"Why Mother Earth Is Crying"

Today I passed quietly and with reverence through the magnificent Canyon of Spearfish, near the land in which Crazy Horse and his people inhabited. The splendor of the snow-covered mountains and trees overwhelmed my entire being---there was only beauty to behold. My eyes knew the gift of Natureís perfection, void of civilization and ruin. At a silver pond near the foothills, a wolf and his mate stood drinking; a herd of deer was elegantly roaming, unafraid. The descending sun painted the sky and clouds as a rainbow, testified by no man before. My soul was rendered as light and gossamer as vapor. I had somehow achieved total freedom that was, until now, unknown to me. Suddenly my breath was stilled; I was entranced as the invisible hand of my Spirit Father extended and clutched my heart. I became somber, my countenance was utterly saddened. Clearly I perceived the voices of my fallen Kindred. Ancient was the pleading and chanting I heard as it emerged from the frozen earth, lamenting the injustice, dishonor . . . and the rape of the innocents who were unquestionably pure of heart. The White blood that flowed through my veins curdled and soured like milk forgotten and left in the desert sun. I was dismayed and devastated, for I clearly heard the requiem of each tribe who had been robbed and murdered. The impact of the injustice was utterly overwhelming. Now I realize why I was born in grief, and live in perplexity, for now I know and understand why Mother Earth is Crying.


Crazy Horse



I was appalled and dismayed as times before;
A scoundrel dropped in to skim through my store!
I knew at once that his card had been scored,
I said, ďThe items I keep are beyond your afford.Ē

He looked at me with a curious blue eye,
But he was too shallow to comprehend why.
He turned and fled with his wild locks flowing;
I mused in disgust at the lack of knowing.

On the very same day, a lady came there,
With an aura of confidence and well kept hair;
She was wise to the game of bluffs and knocks,
And knew the rule, for I had no cash box.

I approved as she glanced around all sides,
At the various sports and the numerous rides.
I was well pleased, for she was no meddler;
I got the idea, she too, was a peddler.

We each realize why humanity grieves,
And both affirmed, honor among thieves.
Carefully she paused through the rooms and space,
Then taking her leave with integrity and grace.

Although the market is open all of the time,
I keep an alcove secluded that is only mine.
I put out my sign; it said, ďClosed for the day,Ē
And I went to the closet where I like to pray.

There are different notations under my awning,
Such as, ĒOn Vacation,Ē or, ďA New Day Is Dawning.Ē
But the shoppers are endless, and so is their prying,
Empty of wisdom, but wealthy from lying.

One can get fixed in my quaint little place,
Lost forever, or completely disgraced
I must tell you promptly as I know I should;
ďThe wares are expensive; your moneyís no good.Ē

I do not barter, yet I will furnish flak . . .
If you dare pick it up, you canít put it back.
Be careful of details you desire and feel--
In this marketplace, all is priceless and real.

A hypocrite is welcome any time at all,
Although goods are broken as they tumble and fall.
They donít understand the things that they bought,
Nor do they know that these things arenít taught.

Then there are patrons who havenít a clue,
And perceptive ones say,ď I thought you knew.Ē
There is no end to the elaborate stock,
Old dainty laces and statues of rock.

I have music and books, and I know the right names,
And I am a champion at playing mind games.
Donít even browse if you cannot buy,
In fact, donít come in; the price is too high.

If you donít know the rules in this unusual store,
I would advise you not to rap on the door.
You may beg and cry, down upon bent knees,
But you canít enter here with ordinary keys.

If you declare firmly that you must come in,
Please recognize both goodness and sin.
Be leery of merchandise you are bound to keep,
The cargo is heavy and the circumstances deep.

If this seems a bit remarkable to you--
Here is exactly what you need to do:
Take a look around at where you are,
Over your left shoulder is the evening star.

With all of your science and puffed up pride,
You are standing on the pavement, and still outside.
The sign now reads, ď Please come here no more,
Donít judge me 'till youíve shopped in my store.Ē


"We All Live In The City"

The earth is fair and really quite pretty,
But like it or not, we live in the city
There are birds and flowers and sweet air to breathe
But the TV set wonít give us our leave
Vile things seem to be ruling our souls
The dark prince is watching as the dim bell tolls
I want to get out and gaze at the sky
But Iím inert in my chair and I donít know why
It seems as though I am held here in chains
Too much adversity smashing my brains
To get out and feel the rain on my face
A part of nature is where I want my place
To sit on the ground and behold a storm
Iím sure the lightening would cause me no harm
So many things have gone mad in the world
Humanity crazed and morality hurled
But there is beauty yet to be seen
But we cannot let ourselves wean
It is all there and isnít it a pity
We are trapped, we all live in the city.


The Spring evening is merciful,
and along comes the Rain
The drops fall gently at first
then batters away at the stain.
Sounds so soothing deep in my soul
erasing the woe of the times,
I now drift back most willingly,
back to the arms of the pines.
Here I dream, but not in sleep
while the current raises a sigh -
As pleasant visions fill my head,
I think I shall lay down and cry.
Thunder impassions the wind in the trees,
Behold the power of God
Lightening as sharp as a double edge sword
severs the trails I have trod.
Here I am back home once more,
and I am easy and slow -
I invite the Rain when it comes,
for with the Rain I go . . . .


