The Whispers of Kokopelli

In the distance a panorama of mystic buttes
standing vigilant like watchtowers over the mesa-
monuments to Mother Earth's sacred birth.
It is a place of harmony and peace,
its earthen tones of sepia and rust,
as with a painter's brush, mingles
with the golden hues of sun,
to blaze the tablelands with scarlet skies.


( The magic lands of the Anasazi. )
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The sun shines more with each passing day.
Sheets of ice blanketing the earth have melted away.
The reckless winds having raged
with wild abandon seem contented now
to whisper through the lands.

With hands still haunting of winter chill,
cheeks raw and numb,
(though shelters in the ground
a bit warmer now)
and baskets dwindling fast
to last of winter stores,
I've come to know the meaning of joy.

The whispering winds grow louder
with inextricable tone,
different than winter's sharp cries of despair,
there's a resonance that touches the heart,
quickens the spirit to lift it up
where it belongs.

Might it be the Great Spirit Creator-
the hope that wrest from winter frost
the makings of youthful Spring?

Or, a spirit ancestor
pledged by his code to share
his infinite benevolence.

But, oh!
It's Kokopelli with his flute!
Dancing to the magic notes he plays
while upon his hunched back brings
the seeds of Life,
the songs of Spring,
and despite his heavy burden makes
a lasting plenitude.

His music and merriment
a testament to our aegis,
infusing whatever hardship be borne,
is, a mere pittance to pay
for the joy to create.

And I gathered up my cedar flute,
lips and fingers numb,
and to the whispers of Kokopelli,
I played.

Copywright 2009 Francis Don Daniels

When I Am a Poet

One day when I am a poet
I shall sing to you a song.
A song that tells the secret love
in words I cannot say.


One day when I am a poet
I will share with you the dreams
I dream of you each day-
dreams which stay unspoken.


Love-a word which is so small
but means so much
that I'm embarrased to say.
For my feelings for you so overflow
my senses, that all the books ever written
could not tell the story.


How do I say
that one day without you
is a lifetime lost;
how do I tell you
that life without you
is a flower despoiled of bloom,
a bird with withered song.


How do I tell you with words?


One day when I am a poet.


Copyright 2009 Francis Don Daniels

The Harmony

("...Let reason, the gift divine, be thy highest guide.
Then should you be separated from the body,
you will be imperishable, a divinity, a mortal no more."
Pythagoras, The Golden Verses)



Look around you!
There's music in everything we see.
The sky with its lofty tones resounding
from a rainbow harp.
The forest its violins
whose quivering strings sweetly plucked
by bows of the wind,
serenade a sleepy earth
like songbirds singing hymns.


And there is play.
And love.


Why not change residencies for a day?
Permit yourself to slip past
the barricades of time and space,
to venture free from the trodden path
into the open fields of worlds unclaimed.


Life is a flower.
Let its petals unfurl and bloom
into the magic colors of its fate.
Forever nourish the roots
from which it sprang,
to blossom forth that vital sweetness
which makes all in your magic garden
wax with the music of love.


Copyright 2009 Francis Don Daniels