THE NATIVE AMERICAN
Oh Great Spirit,
whose voice I hear in the winds,
and whose breath
gives life to all the world - hear me - I come before you, one of your
children. I am small and weak. I need your strength and wisdom. Let me
walk in beauty and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the think you have made, my ears sharp to hear
your voice. Make me wise, so that I may know the things you have taught
my people, the lesson you have hidden in every leaf and rock. I seek strength
not to be superior to my brothers. but to be able to fight my greatest
enemy. Myself. Make me ever ready to come to you, with clean hands and
straight eyes, so when life fades as a fading sunset, my spirit may come
to you without shame
If I could work miracles,
I'd wash away all that troubles your heart. I'd take away the fear and
the pain and replace them with happiness. You
are so special to me, and it hurts me to see u go through these rough times.
So remember-- no
matter how scared you may be, you'll never be alone. I'll always be with
I walk in the
shadow of your smile..My heart beats with the rhythm of your every step...To
taste the honey of your lips my breath is taken away...Your beauty is unmatched
by anything found on earth... When
I'm with you my heart beats only for you... You
are my heaven and my life's soul mate.... I
love you with a passion that extends forever..
Standing on a hilltop
calling your name- the echo returns to me, and repeats, growing fainter
` 'til I have to call again. Last
night I dreamed again. This time my name came back to me, in your voice.
Your voice-My name- growing ainter, as I strained to make it last.
When my eyes opened
in the pewter dawn I felt the untouched pillow, and trembled at the echo-
The echo of your good-bye..
Sand dunes, sizzling
under the hot dessert sun.
fragmented mosaic of my mind. `Ere I awake, I will have mapped the golden
hills and valleys: Run barefoot, clothed in white, over the exposed ocean-bottom-like
ripples: Reveled in the perfection of each pre-glass crystal, and dance
in glorious sand dune joy to the whistling angel-song winds of my dreams..
Kindest person you
could meet. Here's a daffodil for you, and daisies. Yellow for the joy
you bring, and to bring you cheer. Sweet-faced daisies, like the smile
that radiates from your soul. Patrice -compassionate: always there for
me-sweet friend/you are loved.
Good night ...* slipping
behind the curtain
"y'all meet me
under the magnolia tree, at the stroke of midnight, pet." Her dark lashes,
lowered, touched her blushing cheeks. Cool hand slid out of warm hand,
slowly. A final kiss and he was gone That night she waited under the tree-every
night, for two weeks, heart pounding as she tiptoed in the shadows to meet
him..But he didn't come back. Some say he met his doom in the rocky cliffs
at night fall. Others say he was unfaithful and ran to another's arms.
She no longer waits under the magnolia tree but dozes on the porch in her
rocking chair and dreams of southern eyes and southern lips which move
and whisper, "y'all meet me ....at midnight.....I'll be there....
and gold - skirting the cobalt skies. Hot clay baking in the hot sun. Cool
caves housing whispered secrets. Cool clay resting under a hugh moon set
in a indigo shy. Night predators stalking cave dwellers. Exotic Sierra,
awash in golden - orange - . blue. Home of a million secrets
To be in the Tribe,
there is no word for orphan, where there are no words profanity, where
there is no word for lonely. To be in the tribe where there are no secrets,
no lies, no barriers, no wars, no hate. The work is long and hard but you
live at the expense of your own sweat, not the sweat of others. Where we
are hunters, survivors, and craftsmen, not just consumers. Where the only
ads you see are brought to you by the Great Spirit. I just want to be home
again, to be in the Tribe.
\zzz~* Rain ^
to Sierra ~
The horizon, vast
stretches from east to west in a slight curve. It I mark this spot and
walk and swim, and toil and struggle, how long would it take before
I would return and see the same horizon? The mark I would then stand on
would have aged a bit, but I would stand on it proudly, knowing that I
had conquered, and that it was worth the journey
"by her dear
friend , Patrice "
When the Trail of
Tears started in 1838, the mothers of the Cherokee were grieving
and crying so much, they were unable to help their children survive
the journey. The elders prayed for a sign that would lift the mother's
spirits to give them strength. The next day, a beautiful. rose began to
grow where each of the mother's tears fell. The rose is white for their
tears: a gold center represents the gold taken from Cherokee lands, and
the seven leaves on each stem for the seven Cherokee clans. The Wild
Cherokee Rose grows along the route of the Trail of Tears into eastern
"Legend of the
Cherokee Rose "
Coming soon photo