Corvi Nesting

bits of fluff
fragments
randomly
gathered
minutiae
 
weave
together
form
to
form
 
nature
of our
being
arbitrary
dancing
systematically
 
tiny fingers
wisps
of
wind
snuggle
down
 
feathers
lifting
preening
voices
whispering
i
know
you
 
prepare
dance
with
me
 
resilience
nesting
high
 
curling
up
with
corvus.
 

                ~ Orannhawk 


Hidden Truth

They came here in darkness to darken the light.


They gathered us up, not to fight –
but to die.
Generations go by in the blink of an eye.
Hatred was planted, and grows –
cruelly ingrained now in our wounded souls.


Invading strangers don’t want to know us 
They never wanted to know our ways,
and still do not want to know.


Some say we no longer exist – others say we never existed.
“We annihilated them way back when,” they say.


We are no more than ghosts of a forgotten past.


See me!


I am here.


Brown skin kissed by the Sun.


Eyes the color of chocolate, gleaming with tears
like the Stars of the night.
Raven hair blowing in the wind.


See me!
I am still here.


                                 ~Raven Sanchez



My Love 

In this…thus…the dream…where I dwell…wherein I dwell...flows the lifeblood of the earth…and

do you know my fingertips slow the cold stream water
clear down 
to the muddy silt of the valley?....
water runs
through my fingers, through the fingers 
and into veins...Like reeds as high 
as the dragonflies dart...water runs through 
rising from deep in the heart.
The water flows where Spirit reigns, where spirit rains....
And my love whispers:
My spirit is not found in the sky,
up in the sky, it does not fall from that God 
up in the sky
but rather in an enduring cycle, in an endearing cycle—
it brings life... carries our origin stories 
over the land...traditions ebbing and flowing
in the seasons like sacred salmon…buffalo herds…and deer. 
I exist … we must have existed,  and will
exist well...If I endure
the falling rain...If I embrace
the flowing rain…in the darkness of silent light.

 ( I remember)
the taste of water flowing to my lips.    From the ripples... and fingertips...as I 
cry, at the depth and death of the day...
Water's Spirit calls to me in my dreams and...
I spill over into the stream, clear down to the
remains of the land, down to the fecund silt
where once seeds fell, where now seeds flow, 
where reeds sing to the drumming rainfall, running down
in rivulets, falling down my body …in this, 
this the dream of my birth...the birth OF
Mni Wiconi....my love.


                             ~ Sheri Watson