Best Blackfoot Poems
For thousands of years, ice giants were sleeping.
But now, these dense “blue ice” glaciers are weeping.
Warnings that in many ways bear repeating.
Global climate change speeds glaciers’ retreating.
In Alaska and Glacier National Park,
The melting of ancient glacial ice is stark.
Half the world’s glaciers – in Land of Midnight Sun*,
But in Glacier NP**, soon there will be none.
Years hence, will Alaska have any at all?
Loss of these ice bodies a clear wake-up call.
Value majestic Alaska, like Seward***?
Care for glaciers; each of us a good steward?
Alaska’s Exit Glacier – leaving for good?
Will black stone stand where Blackstone Glacier once stood?
In Montana, Blackfoot Glacier shrinks each day.
The other twenty-four headed the same way.
Glaciers’ demise may get more than them crying.
Their loss may mean earth’s human life is dying.
Glacial and polar ice death no mystery;
If we do nothing, glaciers are history.
Signed, Saddened for the Sobbing, Shrinking Glaciers
6/1/2017
* Alaska is known as the Land of the Midnight Sun.
** National Park is often abbreviated “NP”.
*** Then U.S. Secretary of State, William H. Seward, negotiated the United States’ purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867.
Categories:
blackfoot, emotions, environment, green, imagery,
Form:
Personification
Apache, the Ndee, "the people" of Arizona and other States
Blackfoot, the Siksika, whose painted red faces we can relate
Cheyenne, the Tsitsistas, meaning relatives of the Cree
Dakota Sioux, the Dakota, meaning little snakes in Ojibwe
Euchee, or Yuchi, are the "children of the sun"
Fox, the Meskwaki, eventually native to Wisconsin
Gros Ventre, strangely named "big belly" by the French
Huron, with their above allies left many a tribe wrenched
Inuit, the Eskimo, this tribe with the snow
Juaneño, from the Sunshine State around Orange and San Diego
Kickapoo, with their linguistic code, unique called "whistle speech"
Lakota, like the Dakota, speak with similar tongues they teach
Mohawk, "People of the Flint" from upstate New York
Navajo, is now the most spoken, where extinction has not gone berserk
Ottawa, "the traders" their name lives on in their City
Potawatomi, "fire keepers" one hundred speakers, my hearts in pity
Qwulhhwaipum, "the prairie people from beyond the mountain range"
Ryawas, by the Missouri River where they no longer reign
Shawnee, meaning "southerner" were are far ranging tribe
Tonkawa, "they keep together" but only a few still reside
Ute, of Colorado and Salt Lake valley fame
Victorious the ones who remain to this day, whilst the V has no name
Wiyot, and its last native speaker, died in 1962
X, xenophobic they would be, to the ancestors of me and you
Yavapai, from Arizona, are the "people of the sun"
Zuni, like all the tribes above, fell victim to the white mans gun
.
The True American.
Categories:
blackfoot, joy,
Form:
Abecedarian
Apache, the Ndee, "the people" of Arizona and other States
Blackfoot, the Siksika, whose painted red faces we can relate
Cheyenne, the Tsitsistas, meaning relatives of the Cree
Dakota Sioux, the Dakota, meaning little snakes in Ojibwe
Euchee, or Yuchi, are the "children of the sun"
Fox, the Meskwaki, eventually native to Wisconsin
Gros Ventre, strangely named "big belly" by the French
Huron, with their above allies left many a tribe wrenched
Inuit, the Eskimo, this tribe with the snow
Juaneño, from the Sunshine State around Orange and San Diego
Kickapoo, with their linguistic code, unique called "whistle speech"
Lakota, like the Dakota, speak with similar tongues they teach
Mohawk, "People of the Flint" from upstate New York
Navajo, is now the most spoken, where extinction has not gone berserk
Ottawa, "the traders" their name lives on in their City
Potawatomi, "fire keepers" one hundred speakers, my hearts in pity
Qwulhhwaipum, "the prairie people from beyond the mountain range"
Ryawas, by the Missouri River where they no longer reign
Shawnee, meaning "southerner" were a far ranging tribe
Tonkawa, "they keep together" but only a few still reside
Ute, of Colorado and Salt Lake valley fame
Victorious the ones who remain to this day, whilst the V has no name
Wiyot, and its last native speaker, died in 1962
X, xenophobic they would be, to the ancestors of me and you
Yavapai, from Arizona, are the "people of the sun"
Zuni, like all the tribes above, fell victim to the white mans gun.
Categories:
blackfoot, native american,
Form:
ABC
My BROTHERS --the Cherokee ---you may refer to me as cross-breed-- or not.
As an ancestor ----if it’s your aspiration?
My Grandmother----half Cherokee- half Blackfoot----as the old tales were told.
Citizenship with your sovereignty —till she was three—that I discovered-
with-in her descendants origin.
My Grandmother ---bought off your reservation after your----- relocation.
Bought by my Grandfather a “white-man” -------to the root!!
172 years belated —consider this --a cross-breeds apology--an accolade --to your entire-
nation.
A nation and PEOPLE-- forcibly removed in 1838-----by the U.S. Government.
Hundreds of Cherokee died----- Who Walked the Trail of Tears.
A NATION and PEOPLE-- vehemently abolished in 1838.
By the U.S. Government---with-in President Andrew Jackson’s administration.
