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The Old Native Chieftain
The old native chieftain from forests among
__Bright sparkling lakes of the tribe,
With death approaching instinctively covets
__The spot where his transition lies.
Reclining in solitude ‘midst verdant hills
__Where spirits more closely abide,
He’s drawn to rare lightness where portals are linked
__To diverse dimensions of sky.
His people do grieve his departure foretold,
__But accept obligation to stay
Far below in the meadowlands, longhouses circled
__Giving prayers on their leader’s last day.
His angels do beckon from heavenly heights
__Drawing near as his soul rises blessed,
Leaving his stark and still body in grace,
__With face gently turned to the west.
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When First I Saw My Baby Boy
When first I saw my baby boy, great joy in me arose,
So plump and dear and dimpled was his round and downy head,
So perfect were his little fingers and his minute toes.
I reached out thrilled to nestle him lovingly in my bed.
In horror saw I suddenly my babe’s unmoving form.
White and waxen limbs so still, his soul had bid farewell.
My being in agony despaired, my son no longer warm.
Almost killed was I in torment, trapped in deepest hell.
Now every day I go to see his tiny forlorn plot,
Know his wee face ‘neath a ground that smothers all his cries.
At twilight must I leave him there with loving mother not,
His only lonely company the space of autumn skies.
My broken heart yet steadies me despite my son it grieves,
For part of it stays on his grave with autumn’s whispering leaves.
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Corey Elizabeth Jackson is a retired elementary schoolteacher who lives in Aurora, Ontario, Canada. Her poetry has recently won several awards from The Ontario Poetry Society, and has also been published in Blue Unicorn, the Society of Classical Poets, WestWard Quarterly and the October 2023 issue of Spaceports & Spidersilk.
Your first poem with its unusual rhyme scheme seemed to enhance the effect of the Chieftain ascending to the Great Spirit in the Sky. The second poem made me ponder the sadness of losing a baby and touched me deeply. Such poems of yours are sincere and honest thoughts of caring so much. They convey feelings that affect us all and are worth sharing. We are humbled and honored to read them.
Thank you so much for your heartfelt words and for your particular praise of the rhyme scheme in the Native Chieftain poem. It is also very satisfying to understand how the Baby Boy poem touched you so deeply. It made me cry just writing it. I reflected how any mother would feel the same grief and despair upon losing a baby at birth.
I was particularly taken with When First I Saw My Baby Boy. The turn was breathtaking and gave me goosebumps. It really resonated.
I really appreciate how you describe why the Baby Boy poem resonated with you. Putting in the breathtaking turn that you mention made me think of how the joys and sorrows in our lives can so often be irrevocably juxtaposed. Thank you for sharing your robust “goosebumps” reaction!
Yes, I felt the same way reading it.
Thank you for your feedback.
I like both poems. The first one seems to be in anapestic meter and the second in iambic heptameter. Both poems are about death, one expected and one unexpected. Did you have any particular tribe in mind for the chieftain?
My broken heart yet steadies me despite my son it grieves,
For part of it stays on his grave with autumn’s whispering leaves.
I like your concluding couplet, and I’m interested to know what you mean by “My broken heart yet steadies me.” Do you mean you have the strength to endure, although you are grieving?
I have written a few poems about Native Americans, also. One is based on Chief Seattle’s famous speech, and another is about a buffalo hunt. In the latter, I used anapestic tetrameter in couplets. I used anapestic meter because it sounds like galloping horses. Here are the first two lines:
A lone scout had returned, and he passed on the word:
He had seen in the distance a buffalo herd.
Thank you for your detailed comments. It is extremely interesting to read your interpretation of the different meters of the poems. I understand that meter and rhyme are so inherently connected to the impact of meaning and art in each poem. It is so delightful that you precisely describe using “anapestic meter in couplets” for your poem “about a buffalo hunt . . . because it sounds like galloping horses.”
For the chieftain in my poem, the tribe I had in mind was the Huron Wendat, who roamed the fertile woods and lake areas of southern Ontario in times long past. They had a highly evolved language and culture before they were fragmented by war and disease in the 17th century.
I really appreciate your particular note of the concluding couplet of the Baby Boy poem. In writing these lines, I felt the solid comfort of the grieving mother after the shattering emotions of the previous quatrain. So, yes, the mother has found the strength to endure after having gone through this horrendous dark night of the soul. She has the good fortune to understand inherently that her broken heart has a counterpoint in a different dimension, where her heart is unbroken and capable of loving forever. The soul of her baby boy is in that dimension and her soul is capable of forever feeling and knowing him there. Autumn’s whispering leaves here bring her great comfort. The leaves are physically dead, no longer nurtured by their trees, yet they “whisper.” Still they have life, still they are conscious, still they gently resonate with the soul of the little baby on whose earthly grave they lie. The grieving mother is blessed with this knowing and our hearts can in gratitude and in bountiful loving harmony align with hers.