All Are Alike : Want Happiness !
All the Same People who
Ate at my family table
Are here ---
All the people who
Sat at the first Thanksgiving Table
Are still here !..
I am trusting in God that we gather All Ways
Again for the Original Thanksgiving !
This Year !!!
There is Glory in the Meadows
Gath'ring near the edges of the woods
With the power of their wisdom
The Elder women are meeting in council
Discussing War in The Longhouse
Because the Men have passed their message
The fate of the Tribe was up to them
They have gone to test their strength
On the Little Game the Whites have left them
For the meager dinner that remains
Prior to this war
Men & Women have decided together
Here we see the passing of The Tribes
Men go off to die
Women will starve or....
Make new husbands of the whites
Can we blame them ?
They were our great grandmothers !
They kept our blood alive !!!
For Uncle Victor
& his widow, Helen Wagg,
fondly known as Helen Aunt Gunn
You drew 2 faces on 2 leaves
They were who we were
And like us
They yellowed with age
Until they crumpled
Fell 'dust to dust'
In the palm of His hand
Caught in the wind of his breath
We are all a dream
Scattered on the thoughts of the living
& the Spirits of the Dead
Living eternally !
I am the 'common' human
Living and dying
in "The Gulag Archipeligo"
of a dream that could be
The Free World
Is it the truth
that I am the 'president'
of a Great Nation that no longer
Am I the only remaining citizen
of these original United States of America ?-
If this is so
with me that line will die.
I thank the Lord Almighty
that I may live
Midst the 'great citizens' of this
Brave New World -
that I am yet Free
to speak my truth.
In your Great Nation
I often feel I am Alone.
But in my world
God walks by my side calling on me to speak.
I know that though The tree may fall in the primordial forest
When no human can hear
God is there :
The Lord hears my every word : I am grateful,
and live in Great Joy
and Bliss, Because that
Is All any human could ask
And much more than enough.
In fact in the final accounting
That is All there Is
Or Ever Will Be !
MB, July 2006
I am not afraid
To be an American !
It has been said :
to breathe Free !"
I am grateful to Live for my Nation -
Better to Live a day Free
Than a thousand years in any 'unjust cage' !
And, like any serviceman or servicewoman
To serve my Nation
'Til God calls me !
There is a Glory in the Meadows
Gath'ring near the edges of the woods
with the power of their wisdom
The Elder women are meeting in Council ---
in the Long House discussing the fate of the tribe.
The men have passed their message :
are going to test their strength ;
Their is little Game
for the meager dinner that remains.
Men & Women decided this together.
Here we see the passing of the Seven Nations,
and many others ---
The destruction begins
Men go off to die ;
The women will die
Or the younger make new husbands of the whites.
Who can blame them ?
They were our great-grandmothers :
They kept our blood alive.
little French, Viking Warrior
Doesn't have to be Joan of Arc
But at the very least
She can be said to be remembered in honor ;
Her intentions purified by fire
Beyond their unselfish
A beatitude of more than one thousand years,
Greater than any dauphin, king, or kingdom.
cold rock of solitude
clears the fields
dragged behind the horses
up & down hills
pushing the snow and ice
aside, the trees and
i am alone in the frost
winter of the soul
passing ever so slowly
by ; though she race
time drags me like
the cold rock
On a Friday
After the end of work
The terns and swallows
Are flying through the garden
And over the house,
The doorway lined with roses
Red, and pink, all a’bloom
When the pond by the barn
Full and green with algae
Is a delicious drink for the sparrows.
Soon the raccoon nesting in the towering Spruce nearby –
The ‘possums and groundhogs from their burrows emerge
At sunset, the wild rabbits are done eluding the hawks,
But what catches my ear with a sweet childhood memory
Is the passing of the Ice Cream Man in his truck
With this repetitive chimed melody:
The old standard,
Turkey in the Straw,
Echoing down the years, and
Along the streets bordering this, my homeland.
Winter's Pause In The SunLight
This is the sacred moment
When a red pavilion bird-house hangs
Gently swinging in our cove
In the afternoon winter sun I sit bundled,
Huddled against the rising wind
In anticipation of a warm morning breeze:
Joyous at the approach of Spring!
Wisdom that comes from struggle
Farm Hand, nothing of his own
Not even himself
Nails a wire to the side of the barn;
Attaching it to a broom handle
He slides a broken glass bottle-neck over the wire,
Plays his home-made bass
And wails to the wailing wall of that
Content in the music of his soul.
