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A Poem by OCeallaigh

Author: OCeallaigh
Created: February 18, 2012 at 07:50 pm
Upload Type: Poem, G (All)  
Category: General/Other | General/Other | General/Other
Upload Stats: 4.25 Stars by 2 users with 2 comments and 467 views

The Flier  

Fully charged and all but bare
Aside from the stuffed bird in his hair
Skillfully preserved, it’s wings spread
Slowly dancing around the fire, he sings
His arms stretched like soaring wings
A journey to the realm of the dead

Another memory from so long ago
I can clearly remember the fire’s glow
Magical night in a wild remote place
From there to here, into another time
Scratched upon paper, put into rhyme
Fading from the page, leaving no trace

From here to there, ever going somewhere
No bonds to break, no relations to tear
Not beholden to foreign gods, kings or queens
Soaring over lofty tree tops and ever higher
Arms spread out like wings, dances the flier
Over blue mountains and cloud shrouded scenes

Thoughts swirling like whirlwinds in my head
While the flier softly converses with the dead
In a strange tongue from a forgotten time
With a hawk’s cry, he leaped over the flames
Looking into the outer darkness, invoking names
Of wild elder spirits never to be used in rhyme

Spirits of the dead and those still living
Truthful to each other in times of misgiving
Even more so through dark days of pain
And feverish nights of maddening unrest
While in the company of ghostly guests
From there to here, never to remain

Last Modified: February 18, 2012 at 08:00 pm
© OCeallaigh - all rights reserved

Author Notes

A poem about a shaman inspired by John White's 16th century watercolor painting of an Algonquian shaman he called -
'The Flyer'

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Comments & Reviews

February 18, 2012
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Please correct me if I am wrong but don't you mean the Algonquian shaman, or medicine man, which White entitled “The Flyer? I have been privilaged to have viewed that water colour and was amazed by John White's 1500's ability to capture details of the Flier. Now I need some medicine from The Flier to allow me to review your outstanding poem. And indeed it is a great poem. I don't think I could find the courage to write six line verses. Your words leap from the page like a line in your poem,With a hawk’s cry, he leaped over the flames.'

Why yes, the very same painting. I've a copy of it hanging upon my wall. On Roanoke Island, every time I vist, some of these old spirits can still be felt, moving through the forest and across the sound.

 OCeallaigh replied on February 18, 2012

February 18, 2012
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I'm confused as to where this poem is going but, you seem to have made that clear in your notes.

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