Sage Rising

Sage Rising

By Michele Habel-Coffey


They will inherit the Homes

And The Farm

They will inherit jewels

And the wealth of generations,

Of Miners,

And Marauders,

Of Rosie’s rivets

And Cleopatra’s flight,

Of a Lion,

And a Lamb,

And the Artist’s left hand,

But dollars do not

Make a good cloth for washing

And love’s apple

Tastes better than apathy’s bible

Just so.

I am but a reflection of their light.

I am a smokey sage

carrying prayers to the Heavens

Bartering that for them,

Darkness be never more

than a canvas for the stars.


Turtle Saw Photography

The Flight of the Autumn Swan

This is a selection from the creative photographic library of “Turtle Saw Photography” and is the copyrighted production of a talented Native American artist, whom I am graced to call friend.  If you would like to see more, please click the link below to visit the Facebook page featuring this artistry.

Turtle Saw Photography.

Taste the Fallen Apples


“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”

― Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum LP

Bame-wa-wa-ge-zhik-a-quay: A Native Star


Native Star

By Michele Habel-Coffey

Woman of the Stars Rushing Through the Sky

Eyes cast down upon the blue

Native daughter, filled with Muse

The sacred birch was made for you

To them you sang your spirit songs

Spinning tales like spider’s webs

Glistening with the Northern dew

Dancing with the flows and ebbs

Of greatest lakes with tides that pull

And push upon your countenance

Tis the moon that had its way with you

And led you to this happenstance

But neither sun nor moon gave greater light

Than the prose of fairest Leelinau

Her words they fell like gentle  flakes

And did land atop the whitest snow

Where her footfalls left a path

Showing, leading, guiding  through

The darkened forests of new lands

Back to sacred Manito

Native Nose


Native Nose

by Michele Habel-Coffey

I stared into the side view mirror.

She was looking ahead at the road.

I don’t like my nose.

You have native nose.

Native nose?

You know what I mean.

I know what she means.

I know her meaning.

She is mean.

She is angular lines

Where there should be curves.

She is a pointed tip.

She is the triangle;

She knows no circles.

I have native nose?

She is native nose.


 Credit for eye art. Image found at the following address: