A poem by Roberta Hill of the Oneida tribe
The sunlight in your heart hovers
in your smile when you share
your knowledge. Women and men
of intelligence and grace,
you created the spirit of this place.
How you have aided
my soul, that fluttering thing
that tries to launch across the haze,
that wants to flit
beyond the first green leaves
The moonlight in your heart
fills this city as it sleeps
and dreams. That moonlight knits our wounds
through the many ways you think
of others climbing
the hills behind you.
Cold Mountain said don't lose
the moment's happiness. The same
wind that woke him wakes us now.
The starlight in your heart twinkles
in Duck creek, glistens like dew
on early grass. It
helps the buds break as now
into a shock of green.
When we talk sometimes I see
one intense immense earth
wider than our words and more profound,
brilliant as a breath
wearing your radiance.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
I work as a substitute teacher, teaching all kinds of subjects and all kinds of grades. Today, I taught at an elementary school, and every now and then, the kids share a snack or two with me - perks of the job : ) Well today, I got treated to a couple of rainbow popsicles with some gloriously corny jokes typed on the sticks, and I just felt compelled to share the fun. Enjoy!
|What animal unlocked the farm gate? The Turkey|
|Why were the police suspicious of the blinds? They were shady|
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Mama, I'm sorry I don't celebrate Mother's Day like the other good little boys and girls. I'm sorry I don't shower you with material things. You know I don't need a Mother's Day reminder to remember how important you are to me. You know I don't believe in confining what I feel for you to a single day of the year. What I feel for you takes every moment of my life. What I feel for you can not be bought and sold at Walmart or Hallmart or any other mart. It cannot even be expressed with these very words. It is an invisible force that is mysteriously discernible by our hearts and our spirits.
You know I love you before, during, and after Mother's Day
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Several years ago, I met my inner spirit (at least I think I did). I was in the land of dreams, walking down a hallway of a dilapidated elementary school. Many frustrated teachers stormed out of a glowing room. They warned me to stay away from the room. I didn’t listen. I stepped right into the room, and there sat a little boy with brownish skin and long black hair. He was the only kid in a classroom of empty, broken desks. He had given all the other teachers so much trouble, refusing to listen to their ways, methods, and formulas, but with me he was kindhearted, gentle, and welcoming. He smiled, and then motioned for me to come closer. He told me in a soft soothing voice that his name was “Ghost Warrior,” and then, in the next moment, I returned to reality.