Feathers on Wings

©3-02-03 —¤¤»»feathér»» aka mjwr (Revision 5-2-04)
All rights protected under the copyright law. Not to be reproduced or republished without the express permission of the author. [email protected]

Unveiling of the Soul
Again, today her heart aches~
disintegrating a part of her soul.
Leaving her alone in silence
destroying her ever so slow.

You know naught how she longs to be with him.
You know naught of the torment within.
Each moment seeming like eons~
as she waits for their lives to begin.

Gone is the strong-willed woman~
who stood tall in the perils of life.
She's whithered into the shadows~
a ghost longing to be his wife.

She believed each fable he told her.
She struggled to make them strong.
This soul disguised as a Warrior~
trampled her love to the ground.

Each time she lie there gasping~
for release from the tormenting pain;
this soul disguised as a Warrior,
fed her promises~upon which to sustain.

For a moment she'd rise~tattered and torn.
Clenching at each thread of hope~
then he'd cast her back into the darkness~
within its belly~she no longer could cope.

Except for the grace of her Maker~
she would have lain down, to quietly die.
But He unveiled the soul of the Warrior,
and uncloaked each hideous lie.

Her vision restored and unencumbered~
new strength flowed through every vein.
She stood ready to fight the Warrior~
and fight for her heart to reclaim.

Drums were heard across the grasslands.
Some say spirits danced~all through the night.
Winds were strong as her hair blew~
she stood tall to take on the fight.

He came, armed with promises and falsehoods.
But, today, she could see them plain.
And when the darkness lifted~
her heart was hers to reclaim.

She strode into the dawn's new morning,
strong with head held high.
The warrior was seen in the distance~
huddled beneath a vestige of lies.


© June 1997 feather aka mjwr
from"Highheels, with Moccasin Soul, Poetry, Thoughts and verse" 1999 Spizziri Publishing.
Not to be copied, or reprinted in any form without the express permission of the author.
[email protected]

---------------------
The Vagabond's Soul

The vagabond's soul
treaded upon the black top,
beginning another journey-
that was not part of the plan.

He had once dreamt about
dining on delicacies,
in places he hadn't been--
he hadn't meant the alleyway
feeding on discarded linguini.

He once had dreamed
to visit foreign places.
He hadn't meant the jail rooms
he had come to know-
in the nameless towns.

The vagabond's soul
treaded upon the black top
under the blistering sun.
Wondering how he had gotten here-
and would his soles survive-
the black top.



©1999 feather aka mjwr
Copyright protected. Taken from "Highheels, With Moccasin Soul-Poetry, Thoughts and Verse". Spizziri Publishing. Not to be reproduced or redistributed in any form, mechanical or computer technology, without the express permission of the author. [email protected]

---------------------
Yellowed-Paper
(a.k.a. My Thoughts About Treaties)

You question
the legitimacy
of our
existence.

For we
do not
relate well
to your
power-driven
world.
Our grandparents
were plucked
from the lands
which sustained us.

And were thrust
into the bowels
of the earth.
Here, you
expected us to flourish.
You ripped
the souls out
of our grandparents.
You tore children
from the milk of their
mother’s breast.

To teach them
your ways--
with your people.
Our grandfathers
were killed for
a handful of berries.
Plucked, to ease
the pain
within our bellies—
when your promised food
was devoured or sold
by your people of greed.

Your men
plunged their seed
into our women,
then made
those babes
measure their blood.

To this day
it is we,
alone,
who cease to be
upon those
trails of paper.

You condemn
our addiction
to the Devil’s Water,
which you gifted
us with.

Trickery,
used
to make my grandfathers
sign papers,
which he could not read.

And today—
your people call
our yellowed-papers
obsolete.

Yet, yellowed-paper
governs your
whole nation.
But alas, our people
learned your ways.
With this knowledge,
they remove us
from food lines,
which you taught us
to depend upon.

They built rooms
for machines
that throw out money,
just as yours—
which rest in
your little corner stores.
And now,
you tell us to forget our past
and carry on
in your world.

Surely, you jest!

Do you think
we do not see
your men—
huddled in corners,
with paper in their hands--
once more
seeking ways to
rip away our
newly built pride,
self-worth and
self-existence?

We are—
the indigenous people.
Our skin is dark.
But our eyes can see
and we have heard
your promises before.
And we recall the pain
of it’s destruction.

For we know
our grandfathers well.
They live with us
yet today,
and
in all the tomorrows
that shall come.

©1999 feather aka mjwr
Copyright protected. Taken from Highheels, With Moccasin Soul, Poetry, Thoughts and Verse. Spizziri Publishing. Not to be reproduced or redistributed in any way without the express permission of the author. [email protected]

--------------------------
Agates That Caught My Eye

She read my thoughts on treaties—
I forgot to warn her.
Sometimes there’s a wee bit
of radical in me—
(only when I write for the ignorant).
I didn’t mean to offend her.
She hasn’t broken treaties.
She hasn’t had her treaties broken.
I understand that—
she doesn’t understand,
what I understand.
But she does know
I have walked in both worlds.
For I belong to both.
And in these worlds,
I’ve picked up values
along the way.
And our values
are pretty much the same.
Values are color-blind
or at least,
I am color-blind when I choose my values.
I choose the ones, which catch my eye.
Like an agate in a pile of stones.
I collected agates when I was little.
I kept them in a box.
Years later when I grew up
and it was time to move
out of Mom’s and Dad’s—
I found my agate box.
I dumped it on the bed.
I had found lots of agates
when I was young.
They were still pretty.

