Native Poems From My MailRoom

These Poems were sent to my mailroom and I thought I would share them with you here today. My wish is for you to enjoy them and also learn from them what a Native Heart feels today. If you have a Native Poem you would like to have posted here mail it to me and I will post it as soon as I can. Now read these and enjoy.

Listed here are all the poems on this page, just click on the one you wish to read or scroll down and read them all.

"Remove Us Once Again", "The Calling", "THROUGH THE MISTY VEIL ", "Summer Rain", "A MOTHER OF THE WASHITA", "WHAT HAVE WE DONE...", "CALL TO THE FOUR SACRED WINDS", "Spirit of Yesterday ", "What is a Warrior", "A PRAYER ON HIGHWAY 12", "Won’t someone speak for the Betoukuag", "Hawk", "What is a Warrior", "The Children Of Indians", "TEARS OF THE FOREST", "Eclipse o'96", "A Song For The People", "An Indian Prayer Christmas Day", "For a Velvet Revolution", "Silenced Hearts", "Shape Shifting", "Dreaming Into the Ground", "Fly with the Eagles", "Black Soul", "For All", "A DREAMERS SIGN "

Remove Us Once Again

By Deborah "Awiunegusdi" Shelar 9/13/97

What has become of the word respect?
Is there none left today?
Is there nothing you would honor?
If we were digging up your cemetary, What would you say?

These bones of old may mean nothing to you.
But herein resides our ancestors.
Resting in these most sacred sites.
We are here as their protectors.

You say these roads and stores are progress.
But it is not thru your cemetary you cross.
Your people lie in complete rest.
Ours is not your loss.

You have driven us from our lands before.
This we knew would be.
Can we not finally be at peace?
Is there nothing Holy you can see?

Look into your hearts this day.
And all the others to come.
What will you see within?
What are you to become?

This greed of man is an evil thing.
But seems to rule your heart.
Its never too late to make a change.
Now's the time to start.

Stop the destruction of our people, our lands.
Stop and close this door of sin.
Let us all gather to pray.
It is time for a new day to begin.

Have you not seen within yourselves.
The destruction you have wrought.
Only in the name of progress.
For roads to be made and gee gaws can be bought?

Our people wish only to live in peace.
And honor how we were taught.
To show respect for all things.
Its so little the things we've sought.

There's been enough of hate and greed.
New seeds must now be planted.
But through these deeds like this you do.
Taking this thing called progress for granted.

We gave and gave and had more stolen.
Just to please this greed.
But now is the time to take a stand.
And respect us in our need.

These sites to us are still most Holy.
And these bones that lie within.
Show the respect you would like returned.
Let the healing begin.

The road we have traveled has often been hard.
Your progress making it even more so.
Remove us once again?
We are saying, "NO!"

The Calling

By Gerald Fisher

The fire is dancing tonight and the winds are talking
Dancers from past lives enter the circle
Leading me back and forth through the history of myself
The mind searches as the spirit dances

The drums...dancing to the heartbeat
Memories of long ago insights to the future
I hear the winds whispering my sweat lodge dreams
I see Sungmanitu tanka (the wolf) my guide

He shows me the ancestors, not mine
They are not Lakota, or Tsalagi, or Iroquois
But they are all Nations, one Nation
Speaking with wisdom to share with each other

Yesterdays create todays and promises of tomorrow
The lies will die with the smoke
And the whispers of the winds are clear and loud
And we shall all see the return of the buffalo
AHO

THROUGH THE MISTY VEIL

by Pat Poland

As I glide my way into the past,
history ... names.... send me back to my great-grandmother.
She stands 'cross the abyss beckoning,
"I am here, great-grandaughter."
Mist floats across the gentle stream.
I see her fingertips reaching to mine.
Forever ... it seems, to go on by centimeters of time.
Names so familiar.... I've used them before.
Places.. forgotten, resurrected on the distant shore.
"I am here great-grandmother,"
I call back through the misty veil.
Page by page ... leaf by leaf, like rich compost heaped
through the years, ready to use, seeded, and fertile.
I search for clues... a birth ... a death ... a will...
a grave marking what was, yet is
my Native heritage.

