Howling To A Wolf Moon
Early this morning,
the sun still hidden
by its Eastern arc,
I sat on the back porch
thinking about what I would do today.
Fill the bird feeder,
till the garden,
feel the coolness of the earth
beneath my feet.
There is something mystical,
magickal,
as my fingers wander
in the loose soil.
It’s like I am connected
with a larger world;
feel like I am growing roots
that spread outward,
deeper into the wonders of life.
As I work, I am reminded of Grandmother’s
wisdom; the way she gave thanks
each day at dawn,
asking for balance and beauty
in all things;
how she burnt sage to cleanse our home,
and offered a pinch
to the morning sun;
and how disappointed she became
when she saw the horrors
the People were facing.
My moccasins are weary and worn,
though only recently found. Yet,
I feel the wind’s call,
as it knows my name;
that the sky brushes
red sunsets
and pastel dawns
to hasten my heart beat;
that the earth,
dusty and dry with age,
still reaches for my feet.
Grandmother taught me
no matter how far I roam,
I will always find my way home.
I know these words are true,
both hers
and the ones I write with sand,
yet there is still a hollowness,
a hole in my heart,
as I thought you might
journey home with me
to meet my Clan,
and that you would ask me
to meet yours.
For as long as I can remember,
I have dreamed you.
Dreamed I met you by the oceans edge,
gave you my sword,
and offered you my heart.
I awoke this morning,
the sky calm and blue,
the sun just emerging
from the Eastern horizon,
but for the first time,
there were no Crows
to greet me.
And while the breeze
was Spring chilled,
it no longer spoke your name.
I knew you were gone,
journeying in search of your home.
As I sat on the ocean’s edge,
thinking of the time spent,
singing those ancient runes,
weaving tales of forest adventures,
swimming crystal clear lakes,
and lying beneath the Willow
imagining fierce dragons
in the night’s sky;
feeling the warmth of your skin
next to mine,
and tasting your strawberry kiss;
I know I will always love you.
Once again, the night has returned
to a full moon,
and I, a lone wolf,
howling to its beams
hoping
you might yet reach out to me.
This morning Grandmother
spoke to me gently as a Spring breeze:
“Aztec, each person
must find the place
where they belong,
feel whole and at ease
in their heart;
the place they can call Home.
It is only then,
they can invite someone in,
share their laughter and love,
enjoy the balance and beauty in life.
When she finds her place,
perhaps, she will call to you,
ask you to join her and
meet her Clan.
For now, enjoy the time
she has already given,
the scent of her soft skin,
the way she smiled once
telling stories of her Nature walks,
and shedding her tears at love’s she lost.
She has already given you so much,
my son.”
Grandmother, I know these words to be true,
and I have taken them into my heart,
yet I still have a hole that
only she can fill.
I miss her light and tenderness,
the way the world is brighter
when she is near.
Grandmother, I know what you say is wise,
please, allow me a bit longer
to howl at this moon,
for I will find my way home.
This is a beautiful portrayal of Native American culture. I love the part where she bestowed wisdom to him.
Thank you Fia! My Grandmother taught me that in order to learn, to find beauty, I had to listen. I am glad you saw the beauty, Fia.
“I have dreamed you.” That line stuck with me.
Native American poetry seems simple but it’s not. You did a fine job, Red.
I’m part Cree. My grandmother’s family settled in Florida. Most Cree perished in the Trail of Tears, so there’s very few left in the US.
Most people don’t know the ugly history of the US. They do not know of the ‘Trail of Tears’ and the forced march suffered by Native American peoples. And some think it was only the Cherokee on this ‘trail’. It included the Cree, Seminole, and Miccosukee, and other Tribes. Many thousands died along the way. This horror is part of what they want to erase from the history books.
My ancestors (a long ago Grandmother on my father’s side), were slaughtered by the Dutch. She was Lenape.
Thank you Mary, for sharing, it means a lot to me.
I love Native America, Native America tales, wisdom, music and wolves, their howls and cries. and like expected of their music, the one you’ve shared holds sadness within its layers. I amdire your poem for the simplicity yet the depth it has, normally longer poems don’t keep me along the reading, but here it’s different, I read it all with no pressure, it feels like home, the Native America home… the burnt sage caught me because it’s in my culture too.
the sheer wisdom and magnificence of the final two verses are for real something else. True loves comes when You find your own whole self, when You win your spiritual test and yes finds the home in You (how I love this phrase!) You don’t need someone to complete You, You want someone to share it with You. yet, even that the broken hearted wolf knows this truth, he also knows that sometimes You must feel it all to be able to let it go or pass to the new stage. a truly brilliant piece my friend ✨
Hi Light, I think your comment is better than my poem. Thank you! And yes, true love is sharing, not dominating, not completing, not two becomes one, but seeing each other with mutual respect and equals.
In the new year, I am submitting a manuscript for a book of many of my Native American poems. It is still to be determined whether it well be accepted. But if it is it will be my 5th book of poetry. The book is titled “Poems Caught In My Dreamcatcher”. I will announce its publication here at SR.
“Poems Caught In My Dreamcatcher” a captivating title… I wish You all the best in your new book, we will be waiting for the good news🙏🏻