Golden Thread by Shawna Emerick

Just back from time in India and the  Tureya Ashram , Shawna shares a poem from her experience -

Oh Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon,
May our memories meet soon.
Upon the open wings of the Eagle,
All spirits soar.
The species of the human’s souls
Yearns for so much more.
Our earthen legs take feeble steps,
While wondering mind becomes up swept.
Oh Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon,
May our memories meet soon.

 

 

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Fairure’s Cairn

With every failure and every fear,
Yet another stone is placed
There upon the growing pile—
High upon the hill.

For far too long
My failures overwhelmed me–
Stones immense and mighty, waiting there,
High upon the hill…

Until the day I learned
To turn my failures
Into faith, and put an
End to hate.

And now I am returning
(wiser for the learning)
To home’s safe
And embracing harbor—

Only to see my failures have borne fruit,
Like fattened grapes
Upon an ancient arbor
As I look high upon the hill.

And failure’s cairn
Now guides me from high upon the hill,
As I sail upon the currents
Of a sea of milk and honey.

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Cradle of the Universe

 

Wind blown treetops and young forest sways…

Bark rubbing together gives

The creaking sound

Of rocking chair or cradle round

 

We are at the moment of creation

Sparks from the rubbing of two sticks…

Earth is the universal candle,

Tree tops the candles wick!

 

The stars up in the heavens

Shine their light below

We sleep tonight in this cradle…

Swayed by the forest’s glow

 

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The kindest of times ~

 

I came upon a pristine moment…

Just the other day ~

Right before I judged myself…

And promptly lost my way!

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Medicine Singing

Write a poem of medicine–

Write a poem of song

A poem of those you long for, and

(That wound when you were wronged).

Of the bridges you have burned (and)

The dreams for which you yearn “and”

Of your life and all its lessons

Blessing each one in their turn.

Live in the place where poetry is born.

Poetry is medicine singing–

For both the hopeful and forlorn…

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A Line of Smoke from The Black Hills

An ignorant white mind…

And so it was

I thought…

The Black Hills ~ Immovable.

Unbelievable:

An unborn mind

Blind.

Bison Beast,

Black Hills Bounty…

Placenta bursting forth from Wind Cave

The earth breathes, heaves ~ Birth.

Spirit of a moveable feast ~

Bison, Beast,

Tatonka.

Sage is lit…

A line of smoke ~

Moons glisten upon

Ebony horns trumpeting the

Coming of the

Black Hills ~ Eternal,

Tatonka

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December’s Sorrows (Wounded Knee) by guest poet Tom Brittingham

Awakened…from somewhere deep within…

A trembling fear engulfs him…

Shivering – he is cold…

Time – standing still so quickly…

Leaves him wondering why – still hopeful it shall pass…

Only yesterday – when life remained –

As if there was no end –only now the fear of death is all he feels

Children, crying – as children do – reminds him of all he has become…then wonders,

What shall he be remembered for?

A promise broken – the simple lie of those who take…

Has left him broken, cold…starving…

His dignity is all that remains, his stories of the elders…silenced.

O great giver of Life, he questions…

Angry for his loss –

Bartering he says -

“ I have lived in truth – what do I have left that I must give?”

Yet he already knows the answer…

As his wife weeps…he is finally free.

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Sworn Covenant

The Central Andes with the

Peruvian cordillera (like all great mountains)

Keeps me awake until morning’s light…

Shawna, Stephen and Peruvian shaman

For what is most sacred and is written in stone,

Comes down from the mountain tops…

Writing itself on the tablets of our hearts–

Around the fires of the

night…

And so it is and so it was with Moses on

Mount Horeb, and here

Tonight, sleeping at the foot of Machu Picchu!

Daughter Shawna, Stephen and

don Oscar  Miro-Quesada, NYC 2011

Peruvian Shaman

If you too had been here you would know–

Why I have sworn a covenant

With

The God

Of the Mountain!

I shall grant no hospitality to fear.

I shall entertain caution but briefly.

I shall always and forever

Open my heart at the hearth

Of the God of the Mountain!

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A Line of Smoke in The Black Hills of South Dakota

An ignorant white mind…
And so it was
I thought…
The Black Hills ~ Immovable.
Unbelievable:
An unborn mind
Blind.

Bison Beast,
Black Hills Bounty…
Placenta bursting forth from Wind Cave
The earth breathes, heaves ~ Birth.

Spirit of a moveable feast ~
Bison, Beast~
Tatonka…

Sage is lit…
A line of smoke ~

Moons glisten upon
Ebony horns trumpeting the
Coming of the
Black Hills ~ Eternal,
Tatonka

Stephen playing Native American Flute

at Wounded Knee Monument, Wounded Knee, South Dakota

Flute by Joseph Whitefeather, Eaton, Ohio

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Love Making, Naturally!

Blanketing quilt of forest greenery

And the dim of evening’s light ~

Love comes to embrace thee

Setting the day to night

 

Now is the time for love making

Beneath the evergreens bough

As lover’s bodies are aching

The moment has come for the Vow

 

And nature’s love is with me

In every thought I hold

I am forever yours I say ~

In autumn or winter’s cold

 

To thee I pledge made sacred

For as long as the stars will shine ~

I will lay with thee alone…

As my heart will always be thines

 

For here you will never hunger

Though the body be racked with pain,

Love is shared and partaken

As life looses its sense of strain

 

As the horizon lifts your burdens

Amid new morning’s glow

As sure as the salmon swims upstream,

You are loved and forever will know

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