Summer Rain

BY Gerald Fisher 8/15/97

Father Sky is gray
As the new light appears
And the laughter of the birds is still
the clouds shed their tears
and the land drinks of this heavenly dew
puddles replace the dust
irresistible temptations for little feet
Turning my face to the sky
and feeling the gentleness of the mist
washing away my cares
filling my heart with happiness
Lifting my spirits
like the quenching of the crops
Raising my arms
I turn to the four winds
and give thanks for this
gentle…Summer Rain.

A MOTHER OF THE WASHITA

BY NOKWISA TAWO'DI

DOWN A DARKENED PATHWAY
FLEEING FOR MY LIFE
THE CANNONS ALL AROUND ME
THE SOUNDS OF DEATH AND STRIFE
FRIGHTENED AND COLD, I WAS RUNNING
I CLUTCHED MY CHILD SO TIGHT
I HEARD THE HORSES COMING
I FELT THE BULLET STRIKE
MY LIFE-BLOOD POURED FROM ME
THE BULLETS CAME LIKE RAIN
I FELL UPON THE FROZEN GROUND
MY SPIRIT TO REMAIN
TO WALK THIS GOOD LAND
WITH ALL OF THOSE I KNEW
WATCHING OVER MY LITTLE ONE
AND THE MAN INTO WHICH HE
GREW....

Copyright 6 /18,1996

(Star Hawk) Aka Ann Monken

"WHAT HAVE WE DONE..."

Hear me,oh Red man,if you want to save your hide,
Because here you surely can't abide.
Take your pagan customs with you please do,
Get off the planet,I would if I were you.
Don't cherish the land in which you were born,
We already have your tobacco and corn.
Without your help we couldn't have survived,
But now that civilization has been revived.
A payment is due,we'll pay you in lead,
We won't sleep a moment, until your all dead.
An enemy like you we can't understand,
We take and you give, and you hold out your hand.
A handshake with you makes my stomach turn,
How come your so stupid,how come you don't learn?
I believe in the saying that somebody said,
The only good Indian is one that is dead.
Our God hates a heathen, now this we all know,
If he doesn't change his ways to hell he must go.
So, we help out our God in all the ways we can,
We kill all the pagans and take over their land.
The deseases we've fed them are working too slow,
They don't hurt enough,not near enough woe.
We'll make them all starve,show them how low we can go,
So,we killed and we killed to the last Buffalo.
Bison don't fight back so we made a great show,
We cut out their tongues and we ripped off their skins.
But God will forgive us for all our sins.
If we pray every morning and also at night,
Our sins are forgiven,everything is alright.
So,the survivers were put on a reservation,
The last lost people of a proud nation.
People shouldn't go down with the setting sun,
America what in god's name have you done?
America the beautiful,America the free,
You've lost something essential as it could be.
From your highest mountain to your shining sea,
There should be a part of what use to be.
Not the clutter of mankind everywhere you look,
Why not give back a little of what you took.
Native Americans are still here today,
But no body listens to what they have to say.
They said it before and they say it again,
You can't own the land,you don't own the rain.
So, why can't we learn from people who know,
They have only been here twenty thousand years or so.
Could it be that they know this immense and great land,
Like you know your children or the back of your hand.
Why haven't we learned from people so great,
We are here today,we leave what we create.
Be it jungles of garbage or polluted water,
The land still owns you,your only a
squatter...

Poem by, Beckie Clymo & Dean Trudell(my father)

CALL TO THE FOUR SACRED WINDS
I call to the East, where the Father ascends
to all Mother Earth where life begins.
I fly through the cedars, pines, willows, and birch
as animals below me wander and search.

I call to the South, to the land down below.
Turtle stands silent, as man strings his bow
to hunt food and fur for his kin before snow.
A life will end so others will grow.

