I need you to be safe tonight

“I need you to be safe tonight”

said the sponsor to the newcomer.

“I want you to call me and we will talk.”

at which the newbie balked.

“I need you to be caring

about your self for a change.

I want you to call

I won’t be out of range.

Talk to me of music,

perhaps I can sing along.

Talk to me of the sunlight of the Spirit

Its love will make you strong.

Talk to me of feelings

I know you have a choice.

I need you to be safe tonight…

To connect with the loving Voice.

It calls to me and tells me I need not be alone.

Let me love you till you can love yourself…

I am as close as your phone. “

The newcomer stared at first in disbelief.

They embraced and cried together.

It lifted the pain.

Soul found relief.

The Gift of Loving

The gift of loving

Touches this heart of mine.

The gift of your giving

Keeps me in touch with the Divine.

The hood

I live in a city

It is wonderful and good.

The giving is gracious in my neighbourhood.

They give to the poor.

They give to the meek.

They give their hearts with love

To those who cannot speak.

They give a smile.

They give a wave and a nod.

The folks in my hood

Show me the hand of God.

The Hue and Cry of the North

The mystical

hue

of a northern sunset

the cry of wolf

are two

 subtle influences

in the

 heart of the Peace.

You can see

it in the art.

You can hear

it in the music.

The heartbeat of industry

bleats along.

At the end

of the day

the lingering sunsets

give a time

for reflection

on the beauty

of the North.

Many artists,

and  artisans

transcribe this

beauty into their craft.

You will find

no other tones

and hues

any place on earth.

The waters

of the Peace

are said

to have

mystical powers.

It is said

if you drink

of the water

of the Peace..

you will return.

The art

of the Peace

is a call

to return home.

Home

to the subtle

hues

 the teaching cry

of the wolf

now muffled

by the traffic.

An explanation

could

be from the

people of the land.

The North

is the place of wisdom.

The stories

of the Elders

are told in Art now.

Come home

to the North.

Find the Art

that reflects

your heartbeat.

It is here

on these pages…

it is here

in the heart

of the writer.

Esquao

 

Photo by Olivia Kachman  at Carmen Haakstad’s  Dominio II Show Opening  Unique Gallery, Oct 30/08

Right to Left:

Carmen Haakstad, Benita Galandy, (Elder’s Shelter Manager) ” Esquao the Seeker”  and MaryHelen Ferris. ” Esquao the Seeker” was donated to the Elder’s Caring Shelter as a donation for a raffle to raise awareness about the Elder’s Caring Shelter and funds for food and utilies.

Esquao

Esquao has many meanings. The ancients said “The woman who leads.”

In Cree, it means lady.

The Sioux transcribe it as beautiful woman.

Other dialects, it means mother. Perhaps directing us to Mother Earth.

To Carmen Haakstad it was a tribute to Aborginal Women and their contribution to the community. He reflected it best in his painting Esquao the Seeker. It is his latest in a body of work in the Seeker series.

He tells us of the Seeker in an article which follows:

The Seeker’s Journey – Guest – Author -Carmen Haakstad

October 15, 2008 by greatpoetrymhf | Edit

The Seeker explores, she ponders, she is in constant wonderment. She seeks knowledge. She learns from her mistakes and her loss of loved ones and she sometimes learns from her successes.

The mystery of the journey continues to unfold.  The grain of her soul is becoming exposed.

The mystique of the things that cannot be measured are truly the Seeker’s joy she prays to find.  The sublime intrigues through sight, sound and thought she engages.  Through taste she is refueled and is reminded of the days gone by through scents that recall some joys of childhood. She tries to remain grounded with her feet firmly planted – however, her thoughts are not.

She listens to the stories that radiate through the world by modern devices that can send instant messages to all fellow Seekers. She is mused but not totally convinced of its truth; it is a tapestry – it must be revealed.

The Seeker ponders when it will end – the games of trying to outwit the enemy.  Only the higher Seeker of our universe knows, so she tires to engage the higher source to help her fellow Seekers follow the path of love – not war.

