Tuesday, October 24, 2017

All Saints, Souls, Samhain

All Souls, Saints, Samhain
 and the Dead

End of harvest, the reap
Long evenings grow long and deep;
Time for our stories bold,
Ancient as the night is old.

Listen

The Tuatha de Dannan
That linger beyond the veil;
Between the worlds so thin
They cross into our din.
To lure one to dine on plates of gold,
And disappear into the fold.
For years and years…

Beware

Offerings, feasting, festival and more
Honor those that come back to the door.
For one night, for one day
Welcome both the kin and the fey.

Honor

As we all that live get grey
The young we need to pay,
With several treats
Some of them sweets
Because it hold the fearful at bay!!!!


Pray for the Dead 

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

All Things are Connected

“All Things Are Connected”
By Toni Truesdale

Circle of life.
Season’s Endless Cycle,
Clockwise and counter.
Wind patterning the rhythms of eons,
Waves breathe in and out.
Rumbling fissures erupt
Changing the tissue of Earth.
Timeless elements; All

Spiraling generations
Crossroads point to visions
Ancestors share.
Ladders of consciousness stair
Ascent and descent;

Center of the Earth.
Enclosed in the Universe.


Four Directions,
Cross;
Healing Medicine,
Red, black, white and yellow
 The races of Humanity.
Roots of the Great Tree of Life;
Linking humanity, animals,
Plants, birds, insects
To the oneness of all things…



All things are connected-
T Truesdale copyright 1996 revised 10/17

ToniTruesdale.com

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Carnage: A Requiem




Carnage
There are imprints left on the land;
Deep grief and pain.
I see this, feel this, hear the sounds of tears sometimes…
It overwhelms me;
Took until my teens to realize not every feels the
The agony of others misery;
Past, present, future…

Within the cities
Frustration and anger
Imparted unknowingly;
Wear the pathos of children’s lives,
Unable to thrive in daily fear;
Heard acutely in my heart, in my body, tears in my art.

Over the western plains one day,
I just cried for the vain
Fragments of feeling left on the land
Filled with deep mourning…
The ghosts of the people, animals
Land, now devoid of life
For few shrubs can grow in grief.

The silent emotions,
I know them as my own,
I can almost touch the poignant memories.
They are so loud, so clear,silent
Songs of sorrow.

These imprints,
Unfelt by many
Still seep into the unconscious
And filter into lives unknowingly;
Harm us all.

I am trying to verbalize,
What went weeping
In despair,..
Those unswift deaths,
All the lives stolen
By history, by conquest, by the madness of violence.
Suffering.
Fresh and old,
Blood lies still on the land.

In the stokes of human gain;
Others died, lived and left a terrible pain
Saturated into our suffering earth.
Our World Mother grieves.
As I do,
And anyone that can hear this carnage, still
Speaking so loudly into the silence.










Thursday, September 21, 2017

Equinox: Harvest

“The Three Sisters”
by Toni Truesdale

Corn, bean and squash are  known by many
First Nations as “The Three Sisters”.
These crops were developed by indigenous farmers
All over the Americas pre European contact.
Often grown together in the farmer’s fields;
They were developed for their excellent nutrition.
While many varieties have survived today.
There was more diversity before 1492.
Crops from the Americas transformed the world
And continue today to save many from starvation.

Truesdale copyright 2010
ToniTruesdale.com




Thursday, September 14, 2017

Waters: Recognize Earth in crisis: We need to restore the natural flow and ebb



Holy Ghost Creek
By Toni Truesdale

The transparent lingering ghosts of animals
Still drink some days at the moving water
Washed clean by the steep, annual monsoonal rains.
Inside the world within these timeless pools
Tiny fish dart between the rounded glowing stones,
Green vines pulse with the movement of flow and wind
As insects gleam on the surface.
Each day reflections those before and after,
Holy Ghost Creek.

ToniTruesdale.com
Copyright T.Truesdale 2012


Sunday, September 3, 2017

The Ironies of History: as we debate the merits of white "heros" in granite

Oh, what a heroes!
They discuss so endlessly,
Great men that (con) formed to
The great Western culture of civility,
White males of such complexity!

Columbus was a hero, they say,
Each year, we have to celebrate his day.
Just because he stumbled onto an island while,
In search of the opposite hemisphere.
He became the first, all right
To enslave and torture the residents,
Who came to see in peaceful curiosity?
Those crazy enough to cross the big sea.

Cortez, too, came from far away,
Glowing (and stinking) in metal clothes that glowed in the sun
Wielding strange weapons that impaled
With such cultural superiority.
He demanded gold, lots of gold,
To take back across the sea
Just to look good for greedy royalty.

Slave ship after slave ship
Crossed the Atlantic waters,
As the priests gave blessings for
The  “divine right” of Europe,
Chained inside, men were beaten
 As women were used,
And the sick thrown overboard…
Lots of cash profit
For the social elite;
From the misery and kidnapping of humans.

What songs we sing to those illustrious men,
That considered all non-white people as tools to be used,
As they lived on Native land and harvested indigenous fields.

This left a legacy:
Men, women, and children slaughtered shamelessly.
Entire villages and cultures buried
Under “Manifest Destiny”
In mass unmarked graves.

George Washington,
Was a fine fellow, they say.
All he took was Indian land
To pay his soldiers
That fought the crazy king George.
And to establish the rights of the few wealthy males
Over women, children, Black, and Native minorities.

Thomas Jefferson, that Founding Father,
Kept his own children as slaves.
Considered the great mind of his day,
Hid his Black wife away.

Custer was a vain man,
He had fine curls,
Gold trim on his jacket,
That he wore with such grace;
All the other soldiers wanted to imitate,
His military tactics.
It was not just his ego that was defeated by those united Sioux tribes
That he considered so “primitive”.

Just why do we have
These men in books?
Why do we study their lives so religiously?
Instead of recognizing hypocrisy?

And what God did they worship,
And expect all to follow?
Christians who pray to kill, conquer,
And accumulate wealth beyond spending,
Things beyond using, food beyond eating
While others go without?
Did Jesus use weapons to harm and betray?

So I ask,
Just what is a hero?
What did these men believe?
It seems they emulate the actions of Judas
More than following the teachings of Christ.
How brave are these men
To use force to convince others of
Religious superiority?

And where are the Peacemakers
When we talk of history?
Those that did not defeat or use arms?
Where are those that chose to communicate?
Often muted too soon,
Even if their words live on.
Patiently waiting for us to listen
To the reason of peace.

So, I ask;
What is status?
A title, wealth?
And define nobility.
For what price is paid and by whom;
When we toast these “heroes”
What do we really emulate?

T.Truesdale copyright 1995



Monday, August 21, 2017

MOONDANCE

Moondance
Dark red cycles,
Salty tides,
Inhale and exhale
The song of the moon;
Mysteriously connecting in watery blood
Each woman to each;
And back to our Mother, the Earth

Toni Truesdale.com

Copyright T.Truesdale 2017