We "free" him with nothing but the
Clothes on his scarred back;
House him in slums a hundred years more;
Work him near starvation in field & factory;
Burn him on crosses,
And shoot him down at his door.
Who is the cruel ruffian?
Our Kingdom Of Heaven
Forfeit the Kingdom of Heaven
For me. Be my lover.
I will have no other god before you
You will have no other, but me.
This is the land of our forgetfulness
When life seems much more
Than a pause between sleeps.
The Light Appears...
The light appears on the mountains:
Joy is mine --- I only ask
The freedom to make myself
As I am wanting to be.
me, the sounds of life
singing on the wires
Telephone gone wild with deals.
Cash for the supermarket
Rent for the landlord---
Perhaps a vacation (oh!
for a vacation I would give
Some fine portion of my
That rings with Telephone
And Fax and Cable Network
Computer (Audio and Video
A contest for which
perhaps the prize
Is the world!
As we talk with the night
In the sunshine
Sunrise and the sunset appear.
We sleep longer than we wake,
Perhaps never to rise again.
Perhaps always racing;
Treading the darkness like water,
Silvery and soft on our dreams;
Shimmering as we talk
With the night.
The golden delight
That releases me
From everyday care;
The joy that is
mine, the peace---
The whole of sky
Where I find myself
Lost in eternity.
The moment enveloped
That hour caressing my neck:
The animal - the ape -
The jewels of this earth
In the hours that pass
and the minutes-
I see one face turning away
And a thousand more turning
To face me;
There is no end
But the end of Time.
We stretch to see
The march of eternity beyond the cradle
And the grave,
Into the bright Sun-Time of bursting
Universal womb that gives us Today
Wrapped in memory and pressage
Of Time like a great wave reaching Far Beyond,...
Tomorrow will drape herself like a cloak over our pain
In anticipation of the bursting flower
That is now
The warm blood we drink as our nourishment
Milk of mother and lover
Yet pure as clouds over a land
Unbesmerched by man's corrosive hands
That feed and befoul
And do not know any contentment with today.
Our nourishment is
Not meat, but clouds;
The air about the grasses that blow.
The very wind is my home.
Since I have found my home
I am here, always!
Dwelling in the joy
Of my own creation
Free to find happiness in a land that extends
Beyond all mortality
Into the universal reality of my existence,
My arrival into the world of fondest imaginings
All love made real!
The newly pressed shirts
Stand like silent sentinels
As first light nears
We step into the city streets
Locking the cast iron gates behind us.
Now the store is silent, too.
The lampposts light the trees
On our short walk home.
After dawn showers
We go to sleep at last.
as published in POET: February, 1989
Passion & Pen
The passion of our youth is spent:
The beauty that once blossomed
on our firm bodies has faded;
your hair is sprinkled with gray.
We have lost the rage we once cradled.
I wish I could give you more---
I am like the fisherman lost in the storm
Who, after the winds have calmed,
Finds she has neither pole nor line
But only her eyes, and her arms,
And her pen.
Over lake after lake
The panorama of beauty is endless.
But I am caught in nothingness
While life whirls all about.
At last I see my world
Reaching for me.
I find peace
In the reality of joy.
Life is mine;
I am the land, and the water.
I am real, singing
A continuous hymn to Creation;
Hurtling in my awakening
Past crowds of pine
In my small canoe.
The dragonflies twitter
In waves of heat.
Flat green leaf-pads
Drape themselves over the water beneath the sun:
Water lilies gather
To celebrate the birth of light.
The Golden Triumph
The golden skies in triumph
Acquiesce to day's demise;
Green reflections turn to blue.
Blue skies are purple in dying hue.
Beasts, great and small,
To sleeping places creep and crawl.
But some creatures rise: play in darkness.
The 'coon dances
The wolf does bay.
'Neath the earth in tunnels everywhere
Beneficiaries of death, beetles and worms
(Beware!) do play.
Quiet whirrs and dances;
Life takes her own chances. But ah!
Dawn now nears
Cleansing all her fears.
Booming silence in light resounds!
The sun in Spring
Upon the planet pounds.
Trumpeting infant birds in new-born down
Gift humankind his living crown.
Introduction "New" Work
New Millennium: Old and New
© Copyright, 2006, Mary Barnet.
All right reserved. Reprinted by permission