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Red Eft

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  • Zeke
    Originally posted by Atehequa View Post
    Your intentions are quite clear.
    Just giving you enough rope...

    Leave a comment:

  • Atehequa
    Originally posted by wardancer View Post
    Well , I just try to be honest !
    I know as you have told me. Your intentions are quite clear.

    Leave a comment:

  • wardancer
    Originally posted by Atehequa View Post
    I appreciate your frankness.
    Well , I just try to be honest !

    Leave a comment:

  • Atehequa
    Originally posted by White Powwow Dancer View Post
    Very nice poem!!
    And I appreciate your kind words.

    Leave a comment:

  • White Powwow Dancer
    Very nice poem!!

    Leave a comment:

  • Atehequa
    Originally posted by wardancer View Post
    just don't think much of it !
    I appreciate your frankness.

    Leave a comment:

  • wardancer
    just don't think much of it !

    Leave a comment:

  • Atehequa
    started a topic Red Eft

    Red Eft

    Dawn has passed and the fog drifts in
    All days are not clear and bright
    Of the many places I have been
    None can thwart the coming of night
    Mother Nature is and always will be
    Our only one true sensible reality
    Felt, heard and in the range of sight

    A water strider dancing atop the stream
    While blue jays scold a mockingbird
    The tendrils of mist seem like a dream
    Old spirits to be felt, seen and heard
    My knowing exactly just how I feel
    Forever believing what is truly real
    Here long before man’s written word

    Desiring to make everything all his own
    While putting Mother Nature in her place
    His soul as collateral, living on god’s loan
    He gives her white wings and a human face
    By these written words, a wink and nod
    Man has become his own false god
    Out to conquer all at a maddening pace

    I believe in mockingbirds and blue jays
    And the painful barbed sting of a honeybee
    They never tell me to change my old ways
    Or partake of the fruit from a forbidden tree
    Man’s god prods me not which way to go
    Nor what to learn and what not to know
    Other than what I can, feel, hear, or see

    Like the red eft slowly crossing my path
    And an old owl roosting high upon a bough
    I will not fear the god of man’s wrath
    And shall accept what nature does allow
    Man’s words or his god can never decide
    Upon which breeze swan’s down will ride
    Before man’s written words and even now

    Reclaiming stolen ground beneath his temple
    Issuing wild cries in his public squares
    From an earlier time, seemingly simple
    Matching eye to eye, the disbelieving stares
    Not of any one mold man’s god was cast
    Reminding everyone of their primitive past
    And any ongoing, inconsiderate foolish affairs

    Last Autumn’s leaves blanket the forest floor
    Shades of brown, dry and slowly crumbling
    Walls, stained glass windows, or a locked door
    Cannot shut out the thunder’s rumbling
    Man’s words can never quell the call of a loon
    And never will they draw down the moon
    Regardless of writings or prayerful mumbling

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