Between Sunlight and Storms
Original poetry that I have written over the years.

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Save the Wolves
The unwise like to sport their kill,
A coyote or wolf will do.
Most can't tell the difference yet,
And traps and snares, no clue.

Wolves don't kill as many deer,
As cars or hunters have.
But then, such customs I have heard,
Have tortured little calves.

They say they have these regulations,
For hunting and fishing and such.
But still, the greedy fill their freezers,
So I say the difference isn't much!
But who eats Wolf????  
Author - White Sparrow

Heaven's Halos
Heaven's halos fill the night,
New mothers hum a tune.
The softness of their baby's skin,
Will be brushed and tucked in soon.

Their little lashes grow at close,
These miracles softly sleep.
Cradled in the warmth of arms
Great Spirit, kiss their cheek!
Author - White Sparrow

Eyes of Heaven
Those diamonded eyes of heaven,
They wink down to all below.
Watch over while we're sleeping,
But only children know.
The music that a dream can make
When it whispers in their ear,
And tickles them until they laugh,
While Mother Moon smiles near.

Author - White Sparrow
Published in 2005 by the International Library of Poetry.  Can be found in hard cover form under the book title 'Invoking The Muse'.

Bear Awakens
A family always waits for us
From the moment of our birth.
Some, they have it all planned out,
For others, it gets worse.

The news, for sure, it travels fast,
Throughout the heat or snow.
The unfortunate, are relatives,
Rest of family never know.

Some will hold their arms outstretched.
Others will turn their head.
Colour of skin doesn't matter,
Be it black, yellow, white or red.

We all have our relations,
It doesn't guarantee we'll meet.
But down the road, the truth shows up,
Bear awakens, after his sleep!

Author - White Sparrow

To Be Indian....
Indians do not walk around
In bustle and feathers each day.
They dress as common as you and you,
Things have changed since yesterday.

Indians do not all have brown eyes,
Nor painted one shade of skin.
To think they cannot hold a dream;
Well my friend, that's just a sin.

An Indian has a gentle soul,
But they're not afraid to fight.
The Elders pass down old legends,
They're remembered, by the 'White'.

Indian is more than one belief.
It's greater than struggle and strife.
It's honour and spirit, tradition and strength,
A beautiful wisdom, of simple life.

(In gratitude and recognition of my journey)
Author - White Sparrow

The Indian Carver
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From butternut, from ash and birch
He’s carved some forty years.
From woodland creatures, to sorrow’s face,
He’s wiped sawdust and tears.

He’s built a dream and then another,
His legacy, planted and sewn.
A man of strength and courage both,
“Indian Carver” is how he’s known.

His family is large and like us all,
There’s been good years and bad.
He’s seen through eyes of red and white,
Found both could leave him sad.

He’s worn the name of ‘Chief’ with pride,
Saved his spirit, gave his best.
When an elder of purpose believes his cause,
There is no time to rest.

His aim is straight and strong for sure,
Determined to his boots.
Unafraid to speak his thoughts,
Or carve them in his roots.

Our paths have crossed, I am blessed
Now my quest is to see his name
Boldly carved where it’s ‘earned’ the right,
In the “Indian Hall of Fame”.

(Wilmer Nadjiwon, Chippewa of Nawash Elder, Wawwashkaysee Clan, I will not rest until your name is carved where it rightfully belongs in Ontario, Canada’s “Indian Hall of Fame”)!  

With purest love and respect, from “your little bird, White Sparrow friend.”

Author - White Sparrow  Copyright June 15, 2004

Mighty Spirit of Yesterday 

The distant sky was vibrant,
Summer winds and love filled the air.
His silhouette was tall and bronze,
Blowing freely, his long black hair

There was stamina in his stature,
His chest was strong and bare.
The horse, it wore no saddle,
Tranquility surrounded there.

Magnificent was this picture,
From head to moccasin feet.
As the painted horse was guided,
As if someone to meet.

A palomino then approached him,
An Indian maiden came into view.
Soft suede scarcely covering her,
Braided hair and head band too.

Together they raised their right hands,
East-West in a ceremonial way.
Then, before her brown eyes, vanished
Her mighty spirit of yesterday.

Author - White Sparrow

(May also be found published by The International
Library of Poetry under the book title of "The Silent
Journey" - 2004. Also being published as part of a
recited 3 CD boxed set "The Sound of Poetry" by
The International Library of Poetry 2004).

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Native Powwow Trail

Flamboyant fields of feathers,
There’s movement all around,
Drums and dancing wake the earth,
Native spirit has a sound.

There’s jingles on women’s clothing,
Tradition and fringes too,
Gathered to honour sacred ways,
Generations through and through.

Celebration is born to fill the air,
Spirits lift together in praise.
Yesterdays bow to tomorrows,
History pens a brand new page!

Ah, feather, fur and bustles
Can’t help but catch your eyes.
When your heart beats to a native drum
One’s soul is anointed by the skies.

From a platform in the foreground,
Elder’s voice burns like a light,
Our tepees stand in humble rows,
May we all sleep in peace this night!

Author, White Sparrow

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Torture, Trail and Tears 

By the hand of Andrew Jackson,
Chief John Ross got nowhere.
Courts failed to return justice,
Cherokee didn’t have a prayer.

Nine hundred miles of long bad road;
Then, add one hundred more.
Only dying spirits to mark their path,
Skin and hearts cut to the core.

While some died of pneumonia,
Others starved or froze or both.
Survivors of the “Trail of Tears”
Carried their legend, and their ghosts!

(May my words be remembered in their honour)
Author - White Sparrow

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Born to Battle Blaze  (August 10^th, 2003)

They’re born like little tigers
These brave hearts of yet to be
Born to battle smoke and flames
Save and animal, man or tree

They’re courageous and determined
Much like those who wear the blue
They dare not run from danger
For they all have jobs to do

They do not stop to worry
They manage and think it through
What would be the better way
To save the likes of me and you

There’s weight on every shoulder
And there’s weight in all their gear
You’d never know to look at them
For they’re strong and show no fear

They’re a family band together
And they’re know around the world
But also brand with gentleness
With hands, a kitten inside will curl

They’re an army of brave soldiers
Saints and heroes who fight to free
For putting their lives on the line
Bring them home, spared from tragedy

Their hearts are tough and tender
Their sense of duty will amaze
Protecting mankind, their purpose
They were born to battle blaze

Dedicated to both my sons, Damon and Ryan,
my firefighters.  - White Sparrow

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REMEMBERED…

I lived, to die remembered
For something good I’d done,
For making my own difference
In the life of, say, just one.

I lived, to die remembered
For something you can’t see,
Something that might mean the most,
If only just to me.

I lived, to die remembered
In my writing and my words.
May voices sing or speak of them
And from time to time be heard.

I lived, to die remembered
In the hearts of those I love.
May you always know I’m with you,
Down there or here above.

I lived, to die remembered
For bridges I have built,
For lives I brought together
Through love, and not from guilt.

I lived, to die remembered
With compassion, not regret;
For pleasures I enjoyed awhile
With a passion one can’t forget.

I lived, to die remembered
As one whose dreams came true.
My heart print I left on your soul
So I may live my life through you.

I lived, to die remembered,
Shed my tears of joy and pain.
May you always hear my laughter;
Yes..., I hear my whispered name!

I lived……………….

Author - White Sparrow

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