Wednesday, August 29, 2012


I hear the tribal drums in the distance, bidding us come.

And come we do, 
through the forests, 
from the plains 
and across the deserts
Answering the call.

Gathering together, 
for the first time, 
Gathering together.

Mystery surrounds our coming.  
And energy.  
And creative fire.

We come, 
bringing our dreams, 
our lives, 
our selves.
Bringing everything as an offering to gods we do not see.

We join together 
not as strangers 
but as sisters, 
as clan, 
even before we meet for the first time.
We join our spirits 
and our songs.

And we will leave
And love will hold us as we go.

Until we are called again by the music of the drums.


  1. Oh be still my heart. Sugar, if this is Oregon's influence, you must move there. I love your longform writing, but your poetry is downright captivating, moving, stirring. Don't ever stop, you hear me?

  2. Hi Renae,
    A friend sent me here and I'm glad she did. Its my first visit to your blog and I love it. The poem just pulled me right in and I agree with Jeanne that I must go there....its the place I always dream of....

    1. Hi. So glad to have you along. I started writing publicly a while ago, and then had a pretty long break. The old stuff is still here. And I hope to keep the new stuff coming. Glad you stopped in. Keep dreaming - that's the place - regardless of the location.