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The year is 1836. The few remaining families of the Wolf Clan of the Overhill Cherokee in the once grand town of Chota are slated for removal to Fort Cass in Charleston, Tennessee, where they will join thousands more of their people on the ill-fated journey to an unknown land west of the Mississippi River. Griffin Daniels, along with his closest friend, the newly married John Henry Morgan, and others, decided that's not going to happen. They're taking them to the mountains, their ancestral lands...and are willing to fight to get there.
Section Two: Frontier Tales
Chapter Six: Share Them, Forever
“Hurry. Hurry. There’s room for everyone in the wagon. We must go quickly,” Little Fox implored as he and his fellow warriors helped the wives and children of the four remaining families into the wagon.
"Griffen, only Qaletaqa is left," Little Fox said. "Her lodge house is the one near the street's end."
Qaletaqa was at peace with herself. A vision had shown her the final path. A man she had known since his birth will guide her. She would not have to wait long for it to begin; Griffen had burst into her lodge.
“It’s time to go, Qaletaqa. If we hurry, we’ll leave before the soldiers arrive.”
“I have seen you, Griffen. It is you who I am to follow. Our trail is waiting.”
“I don’t know if I’m the one to follow, but that trail is right outside, and we have to move,” Griffen said.
Soaring Hawk had run to the lodge and helped Griffen hustle the aged Protector of the People to the wagon. Once they had her aboard, Andy called out,” Problems ahead, boys. Soldiers riding in.”
A squad of ten mounted soldiers rode swiftly toward the Cherokee, Andy, and Griffen. Reining up in a horizontal line facing the small determined band, the soldier’s commander spoke.
“My name is Sergeant William Reinhold. I am under orders to remove all Cherokee to Fort Cass for assembly and removal west to assigned lands reserved for their tribe in the Oklahoma Territory. Any attempt to hinder this mission in any form will be met with the full force of the United States Army. I, therefore, order you to disband and surrender yourselves forthwith.”
As Griffen was about to reply, he turned to the sound of a hard-running horse approaching from behind. John Henry pulled up and leaped off his horse. With Buck alongside and musket in hand, he ran to Griffen’s side.
“Caught wind of your plans last night. First day being a married woman or not, Mary damn near kicked me and Buck out the door to help y’all out.”
Giving John a quick nod, Griffen began speaking. “My name is Griffen Daniels, designated legal counsel for these people by the state of Virginia and Tennessee.”
“Stretch’n that a bit, ain’t ya Griff,” John whispered.
“I am escorting these villagers to a place of safe boarding until such time their status can be adjudicated in a court of law. If you hinder such, the full force of the United States judicial arm will be applied.”
“Well, mister smart-ass legal man, right now, I’m the only force you have to worry about. You have ten seconds to drop your weapons before I order my squad to open fire.”
Buck growled, baring his teeth as Griffen and his cohorts slowly positioned their hands around their weapons. The anxious, looming silence was suddenly broken by a familiar voice calling out. “Sergeant Reinhold, stand the hell down right now. That’s an order.”
Lieutenant James Carter, leading a force of thirty troopers, galloped in front of Sergeant Reinhold, coming to a halt directly in front of him. Pulling his pistol and pointing it directly at the Sergeant, Carter said, “Reinhold, you and your squad lower your weapons immediately, or so help me you’ll be the first to die here today.”
I found myself hypnotized by the Poe-like, haunting aura of the chalk illustrations drawn by my grandniece, Maia Erbes. Each had a story to tell. I was determined to discover them. Once I crossed the thresholds of Maia's drawings, the stories began to unfold, as if pre-ordained. Take a peek over your threshold to portions of two of the book's thirteen narrative poems and their accompanying chalk drawings.
THE PACK
Driven by mid-winter's gnawing hunger.
two nights and days devoid of slumber,
accross the frozen rivers and snow,
they trekked as ghostly shadows, shadows in the moonlight's glow.
Suddenly they stopped, a heightened sense of smell and sight,
they knew their prey was close, now seen in winter's cold night.
Long in coming this primal momement, no longer pups of playfull gad,
skills now honed to be applied, survival must be had.
Instense their urge, with food so close, soon their hunt must end,
the time is now, spring forth they must by the river's icy bend.
Yet something, something signaled deep to mother be ever wary,
a muffled growl to both her pups; not yet...there's reason to be chary.
MR. & MRS. CRANIUM
At first the neighbors were just a bit wary,
admitting the Craniums were indeed a bit scary.
But, that is their way on Halloween,
and the Craniums knew...not all's what it seemed.
