Best Lodge Poems
Satan over the years has been known for tricks and deception
Not only covering up what he is doing, but what he has done
One has to give him credit as he is very successful, but beware
He and his people are always looking for a new invention
And he is one tricky old son of a gun
Very private about where they worship if you can call it that, don't want you there
In the old desert around El Paso, Texas, can be very a dangerous place
The scorpions and rattlesnakes are tame compared to Satan
The Mexican border, Drug smuggling and devil worship are on a rampage
With the rotten and evil, he will show his face
Again they will try to cover it up if they can
But when discovered, they are filled with rage
Native Americans have used "the Sweat Lodge" for hundred's of centuries
In the religious rites to cleanse a spirit or a soul
Their way of getting closer to God, sometimes they use peyote
Now Satan's people have stolen the idea, it is uses varies
Where they think in drug altered minds that they are in control
And once again old Satan is the coyote
At their rituals it looks like a white plastic covered igloo
In the middle of tall mesquite bushes near a bonfire
In a large fire pit in the flames, lava rocks are left to bake
Around a bonfire they dance and chant, do what lesbian witches do
In the sweat lodge, drugs make all of Hell go haywire
Drugs are poured on the molting rocks, the steam is a witches dream
Not man Native Americans in El Paso, that use a sweat lodge
So there is no legitimate reason for one to be there
But to devil worshiper, it is just a desguies
And another way for Satan to corrupt the sweat lodge
But all is seen that goes on there
Nothing hides from God's eyes
(A little poem written at a research station)
Adventurous cottagers challenge blue waters
They feel as homely as the gulls screaming ‘mine!’
With white sails they traverse the great blue horizon
Expanses of Canadian beauty – a shrine.
The waves they come crashing on limestone beaches,
With crustacean fossils from eons ago,
While people keep trodding and paying no mind,
They step over history they’ll now never know.
Oh Grebe Lodge, near an alvar, in Wingfield Basin,
You host many minds intrigued by your treasures,
Unsung insect heroes, the great tree-topped bluffs,
And all in between, a naturalist’s pleasures!
Still tourists fly great distances to seek beauty,
Ontario: what a home we inhabit!
Yet we plunder and pillage without reservation,
How lucky we are, we don’t often deserve it.
The shipwrecks that litter the Bay and its neighbours,
They carry ghost sailors of centuries past,
With mysteries untold amidst scattered cargo,
The people, the vessels, are resting at last.
The islands like flower pots and caves unexplored,
Attracting spelunkers from far and from wide,
The Sturgeon returning like fossils reviving,
Miraculous homecoming brought in by the tide.
How fortunate are we all on the Georgian Bay,
Where the waters are freezing and get very deep,
Just maybe, dear Nature if you would allow us,
We might one day discover the secrets you keep.
June 11, 2016
Still night broken by call of soul owl
watching over the lodge of my father's brother.
The next world awaits my uncle.
His walking clothes prepared.
His feather oiled to a brave sheen.
Knife freshly sharpened in beaded sheath.
He calls to owl. I'm ready.
The women begin the journey chant.
My father dances with joy tears.
3/30/14
At dusk the Native and I
Went into the woods to gather
Sticks for starting the fire
For baptizing the sacred stones.
One limb I found inhabited
With crawling insects;
The Native said, "Put that one back.
Somebody lives there."
I realized I was a guest
Of the Natives and the woods.
I sat there in the Buffalo Seat
To hear from Spirits from which I seek
Knowledge, wisdom & forgiveness of sins
When I bared my soul to let them in
Rocks, Water. In the dark sweating it out
Before my insides scream and shout
The first door opened blinding my eyes
But when they spoke I was not surprised
More Rocks, Water. In the dark sweating it out
Before my insides scream and shout
The second door opened and again they spoke
Upon their words I tried not to choke
More rocks, Water. In the dark sweating it out
Before my insides scream and shout
When the third door opened it caught my breath
Not knowing how close I was to death
More rocks, Water. In the dark sweating it out
Before my insides scream and shout
When the fourth door opened I was amazed
So peaceful, quiet. Not feeling so crazed.
No more rocks, water and sweating it out
Insides no longer feel the need to scream and shout
After the fourth door go over to the fire
Sacrifice and pray for what I aspire
From the sweat lodge the gifts I received
Only came to me because I believed
Giraffes at Animal Kingdom Lodge
A great, long neck had a tall giraffe;
And when I did see made me laugh;
Bent to drink,
Each neck link,
Always causing me to crack in half.
Jim Horn
Just got back home after 7 nights at
Animal Kingdom Lodge at Disneyworld.
YEW TREE LODGE - Story poem
When I was young we had a local witch, or so they said.
Meg Reid at Yew Tree Lodge. That’s the legend we were fed
The lodge was dark and forbidding, away from the street light’s glare.
Surrounded by gnarled old yew trees, weirdly shaped and bare.
They’d been there for two hundred years, tree experts all agreed.
And, if you believed the stories, they’d been planted by Meg Reid.
