Native American Poetry

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rich

I met a man of many colors
And a tear was upon his cheek.
"Old man" I ask, "why do you cry
With such an agonizing weep?"

"Oh child" this man he says to me,
"My heart is broken in so many ways
That I believe this day to end
Will find me out stretched and far within
The encompassing earth of sin."

I sat down beside this man
And asked him "do not cry.
For what you think is so bad
That life will pass you by?"

He looks at me with such sad eyes.
And weeps ever more.
He holds his hands out to me
And alas, I do see
The anguish of his heart.

For his hands were different colors
One is red and the other white,
A leg he unclothed for me
Was as yellow as could be
And his other leg as black as night.

"I am the father of the world.
In case you do not know.
And my children have grown apart
And fight among themselves.

For when they do not get along
My arms and legs and hands and feet
Destroys the very life of me.

My hands of red and white
Will not feed this face of night.
And my legs of black and yellow,
Will not stand beneath this body
And support my heart and soul.

So here I sit in this haven
Of unwelcomeness.
And when this day ends,
A father I will not be.
For my children of many nations
Have forgotten how to accompany me.

These Shoes of Mine

I have had many shoes in my lifetime,
but there was a pair that I bought many
years ago.
I found them in a thrift shop and when
I saw them, they seemed to call out to me.
I went over to the counter where they
were and tried them on.
They seemed too small but in a strange
way, they stretched to my feet. I bought
them for a pittance and wore them home
and wore them and wore them everywhere.
They became part of me, so much that
that I had to write a little memorial to them.
These Shoes of Mine
These shoes you say have been out to
play, so long ago.
When I was young and full of dreams and hopes, these shoes of mine danced away
the night.
They traveled around the world, to far
off places.
These shoes of mine, walked down the
aisle of love and happiness, forty years ago.
These shoes of mine stumbled many
times in life.
They walked through that lonely tunel
of death when everything ends.
They traveled back and forth for each child. But these shoes of mine continued on
for other generations of life.
But at last, these shoes of mine, are no
longer needed.
Nature has taken care of that. But I
felt they deserved a fine burial.
Written by Netju's Mom(Glonik)

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The following poem is sent by Karen Gould in honor of Leonard Peltier

The Sun Dance

The warrior dances proud and strong
and it matters not what they do to his body
for they can not take his mind, his spirit,
he still dances
the skull of the buffalo is heavy
and he pulls the load with pride
pierced and bleeding
no crown of thorns
there is honor in his steps
and the sun shines strong

There are noble warriors that look
look beyond
and the dance is more than the steps of one
the time is near, the day has begun
and remember the feast to come
when the dance is done

It is not in vain, that torture, the sacrifice the pain
the death of the princess may make two brave men
a part of thier mother to remain with them
It brought down Westminster and the candle has a flame
the time is drawing nearer, though the warrior still remains
remember that concrete and steal can not contain
the time for the tethers to break is at hand
and the Thunderers come
and the Thunderers are calling
From the tree- the dancer freed
No holding a warriors spirit

Take the time - Annas hands - they still remain
there is no wall, and there is no shame
to hold your head high and make your peace
the concrete is solid , but the soul it can't keep
The dancers are dancing - the eagle whistles blow
and the fire is stoked by friends as you go
remember the feast that is after the dance
when the warrior is free, the sacrifice made
the price is paid and more remain
to carry the dance on once again
the circle unbroken
the time is at hand
a warrior ,a spirit,
a soul- yet a man
he is just a man
but he is a man
all that is needed
if one will but stand!

I stood and I watched as a mother cried,
When she had heard that her son had died,
He didn't die because he was sick,
Or he didn't die because he was in a wreck,
He died doing what he felt was right.

I watched a father try to hold back his tears,
His son had lived only a scant 19 years,
His son had died nine thousand miles away,
and what was there left for a father to say?
He got down on his knees and said a prayer,
His brave son knows his father did care.

I stood and watched as a little girl cried,
She didn't understand why her brother had passed on,
Why he never again played with her on the lawn.
Looking at the little girl's tears I knew,
That her big brother died
Fighting for me and you

I said a prayer for you today,
And know God must have heard.
I felt the answer in my heart,
Although He spoke no word...
I didn't ask for wealth of fame,
I knew you wouldn't mind.
I asked Him to send treasures
Of a more lasting kind.
I asked that He'd be near you,
At the start of each new day.
To grant you health and blessings
And friends to share your way.
I asked for happiness for you
In all things great and small
But it was for His loving care
I prayed the most of all!

