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Best Poems Written by Soulfire

Below are the all-time best Soulfire poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Soulfire Poem

Reclamation

I was taken from this life
in the black night, blindfolded
to be clubbed to death

so that I
might be born again
in spirit song, dance and name
given by my great ancestor

who, ten thousand years ago or more,
crossed the Bering land bridge from
Siberia to Cowichan and the Salish Sea
warm land of the raven,
the black bear and the salmon.

I have suffered
four hundred years
of dislocation of the soul
in this barren culture, nameless
but for “primitive squaw.”

I have lost
Tamanawas, the sacred ritual dance
the Potlatch feast of giving and
my children and my language.

I will endure
four days and nights
confined and cold and hungry
while all around the rhythmic pulse
of elders’ drumming, chanting

guides me back in time and space
to voices still resounding
stories of a dancing flame
light upon the earth

And I will rise in cedar forests
and walk the clamshell middens
feel our language on my skin
and see with startled eyes new life
the Soulfire I’ve been given.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was for the Shaman's Way contest but I think I missed it.

Cowichan --used to be pronounced coWEEchan now it's usually said like, Cow i chan.

The Canadian government outlawed many Coast Salish practices until the 1960's--the Spirit Quest, Potlatch feast and
Tamanwas dance among them. Children were placed in residential schools, away from their families, and were forbidden
to speak their mother tongue. More recently, the spirit quest ritual has been revived as (loosely) described in the
poem. However, it is also now used as a form of "intervention" to help address an array of problems frequently
attributed to colonization (e.g., drug and alcohol misuse). So, where in the past, young people would go off into the
forest voluntarily, it is now often the case, (at least in Cowichan) that young people are taken from their beds in the
night. Initiates are first symbolically "clubbed to death" then "reborn" after multiple days of ritual practices.

Details | Soulfire Poem

Long Distance Runners

We don’t run the way we used to
ten kilometers pounding 
hard through switchback trails 
to beat the twilight

Twenty-odd years ago
you wanted marriage 
kids and a life
any life
away from your parents 

but nothing of marriage, held 
my imagination 
like Big Apple freaks 
casually smoking 
creatively shaping 
thoughts of a future self

And then you went and 
lived your life -  exactly as planned
while I stayed and 
got lost in the idea of it

And now when we run 
I can always see
shadows falling 
away from ourselves
moving toward 
the finish

Details | Soulfire Poem

No Sweet Old Lady

After a childhood of moaning 
and feigned fainting 
and suicide attempts in my presence—
it’s hard to know 
whether the call in the night 
saying she is going to call an ambulance 
is serious or not.  

Personally, I can’t imagine 
calling 911 for the runs
but my mother did.  
When the paramedics arrived 
they told her to stay home;
emergency would only make her  sick 
waiting upright for hours in a chair, 
an IV jammed in her arm.

And now she’s on speaking terms with me again
which means the calls will start 
the ones pleading and demanding 
alternating 
on who knows what whim.  

She’s eighty and no sweet old lady.

Details | Soulfire Poem

Curve Balls --Re-Posted In Paragraph Form

When I was ten I went to England with my mother and younger sister. It was the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. For
Monarchists, you’ll know what a lot of fanfare goes on. There were “block parties” everywhere—streets closed off and
whole neighbourhoods dancing. And then came the Royal Procession—that golden carriage, the Queen with her little
wave, Price Phillip smiling to the crowds of screaming people. Like rock stars, but with really with good manners.

We did a lot of stuff in England: went to the Tower of London, where people used to get their heads cut off or get
stretched on the rack till they split open; we ran through Trafalgar square, with the pigeons that no one is allowed to
feed anymore.

Going home, my Nan came with us to the airport. I started to cry and she said; “now there, brave soldiers don’t cry.” I
wasn’t sure that I wanted to be brave or a soldier but I tried not to cry when we had to go on without her.

The next thing I remember we were at the airport, probably in Vancouver, and my mum was in a phone booth. My
father was saying; “don’t come home right now.” He’d decided to leave my mother and put the house up for sale.
Mum, never one to hold it together under pressure, began to sob, incessantly. I don’t think it stopped for a year or
more.

There wasn’t a “For Sale” sign on the lawn when we arrived home. Apparently Dad had not got that organized.
Nonetheless, he had managed to pack a few things and find somewhere (I think a girlfriend’s), to stay in the interim—of
whatever this was. My mother, looking for consolation and a shoulder, understandably reached out to her eldest daughter of twenty-one, only to find that she had eloped with her boyfriend.

At ten, almost eleven, the last weeks of summer lay before me. Things were changing rapidly—most notably, my father
would move to a different city, where he’d stay for several years. I’d get a paper route and buy my first bike with the
earnings. My younger sister withdrew into her art and my older sister became increasingly isolated living with an
insecure husband who, when laid-off from the mill, took to selling pot to make the mortgage. My mum cut her hair and
discovered disco.

Life has some strange curve balls. Never could have seen these coming and not sure how their spin affected my swing.
Sometimes, even with lousy pitches, we can hit those balls right out of the park.

Details | Soulfire Poem

Good Son

That summer your dad died 
and we brought your mom
to stay a few weeks 
‘til she moved to the nursing home 

we drove east to Saskatchewan
the huddles of family 
I’d never met 
softly recounting your father’s fading  
while Bessie washed dishes without a word 
and looked for something 
newly misplaced

Only you 
her fiftieth gift child
who’d strategically shirked 
corporate success 
could flick the switch of recognition  
her pleading eyes a conversation
translated in flesh

Back at home with a change of plan 
to live together 
as long as we could
with the front door swinging 
the kettle screaming 
dry on the stove 
and Bessie shuffling the winding road
in search of church or bingo

'Til leaning down to hug “goodnight” 
your eyes her open sky 
where every memory softly whispered 
Bessie back into the light

Details | Soulfire Poem

Losers In Vancouver

Canada, land of good 
manners, polite people
until we lose the Cup
and angry crowds of testosterone
go wild 
burn cars and porta-potties
hurl bottles, bricks, 
street signs and threats 
at lines of riot masks
and batons ready 
for adrenaline 
almost as high 
as that elusive win

Best Poems Written by Soulfire

Eat Pray Love

Lullaby of the Lost

Mother Found

Family Stone

Reclamation

Long Distance Runners

No Sweet Old Lady

Curve Balls --Re-Posted In Paragraph Form

Good Son

Losers In Vancouver