Long Elders Poems
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This poem was inspired by the interviews by Earl K. Pollon and S. S. Matheson conducted with native Sekanni peoples who were negatively effected by the flooding of their communal homelands by the building of the W.A.C. Bennett Dam. “This Was Our Valley” tells that story of injustice. 640 square miles of riverfront and hunting territory would be flooded to form Williston Lake. The Sekanni peoples were driven from their ancestral homeland in northeastern British Columbia, Canada and dispersed.
The Shopping Cart Injustice
People, place and spirit
All were our relations
Biopeds, quadrupeds, winged or finned -
River language told us so.
Fishing rocks spoke the run
Where the riffles and the rapids talked.
Ancestors, dead and alive, told living stories where
Running the river banks, the children played.
The land was a book written in forms.
We made our mark with love, community
Fishing weirs, aspen dugout canoes,
Hunting trails, camps and sacred sites.
Always traders, we traded furs with
White settlers when they arrived
On the rivers Parsnip, Finlay and Peace at
Finlay Forks, Fort Grahame, Fort McLeod.
We added pack trains, teams of pack horses
River freighters, flat bottom ‘longboats’
For supplies and for mail delivery.
It seemed that we could live together.
Then one day a government agent said
That shopping carts were coming
They would flood our world
Water rising everywhere
Shopping carts with electric can openers
Full, fast to check out,
Shopping carts with electric hair blowers,
Full, faster to check out,
Shopping carts with electric air conditioners,
Full, fastest to check out
Shopping carts with electric stoves.
Check out, check out, check out.
They would make our rivers into a lake
We would move or drown.
Our elders did not believe it.
That was the only consultations!
Soon Saskatoon berries all under water
Next, the banks sloughed back to graveyards
Next, cliffs crumbled, and banks fell into rising lake
Houses of the villages slipped and floated
Coffins, bones and bodies strewed the shore
Where tangled trees, debris and more
Eddied with flotsam in the wind.
We wept for our ancestors!
We weep for our children.
We had to flee the destruction
Caused by tree grinders, D-9 bull dozers
The dam construction.
Now they want to take more
Another dam for more shopping carts.
Please stop Site ‘C’.
{This "Free Verse" entry Received HONORABLE MENTIONS
IN THE Intergenerational Poetry to Bridge the Generation
Contest UNO Elders & Youth track" 2017
UNIVERSITY OF OMAHA
OMAHA, NEBRASKA}
(I was the only male entry in contest)
October 15, 2017
I'm A Teen This is What I Struggle With
I’m a teenager I’m upset depressed
Being so,
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
And I ain’t gonna call you mam or sir
That’s in the history books nobody does that anymore
I represent 30 percent of us that are one or been bullied
All adults want to do is make us study
I close to being grown you don’t understand
I know as much or more than a woman or man
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
I ‘m a teen this is what I struggle with
Feel like I’m imprisoned, these are our teen issues
I have a right it’s my body part selective if I selective
It’s my life if I choose to be sexually active
My life complicated I’m not the only one you used drugs smoke pot now what
Back in your day
Getting drunk the past month I also say
My life, my right again you did that too by the way
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
My message is I’m not heard, I’m hurt
I eat the wrongs things I get big obese some of us throw up
You can call it stayin thin being bulimic
Can’t get no education, don’t have patients for them
They can’t teach or tell me nothing gonna drop of school
Maybe I’ll join the Army
Where are the grownups when I have my problems peer pressure?
They don’t have an answer for them
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
I am tired of always being diss
The sexting, hot man what a body, But when I get older that picture still out there
Don’t have to be beaten up physically now it’s done electronically, on social media
Just when I think I can control my life and mind
On screen violence TV shows, movies and violence video games
Keep me wake for weeks and days
I am tired of always being diss
I’m A teen this is what I struggle with
09/26/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
for Intergenerational Poetry To Bridge Generations Elders & Youth 2017 Contest
GROWING UP THE PAST RUNS DEEP
Growing up in the village..
days before electricity arrived
when i used a kerosin lamp..
as i browsed through volumes..
volumes of literature..