I scooped them up to put them away—
They were memories and
they were “keepers”.
But I cut my finger and
the agates scattered about.
What had cut my finger?
I sorted through the agates and
discovered a piece of
colored glass, with sharp edges.
Long ago—I thought it was pretty.
It had caught my eye.
I kept it.
I didn’t know that it would hurt me—
until that day.
I choose my values.
They are my agates.
Sometimes though, I made a mistake.
I kept one that didn’t belong—
until
it hurt me
or someone else.
Then I throw it out.
As I write—
I am going through my agates.
Keeping the nice ones.
Tossing away the shards of glass.
I don’t want to cut myself—
and I didn’t mean to cut you.
But these are my agates.
You have collected your own.
Perhaps you will share yours one day.
Just remember—
We played on different playgrounds.
We walked upon different stones.
But we picked up agates—
the pretty ones,
that caught our eye.
Do you understand?


©1999 feather aka mjwr
Copyright protected. Taken from "Highheels, With Moccasin Soul, Poetry, Thoughts and Verse." Spizziri Publishing. Not to be reproduced or redistributed in any form, mechanical or computer technology, without the express permission of the author. [email protected]

------------------------------
Alabaster Whiteness
Writing is undressing my soul--

to it’s alabaster whiteness.

My private places—

where few are invited,

and fewer are asked to stay.

©1999 feather aka mjwr
Copyright protected. Taken from "Highheels, With Moccasin Soul, Poetry, Thoughts and Verse". Spizziri Publishing. Not to be reproduced or redistributed in any form, mechanical or computer technology, without the express permission of the author. [email protected]--------------------------------

Ode to My Mentor
(Retitled)

She came.
Traveling far
to knock upon my door.
the woman,
to whom I owe my life today.

She came to me in pain~
she came seeking peace~
I could only listen
and speak a few words.

Words which I had heard before
from other people.
I have no great wisdom
of my own.

It took many years
to understand~
the words of others.
And these words of wisdom
have been borrowed~
from The Great Ones
who were there in the beginning.

My human nature
fought the words~
and as I fought
I was wounded.

There were moments
of concession.
Moments of defeat.
Crumpled upon the bed
a broken spirit~
crying within.

When I
could fight no more
she came~
with understanding,
compassion,
and love.

She had fought her own battle
in years past.
So she cradled me
and my heart.
Sharing with me~
freely~
all her knowledge
that she had come to know.

Telling me if I could come
to lay my armor down~
my heart would heal.
The battle would end~
I would come to know peace.
In my defeat, I'd win.
And I had heard these words before.
Perhaps it was my pain.
Perhaps it was her way
of telling me~these words.
Whatever it had been~
I walked from the battleground.

When she came to me today~
wounded by life, seeking peace.
I could only share
my wisdom~
which had come from her.

I lived to help her
only because~
she had cared for me
when I had lain~
crumpled and broken
by life.

©1999 feather aka mjwr "Highheels, With Moccasin Soul-Poetry, Thoughts, and Verse" 1999 First Printing Spizziri Press, Rapid City, South Dakota. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or transmitted in amy for or by any means, without the express written consent of the author. [email protected]

----------------
Four Gifts

She knelt before her
Master's feet~
Looking up
into His eyes.
In all her earnest
she said to Him
As 'pon her cheeks~
tears slowly slide~

"Four gifts
for you my Master,
Each wrapped with gentle care."
He looks down at her
smiling~
As He gently
stroked her hair.

She reaches down
to the first
gently lays it in
His hand~
Wrapped in red
with lacey bows
she says~
"Now, my
Heart
lies in Your hands."

The second gift
a smaller one~
wrapped in silver,
with etched designs.
"Master, please
be gentle now
as I gift to You,
my Mind."

The third gift
wrapped in frothy white,
with angels'pon the bows.
She whispers
as He unwraps it,~
"Master, You now
protect my Soul."

She bends, picking
the last gift up
tremblin' as she nears.
He smiles as He looks
at her,gently wipes away
her tears.

"Master", she whispers,
"Always do remember,
I now give to You~
~my most precious gift~
my total and complete
~Surrender~

©04-02-03 —¤¤»feathér»» aka mjwr (This is modification of a similiar verse I had read, author unknown, modified to fit me as a submissive woman. This version has been retitled.)
All rights protected by the copyright law.
Not to be copied or reproduced, nor distributed in any form, nor sold without the express permission of the author. [email protected]

---------------

I Make No Apologies

I make no apologies

for saving my soul~

I know there are places

I simply can't go.

I've been lied to

and beaten

I know heartache

the best~

Call me a disappointment~

But I know

HE

knows best.

I came to

HIM

crawling,

a tortured spirit

you might say.



HE

reached down

and smiled~

HE

saved me that day.

Life has its trials and

I've journeyed

a few.

I know this now~

I don't have to

"make-do".



A lone spirit I may be,

as I travel the shores~

but I do so in faith

HE

has something in store.



Don't peek into my world,

telling me

that

I've failed~

I know my direction,

I've visited hell.



You may find it strange~

the places I walk~

I know what I've learned~

and know what I say...

when

I talk.



The journeys I've traveled~

may not have been kind.

But I know each lesson~

that has become

mine.


We don't learn by osmosis,

sometimes I turn a deaf ear~

but He carried me through,

when I couldn't steer.



All in all,

as I heal

from my pain~

Perhaps

not the picture I painted

but it has

all been

my gain.


©2-28-03 —¤¤»»feathér»» aka mjwr revised 8-13-03

Copyright protected. Not to be reproduced nor copied without express permission of the autho, [email protected]