a solemn whiteness
blankets the arctic muskox ~
luxe qivuet duvet
(January Full Moon – Algonquin)
coppery polish
ravenous iron jaws yawn ~
beaver befuddled
(November Full Moon – Algonquin)
a tender voice recites, muse’s lyrics flow
non-believers have poisoned Earth Mother's waterways
She unleashes winds blown hotter and dryer
perennial white blossoms swoon midst zephyrs
dangle from sterling chaste trees
twisted maple bark echo braids sacred hair unscathed
gold filters branches
thousand-year rooted Algonquin memories
elders and granddaughters amble amongst crackling twigs
streams pristine align to augur a promising path
within a bison pelt tepee awaits the knowledge keepers embrace
fire and smoke dense and opaque
evoking a bittersweet melancholy
broadleaves tremble breathe and sway
hymn chants of traditional wisdom expel
severed is the braid as is the child from the woman
her nascent efflorescence
transition is significant as we are wedded
and bound to nature’s perennial sentient
let the path before us grow wider and brighter for future generations
sterile white snowflakes
coldness covers the still night ~
snow wolf fluffs its tail
(January Full Moon – Algonquin)
early harvest peak
nourishing lunar cycle ~
redworm squiggles deep
(August Full Moon – Algonquin, Ojibwe)
boisterous blooming
kaleidoscopic chaos ~
butterfly ballet
(May Full Moon – Algonquin)
american indians know the good deeds and intentions of the thunder birds.
Ojibwe say they were created by Nanobozho to punish immoral humans.
thunder birds have supernatural powers and strength, working toward good.
they have the power to give life, and the power to take life.
thunder bird legends are well known in art, stories, and jewelry.
algonquin say the thunder bird creates thunder by flapping his wings.
iroquois understand she creates lightning by flashing her eyes.
menominee say the thunder bird controls rain and hail.
all tribes agree the thunder bird works toward deeds of greatness.
they control the upper world, keeping snakes in line.
whereas the underworld is governed by the underwater panther.
or the great horned spirit; wonderful legend.
consenting consort
a silvery fluorescence ~
liquid lightning flash
(November Full Moon – Algonquin)
Blow the Trump card!
Supreme court jestures
wanna mask
a pale blew,
Machiavellian facade
Poker hot as
an ire red ballot bluff firewall:
Algonquin blue
urn cry
is an ash white buffalo lip stall
Retaining power is the be all,
black robe rigged wishes
for a tabulated election recall
Blow the exhaust horn exit loud!
Voter vent dissipate
that carbon
monoxide,
toxic vapor cloud
Come a new Inaugural morn,
electoral clear sky
by dawn
Blow the mourn Trump card!
Elephantine exhalation whine
blare pachyderm grumble discard
Hear the bellow ballast blast
exit stage alt right hard
A fiery cast populi,
skyscraper cry
BYEDON
will echo proud at last
A win deed breeze
be storm force uttering: “You’re Fired!”
As the BYEDON reign
sweeps away the midnight raze
of a dark, cloudy horizon
Pray tell it leaves no
misty mourning pardon
Ottawa is derived from the Algonquin word adware,
meaning "to trade" when the indigeous people;
used the rivers in the area to fish, hunt and camp,
they portaged rivers known now as the Ottawa and Rideau;
but called these waterways "the great river and the grand river".
The city of Ottawa, originally called Bytown because it was,
founded by Colonel John By an engineer who designed;
the Rideau Canal(the best preserved example of a slack water canal),
which was created to move goods, and lumber for trade;
in 1826 Bytown was renamed Ottawa and became the capital of Canada.
Canada is often called the Great White North because we are so cold,
and yes, we are with temperatures minus 20 or more in winter;
but Ottawa is clean and beautiful and a safe place to live and full of history,
I am proud to be part Ojibwe, the original people, a people of storytellers;
and anyone who knows me can vouch that I am a storyteller.
The indigenous people have many stories of how it all came to be !
___________________________
February 25, 2020
Written for Your Favorite Legend
sponsor,, Chantelle Anne Cooke
I entered a village in Algonquin park
as dusk approached the tattered edges of dark.
And fell in love with the bucolic setting
all except for the mosquito’s blood letting.
The pine smell was redolent riding each breeze
carrying halcyon memories of trees.
And for a fugacious moment I felt lost
amidst the penumbra where I weighed the cost.
I could find a safe inglenook or camp out
a vestigial whiff of pie gave me doubt.
And taking that as a harbinger of treats
to come I headed to a lodge with grass streets.
My ephemeral connection with the Earth
somehow gave my sempiternal soul rebirth.
For I felt rejuvenated young at heart
and with each footstep felt my tensions depart.
At last the shivering stops
as the sleeping bag, air mattress
and tent warm from body heat.
Later I stumble from the dark tent
into a full moon, coldly glowing
over a forest of silhouette trees and
a deafening silence broken only
by the call of a distant Barred Owl.
The silver stream of piss steams as
it splatters on the ground; a quick shake,
then bag to a warm bag to sleep till dawn
which brings blue sky and a south wind
to fan a reluctant campfire and heat
a soon to boil kettle of coffee water.
A pair of loons surface, close enough
to see the bars of their necklaces, before
they disappear under the dark water.
As the sun crests the eastern hill, I move to
the shore to greet it, basking in its warmth
slowly spinning like a Crookes’ sun mill.
I would like to pay tribute to those who died
While introducing you to our native pride
We are Cherokee, Iroquois, and Lakota
We are Navajo, Algonquin, and Dakota
Our lands were open and free to roam
But when the pilgrims came, we lost our home
We are Omaha, Sioux, and Pawnee
We are Mohegan, Crow, and Shawnee
Our people were brave, our tribes were strong
What was done to them was very wrong
We are Hopi, Ottawa, and Comanche
We are Pueblo, Cree, and Apache
Now my friends, let the truth be told
Our people were killed, beaten and sold
To this day we get no respect
The word used to describe us, we must reject
A football team even bears the name
Which brings us dishonor, grief and shame
So tell me the truth, what would you say
For us, is it a Thanksgiving Day?
OUT OF THE BELLY
Highway sixty pours into the Ottawa Valley the same way sunlight rips through the drapes of my darkened motel room. Every Monday I knife my way through the darkness and Algonquin Park to toil in the trade that chose me and rip at the bowels of duty and then every Friday I head back in the opposite direction yet into another abyss. The darkness has impregnated the Darkness. Emerging from the womb I am welcomed in Petawawa (is that Dante drinking coffee at Tim’s?) by the Time Traveler who transports me into the 18th century and my French voyageur past. The timeless river calls…
Ottawa Valley
Reborn, out of the belly,
Darkness…Orion
Waves as he fades into the
Light. Work is an hour away.
I am White Cloud, chief of an Algonquin tribe in Maine
This is a dedication to my pup “Keeitai” memories I retain
I forward myself, I shall speak of the meeting of Keeitai
As a young brave, striving manhood, I was sent to the forest alone
With bow in hand I could be a man with-in my fathers’ eye
Mother Grizzly protecting her young, kills mama wounds dad
A timber wolf cries to the sky, howling my wife has died
I follow as he leads me to his den; the beginning of the end
The fresh earth smells of death,4 baby pups given to the Spirit
The whimper in the blackness of death a pup had survived Keeitai
Never before had I heard such sorrowful baying, as his father died.
To be Continued
Dedicated to Au Poivre my Shepherd, my Puppy for 17 years
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