Till my eyes would turn dry..
and i would feel dizzy...
for not changing my reading poster
screaming nerves accussing mi..
i stood accussed of abuse
by my own senses..
Sweet sleep would fall over me..
the novel dropping..
from mines limb hands
dreaming of strange lands..
Oh the joy of addiction..
i was hooked to good stories
Evading peers to catch up
on a book.. didnt i love escapism
negleting schoo work... now thts dumb..
negleting sports and exercises wasnt i hooked
the past is deep i spent a lot of time..
reading make believe stories
Moving to the east coast town..
after finishing forth...
i fell in love with movies
and became an enemy of the books
a great movie i watched..
robbed of my immagination
Rushing over meals
running to catch a new movie
my brother michael...
sneezing allrgies of the polluted cities..
i was missing village life..
Strange swahili culture..
christian, muslims, arabs africans
strange foreigners,, i have this-
against them most of them didnt seem
to love clothes.. yet the others
covered to their eyes..
Mwadhini calling the faithful to prayer
christians holding week long crusades..
here the battle was for souls
or was it the offerings
strange swahili culture..
drinking strange palm wine..
such was the life at the coast
New friends trying to revert me to islam..
elders remmindim me not to forfeit..
the wisdom of our people..
borrowed clothes dont fit well..
and customs and traditions..
are the mirror of society..
No where were my beliefs challenged more..
they called me almukafirun...
i retaliated youre a zailim..
didnt we love the enlightening debate
softening of stands..
proponent and opponent reached common ground...
The bond of friendship and culture
breakin down- them
cultural religios barriers
friends and gal friends from all religions
people at the coast are very freindly
and salaams greetings a way of life..
Stories of jinn and black majic
we knew not to give much-
credence.. there of the disbelivers
we believed in the onness of the supreme..
debated on tenacles of faith..
for the bond of love runs deep
and the past is deep..
by lewis k nyaga
Once upon time's center
grows two permaculturing farmers,
multicultural mediators
of Earth's healthy polypathic remainder,
And, surrounding them,
seven elders
and their cheer leading mascot
of disabling foolery
Arriving each spring
in his wheeled chair
to witness
and sometimes loudly prophecy,
to entertain with his win/win intentions,
studying compassionate economics
and empowering politics
and enlightening neurological communion
v dissonance.
These aged and playful snowbirds
form a Wisdom Circle
conjoined by all farmers
Committed to Earth's health care
in humble Vermont neighborhood places
spaces balancing Green Lives Matter races
into organically interdependent co-investments.
This Circle plans cooperative gardens,
MultiCulturally designing
and redesigning shared outdoor climate spaces
in and on now abandoned places
they purchase together
to divest of Green Commons neglect
and invest in a local cooperatively-held enterprise
With land and water and healthy air-based capital
where patient customers
become curious partners
contributing cash
but also labor,
beauty
and nutritional equity,
gracious investment
and/or benignly viral infestment.
This Green Wisdom Circle
plants fruit and nut trees,
vegetables EarthMothers insist they eat
and would like as much as fruit sweet
if they remain of right/left balancing mind.
They plant hemp,
and make baskets
and yoga mats
during dispersed winters
into the retiring diaspora
season for planning futures
of health restoring EarthJustice.
Circles of weavers
and knitters
turn lambs
into shorn sheep
into yarn
into blankets
socks
sweaters
skullcaps
winter masks
with ear **** handles.
Eventually
this Circle will reincarnate Wisdom
into Fire Circles for compline meditations
and story telling
into Singing Circles
of care medication
for young through old,
for those present living now,
and here dead
and yet to arrive
within all sacred regenerating species,
Egos circling within ecosystems,
interweaving networks
of TruthSeeker Circles
sharing win/win BeautyVisions,
Communion Farming Centers
within nonviolent communication systems
for engaging nutritional health,
Sacred ZeroCore recovery Allies,
not Lone Warriors,
within Earth's fully present
compassionate
care giving as receiving
green old as new deal Circles.
Bring the Nzu and
Kola nut
Take it to the
stranger among us,
Let him kiss it and
be bless.
