by David C. Hightower
Monday, February 16, 2009
Rated "G" by the Author.
Print Save Become a Fan
Recent poems by David C. Hightower
The Shaman's Circle
The Cat I Mistook for a Bird
I Wear a Vertebrae on a String Around My Neck
>> View all 27
Poetry - Listen -David Hightower
free verse - Americana - Appalachian -
history - nature -
shrouded in silence,
crouch in pyramid tombs by the river.
Their hands clutch fists of earth.
I hear them in the water’s mist,
Proud Creeks dressed for war
lie silent now.
They dream of darting tree shadows
and wild feathers flying.
The crows remember,
tell the old tales and cry the war cries.
Cherokees, praising valleys
with fields of corn,
gambled their future on the new law,
were planted anyway in strange lands.
The whippoorwill moans at distant dusk
and sings the loneliness of lost homes.
New people measured off the earth,
drew a dark line in the dust.
Brothers bled when it was crossed.
Ranks of stone mark their passing.
Crickets count their numbers endlessly
on hot summer nights.
Slaves celebrating in broad daylight
found freedom not so easily gained,
so treasured that which could not be taken away.
They lie uneasily in nameless holes.
The night breeze through pines
whispers like hymns their human hopes.
We, the mixed threads and remnants
of those long gone,
weave our own change of days
and wonder at the familiar echoes
in this our home,
haunted place of mountains, rivers, trees;
where paradise sits on warm spring days
and whistles from a nest of old bones.
Want to review or comment on this
Click here to login!
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Click here for your Membership!
|Reviewed by Richard Atwood
|Very evocative of a whole panapoly of humanity, conditions, groups and individuals. Two last stanzas in particular are sharply focused
"... in this our home" it is all there, yet still gone... waiting, watching... present, past, eternal... haunting, calling.
-- We never excape.
|Reviewed by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
|A people's heritage and ancestry may a have a "change of days" but these live on in the next generations of "mixed threads and remnants of those long gone" and preserve the freedom "not so easily gained". That is a treasure this poem speaks so eloquently about, and it is a blessing to read.|
|Reviewed by Axilea MU
|Your poetry always leaves a lasting impression.
This piece is moving and strong, just like all
your other poems that I have had the pleasure of reading.
I admire the way you combine elements that are highly visual
or that appeal to the senses - the sounds are very present
in this particular piece - with the awareness of a specific
experience, place or time.
|Reviewed by Jon Willey
|your heart told this magnificent story of many laments -- proud people placed on the fringes of societies and lands -- interred with promises unkept and desires gone unquenched -- these were the aspirations of noble men whose time was was unspent by them and they were never permitted to roam and create with freedom -- no bounties did those who came after reap from these gentle people of the earth -- for others saw fit to cheat them of their destinies and longevity -- mankind now suffers from those losses, never to be claimed -- your story impacts me with great sadness for the whole of humanity -- what order provides for man to determine the destiny of any other man -- and the answer shall be returned upon the winds, NONE -- may the light of love be the torch of peace and joy to you my friend -- Jon Michael|
|Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green
|I love it !!|
|Reviewed by 000 000
|Rememberance..past reflections of the earths crying!
|Reviewed by Cryssa C
|The tail your poem tells holds a note of melancholy, yet...also sings of honor for our ancestors. Your last stanza so aptly ties all of the threads together. My favorite stanzas are the third and fifth.
|Reviewed by Gene Williamson
|David, I am drawn again to your magnificent words.
I am moved especially by the power of that third stanza.
You add luster indeed to all of us who labor here in
the shaddow of your talent. -gene.
|Reviewed by Georg Mateos
|Listen to the wind which is coming with news of far away man's countenance, the approval to the whispers coming from the paper blessed by one poet.
|Reviewed by Dawn Anderson
|Very moving piece, David. Your last stanza, especially meaningful and beautiful.|
|Reviewed by J'nia Fowler
|...We the mixed threads and remnants of those long gone...exquisitely penned, all of it. Thank you for this write. J'nia|
|Reviewed by John Flanagan
This is threnody, an eloquent finely wrought lament for those who were deprived, robbed and marginalized by invaders and landgrabbers, and today who is listening? I was very moved by this poem as I always am by your deep and wonderful writing.
|Reviewed by Marcia Miller-Twiford