The Dream They Held

Title:  The Dream They Held

Genre: Poetry

Status: first draft

Author's Note:  Found an old notebook and this was the last item in it.  I like how it reads and don't wish to tweek it too much (as is my nasty habit to do so) so feedback and constructive criticism is welcome.

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Wish I could hear the dream They held

Before the beasts attacked

with self-righteous swords bathed in blood.

I can only mourn in anger at the injustice served

and feel the empty ache of loss

for the connection severed.

No past is left for me.

No future can grow from ashes.

Where does a refugee flee when all is lost?

Across time and space?

Through mists and shadows?

Ghosts more haunting for their murder

echo my cries

beg for me to remember them

But I can't speak names I don't know.

I can't carry out rites no longer taught.

I can't hear the dream They held.

Diary of a Drum fiend

Anyone who knows me knows I have a bit of an obsession with hand drums.  That is, if one can call owning 10 djembes and 2 bodhrans a 'bit' of an obsession. Flompers (the calico cat down in front) pretends to be Vanna White, modeling in front of the drum family for you all:

And I do consider the drum a family. Each has come to me via some interesting adventure (or escapade as my friend, Stacy calls them).   Each drum offers a unique sound and personality that  has led to naming them. Nothing fancy, mind you.  For example, the largest of the family (tucked away in the black bag, top center) is affectionately called "Big Mama".  Big Mama is typically my preferred drum for rituals because of her deep resonance (and the fact that she has a harness so that I can move about more freely).  Here is a picture of us at the Madison Wisconsin Protest rallies against Governor Walker back in 2011:

But that's a story for another day.  The real reason for today's post is the new drum acquisition and subsequent home-made drum stick I made with which to play her.  She found me in the most unexpected of places--a busy thrift shop I love frequenting.  My eyes boggled when I caught sight of her.  Who expects a bodhran in a thrift store, much less one in decent condition.  And the bonus was that day, the store was having a 50% of sale.  So I paid a whopping $10 for her.  Yes...you heard me right.  $10.  I positively squee'd all the way home.

We are still getting used to each other.  She has yet to reveal her name.  But her fit in the family of drums is to be a shamanic one (the other bodhran, Ian, is used for performing) and so I made a drum stick for her yesterday.  The stick itself is a piece of drift wood gathered from the shore of Lake Superior and leather that I sewed by hand then filled with cotton and tied off with sinew.  The drum was also consecrated with water from Lake Superior as well. I am now researching painting techniques as I want to decorate her drum head, but now that I have a proper drum stick, I can play with her and truly get to know her song: