Best Arrowheads 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...

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The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call...

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The flames of the furnace (well-travelled by wind
slowly glazing the rags of gray women chagrined
at the sight of a hair fleeing tresses now thinned) 
sometimes...

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Comes silently
on sorrel moccasins

roosted on tortoiseshell
of root cellar

singing, stumbling
in numb imaginings

lit with half-light
vegetables
squeezed in jars
of russet and avocado

above
a cornice of sky
split with laughter
searching
for broken arrowheads
gold...

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As a kid, I loved to find any unusual shells and rocks; I do to this day.  I used to walk the piney woods...

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Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
        
    My Family portrait...

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In the setting sun the Sioux Tepees look like vandalized pyramids,
the Tetons themselves appear as though angels raped
by the savagery of centuries yet noble in...

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Across the sky, like arrowheads,
from silhouettes against the red,
the call of wild geese swiftly fades
into the sun. And then sun bades
a sad farewell to one...

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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...

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It’s not my fault, he shouted that night
when rain speared the ground like stinging arrows
caged his bony figure with endless streaks
and dragged the guilt from...

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I.	  The Settlement

          Hickory bark bluffs
         ...

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Year One -

Tell me Eve,
does this Garden have everything we need,
do you think the walls are too tall,
are the gatekeepers reasonable, tolerable, right about it...

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That day is etched in the back of my mind still
I was five yet I can still hear the screams and cries piercing in the...

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Homecoming at evening for her and the birds.
They settle in, she watches them, white whorls 
on green, wreathing tree tops, as is their wont, until...

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Where the eyes lost their sparkles
Through the prairies-shadow lie,
What is South Dakota 
	A collective of arrowheads,
Deers, or buffaloes' dried skin?

	Is the great Sioux chief sleeping?.......

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