She dressed in black from head-to-toe, the way that witches do,
And, just to complete the picture, her cat was jet black too
They said she had a cauldron, like the witches in Macbeth.
And, if you took a sip from it, you’d suffer a painful death.
Children were warned to keep away. Their parents would explain
That if they ventured in there, they’d never be seen again.
She’d boil them in her cauldron, then cut off all the fat,
Chop them into pieces and feed them to her cat
But I didn’t take any notice, in spite of the stories I’d heard.
Whatever the other children said, I didn’t believe a word
I went to see her twice a week, welcomed with open arms.
I didn’t end up in her cauldron or come to any harm
She didn’t have a magic wand or wear a pointed hat.
She didn’t cackle when she laughed or anything like that.
She didn’t ride a broomstick. That was not the way to define her.
If she had to get from A to B, she drove a Morris Minor
Her ‘cauldron’ was a stew pot, not containing witch’s brew
But full of her delicious Beef and dumpling stew.
We played Ludo and Monopoly, and card games by the score.
If I won she gave me ice cream; if I lost she gave me more.
I asked her why she wore black and never something gay.
She said she’d thrown her gay clothes out when her loved one passed away.
No, Meg Reid was not a witch; just grieving for her man.
Oh, and I forgot to say that Meg Reid was my Nan
The lodge its had its moments
A real mix of good and bad
I can't pretend that leaving there
Didn't really make me sad
Departments everyday is tough
But you try give it your all
Then football on a Wednesday
That's if we have a ball
The house is full of personalities
Respect it is a must
But you can meet some good friends there
Especially if you've dust
From TV room to kitchen
There's certain things you'll hear
Have you any roll ups
Or bleeding more aware
Comradary between your Coolmine brothers
Is a feeling you can not buy
They'll support you if your lonely
Or if you need to cry
The lads I done my program with
In sadness and in fun
I've nothing but love and gratitude
For each and every one
Welcome to the Lodge of Hope
A fine staff awaits your meeting
Courage and faith are introduced
As virtue upholds the greeting
Diagnosis for extended stay
Prep with knowledge of chemical war
Reflecting on acquaintance familiar
My dear mom lodged here months before
Festive parties invite kind reception
Embrace found in song’s revelry
Catching streamers of social confetti
Entertainment eludes life’s injury
Friendship courts a thanksgiving spirit
Radiating beams that fuse plans for a cure
Wreaths of holly adorn three shiny heads
As best wishes tap dance through the door
Restoration served with affection
When a New Year kneels to the floor
Covered with timeless impressions
Left to foster the guests before
Aid through local perspective
Proves beneficial still
As traumatic events integrate
Preserving courage and goodwill
Carry homeward inspiration
Gently wrap and lace with rope
A memento of reflections
Presented in the Lodge of Hope
The month May had brought the hottest summer early
Decided to go to our village cottage. Stayed in the cabin with family feel worthy Picked and ate the fruits of juicy orange.
Travelled an hour and reached our hut. Put the key in the lock of the door easily. The door opened with a creak by the result. Something moved in the lodge speedily.
A new visitor had visited our place certainly
That was a huge monitor lizard surely. It produced a rattling sound by striking its tail purposely
Rambled here and there in the room fully.
It's highly forked tongue resembled like a snake
And the new comer licked it's eyes balls frequently His arrival realized our mistake. But we learned to encounter anything mentally.
Had no intention to kill the shy animal badly Which would rather stay away from humans safely.
Atlast the guest went out of the home gladly Felt that it had brought good luck lately.
neglected
once lamented
now graffiti
scrawled:
faded respectability
of
yesteryear and
outdated
taste:
now.
litter-strewn,
dusty
cold & musty
sepia like
in the late
Autumn
sun
That’s’ what they do in Theo’s lodge:
All sorts of wrong papers forge;
There every nosing cop dodge,
Who’d rogues from hideouts disgorge…
In Theo’s lodge would hoodlums surge,
Sweet crime at all times their urge;
There, new forms of it emerge;
When ‘This Sin and 'That' they merge…
So, from Theo’s lodge start Crime Purge:
From the Brown Brick ‘Hoodlums’ scourge
A crushing band’s rudest nudge
And just watch all of them budge,
Who Nation’s currency mar,
Factory face change of a car…
With all sorts of wrongs go far!
Sparkling, scorching sandy sea stones
Slaving steaming sweaty, silky skin.
In somewhere in
Sure you have candy fabric lodge
Factory for the love
Within lips you supply syrup, love taste
With flavor of red
And sweet strawberry
That chocolate scent
Is that calls of the heart
That Breast of apricot sunny
Ripe and finest fruits of the summer
In fair duel with affection
Look to attention
Hazel eyes honey jar
And they know how to jog my heart
And I know the praise for the king
Is prize hidden – in, that nectar
Of the soul
Cocktail of summer
With cherry
Ice-cream with jelly
So you my candy Queen,
so sweet and delicate
old men
use fancy titles
lodge night