I mention the ages and use them to divide time up because there is a pattern to them. A freaky pattern of years that came to be a couple of weeks ago. This time around I will break the pattern that has existed since I was 21. My birthday is 11/30.

I would love your feed back if I should add this poem or the one posted before called Three Strikes I Still Stand or both in the poetry book. Thank you!

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

Distant Lover

I reach across the waters that lie between us
wrapping my arms around you
kissing you tenderly on the mouth.

I encircle you in the sanctuary of my arms,
you bury your face in my hair
leaning into me with all trust.

I hold you, my Love,
all else fades as we be..
Two hearts beating as one.

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

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

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.

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