I will not leave my dreams, though the times are weird,
All things that are passing are things I had feared;
To face the fear is most strenuous of all,
but this I must do, lest I end in a fall.
I will keep on going, Lord knows I try,
Iíll follow my fancy till the day that I die.
Mental images, and an incredible vapor
Are reality to me - they are written on paper.

"Lancer & Lace"

A beautiful yoke of love and hate
Destruction of Camelot has fixed our fate.
Lancer was charming, beside him was Lace
And both were wearing a Utopian face.
The king of the decade, and queen of the age
With innocent Lee on a misguided page.
Good-bye to the faith of the sixties,
Now salute the epoch of hell,
Farewell to the hope of the loving---
ĎTis such a grim story to tell!
These words can only bring questions---
They are hidden within the pride,
As I check the hand of fortune Iím dealt,
Iíll let my aces ride.
The time is so confusing, and yet itís not at all
Back in nineteen sixty three the bricks began to fall.
When will there come a hero with an ending to this tale?
This Babylon we are drowning in, doesnít fare too well.
A delicate web of love and hate
Has perpetrated and sealed our fate.
The game has been unnerving, and though against my will,
I shall retreat most humbly, and lay away my quill.

"I Celebrate The Night"

Oh the jumble of the daytime is breaking once again:
And I can't help but wonder why the light is not my friend
Captivated by the darkness, and to me it's clearly shown
Sprits dwell around me, I know I'm not alone
In the utter stillness, the melodies are close
Madness is the daytime, it makes me so morose
Twilight is so lovely, midnight is so dear
I perceive it clearly, time is resting easy here
But I gaze upon the curtain & the light is breaking down
And confusion of the daytime is such a grisly sound
Some believe I'm wicked, and surely they are wrong
Can't you feel the power in the body of this song?
You may think I'm crazy, but I don't think your right
Excuse me from daytime, I celebrate the night . . . .


"Traces of Me"

My words seem useless, and they are in vain,
Best left unspoken for they cannot gain-
I gave of myself upon sterile ground,
Your ears were deafened, fixed and bound.
My metaphor is ancient, mellow and bold,
But in sticks and sand, it is sodden and cold.
Your scorning of this will eternally burn,
And you will WANT as you tumble and turn.
You will chase my voice, but hear it no more . . .
You had it completely-but locked was your door.
Now to your ignorance---my lips will close,
And in dark sweet silence, I shall compose.
Somewhere in the distance in your plague of gloom,
Traces of me will skilfully loom.
You will be trapped in your own place & mood,
And the voice of absence will surely intrude. . . .

"Please Pardon Me"

Oh cursed is the life in which we are born
And woe to the hypocrite who's wool is not shorn
Shame on the one who takes and not gives
Pity the lame and the poor while he lives
Disgraced is the soul who will not heed The Book
Forgive the sound eye that won't bother to look
Bless the old hermit who lives in the wood
For shunning tradition as all of us should
Joy to the spirit who strives to do right
And lead us from darkness into The Light
Forgive us all for the wrong we have done
And give us the Wisdom to follow Your Son
I am plagued with a heart that is tender & warm
It is surely difficult to be riding this storm
I pray Not for flowers as I lay in my grave
But a pardon from Heaven for the good that I gave.

"Random Dreams"

Occasionally I envision extraordinary things
In the midst of my lengthy nighttime dreams
Once, I had a picnic with a mischievous Elf
His defiant behavior was as that of myself
With the Bohemian, I have rambled and rode
My body in the breeze, my cup overflowed
And I was intrigued when I met Prince Charming
His presence bewitched me; his allure was alarming
I have appointments with phantoms now and again
And we frolic and play in their quaint native dens
There is no fright, but good cheer and delight
My callers are curious in the repose of my night
And certainly, I have been beamed up to Mars
Where better to go than amongst the Stars?
I floated languidly in the middlemost space
It was mellow and pleasing; I enjoyed the sweet taste
Then Prophecy was given by Spiritual illusion
This knowledge absorbed like a blood transfusion
Why has the contact drawn nearer these days?
This slumber state is a tremendous maze
There are few directions that I havenít been
And more than likely, I have not seen the end
There is no boundary in the depth of my trance
Existence is ruled by Fate, not chance
These words I write are accurate and true
Or I wouldnít bother telling them to you
Inside my head, I hold regal rein
And awesome epilogues do fill my brain
Oh I could tell you the most powerful things
The rewards of knowing, and what the knowing brings
But I shall keep still about such as this
Sometimes ignorance surely is bliss
I could write for years but you could never know
Where I have been or the seeds that I sow
Though this is mysterious, peculiar, and odd
I believe my dreams are sent here from God
Ah, at times to me this is so unsettling
With my brain Someone is meddling
I must stop this dreaming, as I tumble and turn
I have reached the point of no return
Perhaps this is my fortune in life
Fall asleep with my pillow, awake with a knife
Iím sure this epistle is entirely opposing
But I have no control when I am reposing.

All poems and writings Copyright © 2000 by Cathy Leming