• I don’t know how I missed this during the 24 period of seeking contact and a word or two of solace and understanding. But, I have seen it now and am delighted you went to my FB page. I hope you like it (there is a lot of “stuff” there LOL good and not so good but always from the heart). Life is serendipitous my friend. I have this feeling we will…[Read more]

  • chowilawu commented on the post, Sixteen 3 years, 6 months ago

    Fucking great! I love this piece. Grit, anger, poise, toughness hiding tenderness, all that good stuf …. PLUS, soul. Lots and lots of soul. Kudos.

  • Wonderful tale. Doesn’t matter where the table was, or, if it was that exactly or not. It’s there now. Funny, my Grandmother was also the anchor, and, until 12th grade never spent more than a year in one school of town ever. The thing that stands out to me is the pieces “fluid.” People aren’t drifting in and out, they are flowing in and out. The…[Read more]

  • chowilawu commented on the post, Company 3 years, 6 months ago

    LOL I had several visitors (or, writing companions when comfortable, sometimes pests when I was struggling). Two I wrote about. It’s nice to know that I am not the only one that doesn’t always write alone.

    I liked this for many reasons.

  • Statistics. How do we stop people from being statistics. Numbers don’t mean anything to anyone. They’re just numbers. Got to make people feel. They don’t want to, unless it’s a pretty love story with angels and forever nonsense. Unapproved feeling is run from. Who cares? The Rez needs to care that most girls are running AWAY from something not to…[Read more]

  • chowilawu commented on the post, Gone. 3 years, 6 months ago

    I had an experience quite like this but without the “others” involved. You captured the feelings well. Detached in ways but not really. As a matter of fact not knowing how to feel, at first. And, yes. The looking back and the realization. Excellent process.

  • One of the few campfire thoughts I never had but should have had, I think. Novel. Well penned and thought out. And, the best f all things, it made me ponder and I like that a lot. Sort of like the fractal of campfire embers. Enjoyed a lot, thanks for sharing.

  • chowilawu commented on the post, Prompt 19 3 years, 6 months ago

    Something refreshing about truth and simplicity joined at the hip. I enjoyed reading this. Thanks.

  • Enjoyed the twist of this. Was smiling with gentle nods, as I was reading, and, smiled largely when I read the last two lines. Novel concept and very original. Although it met the criteria of a non-metaphorical representation of the heart, the metaphorical possibilities are numerous. Well done.

  • Hang your head, the preacher man said.
    There is a hole, within your soul,
    and, you better fix it, before you’re dead.

    Amen, the choir sang. Amen, the crowd chanted.
    Amen, the church bells rang. Amen, the […]

  • Manifest the buoyancy of breath beyond time,
    beyond the whispers of those before and those not quite yet.
    A place where substance originates as shadow
    and symbols are dismantled within the tears of […]

  • blue stars dance with god and kin
    helping people believe,
    on the morrow, it may begin
    They live the night
    in the scarlet of his morn
    and progress through the years
    forgetting to be born
    How silly sounding […]

  • Good evening, dear friend.

    Had a Blue jay come and yatter to me tonight.
    Odd because there haven’t been many Blue Jays around here,
    in general, and none recently.
    And, it was dusk, almost evening, which is […]

  • I possess no answers
    I carry only questions,
    but not near many enough,
    nor, any that are too close to the truth.

    I will not lead
    I am not a leader,
    but I will walk a certain path
    and you may choose
    to […]

  • she came with accessories,
    baubles actually
    and a blue-striped-green swirly sash.
    her smile spoke,
    you don’t know me yet
    but you should.
    Yet, I sat
    silent to the corner, wondering,
    were those her […]

  • I drew the lines from memory,
    tactile impressions etched in hours, days of fingertips tracing,
    longing to navigate the depth of her solution,
    lost within the maze of replication and ink and flesh
    She claimed […]

  • Barricuda cruising
    on the street
    Radio blaring
    Motown beat
    Streetlights flashing
    got the speed
    She’s beside me
    smoking weed
    Dancing wiggly
    on the bucket
    Slow down baby
    I say fuck it
    Wheeling […]

