My Beltane Invocation

My Beltane Invocation

Under the full Beltane moon,
With the inner fire burning brightly
In the mid-spring night,
Will I take you beneath the stars to dance among the trees
And to sing with deep throaty moans and laughs
As heartbeat to heartbeat,
The ancient fertility rhythms compel us
To keep the sacred tryst that feeds Earth
And honors all our relations in the web of life,
Giving sexual energy as fertile life blood,
Commending awakening and growth,
Urging the ripening of love,
Expressed in the joyful embrace.

Come, follow me, my love,
To the hills, to the forests, to the newly plowed field, the river;
Come, my love, to the meadow, to the creek, the ocean,
And let us pay homage to the bringing together
And to the bringing apart,
For all ways are valid in the expression of love
On this night of lusty, frothy sacred weaving
Love as ribbons around your pole.
Come.
(C) 4 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Teach Me the Ways of Love’s Desires

Teach Me the Ways of Love’s Desires

I smile as I watch you,
Knowing the man you are
And the way you make me feel
As our eyes meet from afar.

I see in every move you make
The myriad pleasures you have
In your arms. The touch of your hand
Is to my heart a healing salve.

Your eyes dazzle me
With a cheeky kind of flirty play
And a look that beckons me to
Romp with you and do as we may.

Your smile warms my heart
And puts an electric spark
To the kindling center of me
Begging our love embark,

Oh, again, sweet lover!
Again let me feel your embrace.
Let me wrap you in my arms
And see the love in your face.

Gently and slowly show me
Your mastery of building my fire.
Take me in your arms
And teach me the ways of love’s desires.
(C) 22 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Your Eyes Dance

Your Eyes Dance

Everytime I see you after we’ve been apart—
No matter how short the interval—
I feel that electric pulsing tingle and surge
Swell from my womanly core
As emotions ball in my throat,
Tears well my eyes.
Your eyes dance with sparkling light
As they search out mine
With that flirty, naughty,
Yet deep-springing joyous love
That we share.

And we know
We can take our time or passionately rush,
But our desire is still the same:
To celebrate our oneness
As thoroughly as we cherish each other.

But right now,
Let us continue to stoke the fire
That shines through our eyes,
Reflecting that knowing smile
Of our spirits, our souls, our bodies—
That knows you’re mine,
And I am yours.
(C)23 November 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Touch upon Touch

Touch upon Touch

Opening joyfully to my lover
With tender compassion,
Sensuous depths explore
The most intense passion.

Soulish friendship, burning desire,
Understanding births inspiration;
Touch upon touch, a taste and a smell,
Life in bodily sensation…

A spiritual meeting, so earthy, so rare,
Cherishing gifted treasures,
With intellectual commingling…
Metaphysical pleasures.
(C) 2 May 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

If Only I Were Able

If only I were able ... I'd love to grab you & go dancing in the rain, splashing in the puddles, laughing & giggling... wiggling toes in the mud... just happy to be alive & untamed.

If only I were able... I'd love to grab you & do wading through a creek, watching the little tadpoles about to become frogs, following dragonflies with our eyes, and splashing you while giggling.

If only I were able... I'd love to take you to the top of a tall hill during a storm and watch the storm from a sheltered but still open place... feeling the wind and the rain spray us... as I hold you to watch.

If only I were able... I'd roll you on the ground in a field of sweet clover... in the daytime and in the nighttime... happy to see sun or moon... just happy to be together.

If only I were able... I'd love you so much you'd be able to swim forever in my love and never want to stop swimming again.

If only I were able.... so I made myself able in the only way I can... with my words, my heart, my soul, and my love.
(C) 28 April 2011, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Now Silent

Now Silent

Stories oft heard, stories oft told,
Stories how often I said had grown old…
Now silent.
It was such a bother to listen
That one hundredth time more…missin’…
Now silent.

But, I still had plenty of time—
Could tell it myself on a dime…
Now silent.
Little details here and there
Seemed as common as the air…
Now silent.

