Indigenous Rhythm Circle

Indigenous Rhythm Circle Highlighting the beauty, resilience, and contributions of Native American cultures 🧡

The River That Woke at Her TouchShe stepped where the river was listening,her feet breaking the skin of silence.The wate...
06/05/2026

The River That Woke at Her Touch

She stepped where the river was listening,
her feet breaking the skin of silence.
The water, long tired from carrying the sky,
paused
as if it had finally been seen.

She did not touch with desire,
only with remembrance.
Her fingers entered the current
the way prayer enters breath,
and the river woke,
shivering with light.

The old ones say water knows beauty
not by sight,
but by the way a heart moves near it.
At her passing, the river remembered its name,
its first song beneath the stones,
its duty to keep the world alive.

Circles spread from her hand like stories,
each ripple a promise unbroken.
The river did not claim her
it followed her silence,
grateful to be changed
without being taken.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

We Walk with the WindWe walk with the wind,our hair dancing like rivers,our hearts echoing the call of the land.Across t...
06/05/2026

We Walk with the Wind

We walk with the wind,
our hair dancing like rivers,
our hearts echoing the call of the land.

Across the open plains,
we hear the whispers of ancestors,
their footsteps mingling with ours,
soft as the touch of morning light.

The horse beneath us breathes patience,
its strength our quiet companion,
while the sky bends low to guide us,
and the clouds drift with stories untold.

Sisters of the earth,
we step through sacred spaces,
through fire and frost,
through the song of the wind,
and the earth bends beneath our gratitude.

With every stride,
we honor the old ways,
the spirits of river, mountain, and sky,
and we walk
ever forward, ever free,
with the wind as our witness.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

"Walk with Me, O Bear"Walk with me, O Bear,through the rivers that mirror the sky,through the forests where whispers of ...
06/05/2026

"Walk with Me, O Bear"

Walk with me, O Bear,
through the rivers that mirror the sky,
through the forests where whispers of the wind
tell stories older than the mountains.

Step lightly upon the meadows
where the blue flowers bloom like the sky’s own heart,
and carry the color of morning in your gaze.

Feel the song of the earth beneath your paws,
the pulse of life in every leaf,
the quiet hum of creation in the air.

Together we move,
through the dance of sunlight and shadow,
through the sacred rhythm of breath and step,
our spirits entwined
with the beauty of what is,
and the promise of what will always remain.

Walk with me, O Bear,
and let the world unfold
in the blue of the sky,
in the heart of the land,
in the quiet beauty we carry together.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

Wind and WingsBeneath the silver moon, she stands,a white horse steady beneath her hand.The morning mist folds like whis...
06/04/2026

Wind and Wings

Beneath the silver moon, she stands,
a white horse steady beneath her hand.
The morning mist folds like whispered prayer,
and hummingbirds shimmer through the air.

Their tiny hearts beat, fast and true,
dancing on currents, brushing through dew.
She feels their song in the horse’s stride,
a story carried on wings and hide.

Through silent plains and starlit streams,
they wander together, chasing dreams.
The wind, the wings, the flowing mane
all sing the song of sun and rain.

In every glance, in every breath,
life and spirit defy shadow and death.
The horse, the bird, the girl, the night,
bound in the sky’s eternal light.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

“The Woman Who Became the Red Eagle”They say she was born from thundera whisper of storm in a cradle of dust,her soul ma...
06/04/2026

“The Woman Who Became the Red Eagle”

They say she was born from thunder
a whisper of storm in a cradle of dust,
her soul marked by the color of dawn,
her breath carrying the scent of fire.

When the men fell silent before war,
she rose, wrapped in the sky’s fierce wings.
From her shoulders streamed the sun,
and her cry split the mountains in two.

She flew not to escape,
but to remember
for every woman carries
a heartbeat that can shake the heavens.

Now, when the red eagle circles the valley,
the wind calls her name:
She-Who-Rises,
the spirit of all women who will never bow.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

Across the Wide Blue EarthWe ride as one,sisters of the wind,hair flowing like rivers,eyes fixed on horizons unseen.Thro...
06/04/2026

Across the Wide Blue Earth

We ride as one,
sisters of the wind,
hair flowing like rivers,
eyes fixed on horizons unseen.

