Tuesday Poem: "The Shamans of Mandurah - Part Five: Lessons"

Those pioneers buried in the Sholl Street churchyard

built a country on the power of the individual.

Have we forgotten that progress

needs a human face and a human pace?

We have exalted logic at the expense of magic.

We have belittled the power of laughter.

We never flip the coin of genius

because we fear the madness on the other side.

Doctors and clergy have buried our shamans.

Our court jesters reside behind asylum walls,

silenced by medication.

The tentacles of conformity squeeze our hearts

like vinegar-soaked sponges

and the descending dollar darkness abhors eccentricity.

The Wanderer, The Shaven-headed Singer, The Old Rocker

and Dolly are forced out to the edge of experience

to seek their light.

Like warrior-shamans,

the call of the moon is stronger in their veins.

They feel the tug of river and tide.

When they look into the night sky,

do they know the stars where others live?

When they look at a stone,

do they read its history?

When they look at an animal,

do they remember its lineage?

When they look at a tree,

do they picture whose ancestors camped beneath it?

When they look at the ocean,

do they sense the shores it touches?

When they look at us,

do they see the people we could be?

POET'S NOTE: Enough said. Here endeth the lesson.


Oh, I forgot to link you back to the wonderful Global Poem at the Tuesday Poem hub which celebrates our 2nd birthday as an International Community of Poets. Go and have a look. You won't be disappointed.


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