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Whu! Bear!
Whu Whu!
So you say
Whu Whu Whu!
You come.
You’re a fine young man
You Grizzly Bear
You crawl out of your fur.
You come
I say Whu Whu Whu!
I throw grease in the fire.
For you
Grizzly Bear
We’re one!
Tlingit Indian
Grizzly bear song *
Chiquita I
There are places where the bark, dirt, heat, the sky,
stones, bugs exist for generations, where you come to rest,
to enjoy the view, the breeze. Moving a stick through dead
leaves you find remnants of a campsite, a holy site, or work
site. One place is the surface point of Chiquita Springs.
Leaves layered a rock
on the bank of a creek.
The field behind it has grass, plants,
birds nesting in the brush
That rock rest
in the middle
of an oak grove
surrounding a spring
and it hangs over
the south bank.
On its east and west corners
are two bowls
formed by women
who ground acorns.
Disturb the dampness under the leaves
in these bowls
and the scent of working women
will surface to ride
the breeze.
I like to sit between the bowls
on a patch, a rectangle etched
in stone by the leaching of acorns.
This site conjures up
a time when a ray of light
coming through the oaks
was a burnish bone,
a hieroglyph of the sun,
a spiked circle with one
long barb extending to the ground.
When I think of that place,
I remember water in the creek
holding a disc of sunlight
A salamander turned gold
swimming through it.
I slipped my hand under it.
Saw my fingers yellow,
my face broken by waves,
I saw myself
in the metallic glitter
of my eyes,
as a wingtipped wind
stirred leaves
into noise.
Joe Milosch
Whu Whu!
So you say
Whu Whu Whu!
You come.
You’re a fine young man
You Grizzly Bear
You crawl out of your fur.
You come
I say Whu Whu Whu!
I throw grease in the fire.
For you
Grizzly Bear
We’re one!
Tlingit Indian
Grizzly bear song *
Chiquita I
There are places where the bark, dirt, heat, the sky,
stones, bugs exist for generations, where you come to rest,
to enjoy the view, the breeze. Moving a stick through dead
leaves you find remnants of a campsite, a holy site, or work
site. One place is the surface point of Chiquita Springs.
Leaves layered a rock
on the bank of a creek.
The field behind it has grass, plants,
birds nesting in the brush
That rock rest
in the middle
of an oak grove
surrounding a spring
and it hangs over
the south bank.
On its east and west corners
are two bowls
formed by women
who ground acorns.
Disturb the dampness under the leaves
in these bowls
and the scent of working women
will surface to ride
the breeze.
I like to sit between the bowls
on a patch, a rectangle etched
in stone by the leaching of acorns.
This site conjures up
a time when a ray of light
coming through the oaks
was a burnish bone,
a hieroglyph of the sun,
a spiked circle with one
long barb extending to the ground.
When I think of that place,
I remember water in the creek
holding a disc of sunlight
A salamander turned gold
swimming through it.
I slipped my hand under it.
Saw my fingers yellow,
my face broken by waves,
I saw myself
in the metallic glitter
of my eyes,
as a wingtipped wind
stirred leaves
into noise.
Joe Milosch
Song for Zintka ‘la (the small birds)
The Old Ones
Living in harmony from and with Mother Earth’s bounty
Exchanged and offered their Gifts in Another Way
A strong Way
A rich Way
A good Way
A Way so very different than today
This Wise Wild Woman who is me is seeking to learn again that good
affluent Way
I know that I always learn through Experiencing Truth
I Experiment
with my traditional Women Friends
First in the sacred place called Dakota Territory
Then in the free wild place called northern Saskatchewan
The pieces of wasicu paper dollarbills happen not to totally add up
to the price of a dream catcher
then to the price of a fish
Now how my brand new Women friends smile - -
One from the South
then one from the North
“You will come back to see me
You will complete this exchange
When you next pay me a good visit”
My new Indian Women friends are rich - -
They wait for my wild stories and our laughter
The Lakota in the south sitting beside the famous Creek
The Cree in the north fishing in her deep lake
(wit e’ moon day 3, week 6 of winter)
Mamatao
Underneath the Words
Beneath blue water, green
rocks form in rows
like celebrants in churches
the world over, singing
praises to the water, singing
liquid hallelujahs
immersed in wet and light
shining through,
and our hearts are burning
for such joy.
James Downs
Come hear the Earth speak
our Mother’s heartbeat
Share the joy of the children’s laughter
Catching the wind on the butterfly’s wing
Sit in the music of silence
Observe the creatures dancing their medicine
in the shadow of the trees
Plant the seeds of abundance with the
nurturing Sun
Rest in the blanket of the Moon’s light
Celebrate the harmony of the unfolding seasons
Join us in the fire circle
hear the echos of the caves
Feel the water
primal fluid
blood of life
The freedom to be the Creator in thee
Perceive your own experience
It is the way of things
Susan Csaba
The Old Ones
Living in harmony from and with Mother Earth’s bounty
Exchanged and offered their Gifts in Another Way
A strong Way
A rich Way
A good Way
A Way so very different than today
This Wise Wild Woman who is me is seeking to learn again that good
affluent Way
I know that I always learn through Experiencing Truth
I Experiment
with my traditional Women Friends
First in the sacred place called Dakota Territory
Then in the free wild place called northern Saskatchewan
The pieces of wasicu paper dollarbills happen not to totally add up
to the price of a dream catcher
then to the price of a fish
Now how my brand new Women friends smile - -
One from the South
then one from the North
“You will come back to see me
You will complete this exchange
When you next pay me a good visit”
My new Indian Women friends are rich - -
They wait for my wild stories and our laughter
The Lakota in the south sitting beside the famous Creek
The Cree in the north fishing in her deep lake
(wit e’ moon day 3, week 6 of winter)
Mamatao
Underneath the Words
Beneath blue water, green
rocks form in rows
like celebrants in churches
the world over, singing
praises to the water, singing
liquid hallelujahs
immersed in wet and light
shining through,
and our hearts are burning
for such joy.
James Downs
Come hear the Earth speak
our Mother’s heartbeat
Share the joy of the children’s laughter
Catching the wind on the butterfly’s wing
Sit in the music of silence
Observe the creatures dancing their medicine
in the shadow of the trees
Plant the seeds of abundance with the
nurturing Sun
Rest in the blanket of the Moon’s light
Celebrate the harmony of the unfolding seasons
Join us in the fire circle
hear the echos of the caves
Feel the water
primal fluid
blood of life
The freedom to be the Creator in thee
Perceive your own experience
It is the way of things
Susan Csaba
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