December dreams spiral thru the whiffs of smoke, emanating from forest hidden Cherokee homes. They pirouette the way notes imagine Lester Young’s tenor music to be; the way Blue Jays flap while protecting their territory. ~~~ The Eastern mountains, snow covered and brown, rise gently as I walk yet provide glimmers of ancient valleys carved out by receding ice. There is the feel of human destiny washing me as a breeze sings thru wild peach trees; And a breeze lifting sharp talon hawks with its hunting melodies carrying the owl's secrets thru even more exotic landscapes. ~~~ Over looking the Talamaque River, I rest on the brown frozen earth becoming lost in ancestor dreams. I can see the blood flowing west. I feel the tears soaking the ground where Dogwood now grows. And Grandfather speaks to me with a warm sun in the ‘long ago tongue’: “Redzone, it is good to have these memories. To remember the trees the bear and the chic-a-dee. One day, May will arrive with the morning crows and Turtle will once again discuss constellations with the Moon. Our people, will no longer be forgetful of who we are and how far we have to go." ~~~ December dreams spiral thru whiffs of smoke and Lester Young plays with the flapping Blue Jays.
~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 12.15.01~~ (written after finishing a collection of poems by Ron Welburn called “Coming Through Smoke and the Dreaming”)
This is an older poem written when I was using redzone as my pen name.. it is also influenced by some of my Native American heritage..