Best Indian Poems
INDIAN INK
Indian Accent, form the whispers inside
Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow
A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices fall from the sky, rising hymns release
ancient demons CLINGING to the SOUL!
Darkness dwells under - gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World!
Weaving Native smoke into the barren air
Indian spirits haunt the muddy Earth
Moccasin makers rise from underneath,
While guardians of dream catchers - print the Universe
Smooth thread from the outer world.
Arrowheads, Ivory gems, feathers, and illusions
I stumble upon a florid kiss....... My veins!
Run cold, like ice through a desert night.
Winds of enchanted drums - cry out for rain
Hollow chimes mesmerize, my ties, my eyes
An ancient rage begins to flare --- MADNESS!
takes place among the sanity of who I am
The spear of perfumed buffalo scrapes my skin
I remove the veil that covers my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Drying the scalp that bleeds on my face
KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!
Raven silk braids and feathers on my hair
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly,
I AM A BIRD!
American Indian, Nightshades, Moonshadows And Howling Wolf
Thirsty for red moon, its sacred beams and eternal pull
howling-out to speak to this dark and blind world, without fear;
Your echoes enter, soulful bones of insightful red man
birthing growing urges to return and run truly free,
falling upon ancient trails, foraging for lean red meat
race with red-heart's deepest desires into widest abyss,
embrace our mother earth, unified into one body.
Where ancient trails once well-known, rests under dust long fallin'.
Moon's golden realms hear both man and wolf, faithful loud callin'.
Standing proud, atop very high and lonesome mountain crag
winds caressing one of Nature's most beautiful creatures;
Notes calling loud, that give night's resplendent moon pregnant pause
in that silent and golden moment, where man so trembles,
for it is then knowledge comes, therein sings of true freedom
having no need for dreams of blind men or dark worldly lusts,
speaking to pack below, mirroring its deep felt tones.
Where ancient trails once well-known, rests under dust long fallin'.
Moon's golden realms hear both man and wolf, faithful loud callin'.
Alas! Fate and Fury- rage combine and oft delivers
soul-crushing, black-handed cuts from darkened realms far below;
Wherein has justice overcame Fate's most savage attacks
when hatred and greed both conspired to not be defeated,
in infliction of war's sorrows and deadly destruction
while parading under banner of Light and compassion,
tales of malevolent beasts, benevolently destroyed!
Where ancient trails once well-known, rests under dust long fallin'.
Moon's golden realms hear both man and wolf, faithful loud callin'.
R. J. Lindley,
Feb 2nd, 1973
Poetry-- Subject Nature, Wolf, Amerian Indian And Injustice...
Old note: My mother's father was Native American. I gained
great insight into the life of Native Americans from words
he spoke to me. Since his death, I have read many books that
gave even more historical knowledge on the subject. Finding
the ones that did not deliberately cover up the savage acts
carried out by "whites" against Native Americans.
--Virginia Slim--
Different eyes, the same world
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair
---Now listen to the colors, of transformation,
On the day she was born, the wind blew in,
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim
Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names.
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl,
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,
Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman,
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero,
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas tricked and captured,
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over,
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands
Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before the princess,
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands
by;PD
Indian summer. . .
a gathering of leaves dance
quietly to death
8-17-22
~N/A~
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
______________________________________________________
6-4-2017
~Premiere Contest Second Place~
ONE Haiku Old or New with Seasonal word ANY SEASON - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Rick Parise
~Second Place~
Autumn Haiku
Sponsored by Lu_Loo
Contest Judged: 9/20/2016
Indian summer lies within your autumn hazel eyes,
my velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost;
love lingers in bereft fingers, I stroke your face in guise,
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust.
My velvet bloom vibrant now lost after your killing frost,
your chill withered russet my enchanted efflorescence;
once lustrous, amaranthine heart lies bleeding in exhaust,
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence.
Your chill, withered russet my enchanted efflorescence,
blue breath exhaled... my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air;
as you disperse in scarlet moonlighting vaporescence,
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear.
Blue... breath exhaled, my cooling mood still hangs in our mid-air,
my harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep~
your affair concupiscent more than my bemoan can bear,
into all my tomorrows tears of my sorrow shall seep.
