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This page will be used to share "extra" thoughts and ideas not necessarily related to the Native American Flute or drum but of possible interest to the visitors to our site. Most items will carry the spirit of the Cherokee, or of other Native American peoples.

One of my dearest friends is Joyce "Spirit Wind" Bugaiski, chief of the Turtle Moon Band of the Southeastern Cherokee Council (SeCCI) and a very talented artist.

Below are just a few examples of Spirit Wind's beautiful artwork. (Click on any image to see a larger version.) Visit Spirit Wind's MySpace page (www.myspace.com/jbugaart) to get to know her better and see more of her beautiful creations in several media.

2009 will mark the third consecutive year that Spirit Wind's work has been featured in the Cherokee Heritage Calendar. In 2007 it was the Cherokee Angel, in 2008 it was Grandmother Turtle Moon, and for 2009 it will be the Tsalagi (Cherokee) Madonna.

Grandmother Turtle Moon is also the basis for the logo of the SeCCI Turtle Moon Band.

Prints of Spirit Wind's paintings and colored pencil drawings are available in various sizes, priced according to size. The prints are Giclee' with certificates of authenticity. Contact Spirit Wind at JBugaArt@aol.com if you are interested in purchasing a print or a Cherokee Heritage Calendar.

Cherokee Angel

Grandmother Turtle Moon

Tsalagi (Cherokee) Madonna

Snow Owl

Selu's Harvest

Touched by the Light

Awakening the Day

Healing of the Blue Corn Maidens

This poem paying tribute to a great Cherokee was contributed by the author for publication on our website. Wado ("thanks") to Kathy for the opportunity to share it with our visitors. You can contact Kathy at kgcummings2@aol.com.

The Giant Sequoyah 

think of a
giant sequoia
you may only
think of a tree
You should know
it was named for a man
a phenomenal Cherokee
He was born about 1760
in eastern Tennessee
to a highly respected family
Known for their knowledge
of religion and tribal history
A silversmith by trade
a task before himself he laid
In 1809 he became fascinated
with a new way of communication
introduced by whites invading his nation
It took 12 years to pen 86 symbols
based on Cherokee word syllables
Anyone speaking the language could read
and write, after learning what they mean
This Cherokee’s aim was to record
ancient tribal culture in permanent form
is the
person in
who has
a writing
Mighty is the giant sequoia/Sequoyah

by kgcummings
copyright © 2006 kgcummings

Al Edwards, of Columbia, MO, was looking for a special flute when he found this website and requested a custom Golana (raven) themed flute. Al offered this poem to describe his quest and experiences when his flute arrived. Click here to see the flute created for him.

I'm The Ravin, a poor wanderer, a military retiree.
My dearest love is this land, our country. And that is my quandary.
Because I have listened to Grandfather Sun's wise decree,
In my heart I'm an Indian, whose people were once free.
But of late, it seems that my people are, lowly debris.
OH! Great Spirit, to you I send my prayers, from misery.
For all of my days, I've paid honor, to Grandmother Moon.
But upon my chosen path, tribulations have been strewn.
I leave The Offering, to Mother Earth, as if in stone it was hewn.
But it does seem that, to the land of my birth, I'm no longer attune.
I've given the Spirits, and Father Sky, Sacred Smoke's boon.
Can you tell me why, I do not hear Mother Nature's Tune?
On my Life's Journey, You have Counseled and Guided me, thru out my day,
But some how, within this crazy country, I've totally lost my way.
For The Trickster, has succeeded, in leading me astray.
To the heavens, I now send Tobacco's mighty bouquet.
Great Spirit, I call upon you, please, mend this disarray,
Spread this, to the world, let it be known, this communiqué.
The Sacred Sage and Fragrant Cedar, to the sky, I send
With The Holy Sweetgrass, their sacred scent, may it ascend.
The 4 sacred plant are given to the Great Spirit and the 4 Wind.
Trying to find a Craftsman of the Cedar Tree, that's to be my friend.
One who is blessed, with the empathy, that can comprehend
My heart, my mind, my soul, my path, that only he can mend.
For to carry my weak voice aloft, I look for The Flute.
I plead with you Great Spirit, my need is very acute.
Find for me one whose talent and skill are all so astute.
A Craftsman, whose achievements and reputation, are above repute.
Whose mentality will be mighty enough for this curse to commute.
One who can craft for me an instrument from Cedar's Shoot.
This supplication and desire have now been sent forth, far and wide.
I hunt and search the internet for a Craftsman, stateside.
Looking for a worthy one, my wishes now to confide.
One who hath the skill, the cognition, that can be applied
For creation of The Cedar Flute, of Woodpecker's pride.
I beg of thee, Oh Great Spirit, not to let, my wishes, be denied.