The empty chair haunts the room;
The stories must somehow resume…
Now silent.
Never knew how silent silent could be…
When I had the chance why didn’t I see?
Now silent.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000. All rights reserved.

Never Forget: War Is Hell

Never Forget: War Is Hell

With that joystick of computerized toys,
You destroy the enemy most foul—
From your safe distance.
But, your unaffectedness cloys…
Deep grumblings, gurgling in the bowel—
Older veterans’ sentence.

What your safe distance doesn’t show,
You think everything’s just fine
Except you might be bored.
The misery you don’t know
Could get you without much sign
Until you have been gored.
© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000. All rights reserved.

Remember, Oh Heart, You Are Not Alone

Remember, Oh Heart, You Are Not Alone

The fire that burns inside that causes fear, that brings deeps sighs, regrets,
The drowning sorrow, the uncertain waves of sea so unpredictably below
Your life's ship, the memories play, tolling on...
Sometimes alone despite the crowd, the heart cried out, oh secrets!
That cannot come back but cannot go forward into the undertow
While the sea's waves go rolling on...

Remember, oh heart, what once you loved is ever within and around
You. The love changes form and offers more, for love is.

A lover's kiss, a mother's touch like the purr of a baby cat,
The sun drenched land, the cleansing rains,
The seasons continue on...
Today the hill has berries growing, tomorrow will have grasses tall,
The sun and the rain do not mind the change
The hill produces love.

Remember, oh heart, what once you loved is ever within and around
You. The love changes form and offers more, for love is.

Your tears may fall, your heart break, you feel all is lost,
Your compass broke, the ship struck ground,
And it seems time has left you behind...
But tides do change, are changing now,
This burning, this drowning, these sorrows, these fears,
Are but a cleansing time for something more dear...
For love is...
Always. 
(c) Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 17/10/2010. All rights reserved.

I Do

I Do

Having been buffeted by storms for so long,
It’s hard to appreciate the calm
Which comes intermittently now,
But I do.

Having lived in the whirlwind,
It is hard to reap the full benefit
Of seeds sown in peace,
But I do.

Having no place to run to and be safe,
It is hard to run into the arms of god
And feel safe there,
But I do.

Having been hurt and betrayed so much by so many.
It is hard to risk trusting you
And reaching out to you,
But I do.

Having known sorrow and suffering of heart and soul,
It is hard to find deep joy
And hope at every turn,
But I do.

Having had no one to love me properly in life,
It is hard to be loved by you
Or even to love you,
But I do.
I really do.
(C) 20 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Buried Treasures

Buried Treasures
Come into my embrace, my love,
And let me begin to reveal my treasures
That my enemies thought were all destroyed or stolen,
But what they didn’t know then,
And they’ll not learn now,
Is that my treasures were buried
Deep inside me—
Kept safe until the right time
When the correct combination
Would begin to unlock the riches
Long ago buried
Deep in my heart
And spirit.
A great mystery—
The amazing ability
To disappear into myself
In a way that even I
Could not unlock
Until the right time.
But now,
Come, my love,
Take my hand and go on this adventure
Of great discovery with me.
(C) 20 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Dark Is the Night; Bright Are the Stars that Shine

While listening to an old song from 1970 -

Rare Bird - Sympathy - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvCd4LT0VBI&feature=related

Part of the lyrics:

...Now half the world

hates the other half

And half the world

has all the food

And half the world

Lies down and quietly starves

'cause there's not enough love to go round...

When looking at the world around us or even at our own lives, it can be hard to believe things will improve. True. But, please look around with me at some other things -- and yes, I try to remind myself of these things often as well to keep my heart strong...

Huge numbers of people worldwide have been gathering to protest and demand the end of atrocities of many types... growing over decades... including all types of people. They even get killed or jailed or tortured... and still the numbers grow. Growing numbers of people just like you and me are willing to stand up and count it worth the price paid to do so.

Also, look at all the small groups of people who are re-learning to grow life... gardens, forests, animals in rescue, animals in wild ... whole devastated lands recovered or recovering, more animal rescue sanctuaries, and so on.

