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The Poetic Word

A place called home

Published

1 year ago

on

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

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The Poetic Word

Everlasting Flames-to be Submitted

Published

6 days ago

on

April 25, 2024

By

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

Published

3 weeks ago

on

April 11, 2024

By

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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The Poetic Word

How beautiful it would be to love again

Published

1 month ago

on

March 28, 2024

By

Photo Credit: Prostooleh

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

Like relearning to crawl,

Taking baby steps

Praying that there will be no falls.

Reopening back up a secured vault,

Filled with luxuries of the most potent

Human emotion,

A necessity to remain sane and strong.

 

It cures and reverses illnesses.

Prolonging healthy life

Once the barriers crumble

Like brick silos.

 

A renewed love resurfacing

Unhealed wounds

To be properly treated

Instead of decaying.

 

If only love could exist

Without any historic chains

To pierce the tender flesh

Of a beating heart

That wants to love,

Not to risk being in pain once again.

 

How beautiful it would be

To fall in love again.

Heights being reached

To know what it means to love again.

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