Red Bird

 "Zitkala-Ša was co-author of "Oklahoma's Poor Rich Indians: An Orgy of Graft and Exploitation of the Five Civilized Tribe-Legalized Robbery". 

The article exposed several corporations that had robbed and even murdered Native Americans in Oklahoma to gain access to their lands."

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zitkala-Sa

Still I would not forget that the pale-faced missionary and the hoodooed aborigine are both God's creatures, though small indeed their own conceptions of Infinite Love. A wee child toddling in a wonder world, I prefer to their dogma my excursions into the natural gardens where the voice of the Great Spirit is heard in the twittering of birds, the rippling of mighty waters, and the sweet breathing of flowers. If this is Paganism, then at present, at least, I am a Pagan.

https://web.archive.org/web/20110212153707/http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=ZitPaga.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=1&division=div1

Girth gridless consumes orion's belt hewn

 

Nights off the grid where moon power split

Waters gravity slid under lights undid 

Trees thrushed in breeze shuddered all leaves 

As the staid recomposure of winter withered forlornly forgotten 

All ebb flow verboten flowered a heart crushing snap 

Ice not quite delicate crystalized device 

Precious the coal not of any mine 

As your ours settled in a bed of fire hours decomposed 

A blanket dew ashed or were it reversed,

Limbs naked in bark recall no meadowspark 

Wry wren and twin tits flit twig twiterpated slow emotion 

Sun wraps untapping photons stream burbles 

Buds begin all saps in a spin no centrifuge contains 

Stellar lands of crow bands sky sprinkles their pepper 

As nut dropped the road way weighs 

Thor O bred under chestnut sighs frost on hocks memorialized 

Mapless no pattern this power in reins droplet dabbled 

No commission by omission regulated the ionospheric damper 

No thermo stat my inflatable mat under your ageless awning canopy 

All living assisted by all part dead life 

Minerals jump-started in thermal embrace 

Whether snot any purpose Time sneezes or knot head burls  

Beauty, unfurls.

SE Portand 2-18-21 

Blod blot bloet

" The bones get a lot of attention,” says Juul, “but we also play around with human blood. 

Our drum in the centre of the stage is called Blod, which means ‘blood’. That is painted with the blood of the three of us.”

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2021/feb/16/blood-sacrifice-the-rise-of-dark-nordic-folk-heilung-wardruna

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2021/feb/16/blood-sacrifice-the-rise-of-dark-nordic-folk-heilung-wardruna

Blizzardy refuge

 

Hunkered in on rootpillow coastal redwood base 

Last two mornings, ground reliant on towering limbed fronds 

To absorb dew and guide the night tempests 

Below thirty many times now, hands numb not from cold but from tucking them in hugs around myself into armpits or under slumbering noggins 

Then impeding blizzards force a retreat to motel comforts 

I arrive in the first teeth with a backpack bursting in groceries 

Wads of crinkly cash, my admission and first time the owner is working the desk, understaffed 

Winds whip the trees outside my second floor view, the dormant volcano twenty blocks away is taken, eraserure powdered in simultaneous roars 

I open my window and blast the heater at $90 a night why not with Luke bathwater and burn stains around the screenless hello to sheer winter knives 

I get the check-in call from my ex late when all is parked and begin the following day with a noon hefeweizen and making chilli from scratch using microwave sorcery 

Feed birds daylong chip crumbs breadbits and warm fresh corn, a squirrel with frozen fur takes his share the birds scatter, trees creak with ice as wind never 

Never relents, my coastal redwood measured 18 feet round about 1000 feet away and how many hundred years the wiser

Doodledo

 Rooster bent a beer can and pecked right a bowl to cook his morning scratch as the chillum done broke 

As it fell to the motel sink at five am too warm in a shirt as the heater crowed cocky bluster in a room already a perch most nifty in comparison to a typical crash under a three hundred year cedar 

In udder silence the cowed highway flows as the humpback baby suckles five hundred liters of floating power 

Not here but on the turned off tv who disenchanted the dearth of company by serving droned nature footage astounding in plumage evolution hyperbole 

Guests stir on the second floor walkway like the mist unseen both feeding and whittling down as they say into a pastiche best regarded in a forgiving buzzed moment of clawed indulgence