My harvested heart-ache, my heart-break, my heart-feeling weep,
amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten, fading everyday;
into all my tomorrows, tears of my sorrow shall seep
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display.
Amaranth once fertile, frost-bitten! Fading everyday,
love lingers in bereft fingers. I stroke your face in guise;
despite your warmth, light of day and hoarfrost melting display,
Indian summer - lies! - within your autumn hazel eyes.
Susan Ashley
October 8, 2017
~ Third Place~
Contest: Mid October Premiere
Sponsor: Brian Strand
A Tribute to Slim Whitman
He led his horse towards a pool,
Near a lovely large cotton tree.
Far away, he heard the hooves
Of a thousand bison as they crossed
The dusty prairie in search of food.
Near at hand stood a large tepee
From where his lovely Indian emerged.
Dark hair, dark eyes. a beauty beyond compare.
She smiled but stood erect at the doorway.
Instantly, he lifted his guitar.
And in a yodel tune, he sang his love.
How oft he repeated his refrain,
"You belong to me,
I belong to you."
Finally, he put down his guitar.
Slowly, he approached her,
Tilted her lovely face up,
Their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss.
On the land of miracles,
Took place a miracle,
Missile man of our country was born.
People's president he was known,
APJ Abdul kalam was his identity.
Paving a path for young generation,
In the field of science and technology.
He inspired young minds.
He is no more on this earth,
But his soul hasn't left his motherland.
Freedom, strength and development
Were his dreams.
The day he was born,
He dedicated the day to learners.
The spark in his eyes,
The smile on his face,
And the confidence in his attitude,
Inspires me and every indian.
I am proud to be an indian.
Memories of autumn linger still
The pale sun loiters on the hill;
A prodigal year now grown old
Is gathering all her days of gold.
Flocks of birds now eager to go
We share the dream with footsteps slow;
We meet beneath the apple tree
Join hands in silent company.
We will not part love, oh not yet
Too soon the weary sun will set.
The crickets cease to sing their song
The gold and russet wilt away;
The crimson trees stayed too long
And all the sky is wet and grey.
We know at night the frost will fall
And scar the asters on the hill;
The golden rod and sumac all
Will feel the hand of winter's chill.
But love, it is not the time to part
I need to hold you near my heart;
Yesterday was such a golden smile
Today we might love awhile;
Till autumn dies and love forget
And we must leave, but dear not yet.
©1996 RICO LEFFANTA
Apache Ga-an are like the disciples of Christ, they were most highly respected
Missionaries condemned the Ga-an as “Devil Dancers,” and called them inferior
“New World” new beliefs, but even the woman and children were unprotected
Apaches totally rejected a religion where humans only are considered superior
Evil men, who taught they were above everything else, “The Chosen Ones”
Apache language was unaccepted, so punished when it was proudly spoken
Franciscan’s, Jesuits, Spaniards, Comanches, confinement, disease, and guns
Killed, called them savages, or their spirits and bodies were gradually broken
The dance ceremony is performed to drum and song, and mostly at night
Four dancers representing different cardinal directions north, south, east, west
The messenger, “clown” with a dual nature is the only one who wears white
Dancers represent mountain spirits, their masks prepared by a shaman guest
A bull roarer or whistle starts the ceremony to create an ethereal sound
The ceremony is performed at na’ih’es, girl’s adulthood initiation ritual
Flashing adding to the dazzling effect are the mirrors on the crowned
Apache, indigenous peoples, associate with spirituality and are habitual
Powerful mountain spirits and a comical teacher who heals through laughter
You may see the Ga-an rise from the flames, when you hear the messenger
The dancer’s bodies painted with symbols and patterns, stars, of here after
Today, more enlightened Americans call the Ga-an, “Crown Dancers” ~
A glass half-full of August pours its gold
on autumn's copper turning it to bronze.
The brittle Santa Ana gusts unfold
to rattle omens hidden in the fronds
that burst from trunks up high like absinthe flame
and singe October's turquoise-matted sky.
Each puff of smoke that dormant clouds became
has disappeared from desert's opal eye
as amber winds come shrieking from the east,
igniting saffron plumes among the brush
like raptor birds of paradise, a beast
awakened from a summer's verdant hush.
