From the dawn of history
when the people were one
and the gatherings weren’t of need
but were life,
there was nothing to turn back to,
nowhere to come from,
just moving forward
from dawn into life.
The paths through the centuries,
in a most auspicious trend,
is like an owl through the night with a message
in search of the one person
it needs to find and send
in the direction of a clear and cherished passage.
Spring’s thaw, Summer’s heat,
Autumn’s wind and Winter’s cold
formulate our thoughts
like migrating birds in flight,
searching for a season
and someplace to take hold,
germinating our future in the dead of the night.
And the shifting changes that occur along the way
have proven themselves to be more than true.
And because we all have to pass
through night and through day
should be proof that there’s more to it
than just you.
Silence, sun and the rain,
changes with the wind,
show Creation is not ending
because Life is not a distance or a presence
that has a beginning or an end,
still unfolds a flower by its insistence
There’s a stirring in our spirit
and a wandering in our souls
for connections that our hearts want and need.
And a gathering of the people
once more is our goal
so we search for a place
to plant the seed.
We listen to the wind
and hunger to know the words
of a language we left far behind.
Gaze through windows
at the flight of migratory birds
in search of that same kindred mind.
As tomorrow draws near
we stand upon a scattered past
that at times found us lost
but never out of reach
from the voice of the wind,
or a moon shadow cast,
or from what the howl of the wolf had to teach.
The separateness created
from our long ago exclusion
of that language understood
by the first people
gave rise to the loneliness
and heartfelt confusion
by locking God up within steeples.
We thrust out our hands
from a memory we didn’t store.
From another lifetime
we try to lift the burden.
And a pilgrim is fed,
the first people gather once more,
remember, plant the seed,
re-teach your children.
1998 Crow Suncloud
Crow Suncloud (aka Tom Newman) was born in 1955 and grew up in Southwest Harbor, Maine where his deeply rooted love of Mount Desert Island and his mixed heritage of Passamaquoddy and Scotch continue to inform his spirit and his writing. Crow is currently residing with his wife in Knox, Maine and is working on Inner Woods, a collection of poems spanning over four decades. In 2003, he published a chapbook titled Going Through Winter and in 2010 he released a CD titled Poems on the Edge of Time. Crow contributes vocals, spoken word, and indigenous percussion for the Maine-based indie- folk duo Timbered Lake. timberedlake.com
Crow has read his poetry at assorted literary venues throughout New England including The Abbe Museum in Bar Harbor, The Geraldine Dodge Poetry Festival in New Jersey, and The Common Basis Theatre in Manhattan. In addition to hosting community poetry readings, Crow has produced public programs regarding the work of former poet laureate Stanley Kunitz and has collaborated to produce concerts celebrating the poetry and songs of Leonard Cohen.