The Drumming Circle

The Drumming Circle by Dolores Rice

Eagle flew over the mountains and along the coastline listening for the heartbeat of each town and village. The “bump-ba-bump” steadied her own rhythm until she came to the valley of vineyards and artists. She landed atop an old oak tree and listened but all was silent.

She called upon the creatures and asked, “Where is the heartbeat of this once fruitful valley?”

Owl replied “Many of the elders in the area have died. The children refused to learn the music of their forefathers and now there is no one to teach the grandchildren. All have forgotten how to synchronize the heartbeat for this valley.”

Eagle sighed, “Bring in Nakoma, she lives near the sea, and find three children whose hearts are open. We must teach them the sacred drumming before the moon is full.”

Owl flew to the land by the sea and found Nakoma drumming along the cliffs. “Sacred elder, you must come with me to teach our children how to drum. The heartbeat of our village is silent.”

“Why me? I am old and my bones ache? I cannot fly that distance anymore.”

“Eagle said if I ask you, you would come,” replied Owl.

Without further argument, Nakoma climbed on Owl’s back and flew across the land where her three students waited to learn the songs of their ancestors.

Nakoma was renowned for her drumming skills and the children: Beaver, Raven and Rabbit, were excellent students. They learned quickly and before the full moon the ancient rhythms resounded across the valley.  The heartbeat of the community beat once again. 

After several weeks Nakoma became homesick and said to her little band of drummers, “I live in a beautiful cottage near the sea and I want you to come live with me.”

Beaver and Raven were glad to go but Rabbit said, “If we all go who will keep the heart beating in our valley?”

Nakoma, kissed little Rabbit and hurried off with Beaver and Raven before they could change their minds.

Soon the sound of their music resonated along the waves and harmonized with the tides. The sea was filled with life and the rain was plentiful. Many blessings came to Nakoma’s hometown but the heartbeat in the valley began to weaken.

Rabbit called out, “Please help me Great Eagle, I am not big enough to keep the rhythm for so many!”

Eagle was too far away and could not hear Rabbit’s plea so Rabbit went out to the village square with her little drum letting the “pat-a-pat” echo off the walls. Robin heard the sound then responded with a “tweet-a-tweet.”  Soon, Beaver’s younger brother, who had been listening while his big brother practiced, smacked his tail on the log in the river and matched the rhythm with a “thunk-a-thunk.”

Old papa Bear stood up from his chair and slapped his big feet on the dusty ground, the windows rattled and some dishes on the table fell to the ground.  His  feet made a “thump-a-thump.” For many in the village it was the first time they saw anyone dancing.

Wolf was so thrilled he raised his snout and filled the air with a falsetto howl. His song woke Hedge Hog who crawled out of her hole after all the commotion. She listened carefully then made a “scritch-a-scratch” sound with her sharp nails against the red clay.

Soon the valley echoed with their music and the heart of the valley started to beat, and to this day the musicians and dancers gather together to keep the heart beat alive, “bump-ba-bump, bump-ba-bump, bump-ba-bump.”

Fairy Garden

Susan built a fairy garden

under the branches of the dogwood tree
a little surprise for the exploring eyes
a delicate playground for little fairies

to explore after the sun goes down.
A tiny  bridge crossing a stream,
two small chairs near the succulents,
the space surrounded by an iron fence

with a decorative arch and ornate gate
so little fairies can enter precariously
along a stone path leading to a pond
where glass catches the moonlight

offering hours of play 
for creative minds.

Nail Clippings

The clippings from your toe nails
were gathered up by dust mites
taken to the local witch

who stirred them in a large pot
with hair follicles and lizard snot
stored them in a bottle 
on top of a musty shelf
available to cure 
foot in mouth disease

rheumatism and gout.   

Fairies In The Garden

Fairies flitting from flower to flower
honeysuckle and jasmine
aromas from spring and early summer
bottled in golden flasks of amber glass

placed in caves deep underground
total darkness until the time
wind chill and frost bring despair
the fairies spill the vessels across the floor

bringing hope to the frozen north
with a promise of springtime and gardens
awash in blooms where fairies flit from flower to flower
in the mysterious cycle of life

available in gardens everywhere. 

Wishes for Sleeping Beauty

When she was born
all the fairies were invited
offering her gifts of beauty
spirituality, grace, dance, song
and the ability to play any musical instrument.

All would have been lost as a teen
with the curse from the uninvited guest
who asserted that when the princess turned sixteen
she would prick her finger and sleep forever.

The last fairy saved the day
by overriding the curse and restricting
the sleep to one hundred years

when a kiss from a prince
could awaken the princess.
All of these things happened as planned

but if ever there was a plan
for a woman to become an object for adoration
the bequests from the fairies were not the best

their only purpose
was to make her a novelty
to be set upon a shelf and admired.

She would have been immersed
in a different kind of sleep
immobilized on a pedestal

never touched or fully expressed,
an ethereal projection of heaven
strumming on a harp day after day.

What did she dream in that hundred year sleep?
Did she run through the woods, climb mountains,
dig in the dirt, and laugh out loud?

I think if I had written her story
they would have blessed her with strength, cunning, power
and an intelligence to create beyond what others imagined.
She would have compassion and the ability to act
when others quivered,

to love freely,
give generously, bring glory and honor
to all she encountered
leaving the worship and adoration
for later after she lived a full life of action.