I call to the North, that yansa once knew.
I follow their path til it disappears from view.
Once vast in number, there stand but a few.
I hear only ghost thunder of millions of hooves.

I call to the West, to the ends of the lands,
to the Tsalagi, Kiowa, Comanche ... all bands.
Unite for the strength. Teach the young and demand
that you are Native Americans.Learn your tongue and stand.

My name is Freedom... I fly through this land.
I call to the Four Sacred Winds of Turtle Island.

by Spirit Wind (Pat Poland)

Tx. Gulf Coast Cherokee

Spirit of Yesterday

I've walked the lands of the ancient ones ..
Long since gone Generations
I can still feel their laughter .........their pain
I can still hear their songs.....
Hear their drums beating against a darken sky.....
I can see them dancing...
I can still see horses painted up for war
Still see Mothers and Wives with Tears in their eyes
But Pride in their hearts...
I can hear their Chants........their prayers
Still the memories and pride run deep in my own heart and soul as it did
the People....Medicine and holy men.....and the Chiefs....
This is My heritage.......the American Indians
Spirit of Yesterday........Is the Spirit of Tomorrow .......

By Brenda Cloud Dancer July 3,'96

Copyrighted july 21,'96

What is a Warrior

A Warrior is the protector of
his family,clan and his tribe

A Warrior is the guardian of the
old ways so that they are not
forgotten

A Warrior is not motivated by
greed, political ambition or
fame

A Warrior will not put himself
above others in need

And above all
A Warrior is the living spirit of
our Grandfathers

Mike Baker

Aug 95

A PRAYER ON HIGHWAY 12

Thank you, Great Spirit,
for the opportunity to walk with you,
To be with those who have great knowledge
And for the privilege of glimpsing that knowledge.
Allow me to be the Warrior I was meant to be,
Let me have the wisdom to be wise.
I am here, Great Spirit, take me home,
back to the beginning,
Show me the rudiments of life, and of love.
Teach me the elements of nature, pure and simple.
Give me understanding,
to give it to others.
Let me be as you,
I am part of you.
Peace and harmony,
oneness, togetherness, a natural order.
This is the path which was intended for us.
Guide me, Great Spirit,
I give my life to you alone,
Take it, and give my spirit to the people.
We all need you ... and each other.

© ALEXANDER LICH 09/25/93

Won’t someone speak for the Betoukuag

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, Weak.
Killed like animals! Won’t someone speak,
for the Betoukuag?

Here first! The land is theirs!
Used, not owned, but borrowed from heirs.
Here first, but alas, also first to die.
Call them thieves; An easy lie.

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
Killed like animals! Won’t someone speak,
for the Betoukuag?

Not used to whites. Afraid even.
Quite unlike their Mikmaq brethren.
Just surviving, a daily task.
Were they really civilized? You dare ask!

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
Killed like animals! Will someone speak,
for the Betoukuag?

One of the last rushes forth to speak.
Holding aloft a branch, where three limbs meet.
If Mamaq and whites can live together:
Why are we, the third limb, left to wither?

We are hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
We are killed like animals. Who will speak,
for the Betoukuag?

Hunt them. Kill them. They are in our way.
Spread word of our ill deeds? We say nay.
We are discoverers. Conquerers even.
Guns against arrows? No matter. They’re heathen.

Hunt them. Chase them. ‘till they’re weak.
Corner them. Kill them. No one will speak,
for the beothucks.

Now all gone. Or so you say.
No living beothuck, no beothuck problem eh?
Betoukuag and Mikmaw, mixing blood.
If truth be known, wait for the flood.

Hunted. Chased. Cornered. Finally, weak.
Are they all dead?? Who dares speak,
for the Betoukuag!

-Phil Jeddore, Utshimassits, December 27, 1993

When I, (StoneE) asked Phil who the Mikmaw and Betoukuag were, due to my ingorance, he sent me this to help me to learn.