The Seeker cries out, she is stripped to the grain – prepared for the rain and the clouds brood and the storm lurks.  She stands tall, holds onto her faith.  The Seeker knows that soon the light and warmth of the sun will replace the darkness.  The beauty surrounds her.  She ponders, she looks, smells tastes, touches and listens.

The journey is short.  It is later than we think – so she holds on, she prays for hope, her faith keeps her strong as she continues her journey not knowing if it will be short or maybe long.

 Carmen Haakstad 2005

as published in Summer Slam 2005 July 14 – 17, 2005 South Bear Creek Park  Grande Prairie Alberta

The long walk

  Jasper National Park courtesy  Sonny Galea  Wild Wilderness Photography    Grande Prairie

The long walk back

from not knowing

how to handle a situation.

The long walk back

from not knowing

how to grieve.

The long walk back

from a life of degradation…..

The long walk back

from not knowing

or wanting to believe.

It is a long walk back

but the Sunlight of the Spirit

still shines.

The first lights of Christmas

The first lights of Christmas

Fill me with wonder and bliss.

They remind me of home.

Of a lover’s first kiss.

I wonder as I see all the lights of the season

If my heart will stay open

If I will make it through the grief of

My first Christmas without you.

I am pondering what all these beautiful lights might be like….

From over yonder….looking down from heaven and seeing the lights.

Silly questions, perhaps on a long winter’s night.

I imagine the excitement of heaven for you

I picture a giant tree….the decorations are made of the love you gave others.

The kindness you gave when there was none given you.

The gifting you gave to help others get through.

The beautiful song I hear in the angels choir

Has been plucked from your heart strings

All the prayers you gave my praying dear Mother.

Thanks for Friend’s

Someone said that God could not physically hug us everyday.

That is why he gave us friends.

Thanks for being you.

Thanks for being my friend.

I see God in your eyes.

I hear his Voice in your laughter.

I feel his presence in your hug.

Thank’s God for friends.

It must be great to be God

Photo credit  Sonny Galea   Wild Wilderness Photography     Grande Prairiie AB

The young street woman was angry.

She cried to her God….

“It must be great

to get to be God.”

She paused and thought for a moment…

the anger subsided.

Then she spoke…..

“Think of all the love you

had to give

to get to be God.

All the countless stars

across the velvet sky.

All the hundred scholars

who taught us to ask why.

All the blades of grass.

All the kinds of trees.

All the greens of spring.

All the whites of winter.

All the purples of the dessert.

All the browns of fall.

All the myriad colours.

All the animals and birds.

All the creatures of ground.

All the beauty of this place.

All the joy and laughter

All your love and grace.

All the music and art.

All the Light and Sound.

I want to thank you dear God

For your love

It  has no bounds.

Thank you for my anger.

As it lead me home to thee.

I need to be in the forest.

I need to hug a tree.

Bye, God.

Thanks for the lesson.

Can I come see you again?

The Joy of the Morning

Oh the Joy of the Mornings

As our Son danced with me.

He moved always like a feather.

He spoke of the Creator.

He loved the dance

the music of my country.

He pleased his father,

my husband.

I could not please him.

I only blushed.

So I danced with our son.

Until I could dance no more.

When I was young,

I danced.

I had long giggling curls

that danced out of my babushka

as I danced.

Oh how I danced.

I danced to at first to please my feet

Then to please my Papa.

I was Anastasia then.

Then I danced with others.

The Father’s came to watch us dance.

They congratulated themselves

on their choice of daughters.

One who danced with his eyes

Asked for my hand.

He took me.

From my music,

my dancing

my country.

He called me “Ann”

“Ann, get the cart.

Ann, hold the ox,

Ann, hold the light.

Ann, good night.”

He only worked.

Never once did he think of the music.

Never once did he thing  of the dance.

Oh the Joy of the morning as I danced

With our son…

He moved always like a feather.

-except from “Baba” a play by mhf