Turning three

Before my mother died she came to visit me in Canada  
She was eighty five years old her hair was root black
She had a small photograph with her she left  behind
Canada was all trees to her the people said "Wow"

When asked why native Syiapapiss said wow is Mom
Mother MOM upside down we were all upside down
In my dream I was walking my feet are sure stepped
I am going back to find my shoes for this hard road

The young men of the reservation and crying out loud
They want love they want family they want to marry
We are the generation facing the damage done to us
Orphaned abandoned abused  and almost destroyed

My own story is but mine to tell my name is Sheila
Sheila Winifred Simpson Oldfield Mulholland Brown
I was McGowan in Ballyheather being molested by
the poor man who was sent to war at only seventeen

My own father was a  John Oldfield from Manchester
A passionate fling by Buckingham Palace in the fifties
The Salvation Army in Belfast made sure my twin died
Alone orphaned abandoned and abused Winifred and me

Never despair our family crest says "Never despair "
I am walking back to find my shoes and something else
Possibly my soul hidden under some rock on a stone wall

My name is Sheila Winifred Simpson I was in New York
when I turned twenty one I was offered political asylum 
Instead I returned to Belfast to take care of the bomb
blasted children in Dr. Barnardos in nineteen seventy four

I am dream walking on native land that has been paved
Listening to the young men crying to their grandmothers
We want to find love and get married we want to be fathers

My father was in the Queen's service my mother a nurse
I was conceived in England but born in Belfast a twin I was
Never to see my sister after the womb we were parted by

some damn cruel system of hate of politic of the devil him

My mother made the journey from Dungannon to Denman
To bring me a story she was afraid to tell she was killed

In some senior home her nutrition denied her hip broken

Beloved strong warrior lady of the north she went home

Riding the milky way of heaven on a great white steed  

My name is peacewalker 
My name is Moves Fire Woman
My name is Buffalo Spirit Woman 
My name is Yellow Moon
I am Dandelion 
I am Banshee a fairy woman who sings
Sun dancer who pierced to the tree of life 
for grandmother Omagh in dutch 
On our lady's day of Ascension a bomb
blew the place apart a generation of four 

On a cold pavement at three in the afternoon blood ran

In the village of Moy Winifred 's remains rotting into dust
Along side her first cousins David and his brother along
side the Simpson ladies the sisters  all have headstones 
Winifred my beloved dear wonderful strong Winifred rest

I will have no headstone
no marker 
no words
nothing grand
For me it is into the fire and into the water and back to God
Back to rejoin the holy choir in heaven to sing for my Lord

 

Brahms came to Denman Island

                       Sweetness and light like wind coming in the window
                        soft sweet wind from far of land of sun and sand
                        oh the play of notes coming together and apart
                        Catherine's hand rising and falling fingers spread
                         Like spider mother weaving passion into sound



                        Her husband Kai he and violin make love flowing
                       Flowing flowing flowing a gift from God these two
                       Sure Brahms himself is singing in the place of deepness
                       Allegro Adagio Un poco presto e con sentimento
                       Kai Gleusteen  Brahms to Denman on Holy Sunday

                        Violin Sonata and Piano Quartet no.3in d minor,opus 108
                        Summer breeze wafts through the room  violin opens hearts
                        Yes music reaches into longings in heart core strings deep
                        Brahms surly knew love of great to melt the hard edges off
                        God looks down and smiles says thank you my children

                         Sunday afternoon in the garden of Eden and paradise


                      

Grandson Owen

  Delightful lad he and grandfather making fire
  burning away old gate and banging hammers
  nine and a half year old and sixty five year old
  between them a whole lot of medicine soul time

 They got to be alone to play each other friend
 two peas in a pod in playing in the fire element

 We go to eagle point to  look over the nest
 
 At eagle point he becomes an "Owen Bird"
 Before our eyes we see this little man become
a bird with all intention his beak a plastic bottle
his arms out spread wings he  is flying around
on the ground a big "Owen bird " as eagles
real eagles on a nest listen intently below
listen and surely wonder who is this owen bird

If I were a little bird

Sure I would be fast alseep till first dawn light
Where do the wee birds sleep at night alone
Little birds who sing at dawn with all them
Little birds who share secrets if we listen
Little birds can detect bullshit in humans
Telling lies or conning as humans do
Sing my robin red breast sing your soul
Raven talks to me and mimicks my words
Crow now there is awesome bird for sure
Law light shadow and seeing in between

McDonald

Mystery woman your courage and your luck
not one in ten thousand know your name

facebook

 The dogs are barking at my feet again
  i deleted my facebook account forever
 Who needs to hear the stupid cruel words 
  Contempt rage and bitter tongues annoying
 Self opinionated without an ounce of heart
 The bitch never got over  her silly self rage
 

All that I am

 All that I am and have become belongs to me

I open doors all by myself I try hard to be real

I am on an open road and I am traveling to find

The end of my journey and the lessons learned

My heart was sealed when my mother  left me

My whole body shut down then that day forever

My eyes became small my mouth and lips small

My ears shrunk into tiny little flaps invisible

But i could hear the grass growing  listening

Yes they tortured me for years and years fixed

Fixed in me the need and want for forgetting

Now i forget every thing every day every  moment

My name is Moves Fire Woman and I am a warrior

John Brown

  He died on my birthday this sweet  brother in law

  His voice his laughter and his good mirth  remain
 
  Him and my beloved Greg talking about electronics

 My husband loved his older brother and he swore
  that after he died John came to visit in spirit and
 even tuned up our new car a gift from God I am sure
John did not even need an airfare or the  border hassle

My husband has remained quiet this year I know he
Misses Johnny like we miss the birds singing outside
Grief was not unexpected and Greg knew the doctors
Would take him sooner than later Greg let go hard

Their conversation would end with I love you Johnny
I know Johnny loved Greg they shared a passion for
Auto mechanics and they both shared family stories
Both these boys left home left the familiar streets

John went south to the land a alligators and sun shine
Greg went west into the rainforest and black bear dens
The telephone kept them in touch  for years they talked
I miss those days and my husband's laughter and joy

Thirteen minute Ramble two

I left home in September of sixty nine
said goodbye to everything familiar
the endless cups of tay and scone bread
away from the voices of my community
into the cold sterile place of school
to a small dorm room where I would study
books on anatomy and nursing practice
I traded my farming clothes for a uniform
of blue and a watch that hung from my dress
it was never easy being out in the world
Tyrone county hospital Omagh called me nurse
we giggling girls went trough the trials
of becoming slaves to doctors orders
of making beds with neat folded corners
of carrying urinals to older men in bed
I traded my county side walks for the
smell of antiseptic soap and dirty laundry
of operating theater and well scrubbed hands
of unexpected death and sorrow of violence
from car accidents to sickness and domestic
horror in the first year I saw it all
called to baptize a dying new born
to washing the now still breathed elder
and then in emergency the shocking loss
of life of an eight year old child at three
in the afternoon she lived seven days after
the truck opened a gaping wound on her small
forehead and we hopelessly tried to save her
reading the words in stone written in stone
above the entrance to causality to live
in hearts we leave behind is not to die
as I listened to the priest comfort parents
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die