Red Paint
Long before my time, a group painted in red lived on the land.
They lived with the buffalo and made weapons by hand.
They used arrowheads at the end of their spears.
Their homes were in tea peas planted beside the river.
They danced at night around the fire.
They were com and collected as their hearts desire.
In a no man's land, they fought with bravery and hatchets.
In red paint on horses, they had their revenge while it lasted.
It is sad that the white man had to take it all away.
Only skin deep, our blood is all the same.
Through revenant they stood their ground.
In the dark sky they survived when no one was around.
Just reach down and touch the dirt.
They washed off the blood in the river.
The land is for all mankind.
Through principles they were well defined.
Just like a wolf, they stand alert.
As warriors they just wanted to be free like a bird.
They are all connected in red paint.
Across the water shows reflections of their pain.
No manor tribe should ever be oppressed.
Standing towards the sun, they all came back from the dead.
Wewere wrong to take away their lives.
In the shadows they stood tall in the moonlight
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
A low wind
prowls like a tiger in the long reeds.
Water rats race across a brook
creating arrowheads
through the stream.
From a tufted hillock
I watch small fish darting,
chasing edibles
too small for eyes to see.
The fish have no name
that I can recall.
For an instant
I too am nameless,
both lost and found.
Now the wind tugs at my coat,
dragonfly-wings flicker-by –
an iridescent perception
that glimpses only itself,
a presence that is both found
and lost.
indians of past
leaving traces of their lives
to be found by us
The mine drowned the holler,
many reallocated
to trailer parks along the Interstate.
The school dwindled,
ran out of children
became a garage for dead trucks,
then a beer barn, then a Meth lab,
bubbling feuds resurfaced -
shotguns aimed at open secrets.
Oxycontin mules crisscrossed cricks.
After the sheriff left with a bag of money
the missing went unreported.
The ‘Craft’
(a legend as ancient as flint arrowheads),
emerged from clapboard covens
ginseng and moonshine were sacrificed
for white powder.
Glocks flourished among the Hummel’s.
Traditions persisted
like red paint on wooden signs.
An outbreak of opaque cottage industries,
led to skins inked with blood oaths.
Old women retreated into the mountains
with their recipes.
Spirals of distant smoke
rose from iron cooking pots,
no one spoke of the children.
flocks of geese flying
remind of the life cycle
survival of the fittest
arrowheads pointing
southward in a migration
birds wiser than we, you see.
written October 11, 2021
New June bug day risin
Pancake fryin smell
Outside yo window
To the kitchen down below
Curtains blowin in the breeze,
Leaves on treetops swayin
All I’m sayin is
What comes a day
Bein born
Is all you need
When you a child
In this big old world
Gots love and love and
Mama’s love some mo
Don’t matter bout clothes and shoes
Those South summer blues
That you too young fo
Alls about fishin, wishin,
And grinnin with yo best friend
Deep end o’ the delta
Skimmin stones
That ain’t no arrowheads anyway.
All you ain’t got
Is all you ain’t needin
Only chore what matters
Is spring seedin
And penny-pulled
Tobaccy runnin
Old man Tom’s place
Outside o’ town
Once a two week
Piece a plug
Penny earned
For candy and
Man that’s sweet!
Heaven aint’s so far for walkin
When you’s walkin in bare feet
Down by the delta
In the dusty dime store town o’
Willacoochee
Six years after the atomic bomb
Plunked down in Hiroshima
Tearing people into pieces
Dali was still losing sleep over it
He begins to collect strips and struts
Developing a surreal idea of what he is about
Collects arrowheads, wire, bits of bone.
Defers from his usual style
Puts together Raphaelesque Head Exploding
A tiny canvas with a large message
Showing his disdain for atomic bombs
And the barbaric aftermaths
As a kid, I loved to find any unusual shells and rocks; I do to this day. I used to walk the piney woods of Georgia, with my favorite uncle. He made up the neatest stories to tell me about each stone or arrowhead that I found; visiting him was always loads of fun. Like him, I’m a story teller, entertaining others. I loved those woods and the great finds there; so many great woodland memories.
piney woods
shed upon sacred ground-
bedding
nature’s trinkets
abound in the woodlands-
arrowheads
4-20-2021
ALL YOURS (Apr 20) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Cold creeps
from swift whirlwinds
left me quivering with chattered teeth
and drenching with sweat.
