Sunday, April 21, 2019

Three Tanka

Today - a link to the Winnipeg Free Press special section celebrating National Poetry Month.  Twelve poems were chosen from an open call for submission.  Mine, Three Tanka, was published in Saturday's paper. 

https://www.winnipegfreepress.com/arts-and-life/entertainment/books/sowing-seeds-508758192.html


Sunday, April 7, 2019

Beaver and Muskrat


April 7, 2019
Prompt- Jealousy

Beaver and Muskrat

There was a time in the beginning when Muskrat had
a fine flat tail, wide enough to sound a—Splash!—and
cause all other creatures of the pond and forest to stop
and look in his direction, and offer him a word of praise.

At this same time Beaver wore a straight and narrow tail,
quite like that of Brother Rat, whom no one cared at all
to watch as he scuttled about his business each night,
beady eyes hidden beneath leaf litter on the forest floor.

And, Beaver wanted that tail for himself!  He thought,
“My coat shines with the smoothest and most beautiful
fur, but no one stops to look at me as I build my dams.
If I had that fine flat tail, I would receive the attention

I deserve!” So, Beaver called out, “Brother Muskrat!
Dear little brother, come visit me in my dam so that
I can admire your fine flat tail!”  Once in Beaver’s dam,
Beaver begged and pleaded with Muskrat to trade tails

and would not let him leave until Muskrat finally agreed
to let Beaver wear his tail to see how it felt.  Immediately,
Beaver swam to the surface of the pond and slapped
his new tail hard against the water—Splash!—making such

a sound that all the other creatures noticed, and wind carried it
all the way to the human village a long distance away.  The
men of the village said, “Let us go to see what creature makes
this sound!” and when they arrived at the pond to see Beaver,

with his most beautiful shiny fur and fine flat tail they said,
“Beaver’s coat is the finest we’ve seen.  We must use his fur
to adorn our parkas and mukluks and keep us warm at night!”
So they laid traps, and that was the end of Beaver’s jealousy.
                                           —based upon an Ojibwe legend

Saturday, April 6, 2019

April 6, 2019

Prompt - After _______

After All

After the airplane landed we watched
the Indian Agents with their lists go
walking to the village, and we sent
our children to hide down by the lake
where the young saplings grow thick
saying, “do not come back until it is
dark, after these men have left.”  We
saw our children go instead to the dock
where sweets were handed out and
children who were good could fly
like an eagle In an airplane and after, 
come back home for dinner.
It was silent in the village after the
children left, and after that, there was
nothing after all.

Friday, April 5, 2019

Stolen

April 5, 2019 - prompt is to write a "Stolen" poem

Stolen

These are not my words, not my voice
that speaks them.  No longer can I hear
the songs my mother sang, collecting
berries for the pemican she’d make
when winds turned cold, skies churning.

My moccasins have disappeared.  My
feet no longer feel the land beneath them.
I dance no more to drumbeats and I fear
that Mother Earth herself has died without
Her heartbeat carried by the drummers.

If I were to find a stream or river, I would
look to see if my reflection still remained.
Perhaps that, too, has disappeared.  I’m
nothing but a spirit left behind, afraid to
walk among the dead who still reside here.

Emily Carr

April 4, 2019 - the prompt was to chose the name of a painter as the title of the poem

Emily Carr

Big Raven stands on ancient lands.
The skies fly down to meet him and
vegetation curls round his pillar feet.

He watches as the village empties,
the children led away to schools far
from home where mother tongue’s

forbidden.  Forgotten are the early
days of the world, when Trickster
Raven transformed the earth—look—

how his black eyes shine with curious
knowledge and mischievous  intent!
But, even Raven could not save the

people of the village. Once messenger
between the realms of spirit world
and ours, now Raven stands transfixed

within the paintings he inhabits.  Are
portals reaching back through time her
calls? The times that Emily warned of? 

Her calls received too late, too late, to
call, too late to call, too late to caw, too
late to caw, to caw, to caw, caw, caw.

