Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Geoffrey Philip
Joseph McNair
Chris Lord
Coleman Barks
Dave Etter
Elisavietta Ritchie
Sam Cornish
Duane Locke
Karyn Wolven
Marisella Veiga
Michael D. Long
Running Cub
Joanie Freeman
Alan Britt
Shutta Crum
Steve Beaulieu
Gerald Clark
Mary E. Finlan
Fred Wolven

KOKOPELLI IN WAHWEEP

There he stands on the cliff
As rainbow bursting colors
Scan the eastern sky.
The sun descends with
Greater glory in the west
Blazing fire into the air and clouds,
Grays and crimson, ignited by this
Sinking star that heated the earth all day.
The canyon light changes so fast
One's eyes can not adjust.
His music sings through the stillness
Of air lacking heavy moisture drops
Allowing notes to float
Gently upon the earth,
Touching souls of those mingling
With parched mouths agape
Spellbound by the melodic sound
Drifting off into all crevasses
Of human and rock forms alike.

A young Hopi Indian man
With a long black tail and gentle features
Moves with his enchanting flute.
Young children are captured by him first
As they follow him about.
Ladies eyes keep returning to his form
There out on the grassy cliff
As their chattering persists.
The men avoid his gentle tones ignoring the
Subtle softening of their being.
His songs play gentle havoc with all that can hear.
Something magical is occurring;
From the past a link to people and time
To a culture so foreign from those about.
Is it Kokopelli?  Is it?
The excitement builds in the gathering crowd.
The energy changes and swirls about,
Yet his tune stays smooth and airy
Riding the light night air
Holding all those souls in his song
Capturing them unaware.


Joanie Freeman, Virginia

 


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