The crows in flight are ashes on the air
that scatter in the sunlight's molten glare.
Rainbow Forest
Indian maiden, resting on the verdant, grassy, shore.
White leather, beaded dress.
In moccasins, does dream, she would confess, longing
for my happiness.
For now, dreams of days of serenity galore!
She,of unknown beauty, does not know.
Of how lovely, she is, truly as gorgeous as the
diamondesque sparkling stream.
She, was created of glistening metallic dreams.
As an ultramarine light show.
Amazing Star is her name, in this universe aglow.
She of ebonied, flowing hair like a waterfall dream.
She is my Spirit Guide in the land of peaceful, moonbeams.
I meet with her, and other animals, who seem to flow.
Oh, a most fulfilling, flute filled show!
6~7~2021
Salutations to Tiranga (Indian National Flag)
Mother India was freed from the British shackles...
To tyranny we bid adieu, new freedom welcomed!
'Tiranga' with due honour, replaced the 'Union jack'
Fluttered in the blue sky in the glory of victory!
Orchestra of happy moods had finally arrived,
Calling for celebrations with full pomp and joy!
Our National Anthem sung and Trumphets blown
All Indians joined festivity forgetting all woes!
Adding wings to this happiness,the Tricolour fluttered!!
Breeze of bloodbath and fetters all disappeared
Flew with resplendence this khadi splendour!
Three stripes horizontal with a central wheel
Top is the saffron for selflessness and valour,
Also marks vibrant hue of Ego absolution!
White in the middle stands for peace and purity
Also Knowledge and honesty attribute to it
The dark green in the third stripe is for faith and fertility,
Happiness and prosperity for a greener globe!
The wheel of dharma adopted from the Lion capital,
That once sung heroism of Asoka, the Emperor!
In navy blue is this wheel placed in the centre,
Progress it represents with spokes twenty-four
Ignites a spark of deep patriotism as it flutters
Wrapped around cadaver of the martyrs of this mother
Glory to Tiranga, Glory to the Nation,
World's largest democracy salutes this symbol
Let our flag soar high and keep our spirits boosted
Long live Tiranga till the sky is above!
For the contest: The State/ Country Flag - sponsored by: Judy Konos
By: Anulaxmi Nayak,
Country: India
Flag: TIRANGA - Indian National Flag
date: 08/08/2015
THEME: Salutations and admiration to our national symbol!
(To give then take)
I shut my eyes for a few seconds today
Missing you, I wished you were here
Then suddenly the walls became dim
My heart murmurs your name
I swallow the tears behind my eyes
Claiming back the wish
Why would I ever let myself fall in love again?
By: PD
It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I am attractive and half naked,
If I am uneducated,
If I speak in broken English,
And sing Christian songs.
It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I am passive and subdued,
If I smile all the time,
If I fit the stereotype,
And am not opinionated.
It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I suffer memory loss,
Don't want to know my peoples' history,
Remain idle and submissive,
And can forgive genocide.
It's ok that I'm Native American:
The kind that was in old movies,
Who said how and heap big time,
Make a mockery of tradition,
Sell out to avoid confrontation.
It's ok that I'm Native American:
If I accept my lot in life,
Stay where I'm told to stay,
Sit down and shut my mouth,
And allow others to think I am inferior.
That is what they tell me,
Before they turn and walk away.
When my existence is their shame,
They refuse to listen and then they say:
"It's ok that you're an Indian".
The aunites gossip back home
About how you've grown
Out of your white cotton frocks
And into red silk saris
They talk about how you're ripe for marriage
About how quickly boys flock to you--
Your family's rich and you are beautiful.
Like a princess but with none of the excess.
Their perfect Indian girl is rather simple.
But, the real you they can never comprehend.
Those brown khol-rimmed eyes with
That understated nose ring confuses them.
They'd rather ignore your luscious red mouth.
Those soft lips were like velvet as they brushed across my lashes as you pretended to blow sand out of my eyes one drunken night on a Konkan beach.
Both too scared to be the first to say anything
We just sat there drunk and giggling
When the aunties speak of you
I can't help but imagine
Things that leave
Little to the imagination.
I am a woman
And you are a woman
We're on the same page.
The boys will wait.