Running Wild

April 3, 2019 - the prompt for today was to write an animal poem

Running Wild

Dogs run wild here,
casting aside ten thousand years
of domesticated design for
the comfort and companionship
found amidst another species—us.

Instead, they prefer to pretend
they are wolves once more,
running in packs
through the Boreal forest
and across the school playground.

They are misguided in their quest
for wildness, misreading our
intentions toward them.  We,
who first enticed them by our fires
to lay beside us at night,

cannot have our children mauled
by creatures who no longer
serve our purpose.
Signs are posted at the band office:
Dog shoot Saturday.

Bingo Night

April 2, 2019 - the prompt for this piece was to write either a best or worst case scenario.

Bingo Night

Tonight is bingo night here ‘cause
everyone’s trying to raise money for something
and me, I’m just trying to win some cold, hard cash.
So turn on the radio, pour me a beer—
God knows I can use the dough.  If I’m lucky
maybe not too many people are tuning in tonight
‘cause I could sure use some cold, hard cash.

Tonight’s jackpot is $25,000 in cold, hard cash
and God knows I can use that dough, so if
I pray hard enough, maybe I’ll get lucky this time.
Buy me a new skidoo with that kind of money.
Take it out on the river and do some ice fishing,
down there near the bridge, where little Dante
went through the ice and never came back.

We were playing bingo that night, too, ‘cause
someone’s always trying to raise money for something
and there’s never enough cold, hard cash around.
God knows the school needs work, so there’s always
fundraising going on down there, but that don’t matter
too much to me since Dante’s not in school now.  God
knows I can use that dough, so maybe I’ll be lucky.

I’ll buy me a new skidoo with that cold, hard cash.
Take it out on the river and do some ice fishing
down there near the bridge, and maybe I’ll hear
little Dante calling for me.  I’ll just slip in and get him,
if I do.  And if I don’t win that jackpot tonight, I’ll
listen in tomorrow, ‘cause tomorrow is bingo night, too.
Everyone’s trying to raise money for something.

Early Morning Flight North

I've been away so long!  A full year has elapsed since last I posted any new poems...  Thankfully, the calendar page is once again turned to April, which just happens to be National Poetry Month!  There may be lots of things going on in my life that get in the way of my writing, but nothing stops me from celebrating NPM and participating in a Poem a Day challenge!  The first five poems this month have been written while I was away working up North.

April 1, 2019
The prompt for this poem, "write a morning poem", happened to arrive at 5:30am as I was sitting in the Perimeter Aviation terminal waiting for my flight.  I almost feel I cheated with this;  it's more observation than poetry.

Early Morning Flight North

You’d never know by looking at us,
swaddled in our down parkas, wool toques and scarves,
eyelids still heavy with sleep from the warmth of a car ride,
but we are all awake as we sit
hunched and silent
awaiting our northern flights.

Some of us are returning home. 
Yesterday’s doctor appointment.
The passing of an elder.
A nephew’s court appearance.
The Jet’s last home game of the season.
These are the reasons that brought us to the city.

Some of us are leaving home.
A 10-day shift at the nursing station.
Another school needs consultations students.
An attorney with Legal Aid is meeting with four new clients.
A water treatment facility needs another replacement part.
These are the reasons why we fly into the North.

We board 16-seat commuter planes that fly to communities
with names like:
Garden Hill/St. Theresa Point,
Shammattawa,
God’s Lake Narrows, and
Tadule/Lac Brochet.

Most of us will sleep on our flights, hoping to find
high ceilings with minimal crosswinds,
someone to meet us,
transportation from the airport, and
a bed to sleep in
when we get there.

These mornings when we sit in the air terminal,
hollow cheeked, sallow skinned with eyes half-closed,
you’d never know it, but we are all wide awake
as we view our own lives in transit,
broken down into primordial elements,
and packed neatly in our carry on.

2020 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

From Robert Lee Brewer's blog, Poetic Asides, "For today’s prompt, write a space poem." Acreage Endless skies spill over the...