Earth Mother’s Child

Mom and a Sis, and Mom.

She was a tear- -a stone,
the sun and moon traversed the sky
to brighten her dreams.
Her dreams glittered star dust.
She had it all- -gave it all
right from the start
– -love in her heart.
She was inspiration,
singer of songs- -weaver
of pallets for sleeping
– -maker of clothing and dolls,
a keeper of the old ways- –
keeper of names and truth,
burning sage- -cleansing soul.
She was a daughter of Earth- –
granddaughter of the moon- –
a sister, wife, mother, grandmother.
Her dreams glittered star dust.
She was a giver- -bringer- –
passer of light- –
flame on a candle
in the darkness burning- –
bright smiles, warmth, compassion.
She was a voice of prayer- –
balance and measure
of night and day.
She knew about loss- -hardship
and how to survive
on love.
She had it all- -gave it all
right from the start
– -love in her heart.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.
Photograph, Collage of Personal Family Photos, Copyright 2010,
by Suzie Ashby.

I Opened a Box

And there he was- -fragmented
– -still
in silver webs of silence- -dreaming.

Inside- –
his fragments- -thumb a ride with life.
Daylight breaks blue and gold
across fresh snow,
never mind the cold, he’s alive.

Love’s breath lingers, a frozen mist- –
golden morning angel wings
surround his face- -tear crystals
hang momentarily
in the grand scheme of grace.

Both life and time- -indifferent- –
infringement on a broken mind, falling.
Transient soul hungers
for a heart-shaped pillow- –
a friendly smile- -coat
from a stranger’s arms warms
for a while.  Memories- -ghosts- –
family’s love to cling to.
What can we do- -God
what can we do?
Angel wings flutter- -somewhere
inside- -somewhere inside
love comes in phone calls from heaven.

I find a picture to cherish a while. 

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.

Children of The Setting Sun

            “Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking.”
                                                              Black Elk, Oglala Sioux, 1863-1950.

 

It’s an ancestral rebirth through us- –
children of the setting sun. 
– -Time, a laughter in the night
carries teaching voices in dreams.
Years fly- -laden
with the salt of their tears
– -sweat- -pain- -love,
again- -again time laughs
at the lost, losing what is lost
and our struggle to bring it back.
We wont forget- -despite time,
cannot, will not forget
the telling and retelling of old ways,
ancestral teachings- -stance- -day by day
oral traditions say we can- -we will- –
we are the travelers- -the bringers
and carriers of knowledge.  Still
we hear those days- -ancestral
songs thrum in our hearts- -veins,
heads and hands.  We see
them dance.  Deep in our hearts
we see their shadows working,
playing- -hunting- -living life,
giving life, making life the best way
– -in our deep forest souls, we see.
Our blood is their pulse.
We carry on for them- -have to.
We- -the ancestral vessels
sway their way- -to their beat.
Our souls rise up- -dancing
fingers of mist rising- -rising
from winter’s river- -gently
comes the night mist rising
drifting in time with time- –
through time, all the while
laughing back at it.  Swiftly
running the length of our lives
we grasp their arrows of strength,
baskets of corn- -like robes
for comfort, and berries plump- –
ripe with knowledge
our life’s pledge to complete the circle
on and on- -endless spiral- -life.
We know their fate is not
to be discounted, unattended- –
lost in time, but to be forever
reborn with pride- -through us,
Children of the setting sun.
We carry them full circle- –
each of us, one by one
to a new beginning- –
a spiraling eternal light
silencing the laughter of time.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.

 

            “What is gained from our inner nature is exact
               knowledge, which gives us a far-reaching outlook
               Over the earth.  The many powers of inner nature
               are hidden in everyone, and those are identified
               with Wakan-Tanka.”
                                                                Blue Thunder, Teton Sioux.

Grave War of Angels

It is
humanity with no soul,
control freaks- -CONTROL,
the great sleepwalking hordes- –
not sharing the value
of unconditional love- –
the precious vastness
of its meaning- –
Unconditional Love.- –
UNCONDITIONAL,
essential cohesive ingredient
for healthy personal empowerment
in life’s great flow- –
a societal inability to slow
allowing our children
to unconditionally grow- –
so they may know
carnage and death
do not create great heroes
unique in their technique
to receive attention.
The brutal intention
of freaks in control,
humanity with no soul,
the great sleepwalking hordes
devoid- -of love- -unconditional,
is why children die
at the hands of other children- –
vicious- -malicious,
this grave war of angels.
Humanity HAS the capacity- –
facility of heart, to overcome
what the control freak mindset
has yet to encompass.- –

True victory for a hero
is not in the act of conquering,
but in the deeds
of unconditional loving- –
despite the hateful acidity
of others.

Copyright 2009 and 2010, by Suzie Ashby.  All Rights Reserved.

Walking

We walk a lot- -all of us
through each others lives
                  each others dreams
                                           nightmares
through experiences like water- –
cleansing

Many miles we walk
in
  and out
               always
through ragged, shining days
sunny, cloudy, misty haze
– -intimate, lonely nights
star lit, snow lit, city lights

Sometimes we walk in
stay a while- -love
cradles us- -we
take refuge in it
loving

Sometimes turning our
backs- -walking away
continually walking
everywhere, anywhere
– -can’t stay
we walk a lot- -all of us
always coming- -going
within each other’s instances
of death- –
sighing, crying, glorifying
life

Holes in our moccasins
we walk- -different paces
changing faces- -never alone

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.  All Rights Reserved.

Forever Love

For J.T, thank you for your “Spoken Word” and for always being so kind.

Sun glows
gold needles
shining through
open window
in the clouds- –
dark, rumbling- –
light bleeds
on Earth Mother.
                        Sighing- –
soft wind
brushes
her September hair.
I see you there
bleeding gold- -you
endlessly Ghost Dancing
with drums rumbling.
Love and Earth
tether us
forever- –
                 a bonding.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.

Celtic Warrior

Warrior looks in
through my eyes
– -child wanting candy.
Curiously,
peers inward
through a delicate green lace
perhaps seeking the place
my soul lingers- –
seeking his manifest destiny
or some quandary to debate.
Not seeing me for me
behind this face
– -still- -cold
braced and fevered
in this darkened place.

My castle walls
I embrace- -a blanket
of cerulean blue- -tattered.
– -Web like
gray fibers fray
along the edges,
from time’s time
with time folding backward
on itself.

Deep inside me he roams
empty chambers- -pulling
at flitting shadows
– -all the specters
                                 I am.
Oh, if he could set them free
they long for light
of dreams and fancy flight
– -silent butterflies.  Yet
– -still- -specters cling to me
lover’s whispers,
they sigh
and I sedate them
with a cerulean blue blanket
and the inward touch
of a Celtic Warrior’s hands.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.