Success!! The one I have sought, for so long, has now been found.
For this man's home rests on the road, that they call Turtles Mound.
And what is so amazing. So very unique, that it is profound.
Our history and our training have similarities that abound.
His life and mine are so alike, that they share common ground.
Even our great ancestors are from First Nation's compound.
So now to this Craftsman, this Master, I humbly submit my request.
Making him aware of my motives, my needs, and my quest.
For The Cedar Flute, of Woodpecker's pride, made of wood, blessed.
To be endowed with my Totem, with that spirit, possessed.
This Craftsman understands my need, and he has acquiesced.
To construct an instrument that is known to the North, South, East and West.
As Master of the Sacred Cedar Wood, a Native Flute, he'll create.
My desires, needs and wants, in a Flute he'll fabricate.
First the wood is split, so a router its hunger, can sate.
Two chambers are created, so that they'll interrelate.
Then each section is blessed, rejoined, and secured with its mate. 
The preliminary work's done, it's time to finish this Flute's estate.
Now the Cedar Wood is fashioned and molded to lay down it's foundation.
Next comes the baptism of fire, establishing, it's sacred vibration,
Searing six holes, tuning it's voice, for its audible enunciation.
Next, at the foot are now burnt to the 4 Wind, it's basic sanctification.
Prayers to each Spirit, blessing it, giving it it's soul, it's orientation.
What comes next, is most vital, for this is it's heart, NOT ornamentation.
Upon the nest of the Flute, sits Raven, with wings outspread.
There to guide my thoughts and music, thus sending them ahead.
Below the Fetish, rests my Spirit Guide, with arms widespread,
Caressing, encouraging, and nurturing, that shy musical thread.
At the foot, there's Raven flying, waiting to be musically fed.
Giving it's all to The Great Spirit, this winged thoroughbred.
And now this Cedar Flute must be sealed, so it's purity cannot fail,
As with any creation, this Flute must last and prevail.
So by enrobing it with Oil's vale, it will not go stale.
Fabrication and Prayers are done. I now await the mail.
That Dream Flute, Is now in my hands. But, at it's sight, I quail!
This glorious Dream. Am I worthy of playing it's musical scale?


For all of my life, I have dreamt, of a wondrous Flute of perfection.
I have ransacked humanities world, in my investigation.
Finally!! I've found The Flute, of my imagination.
To that talented Artisan, goes heart felt, recognition.
For I've regained a thing lost, with this, my acquisition.
I've succeeded. But, am I a competent musician?
This Flute I now raise, To my lowly lips, for the first time.
And now my lungs do breath life, into that musical rhyme.
I find its impossible to believe that this melody is mine!
From this tremendous Flute, heavenward those beautiful notes do now climb.
To The 4 Wind, and thus to The Great Spirit, they do twine.
Singing his praises, as if I now stood within a Shrine!
John, What have you created? How can this possibly be?
For I'm a simple man, who dost now doubt his sanity,
As I look, at this wonder, that's made of the Cedar Tree.
I now hear the words of The Bard who's describing a new vanity,
For this is now, the life, the death, the rebirth, of my reality.
I have found The Great Flute, that transcends mediocrity.
I tremble, quiver and shiver like a frightened swimmer on that shore
Of vermin infested waters, terror of that music, I adore.
Against all reason, Afraid, my lips to place at Flutes door.
Timidly, that Flute I raise. AND again, my soul doth soar.
Passion's fire rebuilding, my lost musical rapport.
As that flame within my breast, creates a salacious score.
I'm lost to eroticism, that all consuming flame,
That hast burnt away my reason, and any thought inane.
Trapping my incapacitated heart, as my reason is slain!
And still that crazy passion increases, with a lyrical disdain.
As wild music ripples, thru out those challenges and pains.
From that terrifying rhythmic uproar within my veins.
That vicious refrain, hast my body in a grip, so unbreakable.
That my heart is enraptured with desire quite, unmentionable.
Causing my loins to smoulder with passion, insatiable.
Creating a tune that burns with a flame, unquenchable.
That desire for more. For where art the bard and minstrel,
Their words, their passion, their rhythm, that's now so trivial.
I am totally lost, to the refrain, of that musical campaign.
That uses my fingers, tongue, and lips, for legerdemain.
For I've now the Privilege, Honor, of crafting that domain.
Because of this Marvel, that this Great Craftsman hast ordain.
For It's like an exquisite beverage, a sparkly champagne!
For inebriation, intoxication, drunkenness, now have reign!


