Jamie*Isman

BY...OH!

What is a bio, who really knows?
Is it about me, is it about you?
Is it about all I say and do?
Who I know, where I've been?
What color robe I graduated in?
What's the school, who are the teachers?
Does it matter who's the preacher?
I am me, you are you,
stones are stones, and bones are bones.
You might declare a tree's a tree.
But only a tree knows it's destiny.

If I am a shaman, a priestess, a mystic,
Who made me so?
Well the question's who didn't?
Every breath intiates me,
Life itself gives me my degree,
Crow and ocean declare...PHD!
And the devas that dance made my throne from a tree.

Now I must say, teachers are great
I have many and they educate.
They give me reflection and
lots of deep thoughts.
They help me feel good about how far I've got.

But enough of this getting from what needs to be gotten,
it's time to remember what has been forgotten.
All elements live and breathe within,
all memory stored in the record bin.

It's funny, it's tragic, the shamans we be,
the priestesses, witches, the oracles, seers.
The seers not seen, they do all of the seeing,
the shamans not known they do all of the being.
The internet rules cause even from caves,
you can still write a poem that someone can save.

Read and enjoy
and remember,
again,
you are who you are,
so tell all your friends.