We Mi'kmaq are the people referred to as MICMAC, and we are a part of the alkonquian linguistic group, occupying most of eastern canada, Our most important communities are Eskasoni in Nova Scotia as well as a few others and Conne River in Nfld.

The Betoukuag are the people referred to as Beothuk. They were a tribe in Newfoundland that was exterminated by the early newfoundland settlers. Our people were once accused of being a part of the genocide, and we had to work real hard to prove this wasn't so.

Hawk
Hawk's air-springed muscles helped him glide
so swiftly down the mountain side
with sinew buldging spotted rump
he vaulted o'r a rocky hump
Decendants of Chief Joseph's herd
Hawk's canter was like a flying bird
Swollen streams couldnt break his stride
His head held high with Nes Pierce pride
I rode that steed with fleeting speed
his strong legs breaking through high weed
hailstones splattered, horseshoes clattered
and a flock of wild grouse chattered
On shale slid Hawk, tripped and stumbled
down the slope we flipped and tumbled
the snow flakes started swirling down
as I lay hurt, on rocky ground
I was dazed, my body aching
Dizzy, sore and both legs shaking
we both felt pain from head to toes
Yet hurt, Hawk raised me with his nose
I wrapped my wounds and mounting, moaned
said " Come Hawk, now take us home"
around his nect my arms were tied
he started down the mountain side
I dreamed of being safe and warm
As Hawk plowed through that raging storm
and somewhere on that awful trek
I slumped across that great arched neck
Then thoughts came flooding in my head
my wife sat crying by my bed
I wont forget those words she said
"He brought you home...but Hawk is dead"
"For three whole days you've been alseep
the snow outside is five feet deep
once you were home safe and sound
Hawk whinnied once, then dead fell down."
She said "He brought you here on will
and fell when coming down that hill
his legs were gone, but still he came
and when he stopped you breathed his name"
"Oh, no! My God it just cant be."
The screams were coming out of me
"Oh, please don't tell me Hawk has died!"
Then my wife held me while I cried
I know he wasnt man, of course
But just a big ol spotted horse
So tell me, should I miss him so?
A friend who took me through the snow.

Don Bendell
For the Songs of the Warrior
Submitted by Joyce Stennes

What is a Warrior

A Warrior is the protector of
his family,clan and his tribe

A Warrior is the guardian of the
old ways so that they are not
forgotten

A Warrior is not motivated by
greed, political ambition or
fame

A Warrior will not put himself
above others in need

And above all
A Warrior is the living spirit of
our Grandfathers

Mike Baker Aug 95

The Children Of Indians

I was also one of those:
The children who'd been taken then.
The punishment the white man chose
Was that their parents were forsaken them. . .
Because they were the children of Indians.

They'd divide us so we wouldn't fight:
That's what they supposed back then.
They'd turn our red skin into white
And convert us to their religion. . .
Because we were the children of Indians.

But listen close and you can hear:
The grumbling - the eruption's near.
We've been silent but now it's time;
The earth is rumbling - the awaited sign. . .
For us, the children of the Indians.

The Panther streaks across the sky.
Tecumseh's footsteps shake the earth.
We now begin to raise the cry
To rise and fight for all we're worth. . .
Because we are the children of Indians.

And the Families once divided
Are gathering now to fight.
'Cause we, the children, have long decided
We'd rather be Indian than white. . .
Because we are the children of Indians.

So listen close and you can hear
The grumble of the earthquakes here.
He who's slept now gives the sign:
The rumble begins - it's now our time. . .
We are no longer children - We are the Indians!!

This was submitted by N.Sanford aka Wicked

TEARS OF THE FOREST

by Lori Mellott

As I slowly walk in this warm-blooded, vibrant, lush ,green forest fragrant with the scents of cedar, pine and a plethora of flowers all lovingly kissing me, I inhale the pungent, pleasing scent of earth enfolding me in Mother Earth's loving embrace. All that surrounds me pulsates and ripples with the melodious rhythms of life.

