The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
In The Circle

I
Morning chills the running brook as     
Eagle ascends the white mountain;
Turns the cloud rivers to mist; and
cries toward the sun's still dawn.

To the North, the peaks pour
fog upon the valley's stillness.
Whispering winds the sky blue river
with her misty spires rising.

Low lies the lazuli trail where
Trout stirs over cold rocks;
Water bugs dance on the glaze;
and silent steps dip to drink.

II
To the West, Wind is told to turn
the earth to meet aurora's end;
wake the dewy grasslands; and
warm the coming tribes of day.

In the Circle, the peoples gather,
Wakan Tanka speaks to them
in thunder drums beating, they dance,    
in the fire-drawn hoop, they sing.

To the East, red painted faces stand
tall upon the land, turning to dusk.
He tells with year-worn wisdom,
the coming season's story.

III
Evening shadows paint the earth,
as Snake song finds its final verse;
the hide hangs upon the hogan still
and warm earth comforts day's sigh.

To the South, the Mother feeds her
young with autumn berry broth,
blankets them with winter snows,
and tells them rainbow crow stories.

Night covers forest woods,
the earth, and Bear's thunder tracks.
Tricksters prowl in dreams,
and children remember their quests.
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©2008 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.