Also, look at the outcry against slavery, against child exploitation, against rape, against violence... against tyranny... it is widespread and growing... it was not so widespread before. We humans are learning it is not acceptable to do these things anymore. Sure those who are in power or have moneys or positions to lose if these evils are gone will fight back viciously. That is a given. But, people are standing up despite the ruthless push-backs of power.

Look at how afraid the "rulers" are. They are becoming more ruthless and pushing the poorest and most defenseless into the ground with the rest of us slated for the same. BUT, that ruthlessness shows their fear. They know they are outnumbered once the people realize where the real power truly is. And it is happening... worldwide.

The road ahead will be very difficult, dangerous, costly, and bloody perhaps. But, there is joy further ahead too. Humans truly are mostly good, I think, if given the chance to be. If we weren't, we'd have been all dead long before now. I see the weaving of hearts and minds together. I see healings all around despite the sufferings.

Sometimes it does take us humans hitting the very bottom and having nothing else to lose before we find a way out of our messes.

And we can climb out. We can. We will. Hope is not dead. Love is not gone. Mercy is still there to pour down on us every day.

Just remember to always look for the bright side too... there is much to be grateful for and to fight for still. I know it is often too difficult to see the good when the evil around is so strong and seems to be winning. But it cheers me to remember that the darkest night is when the stars are seen to shine brightest because I can see them more clearly at that time. I am determined to follow the good -- to pursue it, plant it, share it, cultivate it, and nurture it ... whenever and wherever I find that goodness. I have been around gardens and farms all my life. I know that although there are crop failures sometimes, what is sown will be reaped in larger measures than the seeds planted. So, I hope to be a very good seed planter. I want a bumper crop of compassion, of love, of kindness ... of hope for us all. I will have to start with me, of course. And, there are many other such gardeners around, too. Yay for that!

Tears of My Heart Sing to Vieques

Tears of My Heart Sing to Vieques

The depth of anguish,
the stabbing pain of despair,
the bitter root of stolen loves and lives...
broken bodies, broken souls,
... all the promise Spirit had to offer you and yours,
the devastation of your homeland both of people and of earth,
the continued walking through the warplains of the oppressor who continues to hunt you and yours---
and those like you down...
while the mass of people of the oppressor blindly live lives unknowning
and mostly uncaring...
unhearing of your heart's cries and screams...
never knowing a man...
a broken but still standing warrior...
wails and cries out...

....is heard.

I hear....
but I am a simple woman...
one who offers friendship and heart...
spirit gifts...
human gifts...

My sister hears...
one who cares deeply for all peoples..
for the words of our ancestors that the time of changes is now upon us...

Our village here hears....
may we sit beside you...
even if only in heart and spirit...
sit and hear your agonized howls into the night and day...

May I howl with you?
May we all?

Your loss is my loss...is our loss.
Your pain my pain...our pain

How much have we lost through the willful evil and enforced cruelty of a dominator system.
How much we lose as it continues.

But it will not always be so.
Spirit tells us the time of change is upon us.

Please allow me to sit with you...tears falling down...
Please allow my tears somehow to feed your heart...
May my song of sorrow fill your ears...
May my tears seep into your dry and parched wounds...

Tears...down into the bones...
Tears....down in to the bones...
Tears... down into the bones...
Tears...down into the bones...

Bones please live.
Bones please arise again.
Bones please live.
Bones of life again.

May the song of my heart grant you a measure
of hope.
of solace.
of balm.
of peace.

Copyright 2000, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

Woodland’s Parrot Rifles Stand Watch

Woodland’s Parrot Rifles Stand Watch

Is ever war fiercer than when fought against your own?
Is ever hatred deeper than when it’s felt deep in the bone?
Are ever fires much hotter than when flamed against your kin?
Are ever passions keener than when fighting for what has been?

Parrot rifles, mow them down,
Let none survive this wrath.
Keep raiders from riding town to town
On the Morgan path.