As I strip and stand contemplatively in the midst of this unending beauty, my senses pause, absorbing the exotic, erotic, beauty of it all. Hugging sister cedar tree I feel her heartbeat bursting with rich, robust life! She is strong and happy! Gazing at her I see her umcompromising strength, her magnificent size speaks to my soul telling me she has stood sentinel here for many, many moons

Listening to all her voices, I hear my feathered relations singing and nesting, bringing new life forth from the safety of her luxuriant hair. Her sweet, gently spirit speaks to my soul of spiritiaul freedom and honoring of the spirits. "Protect and treasure it" are the words and feelings flowing into my soul

Breathing deeply of the acoustically scented air, the sacred cedar's breath calms, cleanses, blesses and bolsters my spirit, giving me clarity of thought and renews my inner being. Contentment and connection flow within my spirit. All is walking in beauty

The harmony and tranquillity of this sacred, honored place is suddenly shatteered by the horrific, thoughtless intrusion of modern technology! An ominous sound echoes throughout this sacred haven, a sound that promises death! a chainsaw! Big. Loud. Deadly. It is here to keep its deviant promise Its mechanical teeth, honed to razor sharpness glint in father suns brilliant light, flashing its message of death to all Mother's children. The mechanical blood of this steel demon drips silently onto the ground below polluting all it touches, finding yet another way to kill

The human force guiding this instrument of death's construction tightens its ghastly white grip and stands in front of my beloved and beautiful sister with grinning anticipation. It cannot wait to destroy this Mothers child!

The sharpened chain teeth bite viciously, mercilessly into her soft, yielding, tender flesh

I feel my spirit weep and shudder with anger, pain and disbelief as sister cedar calls out to me in unendurable pain and agony, "why, Why do they do this to me?" She shudders, cracks and stumbles as she sings her death song and dances her death dance. She is falling, falling to Mother Earth below. Before she strikes the ground I weepingly watch as her body slowly, painfully sheds the tears of the forest onto Mother Earth. Cascading down as if in slow motion, they know the end is here. Gentle as a feather they alight on the forest floor.

A final unforgiving crack, groan and thunderous roar and my vibrant, beautiful sister cedar lies on a soft bed of moss, silent. Still. Still. Blinded by my tears, I find my way to her side and gently, lovingly stroke my fallen sister and feel her strong spirits fire fade. Oh, sister, I feel your pain and muted sorrow! I only I could stop it, change this path!

The human creature again grasps the instrument of death and destruction and gladly walks on to its next condemened victim. And the next... the creature smiles maniacally, finding in these mindless, needless deaths, perverse, sadistic joy

Sister cedar, I cry for your death and the death of all the children you will never bear! Barren sorrow crowds my spirit, darkens my soul! You have stood watch over these majestic woods for centuries and now your wise, sweet voice is quelled. Forever,

How do I stop the many human creatures from delivering deaths swift blows? Oh, I cry dear, dear fallen sister, I , too, shed the tears of the forest onto Mother Earth. For you and all Mother's children, whose lives all to the human creatures dealy white mission

"What can I do sweet sister?" I feel as if my hands are chained, poverty, inaction shackle my spirit. Beseechingly, I pray to the Grandfathers, Grandmothers and sister cedar's spirit as the wind blows gently from the East. "Much" whispers east wind, "Much"

Eclipse o'96

the day fell as the clouds moved in

a fear and tension came to a halt

the moon spoke in it's calm way

a night to remember had entered

stars seemed to spark and glow

an event that many eyes never saw

soon the magic came upon us all

such grace in the heavens above

slowly gently moving, the moon

the sun and earth danced above

a unison before millions of eyes

so gentle but so tremendous

soon it was the beginning

a crisp view before so many

sparks seemed to fly and dance

a beautiful red glow was growing

slowly and gently such sweet unison

my weary eyes has never seen

soft sweet moon before me

saturn singing her songs they danced

the three slowly sang a chorus

a celestial song of unison,of one

thoughts of awe passed within me

nothing came from my lips

though i write the glory of

the eclipse o' 96.........

