CROW MANUSCRIPTS

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CROW MANUSCRIPTS

Crow Woman Dances

Dancing on the pavement drunk

Feet thirsty
Dying earth thirsty

Pavement in between.

Praying with her feet

Making

 no lasting impression.

Crow Woman Tries to Explain

I cant be sure when it will overtake me

the sense of not belonging here

when the ancient spirit overpowers

And my foreign heart protests

And runs for it.

Runs out into the streets,

looks for the signs. the hawks or crows,

Confused then annoyed to find the trees not there.

I know what pulls my heart so far

wildly into the night time woods, a little angrily

So as not to be held back, or not understood,

visiting the rocks and spirit places

like a lost animal or child

 looking to go there, to go

home, but where?

There is a dark bird in my heart

that keeps on looking.

It was so long ago, 

that tribe

that camp

the old Mother.

Crow Woman

Crow Woman wears odd socks and feathers

And they think she's half crazy with her talk

of how to dancè to change the weather

or sing to the Moon inside a rock.

But just because she sits here

with her bags and feathers

Making sacred fires in restaurant ashtrays

don't think she hasn't many eyes

has not flown in her sleep

has not something to say.

But Crow Woman is sick of saying

Drinks her tea, leans towards me

Unfolds black wings

Becomes a Crow.

Staring

Wary

Making further conversation

Unnecessary.

Crow Woman is Having a Dream

She is strong

She is done with lost mothers,

old stories of trees.

Crow Woman SEES.

We are in her SEEING

Sees us, blue sky spirits, left

our bodies far below

Come together-

Star circle-

Knowing at last,

remembering our song,

a gift from the beginning

singing

the poem that we were given

Song forgotten, 

half remembered

mocked or hidden,

Never shared with 

lover child or friend

unwhispered

in all that killed time.

This one true poem of our hearts

Good hearts

Steady hearts

Re-sounding hearts

pounding 

pounding hearts

hearts to become

As one

 a drum a drum

And all of us and all of earth becomes

a drum

A drum becomes a power

becomes

a power in the dreams

of those

who wish to place their feet

down gently

on their earth mother

walking in a sacred manner

according to the original rhythm

of their

hearts.

Crow Woman and the Blue Collars

Crow Woman feels her way into dark factories

A loud red heart embroidered on her sleeves

She writes poetry on their blue collars

Extends the coffee break to 3 hours

And screw the boss man's mighty dollar.

Crow Woman Talks to the Porcupine

Old Porcupine

even though we keep to ourselves

we can be friendly

harvesting the lavender clover

side by side, picking it over.

Someday I'll be an old grandmother like you

avoiding the city, waddling in my long skirts

or I will be like the nimble-fingered raccoon

smiling roundly like a little moon

rattling my tin pot.

In my cooking apron, happily white and clean

I will dig and gather and glean,

feed my little fire with sticks,

feed my practical pot with bits

of meat and herb

Old woman, stirring with a bone.

Let the ancestors hear my songs

High nasal tones, some deep and strong

in a comfortable way I will let them be heard

As I stir my pot

At home inside that old body at last,

having gained the simple confidence

of earth

And earth knowing.

While pale girls lift their fine chins to the moon

 for the goddess  to appear,

Guessing she is hid behind a cloud 

or should be back soon

She is down here where she ought to be

on the ground, with her sharp stick

for digging, and gathering her roots.