Are ever fears more freezing than when bound around with guilt?
Are ever denials more prevalent than when in the system built?
Is ever freedom dearer than when it’s bought with a life?
Has ever American seen more horrors or more strife?

Parrot rifles, now witness
The secret stories well told
Of Campbell’s house upon the side
Of tracks of Underground Railroad.

Do ever hatreds cease to be after the last battle fought?
Or, do they linger, festering on, like some gangr’ous plot?
Do the wrongs ever get put right or the sorrows be dwindling?
Or does the suffering await a match just like a pile of kindling?

Parrot rifles, stand your watch
On Woodland’s overhanging plot.
Let not your stories e’er be silenced
Nor those who fought forgot’.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.
All rights reserved.

My Various Thoughts on "The Kill Team"

The article in Rolling Stone:

The Kill TeamHow U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan murdered innocent civilians and mutilated their corpses – and how their officers failed to stop them. Plus: An exclusive look at the war crime photos censored by the Pentagon
http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/the-kill-team-20110327

My various thoughts on this article and heartbreakingly evil tale:

When the aim of boot camp is to break the spirit of the human recruit, to instill an "obey at all costs automatically" reflex, to despise the "enemy" (including "Suzy Q",) -- in short to become an efficient killing machine, it is no surprise to find the human then loses a sense of morals, develops a ruthlessness & a cold-bloodedness, etc. That is what allows the human to kill other humans and to destroy whole environments without qualm.  Deep down almost all soldiers and combatants know the evil they did willingly or were forced to do when, perhaps, their reasons for joining in the first place were nobler or even out of desperation (economic terrorism comes to mind.) And, PTSD hits hard once the traumas of war hit that inner core of the human. Some will never ever recover. None come out without very deep gaping wounds in their minds, hearts, and spirits.

And yet, humans seem to want to kill each other over so many things-- greedy things, covetous things, jealous things, stupid things... "I am better than you because I can maim, torture, and kill you if you don't do what I say, hand over all I want from you, or just get in my way at the wrong time." Psychopaths may lead and start the wars, and are so cowardly not to fight in them themselves, but the ones who go into combat are most often volunteers, willing to kill, maim, torture, and be killed, maimed, tortured, etc. for ... what? A paycheck? Honor? Glory? Lies. All lies.

And my heart breaks for the soldiers, for their victims, for us all. We are all culpable in this. All of us. Hatred and evil are equal opportunity inhabitants of humans.

And so the soldiers come home with PTSD and the learned skills of destroying life. Many turn to abuse - of others or of self. Many go insane to find some escape from the terror of what the saw and what they did. No one at home recognizes the returning soldier really. How could someone not familiar with all out evil really know that deep abyss the soldier is trying to return from? But, that does not excuse that we all sent the soldier out to do exactly what was done. Nor does it excuse our refusing to take the soldier back and care for those many deep wounds. We sent them out to die period.

I am not anti-military. We need a defense, especially since humans are as we are. But, I am anti-militarism. I am pro-peace and pro-non-violence. We humans must learn a new way of being. We must learn to stop making war and violence. We must learn how to forgive and be compassionate, to show mercy while keeping justice. We must or perish together. We can do it. The question is will we?

29 March 2011, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

For Grandpa, In Memory

For Grandpa, In Memory

Song written on death of my grandfather on Jun 12, 2006

Were you in that wind just passing,
As you flew away to forever?
Were you with the hummingbird
Saying my love will leave you never?

Shadows of our yesterdays
Through my mind are rolling.
Songs of long gone yours
Memory bells are tolling.

Away your spirit’s flying
Up to the heavens above.
Among the stars have peace…
You will always have my love.

(c) 10 June 2006, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

My First Remembered Prayer

My First Remembered Prayer

It was in May, the month before my brother was to be born. I was 14 almost 15 months old and the first child and only girl for my parents. My grandfather had taken mom and me to his sister's farm to help there. Mom was in the farmhouse with my great-aunts cooking and doing various chores. I wandered off to my favorite safe place on a rock beside a babbling creek in between 2 wooded hills. The sun and the breeze danced with the trees to make dappled dancing shadows and light. A black snake sat beside me on the rock, taking in the warmth of the spring sunshine that sometimes managed to shine down on the rock.