Allen Linam

Written by Allen Linam, September 26, 1996

Submited by Caprice


A Song For The People

Grandfather, Great Spirit
I give you thanks
That we can sit here
In this circle of Life,
We send Prayers
And the very best thoughts

Grandmother Great Spirit
As we raise this sacred pipe
To give thanks to you
And to all of your Creation,
We give thanks
To the spirit helpers
Who came and sat among us.

Grandfather, Most sacred one,
These are your prayers
That we send to you
As we sit here together and pray

Grandmother your children are crying.
Grandfather your children are dying.
The hands of greed
And the hands of lust for power
Have been laid on them
And all around is death and desolation
The gifts you made, for all your children
Stolen,
And laid to waste
In a monstrous desecration.

Grandmother Great Spirit,
As we sit and pray together
We send you this prayer of affirmation-
We your children whom you created in your likeness and image-
We will reach out,
And we will dry our tears
And heal the hurts of each other.
Our sisters and brothers are hurting bad,
And our children, they see no future.

We know Grandfather, that you gave us a sacred power,
But it seems like we don't know its purpose
So now we've learned as we sat together,
The name of that power is love,
Invincible, irresistible, overwhelming power,
This power you gave us we are going to use,
We'll dry the tears of those who cry
And heal the hurts of them that are hurting.

Yes Grandmother,
We'll give you our hands
And in our hearts and minds and bodies
We dedicate our lives to affirmation.
We will not wait nor hesitate,
As we walk on this sacred earth
We will learn together to celebrate
The ways of peace, and harmony, and tranquillity,
That come,And in the world around us.
Thank you Grandfather for this prayer.

By Art Solomon

Summited by Debbie in Winnipeg

Subject "An Indian Prayer Christmas Day"
From: kibbey@sierra.net

The following was written December 25, 1992, and because I know that so many of the readers will have gone home for the Holidays, I thought that I would share this with you before any of you left.
"AN INDIAN PRAYER CHRISTMAS DAY"
by
Larry Kibby
 Great Spirit Grandfather
 I send these words to you
 To Father Sun
 Grandmother Moon,
 To Mother Earth,
 To all you have created,
 To all our relations
 And to the four Sacred Winds.
 Grandfather,
 Today you gave
 The breath of life
 To an Indian child
 In a most Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child
 Will walk amongst his people
 With his head held high,
 With dignity and pride,
 In a most Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child,
 Will stand before his people,
 With honor
 And respect,
 In a most
 Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child,
 Will be strong,
 With wisdom, knowledge
 And understanding,
 That will come from
 The heart, soul
 And mind
 In a most
 Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child,
 Will come before
 A humble Nation of people
 And like his brother
 The Eagle,
 And like the Sacred Buffalo
 This Indian Child
 Will be their strength
 In a most
 Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child
 You gave to us
 In a Sacred Way,
 And with his eyes,
 Will see all that is good
 And with his ears,
 Will hear all that is good
 And the words
 That he will speak,
 Will be strong and powerful
 In a most Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child
 That you have
 Brought before us
 Your Native People,
 Will be like his Ancestors
 That have gone
 Before him on their journey,
 In that he
 Will always travel
 Within the Sacred Circle of Life
 In a most Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child,
 Will use,
 His Eagle Feathers,
 His Sacred Pipe,
 His drum,
 His Cedar,
 His Sage,
 His Sweetgrass,
 Within the Sun Dance,
 Within the Sweat Lodge,
 Within all of his Traditional Ceremonies
 In a most Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 This Indian Child,
 Will be strong within,
 His Tradition,
 His Culture,
 His Religion,
 In a most Sacred Way.
 Grandfather,
 Thank you for each breath of life,
 That you have given to our young.
 For tomorrow,
 Another Indian Child
 Will come before us And he too
 Will have been born
 The Indian Way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I thought you might like this...from the heart of a Gentle Dreamer... 

