Best Shamans Poems
gently on the roof
water marches as rice grains,
manna from heaven
attend our homeland,
exiled clouds pour your romance
onto cracking earth.
Our poor scorpions,
in bellies of hot, dormant
wells raised their generations.
Shamans still dance in rings, arousing bands of blessing.
Timbre grows, grains gaining size, dusty dreams refreshing.
Categories:
shamans, dance, nature, rain, seasons,
Form:
Free verse
Stamens and pistils
delicately poised
Shamans and pistols
making too much noise
Soft buzz preferred,
a silencer’s desired
Pollinator’s sense
the triggers just fired
Nectar brings balance
agape open wide
Willing the seeker
to do laps inside
Comes with a snag
also stitch in the side
Fulcrum of a rose
the thorn realised
My soul’s not a flower
just gives and takes
Wants what it craves
accepts all, even fakes
Opens too early,
closes far too late
Can’t tell if I’m full,
yet knows when I’m sate
Possesses a thorn,
and stabs by design
Fulcrum of my soul’s
human not divine
Protects at all costs
only thing that’s mine
Not pain or loss,
just my life to define
Categories:
shamans, life, perspective, rose,
Form:
Rhyme
The plains people such as Lakota, Crow and Ojibwa
Spread throughout the Native American world
Who believe that the sickness is borne out of
The individual’s being out of harmony in life.
Witchery, sorcery, wizardry ways they heal it
Out of the three they prefer the witchery way
Corn pollen is said to be pure and immaculate
Sprinkling with corn pollen helps to cure disharmony
In fact corn pollen so powerful and trusted
That people carry it simply for good luck.
Navajo shamans confirms it as the most powerful
It’s a healing bridge between humans and spirits
+++++++
Date:5-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place Win
Contest: Native American people by Shanity Rain
Categories:
shamans, health, religion,
Form:
Free verse
The ancient prophecy foretold
so very long ago ...
has finally arrived
Coming swiftly on eagle wings
The howling wind carries piercing night cries,
as open iron claws fall
from the mountain sky
And the slumber days, shown many moons ago,
has awakened death — cursed faces
carved on the fallen totem poles
So many, many moons ago,
my careless people were told
by the Almighty Spirit
not to pray to their vain wooden idols,
whom they worshiped in the forest groves
A flood of tears would one day wash upon the shores,
and bathe my people in the ashes
of their burnt fallen totem poles
Our unheeded shamans foretold
of a white pestilence cleansing of the land,
and our idol hearts would be broken
Visions of rivers of blood
from a snow-capped mountain would flow
As foretold ... so many moons ago
We should not have slaughtered the innocent
of our enemies, whom we last fought ...
giving them no mercy shown
Now our wooden sins have revisited us,
with the steady waves of pale crested sails,
seen upon the new moon horizon shores
This changing color of the evergreen leaves
and red clay soil
was foreseen so many moons ago
And the fate of the ebony mane buffalo
is the spirit path we now weepingly follow
Yes, the fall of my prideful people was foretold,
so many moons ago
And I cover my bowed chieftain head
with the ashes of the toppled totem poles
Categories:
shamans, culture, history, native american,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
As midnight bursts like stardust on a cobblestone
My raw vision carries me beyond earth’s floor,
Where marbles with painted dots turn into hallways
And shamans in long robes on axis roam:
Here I write of gothic myths and folklore
Releasing secrets through drumbeats of old tribal songs
As dark mysteries lay deep on hidden pools…
The acid in my bones spreading unknown lyrics
While stylus of quill darts on flamed parchment
Unraveling my soul … coaxing the young to dream.
A Brian Strand Contest: End March 18 Standard
Categories:
shamans, adventure, mystery, writing,
Form:
Imagism
Autumn waits on the back of September’s wings /
transforms her green to enviable hues /
the castanets of crickets like shamans sing,
chant to the moon ~ their hallowed muse.