  • If I were to sometime see you dance, I know my heart would sing,
    perhaps once the circumstance, betwixt between and everything
    Never once have I thought it through, but now the ends in sight
    You creating the […]

  • Our left hands clasped in firm embrace
         chowilawu, whites use the right to show disarmament
         we use the left because it is closest to the heart
    Our right hands went to the heart within our chest […]

    • I raise my hands to you, cousin, for his beautiful piece. My people are from Northern Saskatchewan but I hang on the coast now with a mix of Stolo, Kwantlen, Katze, and a bunch of Metis.

      I saw your Memengwaa piece on the fb page and I gasped. I wrote 2 pieces about our missing cousins, sisters, aunties, and mothers. I’ll leave a link to my stuff here.

      Thank you for your voice.

      Rita Joe – language warning/content warning

      • I don’t know how I missed this during the 24 period of seeking contact and a word or two of solace and understanding. But, I have seen it now and am delighted you went to my FB page. I hope you like it (there is a lot of “stuff” there LOL good and not so good but always from the heart). Life is serendipitous my friend. I have this feeling we will come to know much more about each other in the coming times. By the way, I am one of those “lost” ones. My father was adopted but did not find out until he was 78 years old. He always thought and had been tod he was 100% Icelandic. Come to find out he was 0% Icelandic but rather adopted out of a since closed down orphanage in Vancouver. Mother from somewhere in northern Alberta and father from the southwest United States. His mother was of mixed northern Alberta type origins (no one knows her now that I have found). His father was a weird mix of Dine’é and Hopi. I found out of the pending identity crisis when I was 58 years old. LOL Jokes on me. LOL Discovered I had an Apache brother (in the loosest but also an actual and real “blood” way). Several years older than me. shaman.medicine man.elder in the old ways. Took me under his wing. Started this part of my journey. He gave me a few “assignments” in life before he passed away and laughed quite heartily when he told me my “quotient” won’t hold up when the brothers want to see the proof that I am allowed to speak, nor, do I have any “documents” or even living family to qualify my actions, nor, any of the life long learnt things the people expect BUT he named me, gave me two feathers for battles already fought, a bit of his blood as he took mine, a few contacts in his band in Arizona, a bit of coffee, some smoke, and a slap on the ass as he said, “Now get fucking busy.”

        I say all this (too wordy eh?) only to get it out of the way. Some accept it. Some don’t. None of my business actually. I have a heart and I live with it, by it, and for it.

        Yes, I use a lot of words when I get carried away.

        • I am so happy you do. This crossing of paths was definitely meant to be.

          My story is similar to yours. My mother’s mother’s mother would tell me about how the “Indians” would come around all of the time. She would talk about it often in her drift to her old age via childhood. I thought nothing of it until about 20 years ago when I kept dreaming about elders and animals and hearing words from our people that would not leave me. So many people would tell me I looked Indian, I was constantly led to work with aboriginal kids at school, and my connections seemed to be to aboriginal people.

          My mother’s father was an Orangeman (Canadian version of KKK), so any “coming out Indian” would not be on. I tried to tell my mother about all of this, of our history, but she laughed.

          I decided that I would honour it because I have had too many dreams and too many signs to not do so. I burst into tears (as discretely as i could) at a teacher event when an indigenous writer was talking about how he was relieved to find out his history…that he would dream about people with faces like his. I dreamed, the night before we went to the long house for another teacher training day, that I was sitting in a sweat, surrounded by the male elders and they told me it was time to learn about my ancestors. I have dreamed that I stood facing the north shore mountains and a line of women drummers gave me the women’s warrior song. I have dreamed I was an eagle and a bear.

          Like you, I have lost the care that people won’t believe me. I know who I am.

          Thank you for your words. I am not afraid of stories. Share whenever you like.

          All my relations.

  • Barren boughs arch upward like broken puppet arms
    askew and akimbo on invisible tangled strings
    while leafless gnarled finger branches give the shadow shape

    against the hoary winter skein and the black lined […]

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