---------- Forwarded message ---------- 
Date: Sun, 7 Jan 1996
From: Ondamitag@aol.com

For a Velvet Revolution

The winds of change dance in our lives,
 Like northern lights chasing their own shadows in the sky.
We can see better ways and easier days, 
We know there must be a more honorable and humane way.
It is for us to pick the flower in our minds, 
It is matter of standing up and not just standing behind.

We dream the soft solution alive,
With the strains of peace and duty with which we strive.
It is the wind of time that crosses our path, 
It is the scarred skin of our souls that know human wrath.
We, standing together, are the solution, 
We are the warf, weave and frame for a velvet revolution.

Negug,
Timm
Ondamitagos




Date: Sun, 17 Dec 1995  
Subject: Silenced Hearts



                         Those who Dreamed Spirit winds....
   play the melody
      as drums beat the rhythm
         of silenced heartbeats....

Sand Creek...
   Wounded Knee....
     Faceless silent dead

Whose screams are never heard.....

Another time..another place....
  that never comes...never leaves...
     always there...

Which hearts can hear this?

It does not take a designated blood quorum....

Does anyone care?
   Or does the daily existance
     of this life silence the heart
       to sob anymore?
Who cares that a woman's breasts were cut off
    and worn as a ornament to decorate a soldier's hat?
       Does anyone cry over the death of that breastless dreamer?

We have told the stories....
   Shared our fires...
     Given warnings....

And in the silence of the mountains
   I hear the whispers of the winds...
     who say....It shall be played again....

No one knows how to light the fires anymore...to warm the spirits...


I stand...against the winds...and
   touch the heart of Grandfather Sky
     who weeps
and bow my head as I see that flag of protection

fluttering...in the winds
   as they stood....slaughtered as the buffalo.....
      dying..still believing....

But no one hears their songs anymore....
  and I wish....
Someone knew how to light the fires 
   for it is so very cold...without protection from the winds.....



Date: Sat, 2 Mar 1996 From: MayaFriend@aol.com Shape Shifting

Sands shifting, sifting, through time, it moves through my fingers it moves, through space, it sifts and changes. Never remaining the same. Shapeshifting.
Shadows moving sifting across the plain. Mirages form and disappear. They come and they go. Who are they these shadows, that pass in front of our watching eyes. They are not from this world, and yet they are telling us of a story. Of time, of time that is not familiar to us. We are sifting, shifting, we are changing, here we are now...
Atop the mesa cliff, I feel not a breeze, but I see the black one floating on the current. I see the lift that pulls him toward me, closer, shifting and gliding across the air, he is getting closer and I feel his power.
With a bold whoosh, he is over and past me, flying to the back side of the mesa that holds me up in the air. Blocked from the southern winds I hear the air swimming through the canyon floor. Pulling with it the shadows that cling to the mesa faces and canyon floor. Shifting, more swiftly now. It passes before my eyes. I cannot control the visions any longer, they are pulling me forward, I am becoming larger and shifting down the side of the mesa cliff, I am widening and becoming like that shadow and spreading across the valley floor. Coming with me is the raven shimmering blue black opals and emeralds, fairly it glows above me and stretches out my form across the sandy shore, shifting the sands become like water passing through the ocean floor, shifting, the sands are shifting and sifting through my hair.
Where is that raven that was there before? Where is that form that once sat on the mesa top. Where are those shadows that I saw from the roof of the canyon. We are all one, shifting sifting through my hair. I feel his mighty power, the eternity of the sand, and my pulse racing toward the canyon floor. Come with me he calls as he passes through beyond time into substance that holds no meaning but seems real. Just as real as the shadows that I watched passing across the canyon floor. Fluid and shifting, we fly as one.
As I turn to look behind me, I see his shadow passing overhead. Looking before me I see the shadows shifting, sifting across the canyon floor. My hands placed neatly on my thighs, legs crossed in front of me, strong hands, veins raised and pulsing, beating in time with the heat of the sun, light and shadow moving across the canyon floor. Whoosh! His body leaving, as mine is shifting back to the mesa where I began before.