Let him rub the Nzu
on his arms then his
fore head.
It is our tradition
here not to neglect
A humble stranger in
our land.
We kiss suffering on
the lips, it harm us
not.
We measure our joy
with dance and
laughter.
pour the oil in the
calabash
Roast the yam and
break the kolanut,
Let the youngest
among us break and
share it.
Pour the dry gin on
the ground and bless
the gods
Our forefathers must
drink before we
taste ours
Angry will they be
if they taste not
the gin.
It is our tradition
here in Nkporoland.
The maiden must not
touch the raging
masquerade
Keep them afar off
from the here, let
them smell not of
it.
All the young men
must be present at
the Iza Afa festival
and then the young
women must not be
excluded from the
Igboto Nma festival
in the village
square.
When is the
initiation into the
masks spirit taken
place?
Warn all the young
men to partake, it
is our tradition
Never allow the she
goat deliver in
pain,
Go call the elders
to look after its
delivering.
The snake must never
be in group like the
beads
It is an abomination
not among the
tradition.
Gather the cowries
and the white chalk
and assemble the
youth in the shrine
Lets pour the goat
blood for the
sacrifices
The gos will hear us
this time after
We went astray from
it in foolishness.
Call on the widow
among us, i heard
there was one.
Her hair must be
Barbe thoroughly
She must bath and
drink the water used
on
Her deceased husband
bath.
The Umu Ada must be
there
It is the tradition
here.
Let the Umu Ada
check the maidens
Of their virginity
before they dance
Let them deep their
hands into the hole
One after the other
to check the fruits.
It is part of the
traditions.
The king must not
set his eyes on a
rotten
Shining meals which
are set for the
vultures.
Let not a child
whistles in the day
Let not a girl child
come out to the
Agbala naked
Under the initiation
in festival of
virginity.
We all must set the
tradition going
It is our right and
liberty to excel.
Neglect not the
wisdom of the elders
In his wisdom exist
pure and holy.
Our fore fathers
must be happy and
free
when we all observe
the traditions
Of Nkporoland in its
pure heart.
Life does not necessarily mature into timeless love,
just as yeast is not the entire evolutionary journey for bread,
and the Way may be part of, but not the entirety of,
the Beloved Community.
It is so interesting, for a nondualist at least,
that a profoundly radical Jewish teacher
would say He is the yeast
while We are the embodied bread;
He is the Way,
yet We are the Kingdoms and QueenEarth Shabbats at hand.
Then the men turn it around,
get it all dualistically, cause-effect backwards,
while the women probably knew this Messianic mentor
as bootstrapping our evolutionary fulfilling birthing process
of incoming and oncoming and ongoing cooperative co-messianism.
The patriarchs,
with theo-means not-ecological words in hand,
were too invested in their post-revolutionary need to distance themselves
from the then-powerful elitist threat of Judaic cultural power,
at least by comparison with their post-revolutionary
dualist-fundamentalist Either/Or departure
into before-Christ/after-Christ messianism-already-fulfilled
by the One
who taught himself as the intentional mentoring leaven,
and not the entire cooperative organic co-salvific loaf;
as the only Way He could speak of and for,
but not our entire EarthTribe Garden
of cooperative ecotherapeutic
co-redemptive messianism at hand.
Too bad the wives and mothers,
the nondualist gatherers and not so much the dualist hunters,
didn't have the education,
or perhaps even the verbal communication skills,
to write down their creolizing nondualist fulfillment narratives
of cooperative nurture,
to recall and cast a nondualist Messiah
who did not come to kill YHWH's Chosen People,
or His own culture,
the regenerative history flowing through his humane-divining
mindbody,
but to leaven with these Elders,
those who had no ecopolitical Win/Lose self-centered elitist hypocrisies
like the Pharisees and Sadduccees,
those who were not over-invested in the competitive change of Caesar's coin
from useful for cooperative consuming health
into iconic value-only for producing disembodied hoards of wealth,
and to leaven within us
as one continuously multiculturing
multigenerational
nondualistic-BothJewish/AndChristian
organic creolizing mindbody
of regenerative intention
and vast ecopolitically radical compassion;
like yeast evolving divinely humane bread.
