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Post by goldenmyst on Nov 29, 2021 21:40:03 GMT -6
Powwow & Father
Iroquois Chanteuse sings a Celtic mood For Powwow gatherers deep in the dusk When shadows of the quiet quilt the evening In the forever dream of a lost sun Whose whereabouts are in the blackberry fields On the horizon of silent tears Of a Tibetan plateau where rhymes grow Far from the piney halls of Valhalla Where mystic embers go on a spark journey To ascend the fires of Eden
But the keepers of the peace torch understand And follow our trail On roads etched in charcoal night That veils the secrecy of a dawn forest Until homecoming is no football game When the knowledge of my Papa’s last breath Echoes on the answering machine Like a distant sea heard in a conch shell
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Post by QueenFoxy on Dec 1, 2021 13:19:22 GMT -6
This is what came to mind when I read your captivating poem.
There’s a Real-Life Enchanted Forest, and It’s In Dartmoor, England
In a series entitled Mystical, fine art photographer Neil Burnell ventures to a remote, high-altitude forest in Dartmoor, Devon, England called Wistman’s Wood.
The surreal landscape appears straight out of a fantasy novel with dwarf oak trees, moss carpeted boulders, and lichens galore. You can practically smell the enchanting forest through these dreamlike photos.
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Post by goldenmyst on Dec 1, 2021 19:00:50 GMT -6
Thank you, Foxy, for sharing the mystical forest images. This poem was based on actual events. My wife and I were attending a Native American powwow in the north of Louisiana. I called my grandmother from the Casino and she was cherry and happy. Little did we know that my father had just passed away in the emergency room in New Orleans. My grandmother contacted the Indian Reservation and they sent their police searching for us to no avail. So my wife and I went to our favorite campground to spend the weekend bathing in waterfalls and hiking. My family contacted the forest service but were informed that there were thousands of square miles and it would be impossible to find us. We had a wonderful weekend. But when we got home my aunt had left the message on the answering machine that my father had died.
XoXoXo John
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Post by QueenFoxy on Dec 2, 2021 13:39:35 GMT -6
That's quite a story, John. Sorry your dad passed away and you could not be reached (unless maybe you preferred it that way). Some people would. Sometimes I think I might be sorry I missed it, but glad I didn't have to go. Does that make sense?
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Post by goldenmyst on Dec 2, 2021 14:52:21 GMT -6
A woman friend of mine at the time told me that my father was likely there at the powwow listening to the beautiful music with my wife and I. That was a beautiful way to see things. And I believe that is what happened. His spirit flew free right at the time that we here listening to Joanne Shenandoah's mystical Native American/Celtic music. So that way of looking at it makes it a beautiful experience. My father suffered a lot before he passed. But when his soul arrived at the Powwow he was with us and no longer in pain.
XoXoXo John
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Post by QueenFoxy on Dec 3, 2021 15:02:08 GMT -6
That's a beautiful memory to tuck away with all your other treasured memories.
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Post by goldenmyst on Dec 3, 2021 17:27:31 GMT -6
Much gratitude Foxy my friend. My life is a museum of memories now. So I put them into poetry. That is my way of keeping alive the memories.
XoXoXo John
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