 --------- "RE: Poem: Dreaming Into the Ground" ---------
 
 Date: Wed, 13 Jul 94 
 From: turtle@aicap.s21.com (Turtle Heart)
 Subj: dreaming into the ground
 
   
 
  Coming onto the golden belly
  of this mother the earth
  where the winds talk
  and the stones cast no shadows
  i was dreaming
  my face in the ground
  belly to belly
  i wept into the earth
  a dreaming
  but when it was there
  it was a singing
  my mouth as wide
  as the heart of the earth
  into the ground I was dreaming
  all dressed in hair
 
  Tobacco Indian
 --
 Turtle Heart  turtle@soft21.s21.com  (Ahnishinabeg)
    

Date: Tue, 27 Feb 1996 
From: Ronald L Conrad warpath@vladmire.voiceisp.net
Fly with the Eagles

I strech out my arms and fly with the eagles
I hunt with the bear
I run with the deer
I swim with the fish
and yet I still am a man

I sing with the wind
I plant the soilI watch the flame
I listen to the brook
and yet I still am a man

When I will rest
My bones will lay on the soil
my flesh will flow with the river
my spiret will fly with the wind
and yet I am still a man

                *warpath*
    

 Black Soul

Come into my Black soul, some might say...
	But what is Black?  There are so many different colors,
	So many different beautiful arrays of colors.
	How can one be so ignorant.
	The Native American has lost his nation.
	The Native American has lost his land.
	What do we have left?
	The Black man has been through many pains;
	He has seen the white-clothed man in his dreams.
	Could he be Black or White?
	Does it really matter, for humankind is one race.
	Read between the lines baby...
	Racism is dangerous in the minds of educated people.
	But in the end, they are the fools.
	The conception of racism is through the teachings of ignorant man
	What have we left? 
	Is it all worth it in the end?
	For one to understand the confused world
	would be a miracle beyond miracles.
	Enduring pain and suffering makes us stronger.
	Living and seeing evil around us makes us vulnerable.  
	But the one thing to override is the obsession with revenge.  
	If we cannot get along as one on this Earth, 
	How can it be possible for us to get along in the Spirit World?

-Charlotte Salvador
   

Date: Wed, 21 Feb 1996 
From: Wanbli Sapa icabu@ix.netcom.com
Subject: Re: Gary Snyder Poem

Hau Mitakolapi!

For no other reason than for your enjoyment.  Toksha!


               For All
Ah to be alive
        on a mid-September morn
        fording a stream
        barefoot, pants rolled up,
        holding boots, pack on,
        sunshine, ice in the shallows,
        northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
        cold nose dripping
        singing inside
        creek music, heart music
        smell of sun on gravel.

        I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
        of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
        one ecosystem
        in diversity
        under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

Date: Wed, 21 Feb 96 04:42:58 UT
From: ANN MONKEN 

                    		A DREAMERS SIGN                                          
                  	THE HAWK IS A DREAMER'S SIGN                                
                 	SHE SINGS AS SHE FLIES                                       
                            	SHE BRINGS A TRUE MESSAGE                         
                            	HER VOICE SINGS NO LIES                           
                                	SHE DRINKS OF THE RIVERS                      
                                     	TO MAKE HER VOICE CLEAR                  
                                          	THE TREES ARE ALL BUDDING           
                                             	AND SPRINGTIME IS NEAR           
                                                    	SHE WINGS TO THE DREAMER  
                                                        	THEN FLOATS TO A TREE 
                                                          	EVER SINGING THE MESSAGE 
                                                                       OF THAT YET TO BE.                                                                         
                                                  	                            
          
(Star Hawk) Aka Ann Monken

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