A Dream Of Meeting ( Archived) (14)

Take me back to loneliness,
to all your lonely thoughts...

If you dream of meeting
in your heart's longing,

then your heart will meet with me
in the center of all Love holds
in its sacred hands. It will be
a circle that loops around
and ends where it often begins.

It will be a dream that belongs
with the visions of my waiting.
For I wait for that heart which exists
to meet with my own, to be one
with the soul of my yearning.

The Earth whispers your secrets
to the wind. The wind whispers
all your secret desires back
to my heart, and sings a new song
created by the joining of our spirits.

If you dream of meeting
in your heart's longing,

then dare to know what it is
that you always ache for.

Beautifully awesome, Ivy.

Roy

You are about as talkative as me, Ivy. I see from your profile that you like poetry. That one was delicious, do you have any more?

Roy,

I have many more. I am working on a collection of Native American and Nature poetry as we speak. I hope to have it to the publishers by Thanksgiving. Yes, we are both talkative. I always answer with at least four lines. If you enjoyed A Dream Of Meeting; then I think you might enjoy this poem:

BLUE GUITAR DREAMS

She is the conceiver
of blue guitar dreams,
the proclaimer
of starlit prophecies...

She walks in circles
to blue guitars,
speaks with rhyme
in a thousand pieces
and creates visions
of first impressions.
Her surprises are
without limitations.

The words she embraces
reflect star-beams into
the Sestinas of her heart.
She hears the symphony
of the blue notes
and becomes the music.
Her moon directs the sky
and orchestrates her desires.

She dances to the sound
of a thousand harps,
sings to the soul of her being
with rhapsodic melodies
and whispers refrains of amour.
At the moment of echoes,
her passions are returned
by the sultry kiss of the stars.

Thank you, Ivy. I really like poetry and have been doing some on here. It is nice to see another poet and your poetry. Thanks for sharing.

Roy

Ivy, I really like the Native American stuff. I have some Cherokee in me. A friend in Vegas made me a dreamcatcher. Do you have any about dreamcatchers?

Yes, I do. I will copy it and paste in this reply.

BREATH OF THE DREAM CATCHER

Night spirits whisper
through flames...

sing their words of love,
hum their thoughts of hope.
It is the dreaming night
as the Dream Catcher lays full
upon her bed of stars.
Below...the pale moonlight
glistens as a halo about
the hearts of those who are
caught in its river of dreams.

Those who lay next to
dancing flames of light.
See only those visions
that speak to the mind,
speak to the heart.
Clear hauntings that haunt the day;
yet are just far enough
into the dawn to steal away
the Dream Catcher's radiant breath.

That was very nice, Ivy, I loved that one. I used to search Native American art on the internet. My fifth great grandmother on father's mother's side was named Morning Dove. Her parents went the trail of tears. Morning Dove's husband was a doctor in Alabama when it was just becoming a state. Those dreamcatchers take a while to make. I watched my friend make mine and thanked him for it.

Roy

Roy,

To think that your Morning Dove's parents went on the trail of tears. How unimaginably cruel that trail was. What a shameful thing to have done to the Native American people. I have a poem about that. I have one called "Ghost Dance Sounds," that speaks of that ritual. I went to a pow wow in Charlemont, MA. I spoke with a woman about the ghost dance and she had a ghost dance shirt. I got to see it. It was exactly how I described in another poem I wrote about a Native American woman I named Cooing Dove and her love, Kicking Bear. So it was a thrill for me to be able to actually see such a shirt. I will paste the poem, "Ghost Dance Sounds," and one called "Through The Pipe." They will be in my upcoming book.

GHOST DANCE SOUNDS

Do you hear the sounds?

Ghosts dancing on the wind.
Cold breath forming a halo
in the night air.
Hear the feet stomping out
a rhythmic beat,
the thump, thump,
of the drums in the distant
echo of the past. Voices raised
...entreating,
summoning the spirits.

Awake, O' Spirits, awake.
Come dance with us
in the moonlit fires,
in the passion
of their angry flames.
Empower us
for the new journey
that we must all take.

Can you hear the sounds
of ghosts dancing
across heavy skies?
Can you hear the snake rattles
hissing out a warning?
Do you see them...these ghosts
called to stand beside
all the fallen warriors.

THROUGH THE PIPE

It is the pipe
that changed us...

descendants
of those night visions,
the dreamings with hawks
and eagles, the white buffalo.
All of the brothers and sisters
born beneath the leaves
of the birch trees. Seeing
the sultry smoke wafting
across our paths, wooing
us with their spirit aromas.
the savory scent of our Creator.

It is the pipe
that summoned us to rise up...

entering gently upon
the moccasins of the night.

Hear what we have to say,
give your hearts the chance
to believe in the visions,
join in that sacred smoke-dance
that the pipes blew across
the ageless dreams of our ancestors.