Ojibwa Grandmother taught me. ” The song of the seasons.”
Warm days, cold nights.
Create an restless passion.
I can hear the whisper of the wind
on a solitary hill.
Old Mother Nature is calling for aid.
The water is sick with pollution.
No great forest for the animals to live and roam.
Poison is in the air.
Killing man and the trees.
The song of fall.
Sweet death begins.
Leaves turn the trees to artwork.
The splendor of the of the change in season.
Leave the wise in envy of the great gifts of nature.
I find a solitary spot and burn some sage.
I pray for Nature and man. I say out loud family and friends names.
I drink a beer for my Soldier friends lost in war.
I pray to dance with my elders one day.
It is a beautiful evening.
Calm and quiet.
The green earth turn to white.
Snow and cold is necessary for many plants to grow strong.
In the Winter was the time for the Elders to gather with the children.
They would tell great stories of great deeds and accomplishments of men
and woman whom lived in ancient time.
Us children could feel the free wind.
We could see big herds of buffalo roaming the land.
We vision a great Nation of people.
My Grandmother would tell me.
“We must beckon the ghost of the great spirits on a full moon night.
Allow the moonlight and Great Spirit to heal the poor men and woman
lost in the destitute of drugs and alcohol.”
She would burn the sage around us.
Her hair long and unbounded.
She would speak with lovely and enchanting Ojibwa words.
“I pray for a good Spring.
I pray for my children to be able to run free.
I pray no walls or blockage of their path.”
Sweet and wonderful re-birth of the Earth.
The white snow dispersed and the new buds of life appear.
The Earth seem to speak.
New hope and possibilities are here.
The Elders would gather planning a new harvest.
The young people begin to dream of warm days and long nights.
Tire spirits are coming alive.
The Spring Pow wow is filled with strong hope and new dreams.
The Ojibwa Chief take the sage around the circle.
Blessings to all who came to celebrate friendship.
A few white and black men and woman come to the celebration
of a new season.
They understand all people are one.
The Ojibwa Chief tells everyone.
“We are one people.
We are brothers and sisters on different roads.
But one day we will end up on the same road.
Let’s dance together as brothers and sisters. “
The drums begin to play.
Black, white and red walk together.
I walk with the Chief.
He tells me.
“We must be one. Will take the four circles of life to repair this world.”
With tears in his eyes. He whispers.
“It is too late for many of our brothers. So many animals and plants
I pray for this generation to find the right way before there is nothing left.”
Long days and beautiful nights allow the heart to be bold and strong.
The men are drinking.
The woman are having great conversation.
The Elders sit with the children.
He tells them of the bear, the wolf and the eagle.
“When the bear, wolf and eagle are gone.
It will be the sign man is on his last road.
We must hold on to our land.
For the sake of the bear, the wolf and the Eagle.
The animals are our brothers and sisters.
When the sea is dead and the animal are gone.
Man will be next to follow.”
He lite the sage. He walks around the children.
He does a silence prayer.
His tired eyes worry for the children.
What is left for the children?
The white man had reached their goal.
Destroy all that is beautiful.
© 2011 Coyote Poetry