In the heart of the forest, where shadows creep,
Where whispers of darkness bind all in sleep,
A tale unfolds, of a much-feared witch,
With eyes like the void and a malevolent twitch.
By the edge of the village, where children dare not play,
The elders recall what the old tomes say:
"To catch a witch, you must be brave,
And venture where the lost souls wave."
Gather 'round, young hearts of night,
With flickering candles that hold back the fright,
Listen closely to the words that bind,
For the witch, dear friends, is not far behind.
First, find a mirror, cracked and worn,
Reflects all your fears, where shadows are born.
At midnight's stroke, let your courage ignite,
For it's said she appears, in the pale silver light.
Mix salt with the ashes from last summer's fire,
Sprinkle it gently, let courage inspire.
For witches are drawn by the scent of despair,
But salt binds the spirits, keeps evil aware.
Next, weave a wreath of thorny vines,
Crimson and tangled, with signs of the times.
Place it upon your door with care,
For only the foolish would dare to compare.
Gather some friends, with hearts full of thrill,
For the witch feasts on fear, on dread, and on chill.
Hold hands in a circle, chant low and slow,
"Come forth from the darkness, oh spirit of woe."
If the air turns thick, if the shadows conspire,
If the howl of the wind begins to grow higher,
Know that she's coming, you'll sense her near,
With a laugh that could chill even the bravest of deer.
But do not be frightened, stand firm, stand tall,
For you’ve called her forth, now heed to the call.
With courage entwined and a dappled fright,
Face the dark force with all of your might.
And if you should glimpse her, with warts and with claws,
With a grin sharp as knives and a rancid breath’s jaws,
Do not look away, hold your gaze steady and true,
For witches can vanish, if they see fear in you.
As dawn paints the sky with a whisper of gold,
Wrap her in silver, let her secrets unfold.
In shadows she lingers, but power you'll find,
For wits and the brave can leave her behind.
So, heed this advice, young hearts of the night,
For the witch is a puzzle wrapped tight in your fright.
With a mixture of courage and wisdom so bright,
You'll catch her but remember: never leave out the light.
"Systems ecology recognizes that stable conditions
give advantage to highly specialized [yet cooperative] species,
but that changing conditions
favour species known as [cooperative] generalists
that can adapt to different food,
habitat,
or [and] other factors." David Holmgren, Permaculture, p. 63
Socially healthy humans
have become
and come from
cooperative generalists
as we remain communication generalists
as we articulate being and becoming
healthy-wealthy regenerative generalists,
acting co-redemptively cooperative,
which economists define as co-invested cooperative,
and Christians delineate as co-redeemer cooperative politics,
which is also co-messianic,
which is also Earth's EcoMessianic Vocation
to become fully humane,
among Earth's Beloved MultiCulturing Communities,
cooperatively owned
and Golden Rule governing
as One CoMessianic Body.
Perhaps it is the ecological conclusion of PermaCulture Design
to believe in Earth and all inhabitants thereof
as One Messianic Body
as also well captured in the Bodhisattva nurturing tradition,
and other religious stories and themes
in which humans are seen as most fully human
as we become actively cooperative co-redeemers;
a people,
and individual persons,
who are of people now gone
who are for people and all creation here and not yet here
on Earth,
to co-invest,
co-redeem our grace as WinWin cooperators,
and not so much competitive divestors of capital treasures
hoarded for individualistic futures
or even for one's own direct patriarchal//matriarchal line
of future co-regenerators.
Seen this way,
this One Body Messianic
includes all those exposed to wisdom teachings,
whether scriptural
or mentored by healthy Elders,
and, even better,
by both,
living within Earth's natural-spiritual multiculturing Beloved Communities.
Meanwhile,
whether using a secular LeftBrain lens
or a sacred Elder RightBrain frame of BothAnd
bilateral heuristics,
we have and are two types of ecopolitical beings,
and becomings,
both socially cooperative
and anti-socially competitive.
We host daily and nightly lives
lived and dreamed
somewhere in-between all Yin Cooperative
and all Yang MonoCulturing.