Then that living Light that I had loved since I was born was there, dancing all around. The water in the creek, the trees, the rocks, the birds, the snake... everything was alive and singing and dancing before my eyes and heart. I felt like warm, sweet, electrified, tingling, living honey was flowing through me. I knew this Being's Name... Love... The All That Is... God.

My heart heard the question, "what would you most want, Daphne?" I smiled with delight and without hesistation said, "I want a real smile, real tears, real laugh... I want to be Love. I want to be just like You."

And so was my heart's desire all my life. Every time I meet the Living Light, I fall in love with Love again and want to be just like Love... to be Love... to be a beckoning sign for others also to fall in love with the Great Love.

 

(C.) Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 8 February 2010.

My Shark Story

My Shark Story

We were in a more or less beach-front home on the South China Sea in Bintulu, Sarawak, Malaysia at the time. Our son would have been 3, I think.

It was just before sundown, and we all (hubby, our cousin Hurai, son, me, and our Japanese spitz named Junko) went wading in the shallows near the shore, watching constantly for jellyfish and other not so nice things to tangle with. That part of the sea was very treacherous to be in for other reasons, too. It was only shallow for a few 100s of yards before dropping into deep ocean. So, you had to be careful at all times.

Anyway, here I am the white giant of a person, a baby, and a dog when I felt something bump my leg.

Instinctively, I jumped up out of the water cursing enough to make even a marine sargeant blush... just as a tiger shark came up out of the water at me. My knee hit its "chin" and my elbow its nose... my fist slammed right down on its head. As I was descending, my foot got its ribs. I was screaming bloody murder the whole time... on instinct. I have been told mothers protecting their young will become fierce...

Anyway, I heard a pop. The shark gave a squeal-like sound. It fled from me. And, stupid me, started to give chase... until I felt the COLD water of deep ocean start to hit me. Then I came to my senses and said to myself to let the shark go... GET BACK TO SHORE, IDIOT.

As I re-approached the shore, I heard nieighbors and family yelling what I thought was "Shark attack." Well, as I got closer I realized they were yelling, "Shark being attacked." They thought for sure I had gone berserk and was about to field dress the shark with my bare hands for a bar-be-que on the beach.

 

(C.) Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 13 January 2009.

My Fall From Grace

My Fall From Grace

Let me really describe my fall from grace... or how my mobility went downhill....

It was a cold and snowy morning on the hill in Frostburg where we live when I sleepily and innocently took our dog out to do her business. Everyone who had sense was still asleep, snuggled beneath warm blankets while I and the dog surveyed the 2 1/2 foot deep and still falling snow that early morn.

Standing on the back porch which sat high above the downward slope of the hill (which is called a mountain in these parts, but being shy of even 3000', many places would only call it a hill, but I digress) the house fit into, I watched the dog jumping through the drifts to find her spot. Being only in a light caftan, a light cape, and moccasins --not even stopping to put on my glasses -- I sleepily but freezingly scuffled to the pillars holding up the porch roof when a sheet of ice decided to dance with me.

Well, being a polite gal, how could I refuse someone sweeping me off my feet even before I'd brushed my hair or my teeth?! But I did nevertheless grab at a pillar and a banister to try and steady my ever increasingly rapid heartbeats.

But, alas, not being gifted acrobatically, I at the last minute attempted my very first triple lutz right over the side of the railing of the porch. Now, I admit I am a rank amateur at these things... and not the most graceful on my feet either, but would you believe the judges refused to even rate me? The nerve! I mean, it was my first and best effort at these things. Harrumph.

Anyway...

The very first thing I thought when my back hit the snow before tobogganing on down the hill was...

"If the neighbors don't have their camcorders on or are not watching right now, this is the last chance they'll get to see the flying eagle."

About 3/4 of the way downhill a kind "rock person" grabbed my head to help stop my forward motion. I think it was a really big rock person. I don't really remember that part. hmmm.