Trumpeting;
foreshadow of war.
There I was
aghast on the battlefield
accoutered with no armor or shield
and no cavalrymen to deploy;
ashen with fear.
Venomous arrowheads
seared me with scars
as a sword ravaged my heart.
I yielded in anguish
at the acme of predicament,
kneeling forth my adversary.
My soul roared with rage
as it set ablaze in the cage.
Scorched by the flames;
fire streamed through my veins,
unveiling my chaste
and awakening the spirit within.
With the might of a warrior
I perished my nemesis,
alias; the demons in the mind.
Dawn abrupt in the azure sky;
denoting the apogee of valor.
Hard fell the snow, slanting down
~ no frozen arrowheads lay on the ground
When I was a boy in west Texas I kept a treasure box much the way building corner stones are done - with an eye to the future anticipating a grand opening one day.That day came this year when I officially admitted that I was an old man.With no particular ritual I opened the rather large tin box to find:
A mummified horney toad
One stick of Juicy Fruit gum
Baseball card collection - three cards
One Coca Cola bottle cap
One window sticker from Grand Canyon
Four arrowheads labeled "Comanche"
Ten rattles from Diamondback snakes
One garter - source unknown
A roll of caps but no cap pistol
Two chipped marbles
One top with no string
One yo-yo
A baseball labeled 1946
One needle for pumping up footballs
A spy's ring with hidden compartment
One compass the size of a quarter
Three Indian head pennies
One picture of Marilyn Monroe with clothes
One picture of Marilyn Monroe without clothes
A picture labeled on the back,"My Mama"
Notably absent was a cell phone
7-24-19
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Dear Heart
I have a shark's tooth
Found under the soil not so deep
In my Kansas yard.
I hide it from others so they will not ruin
My illusions about it.
I feel it is from a fierce and mighty shark
Who devoured little fish, and even maybe a human leg.
I picture it as being from prehistoric times.
I hide it especially well when the archeologists come visit
We have a creek in the backyard where they have had a dig
Discovering hundreds of arrowheads
And maybe an axe handle, but not the one I am hiding with
My shark's tooth. For I do not want anyone to ruin my
Axe handle illusions either.
Delicately crafted Indian arrowheads,
razor-sharp flint projectile points,
primitive stone bullets,
hidden artifacts from long ago.
Eventually, they call out to our curiosity
on hot and steamy summer mornings,
inviting us to freshly plowed cornfields,
where they’ve patiently slept for millennia.
You know they’re out there,
hoping to remain buried secrets, yet
wishing to be found, revered, and held excitedly
in eager young boys’ sweaty palms.
We hunted them as faithfully as
the ancient “arrowhead” men,
who hunted prey with bows and spears
in long forgotten grasslands and forests.
Something powerful awakens inside you
in realizing you are the first person
to hold this cool, jagged-edged stone tool
since it was created 2,000 years ago.
Suddenly, you become aware that
nothing is really lost in our vast universe–
It is simply waiting for an inquisitive hand
to reach into the dark earth and bring it back to life.
DAWN
Night dark as a mute strangers gaze
By the minute, appears to pale;
A clear sky of pristine light blue
Morning glistens with pearly dew
Gold edged arrowheads shoot at earth
Their glow warm as a mother's hug
Far, a sphere of reddish bright hue
Seems to clandestinely peep through.
A gleeful horizon beckons
Come forth, bask in the feisty sun
Lazy life rubs its sleepy eyes
Enthused to join the wicked fun
Dumps all worries out of its sight
All agog for recreation!
Chirpy birds giggling playful songs
Usher in an inspiring dawn.
DateNov22 2016
Contest any form any theme max 16 lines
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