Original date: September 19, 2022 revised on Sept. 22, 2022 for contest
For: September Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Placed 3rd in contest
Categories:
shamans, nature, september,
Form:
Quatrain
In the Druid tradition an inspired Bard was said to possess "bird's knowledge." Druid shamans would dress in cloaks of bird feathers to perform certain ceremonies, and divination would be practiced by observing the flight of birds. In trance, the Druid would enlist the aid of his bird spirit-ally to fly to other realms, or would transform himself into a bird on the inner planes to accomplish a certain task. Each type of bird represents different qualities, evokes different experiences, and has different gifts for the Druid: the eagle brings renewal, the wren humility, the swan grace, the raven initiation. The hawk, whether kite, harrier, merlin, goshawk, or sparrowhawk, can give nobility and stature, dignity and pride. I once heard that a Cherokee shaman had to turn into a hummingbird in order to find the lost tobacco seed, in their mythology, it was brought to them by the hummingbird.
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Categories:
shamans, spiritual,
Form:
Narrative
Fears ensnared within the winter drifts along the harden ground
One lone ember stares off yearning for heaven brothers
As I watch its simple battle for survival from dust of ashes gray
To tombs that lie stone in forever twilight slumbers
In my sleepy hollow head like a saddened tune on flute play
I hear further, farther days ahead and think them some great enemy
But, louder are the years which shall follow as if it’s greater dread
So I return to thoughts outward of the plains lullaby instead
Outside the winds lost are moaning singing a sacred song
Warning, crawling like shadows long, carry astral visions rolling in
Caught like prey dancing in the trees by guardian dream catchers
Shamans of the din, their medicine cleansing, sweeping away village sin
The ember grows brighter as I feel the warmth on my Ojibwe people all around
Sounds of the old man elder still breathing, rhythms of the ceremonial drum
Hearst beating over silence of the coming whites waiting to steal away the clouds
And their cold tracks of steel lying like death dividing up the rivers run
Still I listen, to the plains that speak in nightless lullabies
So the cricket’s lie dormant the buffalo’s wintry song is a bolder snore
Like clouds upon the desert floor, beneath the watchful eye of the snowy goddess moon
Ghosts of warriors galloping across the plains looking for their home
So, I call out whispers to them “here we are” adding to the Algonquin tune
Smiling with eyes closing, I watch the ember stronger glowing hearth
Empowered by life, the gift of the Great Spirit, mountain coyote serenading love of light
And mother lays her hand across the plains tucking in all her children of this Earth
With this I sleep sounder for awhile longer
Although, knowing all things must end with death
But, the spirit will live on and on
Across the plains in its lullabying song, like the winter's breath
Categories:
shamans, native american, , Lullaby,
Form:
Ode
In liberal land the poppies grow
Though not too long for soon they're smoked
How else can they maintain a belief
That's mired in fantasy and grief
They have consistency of mind
Their brains malfunction all the time
But don't let politics revolt
Inside they house a heart of cold
Their way of thinking was set forth
In a fairy tale of yore
Where nothing was as it appeared
And playing cards could speak and hear
They've dwelled inside that rabbit hole
Since long before Frank's polio
Where common sense is a disease
And all that counts is feeling pleased
With how they've been so kind and bold
In carving life from helpless souls
Who none the wiser cast their votes
For shamans dressed in phony hope
It took a child to bare the king
For none dare speak while witnessing
The simple truth before their eyes
Their brains whitewashed through guile and lies
They seized the schools, the bench, the arts
Upturned the vendor's applecart
Til none were left to pay the rent
Totalitarian government
Categories:
shamans, patriotic, philosophy, political,
Form:
Rhyme
the Babylon of bubbles,where plastic shamans blow illusions of loveto a mixed people of iridescent colorssandwiched between a soapy film of confusionMan’s disillusion of building a rainbowed utopiaas they dance and sing in the high places hiding behind a green treeForgetting man shot the first arrow at heaven,as the pot of gold, at the end of the rainbow,calls the kettle black accepting everything,without central rule is the babbling freedom of anarchySlaves to their own sins promising liberty God is a God of order and not the author of confusion There is only one Way and He does not need the help of manWhat is highly esteemed among men is an abomination to GodMan’s attempts to build a utopia will always, become a bubbling dystopiabursting, into endless lulu tearsof a seared consensus, suddenly a rainbow policemen awakes,somewhere off the grid in Kansas,with a headache and an empty bottle of snake oil
Categories:
shamans, allegory, bible, christian, community,
Form:
Free verse
POSESSION
The astral priest saw that the time had come
To finally invoke an Aztec god,
He left his family and Friends behind
To go to Tlaxcala on the day of the wind
To call Quetzalcoatl with bone flute and drum.
