poetry

Swan Song – a poem for International Women’s Day

Posted on by

International Women’s Day was March 8.  Sherry Ansloos wrote the following poem.

To introduce her poem, Sherry writes, “In honor of women who have inspired, I want to post this poem.  It gives a voice to the murdered and missing Indigenous women in Canada. It commemorates Helen Betty Osborne, a Cree women who was murdered in 1971. Her voice for women’s rights was not silenced.”

Swan Song

Helen Betty Osbourne you left us too soon
To dance away pain with the woman on the moon
With glitter and stardust, you move and you sway
With tears and with sorrow we remember today.

Though cold be the ground where your young blood was spilt
And sullied the process of finding justice and guilt
Though racism, sexism and indifference was rife
Dancing its dirge on the edge of that knife

Your death shone a light on the wickedness of man
More dark than the skin on your indigenous hand
Innocent be your heart as you move free tonight
Watching over your sisters who fight for their rights

So every young woman can speak and be heard
That no is a word that can never be blurred
And take back their bodies as sacred with awe
Ending the violence for the women called squaw

Moon sister you thought that your cries were not heard
That your voice returned void without power in your words
But we heard your voice sing how you suffered this wrong
Women’s rights will remain your unyielding swan song

It Whistles Through – a poem

Posted on by

Here’s a poem by Blair Barkley.  He read it at Celebration Sunday a few weeks ago.

It Whistles Through:

It whistles through the willows of a borough,

and floats on the water of a pond,

and roars down the falls of a river,

inverted in a glassy refection of a sea,

foaming on the shores of a beach,

and crackling in the clouds of a storm,

the likes of which we haven’t seen before.

 

It soars on the strings of a past,

and flutters through memories too far to grasp,

catching a tide of a sorrow retreating,

and flutters the feathers of a bird fleeting,

falling from a kingdom of a king,

to mere mortals made of a clay,

crafted by the Father, in a race made of colourful hues.

 

It speaks through the voice of a mute,

and brings justice from the heart of a widow,

and wells up strength in the quiet and meek,

bubbling up the blood in the veins of a martyr,

crashing on the rocks of a stoney shore,

illuminating the ocean with a crystal lining,

stretching over a never-ending horizon,

resides a sacred space,

idling in the hearts of everyone

Healed by You – a poem

Posted on by

by Jessica Williams

I was healed by the invitation to speak.

I was healed by letting it all come pouring out.

I was healed by breaking open

and falling apart.

Finally.

I was healed by the place you made here

that was large enough for me.

And I was healed by a *thousand tellings.

Each one soothing some small spot of sorrow

that still mattered to me.

I was healed when you held my story.

When you said it was all allowed.

When you made room for my aching, my anguish, my anger.

I was healed when you helped me.

I was healed by the mothers, the sisters, the friends.

I was healed by the fathers, the brothers, the men.

I was healed by the children dancing, by the art, by the drum.

I was healed at the table.

I was healed by the body.

I was healed by you.