Long Mesas Poems
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Stair to Heaven
A spiral stair comes in pieces.
About one thousand to be sure.
It is a very large box indeed,
and weighs about 400 pounds.
Do not tell the man accidentally;
to put it in the wrong place.
You will be sorry.
Pulled out and counted,
seven shades of black,
shiny and beautiful.
The entrance off the bedroom,
of a place called;
The Tree House.
It is a crazy home,
with five or maybe six different levels.
Few can say, and few have said.
All the many windows lookout,
on to the mesas of the high mountains,
the rolling hills in the distance,
and the wild desert there beyond.
Soon the circle will be complete,
minutes turned into hours,
turned into days,
but worth every one.
Walking out now from the door,
looking out onto historic yesterday,
a formal invitation is given.
Come, see the stars...
and call them by name.
Dance all night on the roof.
The coyotes will howl,
the party will go...
way past dawn.
your eyes, black diamonds as dark and potent as your soul
your skin, the color of your sandstone mesas
your hair, a sacred silky, shiny, black mane
stranded with blue lapis, white shell, and red corral
Navajo princess with your big burning heart
full of Native sorrow
generation after generation
of poverty, degradation and shame,
opportunity stolen before your ancestors were born
your reservation a waste of stray dogs, alcoholism and dirty water
you
are the most beautiful woman I know
beauty far deeper than your warm terracotta skin
I fall into the abysmal depth of your eyes
into such strong medicine
that in conquering you, I am conquered like Custer's last stand
and lowered a realm or two
...a holy healing realm
or two
where I see
all that lies before and after
you
you are your beautiful people, you are your wasted land and all its shame
you are
your eyes
when I gaze into the glittering dark realm above
your eyes are all I see
"the brain is wider than the sky" said Emily *
but the windows of your soul
contain the whole multitude of universes
inhabited by every bit of joy and sorrow
dark-souled
Navajo
princess
you are more, more than all of them
so much more than this world
the drums are drumming a sacred beat
and Dancing Bear moves the spirit world
the bells your feet ring
and the feathers your limbs flutter
tell the greatest of the great spirits
about this hell on earth
make the sky listen, make the wind obey
make the way even
there is no time (and never was)
for anyone to escape these words
It falls and rises again
again and again and again
dark-souled
Navajo
princess
knows
Dark thunderclouds hover uneasily
over the red mesas and arroyos.
I can feel the tingling sensation of
charged air, an unnatural quiet
as the thick, humid air seems to
catch its breath, anticipating.
Suddenly the landscape is overwhelmed
by electric white veins of lightening
that flash and spread like roots
shooting down towards the desert floor.
Urgent rumblings reverberate
under my feet as I anticipate
the loud claps of thunder to follow.
Large, beaded raindrops, lukewarm
begin to drop steadily onto the dry
dusty terrain, marking the sandy soil
causing plants to rise up like
excited exclamation points.
I savor the moment, relishing
in the wonder of nature's drama
admiring the intense power I see
feeling reinvigorated and renewed
in body, mind, soul and spirit.
Written on 8/10/2016
IV. Interconnected Web
Teach your children the ethos of
the rampart-
of the earth under their feet.
Is it more than just soil? It's heaven —
The Chosen Hallowed Retreat
Where we connect
For you must see life as fully rich with
the resounding vibrations of our
kindred lives on this sacred earth.
Our temporary home.
For whatever happens to her
happens to our kindred race.
All life is connected. Wouldn't you agree?
For all life is like
blood that unites a family,
by a process of no creation.
For there is no division. One must see
Humanity and other forms of life
are knitted together...
by the fabric of existence.
Which are only a part of
circle of life cycle.
Each time we do, we are getting
our bodies intertwined.
Just like the Hopi who revere sacred mesas,
we must honor our...
Ancestral wisdom -
winding through desert canyons.
A sacred thread is planting -
our stories into the mother land.
Into the wind-carved rocks' etched. In coyotes'...
starry night songs!
We hear earth's eternal rhythms,
guiding us along.
Feel the warmth of the sun-soaked soil
beneath bare feet.
Perhaps, the cool, refreshing
touch of mountain -
stream water.
Let us smell the wild sage carried on
a gentle breeze.
And hear the wind swept leaves of
ancient trees.
In these moments, we connect to
the heartbeat of the earth.
As Katsina spirits teach through
their dances that
We are temporary guests
on this sacred land.
Yes, stewards of its beauty, bounty,
and balance. —
Our legacy layered by our
own deeds' hands.
