for a writer friend (Sandra) growing her murder one Cirque Journal artist at a time
she holds a wave
wind from the moan
so many tribes now echoes
not even printed newspapers
hold the stories, but crows
hustle history
she is on barnacles
seals gulping air
moving like gliders
rubbing whiskers against
crabs scurrying
crows waiting
she writes lines
in between ca-ca
regular black crows
pushing air around
eagles, dive bombing
Douglas firs, eagles
tripped up in their jet stream
crows juking on a road above
picking through French fries
two bags splayed on yellow line
they bob, weave, jitterbugging
on tarmac, never fearing crushing
crows are taking her moan
reparations in spirit
so many tribes, millions
eradicated for their crow
people, all those animals
uncles and aunts, tribes
in a fifth dimension
she is in many fields
past-now-future-forever
crows the messengers
not of tribes’ deaths
but of their songs
the leather and beads
those feather fans
long-houses and totems
dog soldiers and weavers
so many crows on the edge
crows take their souls
hold audience for white
women like her
she writes poems
lifts black from white
until her pages are the murder
crows everywhere
on the stanzas, inside
the capitalized ‘o’
under adjectives
crows rushing verbs
no fooling around
crows out there
in the thousands
ten thousand in Seattle
moving Puget Sound
ghosts with unifying
flight, native keepers
waiting for word warriors
to see their glory
Paul Haeder, Author 
Yes, crows and poets are warriors, bringing to the fore what is real, in never-ending fight of sound against noise. Will they return, awake in all of us, at the end of time?
On Fri, Oct 22, 2021 at 3:31 PM Paul Haeder, Author wrote:
> haederpaul posted: ” for a writer friend (Sandra) growing her murder one > Cirque Journal artist at a time she holds a wavewind from the moanso many > tribes now echoesnot even printed newspapershold the stories, but > crowshustle history she is on barnaclesseals gulping air” >
LikeLike
The Rainbow Crow was beautiful to hear and to see, back in the days when it never got cold, back in the Ancient Days, before Snow Spirit appeared in the World.
When the Snow Spirit did appear, all the people and animals were freezing and a messenger was selected to go up to kijilamuh ka’ong, The Creator Who Creates By Thinking What Will Be. The messenger was to ask The Creator to think of the World as being warm again so that they would not all freeze to death.
Rainbow Crow was chosen to go and he flew upward for three days. He got the Creator’s attention by singing beautifully, but even though he begged the Creator to make it warm again, the Creator said He could not, because He had thought of Cold and He could not unthink it. But He did think of Fire, a thing that could warm the creatures even when it was cold. And so He poked a stick into the Sun until it was burning, and the gave it to Rainbow Crow to carry back to earth for the creatures. The Creator told Rainbow Crow to hurry before it burned all up.
Rainbow Crow dove down and flew as fast as he could go. The burning stick charred all of his beautiful feathers until they were black and since he was carrying the stick in his beak, he breathed the smoke and heat until his voice was hoarse.
And so the Rainbow Crow was black and had an unpleasant cawing voice forever after, but all the creatures honored him, for he had brought Tindeh, fire, for everyone to use.
The Crow is to this day, still honored by hunters and animals, who never kill it for food…and, if you look closely at the Crow’s black feathers you can still see many colors gleaming in the black.”
THANKS
LikeLike