Ancient Spirits

Maliseet Indians
Maliseet chiefs and the clergy meet on the shore of the Saint John River many moons ago. Note the fine pole on the shore.

Before the background industrial hum
and the combustion engine smoke
lay the land where I come from
the home of the Micmac and Maliseet folk.

What was it like before the white man
sowed his seeds upon our meadows
and with the brute sweep of his hand
cast our world into the shadows?

I know the past cannot return
the way it was before the engines.
I fear there's no time left to learn
from those who yet recall the legends.

Still I seek the long-lost places
where the ancient spirits dwell
walk the trails to find their traces
and hear the tales their rivers tell.

No one knows where their world went.
The ancient spirits left no chart.
Yet ere my days on Earth are spent
I'll find their world within my heart.

 Nanook of the Nashwaak 
 Reach out and touch a rock


Maliseet guides prepare to escort their "sports" on the Tobique.

Click here to hear Nanook recite this poem.

Tiny Rivers

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