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The Poetic Word

A place called home

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Photo Credit: Roberto Nickson

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

I am currently a teacher in Nemaska, Eeyou Isstchee, Quebec for this school year, teaching creative arts for grade 7-9s. My transition from Toronto to here has been a roller coaster, and I was confused by all the strong mixed emotions. It wasn’t until I flipped the first few pages of ‘Going Home, The Untold Story of The Nemaska Eenouch’ by Susan Marshall with George Wapachee, that I finally started to understand…

 

A place called home

Away from home

A place made to be called home

After being forced out

From the place that was called home

 

A place where elders found life

To a place that their ears cringed

At motor vehicles

Evicted by electric hydro company

A battle that seemed endless

For the Cree people

 

A place deep in the bushes

Filled with lifestyles that were present

Since the very beginning

A place where children begged their families to stay,

When that plane came to enter Old Nemaska,

To the residential place

Filled with assaults and endless hunger for days

 

A place that birth mistrust, even amongst the closest of kin

A place where metal rulers met the tender skin

When tears were overflowing with memories

That brought smiles to frowns on the kids

 

A place called home

Far away from home

A place filled with delicacies like beaver, moose & geese

To expensive imports

 

To one school

A close

Yet circular housing of separated relatives,

The remnants of colonial influence

Spread into heads

Stirring bad aftertaste

Whenever traditions

Could be used passed on

Such as the ceremony of smudging

 

A place that hides way too many stories

So outspoken like a rooster early in the morning

Yet the rage hungers like animals awoken during hibernation

For not having satisfaction of being full during autumn

 

A rage that plagues like the thick blanket of snow

Covering the peaceful lake that reveals the name it means

‘Land of Plenty of Fish’

 

A place that deserves the love

And should receive more love…

But often is forgotten within the blizzards

 

A place called home

Away from home

Beside the Champion Lake

A place that was forced to be born

More stories to tell

Among the young and the old.

 

Don’t know how long

Will the duration of this stay last

Before the feet on this land departs back

Into a city where memories of home stands

But the stories of the people of these land

Will be written and read

The Poetic Word

Meaning of Life

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Photo Credit: Freepik

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

Religions warned without faith

In a God, or countless Gods and Goddesses

Would mean an unfulfilling life.

Texts adorned with precious and humble ores

Wrapped in myrrh and olive oil

Filled up the spaces of doubt and restlessness.

Caution a meaningless life

Without something to believe in.

 

To have a purpose is a lifelong

Prescription to perfumes and cosmetic

Treatments.

Filled with spices like aloe and cassia

Represent resurrection,

Life bringing,

Purposes differ like fingerprints and snowflakes.

Not one is the exact same,

Only advice and blueprints will guide

But there is no such thing as a solid solution.

 

The meaning of life is unique to each one’s journey.

No need to brag, or put down,

Trading places is more common like

The fields of dandelions

Taking over the vast plains,

A river that breaks into streams

But eventually meet the mighty ocean

Of life

The same way.

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The Poetic Word

Everlasting Flames-to be Submitted

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Photo Credit: rawpixel.com

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

Passion being fulfilled

Is like cottonwood fluff burning evenly

Across the land.

 

Not being caught up by any unnecessary

Distractions.

No need to set off forest fires

That don’t need to be provoked,

If there were no blessings

And ceremonies that are ancestral

Wisdom led.

 

Knowing that achievements stack up

Internal minds

Is refreshing to quench the thirst of

Success, like an oasis within a desert.

 

It is a breath of fresh air to the spirit

When all was given so the fruits are

Real,

Unlike wishful thinking without

Determination shown in actions

Is like praying while walking through

Scorching sands.

 

Not distinguishing which water of life

Are mirages

Tempting for a taste,

Deceiving any visions.

 

Even divine messages are lost

If a heart

Stubborn as boulders

Does not listen to the intuitions

Cautioning with series of

Discernments.

A open minded being

Will have doors open.

A humble being that knows their worth

Will succeed without burning any bridges.

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The Poetic Word

Trust In Silence

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BY GLORIA O’KOYE

When was the last time

that you sat in silence?

Where every detailed sound

From the whistling wind,

Talking trees,

Busy traffic made of streams,

Tingled the ear drums

Away from manmade machines.

 

When was the last time

Embracing nature gifts

was of great importance?

Spilling secrets

No human mind would comprehend,

Only the wisest ancients

Found deep in the Earth’s crust

Would tell nothing,

No one,

A type of loyalty that no fame and money

Would make it

Turn into a sellout.

 

When was the last interaction

Between skin and sand

Had the body had time to heal itself.

Transferring tensions into the ground

Balancing unwanted weight

Into Mother Nature’s arms.

 

When was the last time

Natural medicinal plants and food

Was replenishing

Detoxing clogged up organs.

Instead of destroying natural remedies,

And claim cures by injecting the body

Will more poison.

 

Relying on money hungry policies.

Bylaws instigating destruction.

When was the last time

Silence was allowed to answer

Mind boggling questions.

Allow silence to discern

To caution on everything around

Only silence will speak the loudest!

Trust in silence.

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