The river and the almond tree
are sacred totems for me.
They occupy primal ground
in my mind where the stuff
of who I am links
the esoteric to my history.
I keep them close, hidden from
the scoff of everyday me,
dread warden of fact
and skeptical of what strays
from the reach of materiality.
I come out at night to bathe
in the river and pick plump almonds
from the almond tree.
They nourish the inhabitants
of that inner world who compose
symphonies from the light
of stars and shape words
seeking a moment for them
to take breath in my poetry.
Categories:
totems, history, muse, mystery,
Form: Free verse
Lakeside, among the rustling reeds,
there is a whir and stir, whisks of motion
swish and ruffle.
Yellow Jackets, dragonflies, and Yellow Tailed fritillaries
vie for space in the sultry air.
The water though is still,
a mirror turned over for the sun to peer through.
In the glassy water a day-dreaming vision surfaces,
I see the animals;
they are neither in the water or out of it.
They skim between worlds, observe with wide eyes;
owls, bears, racoons, and Bob Cats
all observing.
It comes to me that they are totem creatures
spirits and guardians of the living.
Familial ties keep them close; they walk a life-path with us.
All this seen in the gloss of the still lake,
in the dazzle and glaze reflected there.
The formless taking shape, ghosts within ghosts
that follow me when I leave.
Journeying on, they gradually fade to invisibility,
all but one,
my own totem stays, and is with me now
as I write this down,
yet I will not name that one, not under
this or any other sun that haunts the daylight.
Categories:
totems, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Lakeside, among the dripping weeds,
Yellow Jackets, Dragonflies, gnats,
and Yellow Tailed fritillaries
vie for air space.
The water is still, a mirror
turned over to watch
what flies beneath it.
It has a surface tension
that echo’s from an in-between place,
close but unreachable.
It is there that I see the animals.
They are neither in the water or out of it.
They are peering into both worlds,
observing with wide eyes,
owls, bears, and bob cats,
all observing
my reflected face in the water.
They are totem animals,
not mine, perhaps they are
unclaimed spirit creatures,
ones ignored by their humans.
or perhaps what I am seeing
is only my face distorted by sunlight
and the skimming clouds
If so, why does my own totem eagle
screech a welcome
that scatters the Yellow Jackets,
Dragonflies, gnats, and butterflies?
Categories:
totems, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I almost see the totem animals.
an almost place, placed before my eyes,
this morn-flushed day.
The red sky that charged the horizon
is shading to flamingo pink.
The storm must have lost its wings.
The light is tattered, but it plumes now
with the floss of broken clouds.
Lakeside, among the dripping weeds,
Yellow Jackets, Dragonflies,
and Yellow Tailed fritillaries
vie for air space.
The water is still, a mirror
turned over to watch
what reflections fly beneath it.
It is there that I see the animals.
They are neither in the water or out of it.
They skim, peering into both,
they observe with wide eyes,
owls, bears, racoons, and Bob Cats,
all observing.
They are the aliens now, and we the
spirits of water and air.
The totem animals, sniff, and eye us
as parents or guardians would.
Familial ties keep them close,
as they feel-out each life-path,
then following, but at a distance
always at a distance, for they possess
this hinterland amidst the glaze
of our daydreams.
A surface tension that echoes
the nearness of water and sky,
yet from an in-between place,
close, yet so far away.
Categories:
totems, poetry,
Form: Free verse
In fevered mornings, the salted sky
has halfway birthed her fiery sun.
All day the houses will guard the sea
with totems of windsocks and briny shells:
a foamy shoreline where bones of
dreams and shards of thoughts
are laid to rest, reclaiming the child
you were, spread-eagled, creature
to God, God to creature.
Categories:
totems, environment,
Form: Blank verse
Totems of What If
Can we ever escape
that which we create
but often choose to ignore
Like the mismatched rocks of a cairn
random choice is not an option
complimenting shapes and sizes
make up one's balance
one's direction
one's harmony
Yet some
Aspiring high rise urban dwellers
live a rock steel and glass totem life
stacking mismatched building blocks
like mutated animal lineage not of the fittest
unknowingly making unbalanced direction
even while gasping air to defy their self-made reality
Might they be destined to realize a primeval demise
like a surreal incarnation atop modern scaffold
where ghostly burial rites of Great Plains nomadic tribes
wait to happen
Can primitive wisdom ever penetrate assumed importance
before the inverted vortex of tumbling balance
consumes itself atop the rising funnel of ignorance
distilling the wrongs of misbegotten power
to but sand kernels of infinity's hourglass
Such might be the destiny of man's innate totems
the unique building blocks that make us the species we are
while stealthily we try desperately to become a species we are not
Categories:
totems, hope,
Form: Free verse
As the sky turned dark
The elders knew a storm was coming
The totems in the graveyard were swaying
To the song the wind was humming
The old men could remember well
The storms of long ago
And they would tell the stories
So the young ones would know
"Don't forget," they would say
Make the totems strong
For they must stand forever
Through all the storms that come along"
When the skies cleared, the sun came out
And there the totems stood
Protecting those in the graveyard
With the magic carved into their wood Vernette Hutcherson 8-16-11
Categories:
totems, native american,
Form: Rhyme
Totems in the sky, they deaden the night
Barricading the stars, no sign of light
Clouds of grey, quickly bringing dismay
A message from above; will this be the day
I pray for the sun to chase them away
I beg them to leave, but they chose to stay
Moving sluggishly, so slowly, they terrify me
I’ve pondered their gloom, the pure mystery
What lies behind them, what lies within?
Do they carry iniquities, are they wrapped in our sin
They unease my soul; frighten me to the bone
Perhaps their true meaning will forever be unknown
Chiquita Baity
August 14, 2011
Contest Name Totems in the Darkening Sky
Sponsor Francine Roberts
Categories:
totems, angst, mystery,
Form: Rhyme
The honored dead lie in their graves
Silent beneath the sky
Storm clouds billow like threatening waves
The wind begins to sigh
Darkness falls o’er this resting place
Slowly the clouds descend
Totems stand with majestic grace
With strength that storms won’t bend
The Totems tell of noble lives
Of those who now are dead
They speak with pride and not with cries
No tears need now be shed
The spirits of the dead still live
Within the hearts of all
Strength and hope and peace they give
Beneath the Totems tall
by Steven Mossburg 8-13-11
Categories:
totems, death, inspirational, life,
Form: Rhyme
The story goes; there was a sacrifice in the graveyard hundreds of years ago.
A man had done wrong and tarnished the name of his own.
The woman would take no bribe.
So together they died.
Walking through the grave yard in the dead of the night.
Stepping on the corpse of the dead no longer alive.
Reading the names of those who died and were sacrificed.
Storm clouds rolling in blanketing the darkened sky.
Remembering the stories that were told
of the secrets the totem poles hold.
Will we ever know what the totem poles have to tell?
As we stand here in the middle of hell.
by Cory long
Categories:
totems, life,
Form: Rhyme