They'd often disucssed over glasses of wine
the one day a year when masks were fine
to wear all day and into the night
and hide who you are from normal sight.
The children were one thing, innocent and fun,
desrving of costumes and candy and gum.
The night was for them, they were not to be touched,
But the adults of the town had become a bit much.
"Mind you not all," Mrs. Cranium said,
sipping her wine of scarlet red.
"We've managed to change some attitudes
to let kids be kids without adults to intrude."
My first book. Twenty years of poems that began in despair and grief, then opened to the wonder of the world and life around me. As the book's cover depicts, consider taking a moment, be open to what's around you, where you've been and don't worry where your're headed. You'll know when you get there.
THINGS THAT COME TO MIND
Oh so many different scenes,
I see the beautiful,
I see the mean.
How and why to they appear?
Should I embrace or should I fear?
A river ford of long ago,
An island haven from whence I grow.
Love of things, I know not why
continue on in each life's eyes.
Travel on as visitant,
Flow beyond ambivalence,
To fears, desires, loves and hates,
born this day and died that date.
Words long tethered,
Hidden in years,
Thus pring forth
to read and hear.
As ballet transcends a simple dance,
The sonnet's grace lay not to chance.
Rather dormant, there to find,
And specak of things that come to mind.
NOVEMBER PATHS
Shuffle, ruffle through the leaves
that days before adorned the trees.
A chill wind brings tears to sight,
sunlight succumbs to early night.
Bundled in comfort seem the days,
in hues of dark and soft, white grays.
Clear and crisp with water low,
meandering streams lazily flow.
Flurries of snow upon brisk wind
seem ebullient till breeze rescinds.
Thus will Fall in late November
slowly fade to cold December.
Encroaching winter's ice and snow
shakes the thoughts of Fall's late glows.
Dwell not today such Winter wraths,
my sentient walking November paths.
BARE FOOT'N IN PINE CREEK
What did I hear the creek say/
Water talks in many ways.
Tumbling,
Babbling,
Rushing,
Falling,
Come play with me,
the creek was calling.
Pulling of my shoes and socks,
Stepping light to avoid the rocks,
Tingly cold the water felt,
Cupped hands to drink, I carefully knelt
and felt the coolness envelope my feet,
The joy of bar foot'n in Pine Creek.
Not quite deep enough to swim,
But really right for wade'n in.
Scents of pine by grassy banks,
Magpies and Blue Jays chatter their thanks.
Gentle pools rest all about,
Havens for stories of fabled trout.
Lazily graze the elk and deer,
Creeks will beckon animals near.
Serenity seems so eager to greet
the joy of bare foot'n in Pine Creek.
AND WE MET
By serendipitous fortune,
Happenstance,
Pure chance,
I observed
untill you turned to me,
and love began its dance.
What began as a way to fill time while waiting for their mom and dad to pick them up from our house, two of my four grandchildren, Drew and his younger sister, Emily, were challenged by me to write a poem about something. That something began with a poem describing pens; a pen poem. I wondered, what else they may want to write about. With Grandad's prodding, over the next two years, Drew and Emily, along with their cousins, Shamus and Teagan, each wrote ten entries consisting of poems, essays and prayers. Here's a peek at some of what came to their minds.
STARS
by
Emily Bonine
The stars are as bright as lights
in a city in the north, or down south too.
Through the fields and trees where the birds flew
stars don't get dimmer, they always shine through.
The stars' lights glow and light up my path
and shimmer on the lake
like a disco ball through the seasons.
All winter, spring summer, and fall,
wherever I go I see my stars.
DOGS
by
Teagan Murphy
Dogs are fast.
Dogs are slow.
Dogs are loving.
Dogs can be foes.
So give lots of cuddles, that's dog advice.
And always remember
dogs are man's and kid's best friends,
Julst like this poem is,
and just how it ends.
RHYMES
by
Shamus Murphy
Rhymes can be fast
and also a blast.
Rhymes can be cool
just like a pool.
Rhymes can be groovy
just like a movie.
Rhymes can have a twist
just like your wrist.
But all I know
is you need a good flow.
PENS
by
Drew Bonine
Pens have trends
that make them our friend.
They're here every day
be it work or play, writing our thoughts down
of all we might say.
Their ink may be red, or blue, black or green,
that light up our words that are meant to be seen.
They come in all sizes that fit any hand
to help you write words that are ever so grand.
Therefore, I beg you to author a risk,
put your pen to work with a click or a twist.
The world in anxious to read what you write,
let your pen whirl all day and all night.
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