Easter Myth and Other Tales

How can we expect our children to respect us
when we tell them tales of Easter bunnies
sneaking into the yard late at night
and hiding eggs colorful and bright?

Even the dullest child will begin to question
the story and after the discovery that Santa
isn’t true will never trust anything we say.
They have to give up belief in the tooth fairy too.

Our biggest worry is how to keep the secret
so the younger siblings can live in the fantasy?
They become co-conspirators for a little while
then in a moment of weakness they reveal the ruse

exposing the truth amidst confusion and tears.
How can a child trust a parent
who would purposefully lie?
The whole world is behind this deception

taking advantage of vulnerable kids
and marketing advertisements to millions
perpetuating a deception reinforced
by parents who should have the child's interest

at heart. Yet, several years later when the child's
own offspring celebrate different occasions.
The myths will be pulled out from memory
and told to a new generation making them bigger

and better than ever before, with brighter lights
larger eggs, and cautionary tales of what happens
to children who don’t believe Easter bunnies
lay eggs, and hide them for children to discover.

The Magic Wand

I met her one afternoon
dressed in taffeta and lace
her hair hung down her back

in cascading ringlets of gold.
Glitter on her cheeks promised magic
and she didn’t disappoint.

She enchanted me with her words,
and like a magic carpet,
took me to places faraway

where I tangled with forces of darkness
and in this altered state learned
the difference between good and evil

waving her wand she saved me
through an intercession of light
before her tale was done.

She started to walk away but turned
to give me her magical baton.
I put this treasure in a secret place

wrapped in silk, locked in a box
and didn’t think about it for years
but one day I found the enchanted gift

behind several items in the garage.
When I opened it I remembered the magic
picked up the wand and started to tell

the stories this woman told so long ago
and like magic carpets,
they transported listeners to places far away

where they battled forces of darkness
learned to harness the magic of light
to intervene it time.

Alice Learns A Lesson

An Acrostic Poem takes a word and writes it down a page then uses the first letter in order to write a poem. In honor of Alice in Wonderland I took the word WONDER and wrote this poem:
















Wishing to explore, Alice entered the looking glass
Only to discover the world of make-believe was
Never what she imagined
Danger lurked at every turn
Enemies and friends thwarted each effort
Reality was a better place, so she went home again.

Beauty and the Beast

Princesses and fairy tales with the promise
of happily ever after and make-believe,
lure the female readers into fantasy,
but when the story is done, thoughts linger on
making young women do things that are unsafe and illogical.

Like Beauty falling in love with a Beast, who transforms
into a marvelous prince, one who loves her
and treats her kindly for the rest of her life.

Yet in reality the beast stays a beast
beyond the surface of his skin
it is part of his soul and doesn’t conform
to love but drags everything down to its level,
where unhappiness reigns beneath the lure of danger.

His dark brooding eyes, and a curl
that hangs, just so, over his forehead
awakes a passion and a sincere desire
to change this wild beast into a domesticated creature.

What once caused her heart to flutter
from the roar of his motorcycle,
to the smell of his leather jacket
now nauseates her.

The fantasy that love could transform all, implodes
with too many late nights, no excuses where he’s been,
drunken brawls and lost jobs the dream wears thin.
She realizes there’s more to life than waiting up
with accusations and pleas.

She leaves him behind,
grateful for an honest man,
relegating the fairy tale to where it belongs
to the realm of the imagination.

Women Don't Kiss Frogs

How many woman,
if given a chance,
would kiss a frog
even if she knew
he was a prince?

If you’ve ever touched
a frog you know
its body is cold
and it has little bumps,
like so many warts,
on the outside of its skin
and when it gets excited
it pees all over your hands.

I just can’t believe that
in the time of make-believe
a woman would do it ...
even to break an evil spell.

I think she would settle
for a life less exciting
than to live in a castle
and be the wife of a prince
if it meant kissing
a frog in order to get it.

My Prince Will Come

I found a castle looming on the edge of a cliff
gray walls with roughly hewn doors
bolted shut. No one answered when I knocked

so I lingered in the tall trees
watched the birds flit through the grass

listened to their chatter while I sat
outside waiting for what?
I hummed a childish tune
gazed at water splashing off the rocks,

an easterly breeze caressed my face,
a sparkling stream soothed my feet
the gentle ripple helped pass the time
outside the palace barricade.

I noticed a long narrow slit
at the highest point of the smallest tower
with a rope of yellow hair
tumbling from the window in that turret.

A young handsome man
caught the interwoven tresses
then proceeded to climb hand over hand
up the edifice, to the opening near the top.

He entered the casement and was gone.

I heard music playing from within
a hearty laugh, a squeal, a scream
the blur of color as they chased each other
their laughter rippled through the air
then quiet, for the longest time.

The cord from the window now held two
who climbed out that isolated parapet.
The man I recognize from before
the second one, a woman, with short cropped hair
touched the ground then disappeared into the forest.

I walked to the space where the limp braid
hung, then pulled myself up

to the window high above and stepped in
to a charming room perfect for a princess.
I decided to stay awhile and wait

for my prince to come.