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.."And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy."~Black Elk

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Special People
<< @-->--->---- ----<---<--@

SPECIAL PEOPLE
The special people in this world are the most precious
and the most appreciated people of all. No matter what
happens, they always understand. They go a million miles
out of their way. They hold your hand.
They bring you smiles, when a smile is exactly
what you need. They listen, and they hear what
is said in the spaces between the words. They care,
and they let you know you're in their prayers.
Special people always know the perfect thing to do.
They can make your whole day just by saying something
that no one else could have said. Sometimes you feel like
they share with you a secret language that others can't tune into.
Special people can guide you, inspire you, comfort you,
and light up your life with laughter. Special people understand
your moods and nurture your needs, and they lovingly know just
what you're after.
When your feelings come from deep inside and the
need to be spoken to someone; you don't have to
hide from, you share them... with special people.
When good news comes, special people are the first
ones you turn to, and when feelings overflow and
tears need to fall, special people help you through it all.
Special people bring sunlight into your life.
They warm your world with their presence,
whether they are far away or close by your side.
Special people are gifts that bring happiness,
and treasures that money can't buy.
@-->--->---- ----<---<--@
written by Snw Fthr

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Like a spider they await
For the trusting and unsuspecting prey.
To light upon their web
To twist and deceive you
Until you believe what has been said
To be truth, love and kindness.

Words of evil and trustless faith
Has warped this world of it's gentleness
And stripped the life from it.
The very being of it's soul
Has been buried beneath
The cries of pain of centuries old

For they all watch and sit and wait
To see how much further we shall go
How much more destruction is left.
Sadly, we are being waited on
by eyes much wiser and knowing
Than yours or mine
Just to see what we will do
In our Circle of Time.
LneStarLdy

In the old days of the Cherokees all
used to have just one name; but back
when everybody had to get enrolled,
they had to give two names before
they were given a roll number. That
was so there would be no confusion
about people with the same name.
Well, when people went down to
enroll they would pick out just
anything for a second name, because
they thought it was all just some sort
of whiteman's joke anyway. I guess
that's how the Drywaters and the
Rattlinggourds and Roastingears
and Snakeheads and Dreadfulwaters
all got their names.
One time there was a whiteman
that came and hired a crew from
around here to work on a government
project. We all went down to work
the first morning and that whiteman
had a list of roll numbers and we
were all supposed to give him our
names, so he could write them down
in his book. Well, he read out the
first number and Crabgrass Gritts
gave him his name. Then he read
the second number, and Chickadee
Augerhole gave his name. Then he
read the third number and
Groundhog Rooster told him his
name. That was when that whiteman
quit writing and said, "Now come
on, you fellows, this is serious
business. I've got to have your real
names to put down here; and I don't
want you fooling around and
stringing me along like that."
Well, after a long time we got him
quietened down so he believed that
all those names were real names,
sure enough. So then he called out
the fourth roll number, and I don't
remember now if it was Hawkshooter
Pigeon or Birdtail Nofire that
answered. Come to think of it, it
might have been that old man
Peacheater Peacheater.

Beauty Walk

Let light enfold me
That my inside eye may see clearly
The path that lies ahead.
Let my mind be opened up
That I may recognize
The signposts along the way.

Grant me the wisdom
That comes from understanding
The true from the false.
And Guide my steps
So that should I falter or stumble,
Tripped by former beliefs
That bring me still
I may go forward with Courage
And with the determination
Which persistence Bears.

Let me be embraced
Witht the Love by which
The whole Creation is moved.
The very Essence with which
All things are held together
Dependent yet independent,
Whole yet individuated.
In which all are my relatives

Let me know the way
That is the beauty way
Where all who will
May walk in Beauty
and where the end of the path
is but a new beginning
To my infinity.
And every new beginning
Another ever-present moment
In Eternity.
Many would laugh as if this were a joke, but not only we have had our names and identities changed by this government. Our names are part of our identities, to loose one, somehow dimishes all else about us.
The name of the author is H. "Migwunke" Mattson and it was written on 9/25/97.