Through each mindful step and every
gentle touch
We praise and honor
the interconnectedness web of life.
So Must Stop! and ask:
How now can we translate this
intimate and spiritual connection into
a harmonic coexistence and illiminate
the discordant strife?
My family spoke two languages
I’m not the same
Results came in still thankless
Feels weird to be diagnosed anxious
Results so plain
I’m still hiding under several blankets
I ain’t sleeping
Then several days went
The same waste stays
Can’t clean when I’m chained by the anklets
Godsent prayers came in graceless
Repetitious technique chased off my basis
I’m jealous of the mares who run the Mesas
Too free to worry if we’re Serbian or Croatians
Expelled air
Pollution of the body left me breathless
I’m no better
Than shoot us in the feet
Allusion of me to embarrass the lesser
That’s no lesson
TODAY
Black Elk said: "A peoples' dream died there... it was a beautiful dream. The Nation's hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the Sacred Tree is dead."
The People were not taken up,
Nor did they die.
They lingered through time and the march of Progress,
As most fell into step, shedding all they'd been,
To drift along with the tide.
But for the many who held on in the Feverland,
Where change came slowly, if at all,
Their wrinkles grew deeper, eyes clouding
Likes skies heavy with storm,
Visions wavering ephemerally,
Seeing like ghosts,
Becoming ghosts.
Their dream is long dead
But the memory of it lingers smoldering
As unquiet ashes in unsteady hearts.
In the quiet of the blackest nights,
Or in the stillness that precedes the dawn,
If one listens closely, with committed heart
One may hear faint echoes
Like the cries of some bird
Unimaginably distant.
The fire is out, only hope goes on smoking
As ever, the last ember to die.
The old gaze out onto the mesas,
Watching the sun paint them red as it sets,
Listening the while for other sounds from other times,
Dreaming sweet dreams when they doze.
When the rare rains fall,
Settling the choking dust,
Some who went to the White Schools remember
The shortest verse of the White Man's Book:
Jesus wept.
Does He weep now, supplicant before His Father's throne?
Imploring mercy for His adopted Brothers,
Betrayed as He was Himself betrayed?
Are these drops from the sky His tears,
Or only rain?
The old men,
Less learned,
Ponder this verse of their own:
The old men
Say
The Earth only
Endures.
You spoke truly,
You are right.
Wapiti
Beneath the mesas rough terrain
White snow lies gentle on an open plain
A black elk herd
Lift their heads to the firebird’s cry
Lift their legs and run to the southern sky
Wapiti
A mother pleads for her child, in sorrow and rage
The heart of her life placed like an animal in a cage
I do not feel her pain, though it seems that I should
Relieve her of her pain
You who capitalized on our grief
You brought no comfort no relief
Against the progressive march of time
You deliberate for decline
It is a weakness you define
That we must overcome, overcome
Fan the flame, your time has come
Warriors of the golden sun
Medicine man
Shake the fear from the cold and frozen land
Shake the fear from the cold and frozen land
Wapiti
You are the breath of death, you are nuclear waste,
You are the infection streaming from a wound
You are the godless one, without conscience
In the life beyond life, what you may call hell
The ones you caused to suffer, will suffer you as well
Will scream and rage inside of you, and there will be no escape.
All you will know is their pain, their grief their rage
All you will feel is their pain and there will be no escape
You who plundered sacred ground
Defiled the air with your double tongue
Those who feed your potentate
Now stand ambivalent at the gate
Soon will leave you to your fate
And the furies will come, they will come!
Fan the flame, your time has come
Warriors of the golden sun
Medicine man
Shake the fear from the cold and frozen land
Shake the fear from the cold and frozen land
Wapiti
Have seen an utopian lane, amidst the thicket, latent In the abode of the clouds, in the lap of the tranquil wilderness, far far away from the mundane mist!
A wheezing sparsely inhabited hamlet, Khonoma, a centuries- old settlement, so green, so serene!
Its' pristine unsullied views, lush wilderness, verdant bushes, aromatic wild blooms, resplendent orchids, rippling rills, are untouched and sacred!
The Angami tribes, the thorpes' dwellers lead an uncustomary simple life, crammed with ancient, timeless traditions and practices, with nature's absolute accord!
The unique panaromic cultivation practice, terrace farming, sprawling on the slopes makes the very sight elating!
Look, the remote richest biodiversity region is twirling with the endemic scented native flora and fauna, the boscage are cramming with untamed wild colourful fruits!
The revered cultural bird, the grey-billed Tragpon, is intoning from the bushes, making the milieu frolic!
