The chanting
drumming
is the song of windward souls
that beat their breaths
against the rooted earth

The chanting
drumming
is the laughter
shouting out loud
beautiful chords

The chanting
drumming
is the blood sweeping
through veins and organs

The chanting
drumming
is the Mother.

Simple Pleasures

I look up and see
Coloured Cotton adorning
a light pin-pricked blue silk cloth.
The eye of the night
Hangs Glowing
among the fluff.
Alas, how I wish I had a ladder,
for, so it seems, if I had, I might
reach up and pick a Cloud from the Sky,
a Star from the Heavens,
and give them to the ones I love.
As the Breese Blows the celestial bodies
through the sky
and my hair over my face,
I can't help but laugh;
laugh for the peace,
the solemnity,
the calm serenity I've found
In Life's Simplest Pleasures.

To Ride A Painted Pony

To ride a painted pony underneath an open sky;
To soar on wings of eagles and know what it is to fly;
To scale the hallowed mountains and touch the nearest cloud
Where the hushed voice of serenity is infinitely loud.

To ride a painted pony through the forest in the spring
When the creatures first awaken from their wint'ry slumbering,
As the frozen streams and rivers from an icy hold burst free
And, with the power of a stallion, cut a pathway to the sea.

To ride a painted pony who has never felt the crack
Of a whip that can subdue the will and lacerate the back;
And, with the wisdom of the ages, turn back the tide of years
To a time the blessed earth had not been soaked with bitter tears.

To ride a painted pony when the forest blooms again
And wash away resentment in an all-forgiving rain.
To see through eyes as innocent and simple as a child
Who never knows it's been betrayed until it's been beguiled.

To ride a painted pony past the prairie and plateau
To the fertile plains where dwelt the deer and sacred buffalo.
With no thought of mass destruction, to take only what we need
And to learn to weigh the good against the bad with every deed.

To ride a painted pony through a forest, russet-gold,
Where liberty was priceless and could not be bought or sold.
When we were proud to be a nation with honor in the blood
And our visions more than trifles to be trampled in the mud.

To ride a painted pony with thunder in his hoofs.
To leave behind deception and the promise of half-truths.
To taste the pristine waters, sweet and clean upon the tongue
And drink deeply of the honesty found only in the young.

To ride a painted pony on a crisply-spangled night
When the austere forest sparkles with exhilarating light.
To fill the lungs with air so pure, it steals away the breath
And to cherish every moment...even that which heralds death.

To ride a painted pony who is guided by the stars
And forget the cruel indignities of prejudicial scars;
When the presence of the grey wolf was constant at our side,
Bringing grace with every movement and strength in every stride.

To ride a painted pony through the forest of the past
And sustain within the soul a rooted faith that it shall last;
In an attempt to pass no judgment and try to understand
Why the concrete and the steel must taint this consecrated land.
To revive the ancient knowledge held by those who were aware
That what there is, is all we have; And what we have, we share.
When there was equity in justice and peace in harmony
And we could ride a painted pony...where the forest used to be.

To feel once more tranquility in knowing we were one
With the spirits of the mystic moon and elemental sun.
When the four winds called us brother and hope was the vital part
Of a pony known as Freedom who endures a broken heart.