Somehow after all that I managed to crawl back up the hill, up the stairs to the porch, and back to bed where I stayed for a very long time until hubby finally realized something really bad had happened and that I probably needed medical attention... Being the stubborn wench I can be, I told him, I'll be fine in a decade or so and just went to sleep. Of course, a few months later, the doctor scolded me for not going to the ER immediately... and for moving after the fall.

Well, it was snowing hard that morning and somewhat cold, and I had not had enough sleep yet. So there.

And so my saga continues..... if you can stand any more episodes. LOL

(C.) Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 15 January 2009.

Keigh-Tugh-Gua

Keigh-Tugh-Gua

by Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

In the time when the memory of the Shawnee, the Fox, the Wyandotte, the Mingo, and other great peoples was still fresh on the land and the echoes of their cries still rang up from their spilt blood on the earth, a presence in the river valleys of the beautiful river now called the Ohio watched and waited. This presence was older than any other in the area of the strange phantom lights and creatures… a presence that always watches and is always hungry. It could be very patient, cunning, and stealthy, or it could strike suddenly when the time was right...

It was a lovely mid-October morning with just the right nippiness in the Pennsylvania air.

“Hey, buddy, you ready for this adventure?” waved John Neville to his just arriving friend. “Looks like you just rolled out of bed without bothering to open your eyes.”

“Just give me a few, a cup of coffee, and I’ll be good to go,” laughed Mark Gallagher as he unloaded supplies and put them in bundles into the almost ready canoe. “We want to be traveling light.”

“Light, yes. Light-headed no,” laughed John.

Mark threw a bundle at him in reply.

The two thirty-ish year old men worked well together. This was not their first river adventure, but it was the first time they would try to canoe all the way from where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers met to form the Ohio River to where the Ohio met the Mississippi. Their spirits were high.

“James Kelly said we should have good weather for the first few days but to watch out for the ghost lights.”

“Jim boy would say that, the old fart. He is just afraid we’ll have some fun without him,” laughed Mark. “Ready?”

“Let’s start making waves.”

And so they began their journey down the Ohio through the beautiful foothills of the Appalachian Mountains whose woods were brightly decorated with the many colored leaves of a glorious autumn day. Traveling light meant they would mostly eat what could easily be found or captured along the way and camp out under the stars by night. Both men were in excellent physical condition and were well-experienced trackers. They had neither time limits nor obligations to neither slow nor speed them on their way. This was mostly for pleasure. Of course, if they also happened to track new wildlife or even a new species, so much the better for their budgets and reputations. But, this would be primarily for exploration and fun.

The first few days of their journey went quietly in the slightly warm Indian summer weather. The fall foliage and the just ready to harvest nuts and fruits along the river were a source of joy.

“The sky looks odd this morning,” said John as he stretched and began limbering up his body after awakening. “I guess a cold front is coming in. We might be heading into some storms today.”

“Maybe we can at least make it to the mouth of the Kanawha before the storm hits. There is a nice spot near there we can shelter from anything Mother Nature wants to hand out. We could even set up the tent this time.”

And so they canoed quickly after breakfast and soon found themselves rocking through the increasing white caps on the river. The sky took on a dark hue, and the wind began whispering with slowly increasing volume “Keigh-Tugh-Gua.”

“Hey! What was that? Did you see…” shouted Mark from the back of the canoe.

“Yeah. What was that?” growled a startled John.

“It looked like a big shadow or something.”

”A large moth or flying man with wings? No, it couldn’t be,” John growled again. But, he was shaken.

“Hey, there’s the spot up ahead. Whatever it was, it is gone now. Maybe it was just a large hawk trying to get to shelter before the storm breaks.”

“Yeah. A hawk. A large hawk. Yeah.”

