From sunbathed white sands of the West coast,
you hum your songs to be carried East
by soft or raging winds, that speak our name.
You are Canadian. We are yellow, red, black and white
offerings of a gentled people come by sky to land,
sail by boat to dock, come by snaking wagons,
come by foot and come by plane to a wildness
that is quiet in its noble heritage.
I am yellow Canadian, my gold and scarlet dragons
come for the washboard and feast-making, the dollar
to send home to my tribes who will come when they can,
to this land of milk and honey. Once, in threat, we were herded
to stockyards of the prairies, to ride the very trains
we helped to place across the land, one rail after another.
We hold no grudge against you. I am Canadian.
I am red Canadian, my fine forest is, and was, for sharing.
Here is the winged soul, the four-legged, the crawling,
the swimmer who fights self-preservation to feed you.
They are not mine. They are part of the garden;
bone-mounded mountains, body in repose on roiling
muscles of foothills, flat-bellied prairies, dry patches
of deserts and pools of the purest waters flung down first
from the bluest weep of skies. We tend this kanata. I am Canadian.
I am black Canadian, bring dance and song and harmonized drums
to the land who offered shelter from hard lash life misplaced.
I am the grateful soul who will take the skewed eye
in certain faces and continue to make myself a piece
of this diverse land. I am singing a prayer for you.
I am black and I am brave and I am Canadian.
I have come on billowing wings to take or share,
to make or mark the best of this land. I have been tempered
by acceptance of a harsh but habitable place where harrowing
large deeds of land has somehow become an end
and yet beginning of a new and not necessarily right way.
But, I am here and I am come to peace the hard way, betimes.
Quiet in my honor and remembrance of how the ground
has taken me in and made me one of you, though forgotten
sometimes, how I was taken in by pure and am , sometimes,
dropped to my knees in remembering how welcoming
this land had meant to be. I am cautious of you, I am certain
now, that I am Canadian.
The eye above and souls below this land, know us.
We are the last wide open welcome in the Americas.
Kanata, “Village”, surrounded by fragrant cedar,
colored by the silver birch, the belly of this land
has birthed and nurtured us all. One God, One Land,
One People of many colors as there are painted
in Northern Lights shawl-dance arbor. We move
in freedom of speech, religion, kind and creed, and color.
We are all one Kanata, Canada.
Author notes
I was born Canadian. I shall die Canadian. I am Cree and proud of it.
jpg of Joyce Wieland Quilt - Expo '67
In a list
A contest entry
- Calling...Oh Canada!!! by Rowan.
600 points, ended February 4, 2007, 5 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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This should be printed on every tourism site..
Well done.
You should be proud of this; as Canadians we all should be.
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thank you, rowan. I am sending it to a publisher and radio literary site. I do like this one a great deal. I am homesick for our quiet dignified country where things seem jsut lessharassing. I am going home soon for a while and willenjoy my Rockies, my homeland and my family there. Thank you again.
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Beautifully written. You made me feel more proud than ever to be a Canadien.
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thank you, sheltered. I am busy getting ready to click my heels and find myself home.
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A wonderfully beautiful poem! You have put show much heart into this. great write!
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My heart belongs to Canada, in fact, even my DNA know the words to the real Oh Canada....and remebers the real flag my father and brothers fought under.
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"I am the grateful soul who will take the skewed eye
in certain faces and continue to make myself a piece
of this diverse land. I am singing a prayer for you."
Sighhh...I knew you'd nail it, my Sister...bullseye...This is an amazing tribute, my dear Friend...An honorable penning describing all of the aspects of the land that bears your mighty, gentle heart...Beautifully done, Sweetie...Good luck in the contest... Wanda
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Tk u gf. Such sacred soil is the land we are made of... I have loved to travel, love where I am now, but going home is always going home.
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A truly beautiful lyrical and educating tribute, a tool and a voice. Well done. Best of luck.
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thank you, I appreciate your kind comments. It is a wonderful palce tovisit, my Western part of Canada...each province has a different personality, but way out west, you tend to get a whole different western type personality...noen better, none worse, simply different.
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I hear the voice of Canada in this piece. In all her regalness of faith in her spirit and duties to her peoples.Wonderful tribute to the your country of origin.
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Yes, where I am from, the pioneer areas, the opn spaced part of Canada, there is a quiet gentle spriit....land makes us who we are, I believe...I am better for it, I know.
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