Around The Campfire
~
~
Have we lost our way?...
We must return again to the call of nature ...
This call is muted with the hurts around us ...
Destruction of the good and bad ...
We must return, not as aliens, but as Keepers of all
things that are a part of us ...
Some are forever gone ...
Others are crying out in despair ...
Just as our Ancestors kept the faith with all things
Great and Small ...
So must we be the guardians of the Sun, the Moon
and the Stars ...
It is because of them, and our respect for their powers
that we must raise our voices to be heard ...
We are not just the Red Man, we are THE PEOPLE ...
Our fathers before us worshipped all things of nature ...
This is good, for Nature is the Heart of all things ...
All of us spring from Mother Earth and must return to
her bosom ...
If we poison Her, so will our future be poisoned ...
She will rebel against the hurts and we will be the losers ...
We must return ...
~
~
Earth Keeper
~
The forest speaks,
The prairie speaks,
In wind murmers
through the high oak,
Through the short grass.
~
Glory to the seven cardinal points.
To the East, to the South,
To the West, to the North,
To the Upper, to the Lower,
And to the Inner,
The circle of incense smoke
that joins them in breath;
~
Glory to the Earth of
walking feet,
To the Sky of leaping
asperations,
And to the corn seed
That joins them in
fertility.
~
We are
The Keeper of the circle;
We are
The Keeper of the fire;
We are
The Keeper of the Earth.
~
~

The GREAT FATHER above a SHEPHERD CHIEF is.
I am His and with Him I want not.
He throws out to me a rope
and the name of the rope is love
and He draws me to where the grass is green
and the water is not dangerous,
and I eat and lie down and am satisfied.
Sometimes my heart is very weak and falls down
but He lifts me up again and draws me into a good road.
his name is WONDERFUL.

Sometime, it may be very soon, it may be a long time,
He will draw me into a valley.
It is dark there, but I'll be affraid not,
for it is between those mountains
that the SHEPHERD CHIEF will meet me
and the hunger that I have in my heart all through life
will be satisfied.

Sometimes He makes the love rope into a whip,
but afterwards He gives me a staff to lean upon.
He spreads a table before me with all kinds of foods.
He puts His hand upon my head and all the "tired" is gone.
My cup he fills till it runs over.
What I tell is true.
I lie not.
These roads that are "away ahead" will stay with me
through this life and after;
and afterwards I will go to live in the Big Teepee
and sit down with the SHEPHERD CHIEF forever.

I lay down my knife
beside your gun,
And ask . . .
Is it good, that we not fight?

I give you my blanket,
In return for your coat
And ask . . .
Is it good, that we exchange?

I give you my land
In return for your progress
And ask . . .
Is it good, that we advance?

I share with you my beliefs,
In return for your beliefs,
And ask . . .
Why . . .
Is it good that we lose our identity?

I am your Mother, do you not hear my heart beat,
Can you not feel the love I send;
Was not the air you breathed, my scent so sweet,
Is my pain hard for you to comprehend.

Upon my body snow lays soft and white,
Beneath my skin the future sleeps;
My blood flows to nurture and delight,
Into the ground it deeply seeps.

Mountains tall, clouds wreath my crests,
Rolling hills once wooded thick;
Gentle prairies too were once lush with grass,
Where did my bounty go so quick.

Sandy beaches and rock girded shore,
Where ocean waters sweep and crash;
A land of beauty, once so pure,
Marred by man's actions heedless and rash.

All this beauty was yours to behold,
Your duty was to love, cherish and protect;
Feel my anguish, the pain in my soul,
All I asked was your respect.

Each of us has a hidden place
Somewhere deep within ourselves;
A place where we go to get away,
To think things through,
To be alone, to be ourselves.
This unique place, where we confront our deepest feelings,
Becomes a storehouse of all our hopes,
All our needs, all our dreams,
And even our unspoken fears.
It encompasses the essence of who we are and what we want to be.
But now and then, whether by chance or design,
Someone discovers a way into that place we thought was ours alone.
And we allow that person to see, to feel and to share
All the reason, all the uncertainty
And all the emotion we've stored up there.
That person adds new perspe ctive to our hidden realm,
Then quietly settles down in his own corner of our special place,
Where a bit of himself will stay forever.
And we call that person a friend.

