Bear Limvere

North wind murmurs
Through frosted trees,
Softly whistling

Sunlight glimmers
As if dancing
On snowy fields.

Coyote howls,
Magpies chatter
And deer startle.

Somewhere distant,
Far, far away
A flute cries out.

For our brother,
One journey ends,
Another starts.

Those left behind
Cry at his loss,
And will miss him.

His spirit lives,
In wisdom shared
With all of us.

His memory
Will be honored
With many songs.

Hear our voices,
Our flutes and drums.
They honor you.

Veteran, Warrior,
Father, Husband,
Brother, and Friend.

We remember.
All these to us,
And so much more.

Go quick and safe,
On your journey
To Grandfather.

In loving memory of Hawk Littlejohn,
who shed his robe on 14 December 2000.
He was a gifted Fluteman, and will be greatly missed.
Mato Tanka - 15 December 2000

©Bear Limvere 2000. All Rights Reserved.

A moment passes
Like a flutter of wings,
A flicker of motion
Just outside of sight;
A life has ended.

A warrior dances
In the evening mist.
Honor his memory;
He dances no more
With us on this earth.

A song, an echo
In winds soft murmuring
Over mountain meadows,
Remind us ever
How he lived his life.

How fragile we are,
So easily we pass
From here and now to there--
To eternity.
We miss you brother.

Hear our songs and drum
Dance with us in our dreams.
Come dance with your children,
And your family,
And you shall live on.

Travel quick and safe
To meet our Creator.
Always walk in beauty,
Until we meet again,
And dance together.

In loving memory of Steve Dermer,
who left us on 12 October 1998
Mato Tanka -- 14 October 1998

On Sunday, 11 October 1998, Grandfather called to our friend. Steve
was camping with his son and their Cub Scout Pack, and suffered an
athsma attack. It was severe enough to trigger a heart attack. He
passed from this world the following day. He left behind a wife,
and two wonderful children.

He also left a larger family than he imagined. We miss him.
Every song we sing, we wish we could see him dance one more time.
Every time we dance, it is with the memory of Steve.

I wrote this shortly after he passed. I read it at his memorial.
I miss you, my friend...my brother.

©Bear Limvere 1998. All Rights Reserved.

The time has ebbed.
The warriors sleep.
The hunters gone.
The people laugh,
The people cry.
They do not feel
What they have lost.
Instinct remains,
In only a few.
The skills are there,
But timing slow.

A mother's song
Floats on the air.
The spirit cries
A long lament,
For its people.
A people lost,
And not yet found.
They have passed on,
And yet remain,
Shadows walking,
Away from light.

How to wake them,
Bring them alive?
How can they be
Returned to their
Maker above?
The Father calls,
But no one hears.
The deer have gone,
Bufalo too.
The Mother Earth
Remains silent.

©Bear Limvere 1997. All Rights Reserved.

The grass is dry
From sun and wind.
The Thunder Beings
No longer come.
The Buffalo have
Gone far away.

Drums are silent.
No one teaches
Children to dance.
They are not taught
A way to sing,
Or laugh or play.

The warriors too
Are gone away.
The people starve,
Not just for food.
The flow'ring stick
Has disappeared.

White northern geese
Grace not the skies.
The Daybreak Star
Is pale and dim.
The deer and elk
Flourish no more.

No sparrows sing
For men to hear.
Winds talk softly;
No one listens.
Circle's broken;
A nation lost.

Grandfathers speak;
But none shall hear.
Grandmothers too...
Who will listen?
Circle's broken;
The people gone.

But who will smoke
The sacred smoke?
And who shall spread
The cleansing sage?
Circle's broken
Spirits mislaid

The hoop that held
A nation strong,
Has been shatter'd;
Thrown to the winds
Circle's broken;
And gone astray

©Bear Limvere 1997. All Rights Reserved.

Padded leather
Strikes taut rawhide
Voices sing out.

The words and tune
Are fresh and new,
Are old and strong.

Ancestors sing
With descendants,
And the wheel moves.

Dance bells ring out
In time with drums,
And the wheel moves.

Honor beats sound
And whistles blow.
Our mother smiles.

Grandfather hears
His childrens' songs
Taught long ago.

The wheel of life
Is moved along
By dancing feet

Our circles live...
Touch each other...
Create anew.

©Bear Limvere 1997. All Rights Reserved.