But, redemption
remains in appositional tension with competition's divestment,
regardless of which economy
you choose,
and has chosen you.
I`ll never understand why people throw love around like its nothin'
I've watched the poorest person turn it into somethin' .
What once was ugly and bitter was now full of soul,
She filled the void till it was completely full.
Nothing prevented her from standing her ground,
In all her love is where she was profound.
Anything that tore her down only built her back up,
She knew the true meaning of true love.
Anyone who doubted her was always ignored,
She knew thats what the past was for.
The only time she looked down was when she prayed,
Prayed for this true love never to fade.
The only time she cried was when they were tears of joy,
Knowing the happiness has villed her void.
This love made her proud, it made her strong,
It did everything for her to move along.
People were intimidated by such strong emotion,
They did everything they could to stop her from motion.
She never looked back, only to say goodbye,
They not only waved but they surely asked why.
Her simple reply was because its only her love that matters,
Theres beauty in her even though shes shattered.
The people were amazed so they opened their hearts,
Welcomed their loved ones with wide open arms.
They spread the joy like uncontrollable wildfire,
Now it is only love in which everyone will desire.
If only life could actually be like this today,
There'd be no greed, there would be no hate.
Nobody would have to suffer anymore,
Everyone gets a house with a beautiful door.
No more starving children dying,
No more will our mothers be crying.
Money wouldnt matter because everyone lives equally,
No more media telling us whats beautiful and whats ugly.
The world would be one big family like the creator intended,
Our sins could be forgiven because our enemies we befriended.
But if we learned to care just a little bit each day,
We could make a difference in even the things we say.
A simple smile could stretch as far as the stars,
Its the good deeds that help us make it far.
Learn to forgive, learn to forget,
Live your life with no regrets.
Tell your mother that you love her,
Spend some time with your sister or your brother.
Help your elders, no matter the race,
Always put a smile on a childs face.
But most importantly, learn to love yourself,
Nobody can do that better, gauranteed, nobody else!
By: Dorothy Dawn Robinson
We Are One
Dear Ancient Sister
I hear your distant calls finding me on a gentle breeze
You have lived in my dreams for many seasons
My voice
Your voice
My soul
Your soul
And our Coming of Age
I have always known you...
I have heard your
Quiet whispers echoing in
The night coming close to me
I call to you ...
Let me be a part of your breath
I have always known your wounds and sorrow
I see the light and magic in your eyes...
The pain you carry so eloquently
I see your reflection in the clouds above
Carrying your soul wound on your sleeve
I see the deep crevasses and lines
In your grandmother’s hands
I hear the secrets beneath the earth of
Your grandfather’s footsteps
I see your reflection in the twilight
Of the evening... against pink watermelon hills
Your voice beckoning me onward closer to you
I see you in the moon and stars
Your buckskin dress adorned with
Ceremonial beads
Abalone shell against your forehead
The dirt beneath your moccasins
Grateful for the kiss of your dancing feet
I hear the echo in the distance of songs
The Elders sang...
During their passage here
You are born into a woman
Before my eyes and heart
Before your tribe
Before nature
A wise new feline
A mystical power with endless allure
A force that lifts and unites us all
As one
Your rays blessing us and leaving
A welcome imprint on our hearts
My Ancient sister
I drink in your wisdom and grace
I fly on your wings
You have shown me your world
Watching you dance
Becoming you for moments in time
Your silhouette etched by
The wild flames behind you
A glow radiating into
The night sky
The stories of your Ancestors
Filling the air with
Words and lessons and song
Notes sung into clenched fists
With bloodstained hands
The children and animals
Sensing all that was
And all that will ever be...
The call of a distant bird
The thumping of your cane on
The hungry earth
Keeping time with
The movements of your body
You will look back on this
Day as you walk with the
Same cane down the path of
Old Age...
Your wisdom
Cupping your heart gently
Ancient Sister of mine
I am in gratitude for
Your strength and courage
The kiss of your words and
The teardrops of your loss
Susan Lawrence
Copyright 2020
Original Artwork
Susan Lawrence