Ground (day 2777)

I am the age of an ancient warrior
Inspect me from the ground
Grind my bones to dust around
That build you a new throne
Take me to Olympia
To seek ritual truth
Take me from the goats up high
To bury me in sound
Fashioned from steel and stones
Forever in the ground

The Moon (day 2540)

I opened up my window to see
Full moon at my scape,
Emotion flowed from my lips
Leading me into night.

I found a letter on my mind
That began to ring so true
Aligning with my intentions
I had thought through and through.

I roused my warrior to a sweat
How could we lead otherwise!
And into night we danced our dance
For intentioning our life.

Beginning as a quiet chant
Roused by midnight firelight
Spiraling towards the moon
As rivers go on to ocean.

I swallowed in the moon
With ten thousand breaths
Tomorrow to wake again
Bound on my path.

Legion’s Strain (day 2338)

So at last our North Sea Queen
Had her legions taught and adept,
Lamenting heard from shore
Where the abandonned had gathered
Bow of the vessel was pointed – of course – due north
To icy depths the legion were bound.
Back and forth the North Sea Queen strolled
Eyeing her crew to weed out the weak
As if it were still needed
To strike fear into her warriors.
They had been trained and hardened
Against the coldest of stones
Heartless and dedicated and ruthless and cruel
And each one full willing to bend at request.
She dressed in pure blackness
A sign of her coldness
Around her neck was wrapped ten strands of silk
That had come from the deadly
In an act of submission,
Her boots were thigh high
Of dear Spanish leather
Stained by the hands of those who’d defied her,
Her coat long and dark that swept to the floor
Beneath she wore – dramatically expected –
A gown of black lace.
So it was the ship creaked and groaned
Under the weight of a legion’s strain
Bound by blood to following orders
With the North Sea blowing with fury
Home again, home again, row row row.

North Sea Queen VIII by Doreen Broers
North Sea Queen VIII by Doreen Broers (ig)

Sharpening Stone (day 2326)

Upon a knee
Our warrior was blasphemed
Rose in teeth
Cut down
And consecrated
Upside down
By a dagger
Ten inches long
Through the girth
Of his left rib
Icy reverie ensued
From the coldest of hands
From the North Sea Queen.

Upon a knee
Blood thickly rolled
Like dreadful winter freeze
All words lost
In the eyes of our warrior
Who at long last
Veil removed
Saw truth
Darkness in the heart
Ice in the touch
Of the North Sea Queen.

Upon a knee
A heart slowly broke
Glossed over
With ice
A deep cold
For within this
Intimate hearth
Exposed, revealed
A sharpening stone
Ancient and froze
And our warrior’s sadness
Frigid
Clasped
By the North Sea Queen.

North Sea Queen II by Doreen Broers
North Sea Queen II by Doreen Broers (ig)

Coyote Song (day 2242)

Like a warrior’s window
I have taken my bold chance
Sent my spear forward, spinning
To make my impression
In your days ahead,
Gypsy on a river boat.

Set idle by your fire
In an old wooden rocking chair
Watching tomorrow set away,
My spear slows down to rest;
River dances away.

In earnest I ask
Which old coyote song
Begets a lone call from you tonight?
For fear makes me
A sentimental man
As lines running through
An old hickory handled spear,
Rocks in a river bed.

Purple Pants are Right (day 2066)

My purple pants have begun to stretch
Into what is now a rich, royal blue
My teeth, they chatter back and forth
But in this wisdom: nothing more
I propose to block these three freedoms
For they each halt my ability to capitalize
On what has always been naturally me
Now I shall usurp liberty
A statue shall fall to build a wall
And my money God, you shall learn to serve
Until too late, for the end is near
Though I shall not call all so dear
This is a game, rags and all
For my warriors shall build as I say
And my plans will overthrow each day
I will make all Right again
I will make all Great again.

Moon at Midnight – Part XXXIV (day 2008)

(part XXXIII)

In the morning Lily told us
She had dreamt of an owl
And had spoken to it
She said it was dad
His name had been Night Owl
Who gave her a message for Willow
And she told us
He had said that things ahead
Were going to get dangerous
And that sticking with Joe
Was very necessary.

Mountain Chief came to us that morning
Saying he had dreamt about Night Owl, too
He repeated what Lily had said
That the vision was a strong one
And Joe was to be trusted
And so I was to be trusted.

I didn’t really know what to do
I had always been a believer
That a family unit was one that shared decisions
So I kept silent
Could I really forecast, prophesize
To give any sort of resolution?
I did reinforce to Mountain Chief
And to Lily and Willow
That I could be trusted
And if I knew anything, I would speak.

When I stepped out of the teepee
Many of the people in our family
Were waiting, looking at me
Expecting some kind of miracle
But Mountain Chief settled them all down
Laughing at them and slapping me on the back
He was a good leader, a fierce warrior,
A strong man
One I had no desire in challenging
A man who was my friend
And his honesty and consideration for me
Only affirmed my affection for him
A man who had let me into his home
And into his heart like a brother.

Willow, Lily and I walked to our favourite lookout
Where we could see the entire valley
And the distant snow covered peaks
We wondered how long it would be now
Until the snow came to us
We had our furs and were gathering food
But winter is winter
No matter how many campfires you have
It’s still cold to the naked skin.

When we came down we paused near the place
I had found Lily the night before
And sat there for a while
Trying to understand the energy of the space
Suddenly out from the canopy
Came a beautiful owl
With a wing span that must have been 3 meters across
It came straight at us
Then turned sharply fanning us
For us to see it’s full and beautiful wing
It floated down the clearing
And in to the thick canopy.

part XXXV

Still Life in the Window (day 1970)

Raindrops set the mood
On an open Thursday night,
Songs reverberated callusedly
Against a faint rattle
Hardly heard under the crash
Of elephant hoof raindrops
Where the marksman’s twang
Nearly captured,
Patiently awaiting amidst a
Two pane dust memory
With a perfect view
Of empty hopes;
A thin cobblestone path
Weaves its way
Amidst falling whitewashed fencepoats
And tufts of sheep fodder
With eager gumboots
Avoiding eye contact
With our token warrior
Next to a thimble and needle
And a postcard received yesterday.