Category: poetry

This was the opening prayer delivered by Galina Krasskova at the UN Conference on Women and Indigeny. I want to share it with you all.

Opening Ancestor Prayer

Let us begin our work today by calling upon our ancestors.

Let us call upon the Algonquin, the Wappingers Confederacy and all other Native peoples who walked this land and whom this land remembers.

Let us begin by calling upon the mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers of our lines, all the way back to the time our respective peoples began.

Let us begin by reaching into the past, to the strength and wisdom of our forebears, for guidance as we seek to transform our present.

I call now to our collective ancestors, women and men who laid down their lives, who faced conquest, struggle, potential obliteration , who stood strong and proud so that each of their descendants might have a chance at survival, at life, at continuance. I call to those men and women whose joys and sacrifices, struggles, and successes culminated in each one of us sitting here today. Hear us oh, honored dead.

Those of you who came before us, living lives rooted in your own ancestral ways, be with us here today.  Be with us as we come together in dialogue and peace. Inspire us that from here, buoyed by the strength of our collective passion, our collective words, our collective insights, we might go forth and transform our oh so damaged world. Root us, oh ancestors, in our respective indigeny. Root us in the knowledge that indigeny is about celebrating the dignity of every living being on the planet; indigeny is about recognizing that we are indisputably connected to the earth, the land, and most of all to each other. Oh ancestors let our work today honor that awareness with grace.

Oh our mothers, our fathers, our foremothers, our forefathers all the way back to the time of the beginning, are calling us to action. I know you all hear that call. May our warrior ancestors, who never, EVER went gently into the good night of conquest, who fought and laid down their lives sometimes en masse for the survival of their traditions, our traditions, let us call upon them now. Defiant Ones, Proud and enduring ones, men and women both. Give us the strength to reject that which would poison and corrupt our connections to our ancestors, our Holy powers, the land upon which we live, and each other. Give us the wisdom to know know in our bones that sustainability does not come from disconnected governments and avaricious corporations but from the belly of our ancestors and the traditions they called their own, traditions that are our birthright, our inheritance.

Oh Ancestors, give us the courage to confront privilege—our own most of all—to actively engage with ideas and concepts that may be painful, to  engage with mindfulness, respect, and authenticity.

Most of all, let us never give up, never surrender, never step back from this fight; no matter what hostility or pressure we might face. We too are warriors in a struggle that has spanned generations. Stand with us, oh our beloved dead. Grant us a measure of your strength. We carry the medicine of our ancestors.  Oh Ancestors, hear our vow: no one here will be legislated, educated, starved, murdered, shamed out of existence. We will not allow our traditions—whatever those ancestral traditions might be for here we sit, from all corners of the globe united by a common purpose—to be forgotten. We will not allow the land that cradles the bones of our foremothers and forefathers to be devastated. Many things can be lost or taken by the rushing press of dubious progress, or through the violent devastation of conquest but indigeny is not one of them. It flourishes in each one of us. It is in the soil upon which we walk. It is hidden in our skin and blood and bones, in the connection from parent to child to grandchild and beyond. Oh our mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, help us stay consciously rooted in that knowledge.

May we hold strong. May our ancestors sustain us.

It will take both sides, living and dead, to right the balance of this world.

May we hold strong and never bow our heads in fear.

We are each our ancestral lines walking. The time is now and I call upon our ancestors: give us ears to hear and eyes to see and the courage to go fearlessly wherever we must go, to do whatever we must do, to protect and heal our broken world.

With the blessing of the ancestors—all of our collective and honored dead—may we be given strength and may we always remember: we do not do this work alone. We are our ancestral lines walking. We come with nations of our ancestors at our back. May they be honored. May they be hailed. May they be remembered. May they inspire us.


The Sundered Kin

Someone posted up this poem on a forum I belong to, I thought I would share it with you all.

The Sundered Kin

We walked together all unknowing
Beneath the lights burning cold
Sky was lost the night was stolen
We sought our way to the sundered kin

One found his way beneath the hammer,
Found himself on the path of Thor
He learned to laugh to craft and battle
He’s not among the lost no more

One found her way to the honey goddess
Learned of magic and of love
Freya taught her fire’s passion
She won’t be out in the cold no more

We were walking those remaining
On the streets so dark and grey
There were so many strangers shouting
To stop our search for the sundered kin

One found the one armed warrior
Found the iron law of Tyr
Found what it means to live your honour
He can be lead astray no more

One found herself before the hearth fire
Found Mother Frigga waiting there
Taught her patience, craft and wisdom
Her children will be lost no more

We met again beside the fire
Strong and proud we told our tales
Followed paths across the nine-worlds
And forged again our sundered kin

The high one laughs and soars above us
Eight hooves pounding on the wind
His folk are gathered all together
Never will be sundered again

John T Mainer

Auld Lang Syne

I ain’t singing the song this year, but I’m going to post it up instead so that other people can. The version posted is attributed to the Scottish poet, Robert Burns

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind
Should auld acquaintaince be forgot
And auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll be your pint stowp
And surely I’ll be mine,
And we’ll drink a richt guid willy waught
For auld lang syne.


We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pu’d the gowans fine,
But we’ve wandered monie a wearie fit’
Since auld lang syne.


We twa hae paidled in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine
But seas a’tween us braid hae roared
Since auld lang syne


And here’s a hand my trusty fere
And gie’s a hand o’ thine
And we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.