Through green meadows where the grass whispers,
through oceans that roar with ancient memory,
through deserts that burn and breathe
with the stories of those who came before.

Our horses carry us over mountains,
their hooves striking the earth in rhythm with our hearts.
Every step echoes a promise:
to endure, to honor, to remember.

The sun bows to the moon each night,
casting silver paths across our journey.
We speak without words
our spirits entwined,
our courage shared.

And when the storms rise,
and shadows stretch long across the land,
we hold fast,
for we are the daughters of the earth,
the keepers of its song,
and together, nothing can break us.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

The Twin HeronsAt the edge of the crimson water,they stand, silent as the fading sun.Two shadows, slender and proud,watc...
06/03/2026

The Twin Herons

At the edge of the crimson water,
they stand, silent as the fading sun.
Two shadows, slender and proud,
watching the river mirror the sky.

Their wings, like painted whispers,
hold the memory of wind and time.
A dance of patience, of quiet devotion,
etched in every curve of their necks.

The world hushes around them,
and in that hush, the ancestors speak.
Stories of rivers that sing,
and skies that cradle the brave.

They do not move, yet all moves with them
the reflection, the ripple, the fading light.
Two herons, guardians of the evening,
keepers of secrets no human voice can name.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

Song of Midnight WingsShe walks beneath the endless sky,Her hair a river of midnight,Flowing with the songs of ancestors...
06/03/2026

Song of Midnight Wings

She walks beneath the endless sky,
Her hair a river of midnight,
Flowing with the songs of ancestors.
A hummingbird hovers close,
Its wings a pulse of wind and fire,
Carrying stories older than stone.

She listens.
The world speaks in the rustle of leaves,
In the shimmer of starlight over water.
Each feathered note, each gentle beat
Is a prayer, a memory, a promise.

Once, her grandmother told her:
“Every life is a thread in the sky.
Every breath you take carries the wind of those before.”
Now she feels it
The wind through her hair,
The pulse in the bird’s wings,
The heartbeat of the world
Whispering through her soul.

She moves forward,
Not alone,
But accompanied by echoes of the past,
By spirits of sky and river,
By the quiet hum of eternity.

And the hummingbird lingers,
A small, bright flame,
Guiding her through the night,
Through the whispers of wind and water,
Through the endless, sacred sky.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

“Shadow of the Ancestors”In the quiet of the evening,where the red earth meets the sky,a black horse stands among the wh...
06/03/2026

“Shadow of the Ancestors”

In the quiet of the evening,
where the red earth meets the sky,
a black horse stands among the whispers
of grasses swaying in the wind.

They say he was born of midnight,
his mane like the river of stars,
eyes carrying stories
of those who walked the land before him.

A young girl approached,
her heart trembling with the rhythm
of the drum that beats within the earth.
She reached out,
and he lowered his head,
accepting the weight of memory
and the warmth of trust.

Through forests of golden leaves,
over streams of silver light,
he ran - not for speed,
but for the echoes of freedom,
for the songs sung by the ancestors
in the shadow of the mountains.

And when the sun dipped behind the hills,
his form became one with the night,
a guardian of secrets,
a keeper of journeys
that weave the spirits of the past
into the breath of the present.

The black horse moves silently,
and wherever he steps,
the earth remembers.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

Moonlight ConfessionsShe perches on the crescent,Moon heavy in the sky,Her breath mingling with the silver mist,The nigh...
06/02/2026

Moonlight Confessions

She perches on the crescent,
Moon heavy in the sky,
Her breath mingling with the silver mist,
The night humming through her veins.

A dragonfly, bold and bright,
Circles close, whispering secrets,
Tales of rivers that never end,
Of winds that carry the voices of ancestors.

Her eyes, wide and knowing,
Meet its gaze, and she remembers
The paths she walked alone,
The tears that carved valleys in her heart.

Each wingbeat strikes a chord of longing,
Each shimmer lights a memory,
Of courage that flickers in her chest,
And a song that binds her to the stars.

She leans into the quiet,
Lantern in hand,
And the dragonfly speaks still,
Of home, of healing, of hope.

🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn

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Glen Burnie, MD

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