Long The crane Poems
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I feel I must put this experience out there.
This took place about ten years ago in my room while meditating.
(Whilst in a trance-like state) I looked up facing the sunrise through a great trilithon, I was at Stonehenge. As I walked through the huge trilithon, I turned my head back to see a great Owl perched on top of the archway I just came through. Which I found quite odd, considering that I have no affiliation with them. Then turning back to the right of me I could see my spirit Wolf pacing nervously outside another great trilithon staring directly at me.
Turning now to the near centre, a hooded black cloaked figure appeared to emerge from a green fire in the centre.
All I could see of his face was his old grey chin. But what happened next astounded me. Telepathically, I spoke directly into his mind saying, "what do you want?" He laughed replying, (into my head) "is not the question what do you want?" Then I laughed saying, "I want to be the best Shaman I can be." With that, he drew up his right arm, palm down holding something. So I, in turn, placed out my right-hand palm up and he placed a little leather pouch in it. systematically, I raised my hand up to my heart and the bag went in. I thanked him and turned around and left. Never did catch his name or meet him again. But I now carry the Crane-Bag.
Update: since this experience, I have recently developed AF, (atrial fibrillation) so make of that what you will. But I still maintain that my heart is good.
Also, found out later that The green Flame is the Flame of balance and Truth. It leads to analysis and development of ideas, especially Divine ideas and impulses that have been conceived in the First Ray of the Blue Flame. Those ideas ultimately and inevitably produce wisdom and light.
Second update: funny, now after an ablation my heart is fine.
Now I know for sure that he was looking out for me.
I know the Bear.
watcher, courage
unpredict(ability)
I know the Snake.
wisdom of initiation
I know the Wolf.
I know a pack of 'em.
loyalty, intuition
I know the Spider,
though I pretend
I don't.
shadows, communication
I know the Owl,
or, I pretend
I do.
insight, clairvoyance
I even know the Fox.
(I may be the Fox.)
cunning, hidden
messenger
I know the Bobcat, the Alligator.
patience, revenge
and other far-off
Beings, lost to this
space, but not lost
on me, not lost to me.
I know the Bat.
secrets, longevity
I know the Cougar.
So well that I call her,
not by her first name but,
the First Peoples' names:
I call her Catamount/Painter/Puma/
I call her Panther/Mountain Screamer/
I call her Amigo da Onça
foresight, leadership
silence, patience
I know the Coyote, the Crane.
ingenuity and folly; vigilance and independence
I know the Heron, the Lynx.
self-reliance, balance
guardian, listener, guide
And each of these,
each Medicine
each is prayed for
and each preys on
each arrives from
some inchoate world
(land? sky?)
beyond all sight.
An answered wish,
a plea,
a demand.
And each, a predator.
One who wrings life
from flesh
that it might deliver its
song, its dance of Medicine
to one so foolish as
me.
and yet the Hawk,
I see today,
though predator,
is the Medicine of
Solitude.
Near enough,
Far enough.
Alone enough,
apart enough.
a lone Alone.
Hawk
Arc
Lofted.
Lifted.
Hawk.
Medicine.
Alone among...
Denadagohvyu
If I should find a Butterfly,
Neath the Willow tree,
I’d recall how she’d been an ugly bug,
But now a wondrous, sight to see.
If I could talk to a Dragonfly,
Hovering by the water spring,
We’d talk of flight so graceful,
and life, on gossamer wing.
If I look upon the Crane fly,
Attracted by the light,
His giant wings are flapping,
In a transient, short-lived fight.
If I might walk with a Firefly,
In the twilight time of day,
This tiny insect with belly aglow,
Will help, to light my way.
If I sat down with the Mayfly,
As she skims the river flow,
Applaud her airborne gymnastics,
While life all around, moves slow.
If I should see the Damselfly,
Resting on a leaf by a pond,
I’d remark at his long red body,
At one, with nature and their bond
All birds are the same.
The Raven. A stereotypical malevolent guide,
Seeking the souls of all those who hide.
The Crow. A rogue of master disguise,
Leading all the wicked to their inevitable demise.
The Vulture. A scavenger of pain,
Who looks for sin in order to gain.
Now these are the birds,
Who swim in tears,
But are these the only birds,
Whom we should fear?
