Posted by: Farley | July 13, 2009


Buffy Saint-marie self portrait
Fog drifting on the stream
Moving down the watershed
Misting over like a dream
Layered on the river bed
Sounds muffled in the dusk
Echo of an ancient cry
Old memory of rust
Spirit who will never die

Dark eyes        Dark skies
Dark lies          Dark cries
Dark dream      Dark scheme
Dark sand        Dark land

Sweet grasses of the earth
Swaying to a gentle song
Whisper of a coming birth
He will right an ancient wrong
One warrior from the dark
He will give the battle cry
Many more await the spark
And will let their arrows fly


City living is a sin
Seem to lose your place in time
Dull your senses from within
Burden of the urban grime
Leave behind the city waste
In the life you don’t belong
Lose the clutter and the haste
Come and find your spirit song



Story behind this song:
I had been reading archival information about the Bronte region.  The land along Lake Ontario was indian land and was set aside as a reserve back in the early 1800’s.  Legend had it that an Iroquois warrier had been killed by British sailors when they sheltered in the natural harbour at Bronte.  This warrior’s spirit stayed and protected the land from the never ending expansion of white settlers.  It was said one day he would rise up and lead a great war and drive all foreigners from the lands.

One eveinging I had a near mystical experience walking my dogs along Bronte Creek. An unusual and very creepy fog literally rolled down the river and engulfed us.  The dogs were spooked – so was I.  I had never seen anything like it.  I wondered if this had happened before and if the long dead Indian warrior had stood where I was and witnessed the same thing.

Across the Bronte creek their was a bank of white sand with dark streaks running through it.  My over active imagination suggested old blood stains.  “Maybe the native spirits will return reclaim the land we stole …”  Me and the dogs boogied on out of there.  I wrote the song late that night.

One of the things that I like about this song is it received a lot of airplay on the Six Nations Reserve radio station.  The lyric was also chosen to be displayed at t major indian community festival.  To my great honour (undeserving) it appeared right beside Pauline Johnson’s wonderful poem “The Song My Paddle Sings”.  Now there is a poet!  If you haven’t read that poem, you should.


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