Myriads of colourful birds are migrating to nestle in the sacred bushes of the mystic rills!
The pellucid drops from the misty mesas of nearby cascades are playing with the colourful pebbles!
Far from the pandemic, the cherubic hilly terrain is bustling with cerulean rills, shrouded by tropical rain forests and stepped paddy fields!
How finite are the rustic folks' wants and needs, the primitive shanties to dwell, the crystal cascades to quench, the crops of the golden fields to feed the mouths, the vibrant fiestas with nature's changing seasons to celebrate!
A paragon of men and nature in absolute harmony, is lying placidly, the transcendental picturesque tableland, Khonoma, the wheezing green hamlet, an utopia untrodden to bless the naive natives of the far flung highland!
" Sometimes in quest of no man's Utopia, we may miss the existing unleashed Utopia in proximity, yet untrodden " Quote by poet
November 11th 2021
Contest: " U" contest, New Poems Only
Sponsored by: Constane La France
Dame algo de comer
Que no me de con tocer
Ni de tornudar
Tan solo pido un bocadillo de tu ternura!
No me traigas bochinches ni chisme
Dame – en vez – algo de que reirme,
Una palabra de aliento
Para mi alma sediento
De un alimento nutritivo
De cucharadas de ánimo y motivo!
Sediente estoy en ek mundo
Que se complace mantenerse sin rumbo!
Me causa gastritis y nausea
Los pleitos y contiendas que no toman pausa!
Fulano peleado con Sutano
Y Berenicia de novia con el Cirujano!
El mundo sigue siendo mundo
Y el bochinche continua rodeando con Reymundo
Cuando es Reymundo quien debería haber saberlo
Antes de todo, primero!
Pláticas negativas desalienta mi ser,
Debilita mi s fuerzas y afloja mi poder.
Me aíro con los aíradores
Y, de repente, me junto con los colaboradores
Si no me cuido de los que bochinchan
Y de aquellos que chismean con sus opiniones.
Tirada y pisoteada, me encuebtro en el suelo
Sin un Buen Samaritano que me eleve hacia el Cielo
Para estirar mis alas con nuevas fuerzas
Y me ayude enderezar mis propias mesas
Al ponerlo todo bajo una perspectiva
Nada mas que positiva!
Hambrienta y sedienta estoy yo todos los días!
Bríndame pan y no de migajas – ni tuyas ni mias
No me cuentes del hermano ni del vecino
Ni de la familia ni siquiera de tu hijo
Pídeme pan y te alimentaré
De mi mesa – a tu orden – hasta llegar la lobreguez….??
Dihing, adjoining borderline with Arunachal, on the foothills of mighty Patkai,
In the encircling mesas of terrestrial plains of high altitudes,
lies the Assam Valley's tropical wet evergreen forests,
Named after its thick density of trees and profuse diverse ecology,
the Amazon of the East, the Dehing- Patkai Wildlife Sanctuary.
An abode to the myriad of endangered species, copious floras and faunas, a hotspot, the zone of world's richest biodiversity.
As amazing as Amazon's tropical forests, dark and dense:
The country's lungs like last lowland the evergreen rainforest.
Where the tallest of the tall trees with creepers are competing
for the sunlight forming greenish lavish canopies.
There, the animal kingdom awakens, whoops;
When the light falls, fathoming the density, filters in
The floras with the exotic species: orchids, lianas, epiphytes, are sparse and unique,
The faunas endless, the sole quirky reserve in the country with its' lush evergreen ecological system.
Nestled amidst the most picturesque valleys and hills,
Is reclining the lungs of the congenial climate for survival, of the region
A celestial abode on earth of the rarest IUCN red listed, on the verge of extinct species,
TheDehing Patkai, the richest part of the Sub-Himalayan region, a major carbon sink ecosystem.
.
The Amazon of the East, with its sacred biodiversity hotspot,
is apprehensive of it's extinction
As the relentless injudicious mining and digging,
Has taken away the pulses of the oxygen feeding lush terrain,
Imagine a world devoid of rainforests, where we need to carry oxygen tanks, the most unfortunate substitution!
It's sending signals after signals not to play with its' immensely diverse tropical bio- canopy region;
To save the last remaining unparalleled foliage, affluent lowland from excision!
As no amount of wealth will be enough to save us from the impending outcomes of destruction,
Pivotal to rescue and redeem the Amazon of the East;
the tropical evergreen Dehing -Patkai reserve, the richest rainforest of the region!