The Swan. Thought to be calm and white.
A swan, who strikes deceitfully at night.
The Dove. So peaceful and pure.
A dove, who lets evil endure.
The Crane. A bird of passive flight
A crane, with the most vicious bite.
So, when you relax, and close your eyes.
Right under the bright blue skies,
The birds will come, and mute your cries,
The birds will come, for your demise.
All birds are the same.
High above gray Manhattan’s marge,
‘Midst toothsome towers in the sky,
A construction crane there looms large,
Dwarfing the crowds of passersby.
A new building grows, rising high,
Clouding another patch of sky.
A tower for trade will arrive
Where businesses may fail or thrive.
An unsung Mohawk warrior,
And an iron-ribbed Spartan crane,
Raising stanchions; bolting girders,
Work in harmony on the frame.
Clutching the cables of the crane,
Beam rider goes where most aren’t fain;
Riding angled steel slabs, held tight,
High aloft, nearly out of sight.
In their union, we may marvel:
From out of an architect’s dreams,
Row by row; level by level,
They unfold a right-angled frame.
And when the beam rider has gone,
Who will recall his days bygone?
For those who make real others’ dreams,
That is the way it goes, it seems.
BORROW MY FINGERS’ VOICE
. . . . .` ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ . . . . .
could you, Monet...borrow my fingers’ voice
as my desire runs through your pastel bones?
and in your artist’s blood i mix...by choice
the oiled smudge of me in these dusking tones
through joys and moans, is there time to rejoice,
to sketch love’s hand, though inks plummet as stones?
on canvas, a trace of me will remain
i am the sky, the elements, the crane
ottava rima
all rights reserved
©
--for Brian Strand’s Any 2,4,6 or 8line form—
-- by nette onclaud
An energetic wedge of blue cranes doing mating dances
entered into Little Bear’s dream state without warning
Are they my totem? My spiritual advisors? My power animals?
He believed in such things, being Navaho.
He asked the revered shaman for advice
The crane will bring you luck and fortune
You will succeed where others have failed.
Keep him; he will teach you to prioritize.
The blue crane specifically will bring you peace.
Teach you to meditate, and be mindful.
You will better listen to the universe.
She is always speaking.
Little Bear had always been cheerful,
But this dream uplifted his heart.
Made him incredibly joyful.
He was a changed brave.
First came a moon
Then it was the second
Words called me night and noon
Pink pearls of passion
First it tasted blue
Then as birds joined the moon
Your love in view
Oranges in dune
Shadow in the tea
Your chiselled poems
Crazily desiring me
Your lovely haemoglobins
I gaze at the crane
Flying in the blue
Lovely coloured rain
Angelina in queue
They come and hold my hand
Lead me to the colour
Both bright and bland
I cannot but love her
These moon gathering sessions
Of the practiced passion
These smelling obsessions
Of your rhododendrons
Are my moons in your smile
Of the poetry on your lip
Like the river Nile
A twilight in my ship
_____________________________________
14/11/2016
Contest: Practiced Passion
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
As apes that muddled the streams rather than quenching their thirst
Pharisees went to the temple for mischief; not to pray.
Like death-stalker scorpions, in stinging, they were well-versed
In the man with a drooped hand, the predators found their prey.
Compassion, like nectar from the herb, dripped from Jesus.
He saw the withered-handed, by psychic worries, stranded
Empowered by the heavens, to reform the egregious
To him, to stretch his hand, he compassionately commanded
The hypocrites, as though the crane that found a fish, arose
They brought the Sabbath laws that stood always with them, like guards.
They shot allegations at Jesus like brutish arrows.
With a sun-lit smile, he looked at them with loving regards
Do not clog the flow of the streams of love of the divine.
Isn't abundance of love, the divinity's design?
one day the flightless peacock
got a message from above
and when it filled his heart
he gave the message to a dove
when he received it he knew it was true
this was something special
and to all the world it should be flew
the dove gave it to a crane
and the crane gave it to a duck
which went south for the winter
where the message was also brought
but then the dragon got word
and he didn't like it at all
he flew around the world
saying the message was false
but all the birds knew it
and the woodpecker too
the message of God's love
is very, very true
(This goes with a presentation of origami birds and a dragon that can flap their wings.)