Tag: #SacredGeography
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The Land Is Not Confused, A Grammar Older Than Roads
The monument is simple. Stone and cement. It holds its ground the way a place does when it has nothing to prove, like The Old-Style Place. For a moment, I was elsewhere, stepping down thirty-three wooden stairs to a Wisconsin lake where loons call. Then the veil lifted. I was back on the bluff, walking…
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The Old Style Place keeping what refuses to be known quickly
I go to The Old Style Place not looking for a wizard, but to unmask and absorb what I was taught. I am grateful, and I am surfeit in the company of a crackling fireplace. At night, I sit quietly and listen to reinforce the balance of my soul.Recalibration begins when I build a fire…
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Rhiannon Giddens and Liberation Songs: When the Blackbird Talks to the Crow
What I’d give to sing just one song in hope-filled voice with Rhiannon Giddens. I’d heard her in Michigan when I sat on the ground; right, there, ten, feet, away — watching and listening — my mouth agape, ears drunk with the power blasting from her body, her banjo, and her SOUL as the Carolina…
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Ghosts Are Full Here as the Hungry Half Moon Rises
Thank you to PORTLAND REVIEW. Publishing Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956 And so am I, full with the imprints of time and memory. I am rich in soul, yet I’m hungry for more. It’s not a feast I want: I want what singer Sam Garrett wants, “More life, more blessings; more peace, more unity.”…
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The Black Box of America, a poem by Gregory Ormson
This poem and image was originally published November 20, 2024 by Oddball Magazine. Editors calling it “a monster piece.” The Black Box of America, a poem Few people called a spade a spadebefore the country went up in flames.-Anon No one missed that countryMen were soft, angry, and violentLife was brutal and unforgivingPretentious and vacuous…