And so, the men canoed to the spot just west of the mouth of the Kanawha River and began setting up a tight camp on the southern bank of the Ohio River. They brought the canoe up beside the tent and made sure everything was securely tied or weighted down. Then they made a small firepit, cooked, and ate. While they were cleaning up, the first huge raindrops fell. So, they retired into the tent and talked, told stories, and then drifted on into a deep sleep while the rain, though strong, was still gentle. What they didn’t see was the purple lightning that came up from the land nearby nor the moth-shaped man’s shadow that sat in the maple tree, watching. The wind continuing singing “Keigh-tugh-Gua” over and over. Then the real storm hit. The men slept on with worsening dreams.

“ARRRrrrrrr!!” a scream pierced the night.

“What was that!” screamed John as he sat bolt upright, scrambling for his boots and the flashlight. “Mark?”

There was no answer.

Shining the flashlight to Mark’s sleeping bag, there was no one there.

“ARrrrrRRRrr!”

“Mark! I’m coming!”

John rushed from the tent into a torrent of rain, big flashes of lightning followed by enormously loud booming thunder. The wind was swirling all around. The trees were frantic in their wild dance. Then he saw Mark walking as if in a trance toward the churning waters of the Ohio River. The trees along the bank seemed to be beckoning wildly and eerily for him to come.

“Mark! Stop!”

“Keigh Tugh Gua!” Crash! Boom!

“Mark!”

“KEIGH TUGH GUA!”

“Mark!”

John finally reached Mark and grabbed him from behind, dragging him back from the river’s edge.

”Mark! What are you doing? Mark?” John looked into the vacant face of his friend.

“MARK!”

“What? Where?” Mark sputtered as he came to. “What in the Hell are we doing out here?” he said with more than a little bewilderment and growing fear.

“Get back to the tent. It’s sheltered. Come on!”

”Keigh-Tugh-Gua!”

The men struggled through the rain, the wind, the mud, and the falling tree limbs back to the tent. Water was gushing everywhere. A pond seemed to be forming in front of the tent, but once inside, the tent and all in it were dry.

“Keigh-Tugh-Gua,” the wind continued to state in differing volumes and tones.

“What were you doing down by the river, Mark? You could have been killed. I could have been killed rescuing you. What were you thinking?” John demanded mostly in fear that came out angrier than he meant.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know I was there until you grabbed me.” Mark answered as if in shock and hen began shaking. “All I remember is dreaming of this horrible massacre and hearing the cries of many strong emotions. I saw an Indian chief bound and killed. His eyes were brave but sad. He was saying something as he died. And, this phrase “keigh-tugh-gua” kept repeating itself over and over again.”

“I never knew you sleepwalked, Mark,” said John shuddering.

”I never thought I did either. Something strange… it’s like this storm is alive…like it made me do it.”

CRASH! BOOM! “Keigh-Tugh-Gua.”

The next lightning strike showed a large moth-shaped shadow against the side of the tent, but by the next flash of light, it was gone. Suddenly, chanting like one would hear at a pow-wow started softly. Then the rattles and a drumbeat began. The only words were keigh-tugh-gua, over and over and over. The volume kept growing. The rhythm kept increasing. The wind howled. The lightning flashed.

BOOM! CRASH!

Then silence.

The rain slowed and stopped. The wind stopped. It was chilly and very dark. The exhausted men who thought they could not sleep slept until the warming morning sun touched their tent. There was chaos in the area surrounding the tent as is natural after a storm, but nothing was too damaged thankfully. And, after breakfast and cleaning up the area and themselves, they continued on their way, happy to be alive.

(C) Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 23 October 2006.

The Beautiful River

The Beautiful River
The ancient woman looks across the white capped water
Of the beautiful river, her river, the Ohio…
Strong flow, deep here but more shallow in places,
The beautiful river of Shawnee love,
Pouring Appalachian mysteries down into
Mississippian muddy waters…
Indian blood and earth,
Allegheny and Monogahelia,
Water and life, the Ohio,
Onward and meandering ever lower
Through forested mountains
Almost to the plains,
She flows with the waters,
Singing an ancient song,
Telling of ancient peoples who loved the river
As I love the river now…
In this we join—
On the banks of the beautiful Ohio.
(C) Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 8 December 1999.