Relaxation... Now my heart, mind and soul, slowly recover from that daze.
As I send, to that talented Craftsman, Benedictions and words of praise.
That Maestro, whose mind and heart, affectionately, musically essays.
Crafting our Thoughts and Spirits into a glorious reality, ablaze.
Fabricating magical musical instruments, that to our lips we'll raise.
That allow anyone to make, wondrous, harmonious, musical, lays...
by Al Edwards, Columbia, MO

Joan Davis, of Cucamonga, CA, belongs to an on-line group in which a satisfied customer, Al Edwards (see above) recommended she contact me regarding a flute. When Joan first contacted me about a Tsula (fox) flute that was available, I told her that I had a sweet little Alaskan yellow cedar that was in the finishing room and just a couple days of being ready to ship. That's the one she selected, and when it arrived, she sent me a message saying, "It is just what I would have asked for if I had ordered a custom flute, and yet it was already made and waiting for me even before I first visited your site." She also included the following poem in that message.

Flute Song

I am the seedling
Struggling through the Earth
I am the sapling
Reaching for the Sun
Roots drinking from the river
Where the deer comes
I grow tall, ever taller
The Sun caresses me
And I am blessed
Night comes - I am a shadow
One of many
All silvered by the Moon
The wind stirs softly
Through my leaves
The forest fills with song
The rabbit dreams in burrow
Fox shelters near my trunk
Birds slumber
On my branches
Enfolded by the song
I am the Spirit and the Soul
I am Tsula
The Singer and the Song

by Joan Davis, Cucamonga, CA

These are three poems submitted by Pamela Coates of Billings, Montana. Pamela currently owns three of our flutes and we are grateful for both her support and the contribution of these three verses....
Singing Wolf Calls Mountain Lion Dreamer Unnamed Horse Poem
  Singing Wolf calls
  the winds to howl
  She brings the rain
  to sweeten Earth
  And Lo' the flowers
  bloom again
  In a circle of love
  In the circle of Truth.
  authored by White Singing Wolf Coates 1989
  With a cat's grace
  She leaps
  at shadows..
  fleeting images
  until she falters
  breaking stride..
  She pauses
  lifting tawny eyes
   to gaze
   at her reflection
  in a pool.
  And there..
  in the water
  is her mirror.
  In refracted light
   the picture breaks
  But then..
  as She cat leaps
  to catch herself
 in a free fall
   She sees
  The dream awake !
   and the shadows
  run away
  authored by Pamela Coates 2/23/1989
Black horses racing
 thru the night
  Black manes flowing
 Under the moonlight
  Swift and sure hooves pounding
 Like my heart beat sounding
 Proud and free
  ....Like a proud flag flying free
  Black horses pacing
  In the dark
 Tossing wild locks
  Windblown and stark
  Swift silhouettes mirrored
  By the song of my heart
 Proud and free
 ... Like a proud flag flying free.
  authored by Pamela Coates

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