Then when Venus shone through a lens
On a shattered stone ruin six hundred years old,
He stood by high columns engraved
With scenes from the lives of the gods,
The moon glinting occultly on onyx and gold.
His feathered cape and the jaguar mask
He wore began moving all on their own,
The eagle claws strapped to his wrist
Shook with anger, with passion and pride.
The Lady of the Serpent Skirts
Howled in the bowels of limestone caves,
And in the hall of Smoking Mirrors
Tezcatlipoca took aim at the Sun.
Double-headed feathered serpents
Coiled about the calender stone,
And even the pavement ‘pon which he stood
Rang with the spells of ancient wizards.
Then to his shock a crackle of lightning
Leapt up his spine and burst in his brain,
And then the hot fire assaulting his nerves
Sent him convulsing with terror and joy.
The god was demanding, he urged the priest
To climb out of his skin and leap into flame,
To cook his heart well as a meal for the gods,
To break all his limits - surrender at once
To waste not a second, but ride the tornado,
To seize the anaconda and tame it with a glance,
To penetrate flint with his fingers and eyes
To enter volcanoes and dance on the boiling
Magma within the Earth’s orange cleft,
To be at once an atom and star,
To see all Space as the ground of Being.
And then to fall screaming into the Abyss.
From somewhere out of the silence came drumming,
The drumming of shamans invoking spirits,
Guardian spirits of wolves and crows
Gathering round to aid the priest.
And then at last he knew whence the drumming,
Just the rain pounding the roof of his skull.
Lightning lit a fire
And drifting off to sleep the flames revealed
Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca
Fought their way through thirteen hells.
Their warriors, the Eagle and the Jaguar knights,
Exchanged obsidian butterflies.
The feathers wafting in the wind
Became the crimson clouds at dawn.
A cool scented breeze caressed his neck,
Raindrops gleamed on a spider’s web,
Sunlight filled the turquoise sky.
Categories:
shamans, myth,
Form:
Blank verse
Shalom
Date: Sat, Nov 7 2015 at 11:47 PM
All alone on this "Path"
But God with on my "Wrath"
Do the "Math"
This the Future of my "Past"
Blast from the "Past" the "Backlash"
This the Wrath of Israel and "Iran"
An "Baghdad" Pakistan an "Afghan"
"Syria" and "Libya" I'm the "Militia"
Bout to change the "Forecast"
"Packed" Bat "Bag" Full of "Drafts"
Of "Charts" and "Graphs"
For the "March" to "Pass"
A Slave from "Africa" "Captured" to Become a "Ambassador"
One of the Shamans "Factors"
Inside my mind is Visions in "Patterns"
This just a page out the "Chapter"
Speaking Justice amongst the "Attackers" amongst the "Massacres"
I'm created from Fossils of Ancient "Fragments" that was "Fractured"
A Scientific "Analysis" can't "Examined" a "Graphic" of this "Calculus"
This the Anger of "Ferguson"
In Trayvon Hoodie in a "Black" "Turban"
Or "Jihad" Shallot "Shalom" "Salaam"
"Shabbat" Praying like the "Salat" while my hands "Burning" Inside "Flaming" Raging "Sermons" See I'm a "Servant" But upon "Observance" you couldn't tell in "Person" But you can tell by my "Wordings" Under Blessings and "Curses"
I hear Blood crying to me from under the "Surface" "Thirsting" I'm certain I'm one of the "Worstest" with Wisdom in the "Churches"
Thats not "Circuiting"
That make these devils "Nervous" I'm standing on the stage behind the "Curtains"
Looking at the "Circus"
I'm "Determined" to "Nourishing" the Blind to "Furnishing"
Categories:
shamans, i am, leadership, spoken
Form:
Free verse
She dances in a ring of fire.
