This piece was written to honor my Native American heritage and culture. I spend countless hours at the river with paper and pen. When feeling lost, I will find peace there embracing the spirit within my soul...
A poem written by Harlon Rivers
The mighty rolling river is my sanctuary
Where the turbulent water reaches its shores
Landscaped by erosion’s rounded river rocks,
Every color and shape transformed by mysteries to explore
Floodwater logs are cut for firewood here
Smoke dried salmon is cured and dried for food
Tyees’ souls join me here, inspiring conscious universal awakening
Emotionally stirring thoughts, born in quiet spiritual solitude.
Water rushes past my island on earth
Where eagles nest and soar up high
Beavers dam where flocks of geese swim
Blue Heron’s nests fill trees to the sky
Head waters birthed in forked mountain high
Waters rise from beneath mother earth
Rapids pass villages plummeting miles and miles.
Gravity’s tug and draw journey to aide the salmon’s Holy birth
I know I’m one with sacred ground
Ancestors spirit's power is present at ease
The pulse of river water's muse
Is the pulse of this mixed-breed
The half-breeds myth, not Indian or White.
“Young buck born with a divided heart!”
We have big ears we hear everything
A step child orphaned, reborn into the spirit's light
The placid harmony of the river's gentle flow
Waters speak a mantra directly to my soul
I grieve the loss of ancestral grounds
Ancient territories pilfered for miles around
Upstream above where the mighty water falls
Landscaping this river's great divide
Cascading walls of water soar and plunge
From silhouettes high and wide
For centuries rivers carved and shaped an ominous path
Fertile valleys were eroded deep and wide by raging waters wrath
This place was graced through those centuries past
My heart's ashes will rest where river waters yearn to pass
Ancient brothers fished with spears from platforms built up high
Hollowed out trees, as paddled canoes, tended fish wheel traps
In quest of the bountiful sacred Salmon, our food sustaining life
I embrace an ancient heritage, our spirit shall remain steadfast...
Landscaped by erosion’s rounded river rocks,
Every color and shape transformed by mysteries to explore
Floodwater logs are cut for firewood here
Smoke dried salmon is cured and dried for food
Tyees’ souls join me here, inspiring conscious universal awakening
Emotionally stirring thoughts, born in quiet spiritual solitude.
Water rushes past my island on earth
Where eagles nest and soar up high
Beavers dam where flocks of geese swim
Blue Heron’s nests fill trees to the sky
Head waters birthed in forked mountain high
Waters rise from beneath mother earth
Rapids pass villages plummeting miles and miles.
Gravity’s tug and draw journey to aide the salmon’s Holy birth
I know I’m one with sacred ground
Ancestors spirit's power is present at ease
The pulse of river water's muse
Is the pulse of this mixed-breed
The half-breeds myth, not Indian or White.
“Young buck born with a divided heart!”
We have big ears we hear everything
A step child orphaned, reborn into the spirit's light
The placid harmony of the river's gentle flow
Waters speak a mantra directly to my soul
I grieve the loss of ancestral grounds
Ancient territories pilfered for miles around
Upstream above where the mighty water falls
Landscaping this river's great divide
Cascading walls of water soar and plunge
From silhouettes high and wide
For centuries rivers carved and shaped an ominous path
Fertile valleys were eroded deep and wide by raging waters wrath
This place was graced through those centuries past
My heart's ashes will rest where river waters yearn to pass
Ancient brothers fished with spears from platforms built up high
Hollowed out trees, as paddled canoes, tended fish wheel traps
In quest of the bountiful sacred Salmon, our food sustaining life
I embrace an ancient heritage, our spirit shall remain steadfast...
© 2012 Harlon Rivers
2 comments:
imagine my delighted surprise when I saw Celilo.. this is probably the most famous of the pictures of that long ago fishing ground.. they say the voice of the river was silenced on the day they closed the flood gates but it whispers still if one will only listen..
olla
Olla...This is a picture of a framed photo that I acquired from a fund raiser auction.. It originally hung in one of Portland's oldest Fishing tackle stores. The photo inside of the matting is about 10" X 14" and is perfect and flawless...One day I may process a much larger version with the original photo. For now...I just wanted to share this photo with the poem. The quality here doesn't do the photo justice but I don't want the original quality copied without permission. Knowing what you know about the history of the falls and the dams built on the Columbia River flooding the ancient fishing grounds, you were able to add a deeper dimension to my river muse. Celilo falls and it's history, ties the underlying message up very well. For those who may not understand it is a story worth researching. This poem also refers to another near by river and falls which flows into this river home to other tribes.
I truly love your connection to this and comment...Kinda makes doing this seem all worth while when quotes like yours are added...it whispers loudly to me.
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