-Poem by Carol Elaine Faivre-Scott

Quietly sitting before a small fire,
A lone Indian begins a ceremonial respect.
Reaching into a pouch,
He brings out a matter of medicine.
Which he offers to the four winds,
To Mother Earth and all his relations.
And from his heart, soul and mind,
He speaks to the medicine,
Using a language taught to him,
A language carried through time,
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.

With words flowing from his heart,
Of the fire he speaks.
He ask the medicine for guidance,
To protect his people,
So that they will live a good life
And that their hearts, souls and minds,
Will be filled with the
Wisdom, knowledge and understanding
Of life and truth,
The traditional ways given to them,
As told through the medicine
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.

Gently he sprinkles the medicine upon the fire.
He has spoken words to the medicine
Using the old language of his people,
Words that the medicine knows.
For such words are of a language
That have been used for centuries
In such a sacred manner.
Words that the medicine recognizes,
Words of life that come from no book,
Words that in fact allow the medicine to work.
This the lone Indian knows,
For he is given a nod of approval
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.

And as the smoke heads upward,
Carrying the medicine and words,
An Eagle hover's above accepting the message,
Which will be delivered in a sacred manner.
And the apparitions of time gone by know
The Indian world will live on.
Such are the ways of a people,
Guided by apparitions of time gone by.
For here, there is no circus, no money,
No English words, no books, no mockery,
Just the reality of something very sacred,
Passed on to a people
By the apparitions who guide us,
The ancestors of yesterday...
Who guide only their people...
by Larry Kibby
Elko Indian Colony, Elko, Nevada"
Program Director, WSHPS
Elko, Nevada

�� The Journey ��

��

As the dry and dusty trail stretched before me,
I thought of what had
been, exsisting now in memory.
The plains of summer grasses, the stream of pure mountain waters,

the colors of the rainbow scattered in a mosaic of
unbelievable complexity.

In the distance a thunderhead is building,
the rumbling of it's internal
construction can almost be heard, more likely imagined.
Once again I turn my
attention to the path,
it seems to lead to the sun, resting now on the
far > horizon.
The clouds and sky, reflect the heart of the sun and all
that it is,
with the purple, pink, shades of blue, orange and crimson. These
colors
blending with the earthened tones of land as it reaches to the light
of
creation.

I relax and know that my path is before me, the purpose is remembering
There is a breeze that comes from behind me,
as if to push me forward and I sense the presence of one I cannot see.

Seeing without sight the winds embrace me, and whisper softly.
"You are never alone,
for I am always
with you".

My steps though tentative, begin again. The earth guides me, the wind
embraces me, the waters nourish me, and the fires warm me. These
things I will remember and know I will never be, as I have never been,
"alone"
the
Journey begins anew
��
na
maste' Tarah
"Celticlane's" daughter

Indian Shoes
Each of us should look at the shoes worn by others, not the ones the world sees but the ones on their souls. Perhaps then we could see, know and honor the paths they have walked, the tears shed, sorrows carried which left deep foot prints in the dust. We might see also the joys that have lightened their steps, and know that they are just like we. Please try walking in the others shoes for just one day before you pass judgement upon them.

These shoes are old and worn
These shoes are old and torn,
These shoes have seen many miles
While tears haunted Indian styles.
These shoes have seen the years
These shoes know the Trail of Tears,
As many wore away
These shoes realized the need to stay.
These shoes are old and pitiful
Their roads were cruel and scornful
These shoes have walked in pain
They endured life with nothing to gain.
These shoes are Indian shoes
And as the end of life nears
These shoes will fade away
They walked the Trail of Tears one day.

A Circle of Time	The Sun Dance	TEARS OF A NATION	I am your Mother
I said a Prayer for you today	Special People	......and I saw it was Holy	The Journey ��
The Apparitions	Beauty Walk	I Ask	The Twenty Third Psalm (An Indian Version) Indian Shoes	Indian Names and White Mans Numbers
These Shoes of Mine	Vietnam Tears	A Hidden Place

		Rose Garden
	The Soul of the Indian Ohiyesa {C.A.Eastman} - 1911	Index of Poems
Snow Fther's Home Page 29	Native American Writings Selections of Works by Julia White	Native American Poetry Selections of Works by Larry Kibby