Cackling laughter stirring in the hot muggy nights.
Sweat dripping down her shining skin.
Her eyes are affixed on the blackened feline stalking her from the woods.
It's the night to feast upon the eve's magic, for one for all it's harvest moon.
They dance upon the corpses wallowing in the despair of their timeless
departure.
It's time for souls to dance deep in the shadows of the trees.
The raven calls it's madness echoing it's sadened glory.
Isis, Isis queen of the dark, she whispers magic into all the creatures of the
night.
The horned frog hops along in a frenzied pace. The owl sits distilled and misty
eyed perched on it's branch.
Heartbeats pulsate throughout the land.
Time does not exist in this hour of enchantment and dreams.
The witches do their forbidden dance, while shamans sink into peyote trance.
Their bodies so naked, pale, and bare.
They stomp the sound of their sorrows.
The moon peaks into the night giving the evening, bright soft light.
They dance into the wild water, drenched and shimmering.
The fire burns out, moonlight guides them through the nameless tides.
Sunken treasure, seducing pearls.
The witches generate all the power in the land.
A blessing is born tonight, a small gem so radiantly damasked to the world.
The child is born to strange becomings, and odd rituals.
It's eyes are dark like that of an onyx sky..
This child will carry on the workings and absorb the magic.
Born to the trees, born to the desert, born to the rainforest so lavenously green,
born to the tundra where snow is forever seen.
She is born to the north, east, south, and west.
Earth, air, fire, water all the elements making up her strange bondage
She travels the world forever and free. She is the mysterious gypsy just aching
to see.
She is nor monster, nor sermon, nor beast, she is not a fairy princess at a
banquet or feast.
She is nor killer, nor savior to say the least.
She is witch, she is woman, she is wise, all do respect to the mens demise.
Categories:
shamans, inspirational, dance, night, child,
Form:
They say he had three Mothers
The Earth, the Wind, and Water
And His father was the Sun
And the Moon was his daughter
He wore a gun in his belt
With clothing made from hide
As He walked, He made no sound
And never broke his stride
Folks say he was part Cherokee
Others say, part Crow
There wasn't any clarity
There was no way to know
He wore a shiny locket
On the inside of his shirt
That he took out of the pocket
Of a dead Comanche’s' skirt
The feather in his hat
Made the white folk all take notice
And on his belt a sack
With an ancient Aztec Poultice
The myth, was he knew magic
Taught by spirits raised by Shamans
And because His birth was tragic
He was thought to be a Demon
As he passed through our town
The People, looked away
Afraid of being cursed
They where glad he didn't stay
The sun sank in the East
As the wind blew from the West
And he walked in a straight line
Like a man bent on a quest
He climbed up to the foothills
Where the Injuns made their graves
There he raised them from the dead
As he made them all his slaves
No one knew his purpose
For the dead upon that mound
Not at least, until that day
He came back to this town
Categories:
shamans, culture, dark, death, judgement,
Form:
Ballad
I have chosen to hide away
when night has come without delay
with moonrise
I'm toxic to those who know me
with no misgivings to finality
apathetic moonstone
Shiva worships my offerings
Chumash use me for sufferings
sacrificial moondust
The Shamans of harvest and rain
are the keepers of old soul's pain
like moonbeams
I am hidden in the open
where the night from day has broken
I am moonflower
May 11, 2020
Compounding the Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Categories:
shamans, dream, flower, magic, native
Form:
Verse