A turtle flies through the universe.

We ride on the back of the turtle.

The Undergods dwell in Canandaigua,

The Overgods look down from clouds.

Even if we're 300 moons away from

When this mattered, most of our lives

Are touched by one holy inspiration: nature.

Cosmic coincidence should not amaze here.

You are in the middle of the new awareness.

Black rocks spin and dive in deep water.

A four-year-old runs then swims.

Relaxed willow provides humid shelter.

You peek under the giant grass skirt

And see four tangled feet. You don't peek further.

Gray locusts send twirling twigs to hair.

You swim out to a cooler spot of deep water.

The white snake, awake again,

Leaves Bare Hill, not reeking havoc

But cutting new creeks to hike along,

Full of crawdads and water spiders.

You retrace ancient steps. You sneak

Through the old neighborhood, now trespassing.

Four tangled feet, a few skipping stones

And the spirit within you:

Now awareness reigns. Corn presents

A raw treat for passing minstrels. Nothing

Talked about or noticed matters.

Blue Heron walks on Lettuce Lake.

Lily pads support light birds long enough

For them to bill crawdads. Appetizing

Photograph: Squirming crustacean crunched.

Boards, cleverly cut, fan out around corners

That bring new cypress vistas into view.

One tree grows around another, wet but

Not waterlogged. Raccoon poop, which has

Red dots throughout, brightens the walk

As rain clouds defy winter and roll

Through desolate Florida. Where are all

These cars going? Immokolee? Must be

A growing town to support such traffic.

Back at the swamp a frog succumbs to a

Banded owl. Anhingas stretch wet wings.

White flowers waver, waiting to be painted.

Loud rumbling bikes. Smothering solder guns.

Rusting sculptures. The toil of women willing

To bake their skin to keep their children safe.

Three sides of a square cluttered with papers

Strewn accidentally. Not enough to hold life

Together for one nomad. He moves again.

Dread locks us. Prisoners still dream. Cracked

Paint reminds pigeons to fly. Hot bricks scorch

The feet of toiling women. Can we keep children safe?

The operation fails. Feet hurt just for standing.

Time. No one has the time. Even our souls rebel,

Not enjoying this new supposed form. Life?

Smoke diffuses. Today's medicine is not

Quick enough to slow us down to past paces.

Toiling women. Smiling children. Non-time.

Take A.I.M.

Several times within the week

My heart begins to ache,

To the Onodowaga I speak,

No need here to fake.

Skaneatles, Canandaigua,

Wine surrounds the lakes.

Seneca and Keuka

Are missing native wakes.

No more red-skinned swimmers,

No more birch canoes.

Bare Hill is getting dimmer,

Haudenosaunee are few.

Ganundua is still quite red,

But only once a year.

At other times the nation's dead,

It always brings a tear.

Iroquois nation will return,

Just look into my eye.

The rage inside our nation burns

We will never die.

The Creek

By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee

Harvesting future sauerkraut,

Paddling the lake.

Spearing for a rainbow trout

Baking cornbread cake.

Smoothing down an arrowhead,

Digging trilobites.

Walking where our brothers bled,

Singing funeral rites.

Hiking back along the creek,

Past the cherry trees.

Raspberries, they seem so meek,

But bloody up the knees.

Creekbed slowly running dry,

But then a waterfall.

A pause to sit and wonder why,

To hear the bluejay call.

Water drops into the pool

Like a giant tear.

Elders preach a peaceful rule,

We pray for a plentiful year.

Nine Slapper

By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee

Blue bird in the air,

Golden boy delights.

Skipping stones without a care,

Singing in the night.

Seagull pierces silence,

The dawn is on the rise.

Fishermen are busy

Watching for red skies.

River wanders, digging earth

Fertilizing soil.

Weekend mongers slobber

Spilling pints of oil.

Red-skinned native stands,

A reminder of the past.

Spearing fish and digging clams,

Hoping they will last.

Blue-eyed boy walks on,

Determined to have fun.

Lonely lovers cry,

Searching for the sun.

Last Revised 05/25/05