Consider this a cross-breeds apology --with a symbol- ----eternally existing.
Of the anguish and affliction on the Trail Where They Cried--- the symbol of the Cherokee-
rose--that still grows------- that still grows!
Consider this a cross-breeds Tribute to Those Who Walked --that Trail --filled with-
Cherokee Tears.
No words can justify-- no expression can advocate --- what Jackson’s administration-
arranged.
No apology, no apology, would seem adequate or tolerable---to ONE human race.
Notably ----your NATIVE RACE!!
Innumerable thousands have spoken their inadequate and intolerable claims.
Knowing only one and only one-- honest, respectful, faithful, and trustworthy vindication-
would have sufficed.
Consider this-- cross-breeds desire for -----Forgiveness.
Forgiveness for any ancestral involvement---in the mass genocide of your civilization.
Healing our nation --from OUR CURSE—must embark from hear—hear at forgiveness.
Forgiveness extended by --OUR CREATOR---to our race and yours.
By : WEM/MEW/EWM
Categories:
blackfoot, forgivenessgrandmother,
Form:
Epic
Erasure Poem
So many fake Indians these days
Elizabeth Warren is one
And according to my DNA results
I am too
But my grand-parents spoke Cherokee my mom claims
And they disappeared into the hills
She claims
Is the DNA test wrong?
Was I adopted ?
Or is it possible
That I am a real deal
A real Cherokee
Or am I fake Cherokee???
A Cherokee weighed in on this on Quora
First, I would never call them “fake Natives”.
They are 99% white,
mostly Blue-collar, and New Age Hippie,
Anglo-Americans
who are simply
lost without their own specific identity
that they can proudly Claim,
so therefore,
they search for a certain Popular,
Romanticized segment of Indigenous People
that will “fit”
into their Family’s historical Lore.
Second, it just happens to ALWAYS be …
the Cherokee …
sometimes,
either Blackfoot or Lakota.
AND, “My GGM was a Cherokee Princess”,
as an add-on VALUE.
This is primarily
because of the vast area
formerly inhabited by the Cherokee.
However, the tribes’ interaction
with European immigrants since colonial times,
led to a great deal of intermarriage
with non-indigenous populations.
In many cases people have limited knowledge
of the other Native American nations,
that inhabited the areas in which they live.
However, a lot of this is wishful thinking,
and these people have African American
or other non-European ancestry.
It is fashionable to claim indigenous ancestry ,
in an attempt to legitimize t
Their sense of belonging on our lands.
The reason is simple,
they don’t know the names of the other tribes.
There has never been a song called
“Indian Reservation” about Apache People
or any other tribe but, the Cherokee.
“Indian Reservation”
by Paul Revere and the Raiders.
So if those people aren’t Cherokee
by blood at least it’s in spirit.
And so I conclude
I may be part Cherokee
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee
But who really knows
My mother took many things
With her to the grave
Lots of family secrets
Things I will never know
But in my heart
I know
That I am part Cherokee
And so I will proudly
Claim I am part Cherokee
In spirt
If not in blood
Categories:
blackfoot, appreciation, introspection,
Form:
Concrete
Twilight Flight by Monty Wright
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset. – Crowfoot (Blackfoot warrior and orator)
I am life
created to praise my maker
in rising song,
faithful words,
poetic verse
and loving deeds.
Where I go my spirit animals lead,
but if I lose my way come night
or lose sight of where I came,
Dreams of fireflies will cover me in light
and an eagle's wings will lift me in flight.
Born in gentlest breeze,
floating on dainty wings.
I am taught by the firefly
to drift in serenity.
I follow, I lead, but I am never alone.
I feel freedom, creativity, new awakenings, and rebirth.
Inspired to fly,
my spirit is guided through darkness.
and where I land,
I am nested in the shadows
of an eagle keeping watch from above.
I am blessed by the eagle’s courage
that strengthens my spirit.
I am blessed by the firefly’s grace
that grants me peace.
Through their soaring eyes,
I am more aware
of beauty and danger on my path.
I value my victories,
dream of destinations,
and grow stronger from mistakes
drifting,
reaching,
climbing,
soaring.
The eagle guides me.
The firefly lights my way.
On life's journey,
I am lifted higher with every breath.
Until on wings, I am carried home.
Written 6/3/20 for Dear Heart’s
Spirit Animal Contest
Categories:
blackfoot, animal, flying, nature, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
Blowing up
On the thistledown tail
Dancing in grooves
Of Vulcans palm
Printed in a horses ear
Swimming in a fish's gills
Cleverly caught
To be spread on butterfly wings
Shouting, “I want the sun”
Til’ our buttress burned
In an atmospheric tumble
Down to a rotten oak stump
Swallowed by a spider
Who creeped into a castle
To spit me out
Onto a mousetrap of mirth
Finally freed
To be knighted
By the goddess of doom
Flicked on the rose garden
Hastily honored
From the tip of the royal thumb
Stomped under sauntered shoes
Of the blackfoot blues
So off I went
Only burgundy beside me
I believe I've had enough
Of this dime-store romance
On vaccinated vine street
Categories:
blackfoot, allusion, america, angst, community,
Form:
Free verse
Let me tell you a story ...
The story of Wolverine is so vast that I would need much more space,
though, I will tell you what I have gathered about this man;
he was born in Alberta, Canada in 1832 and named James Howlett,
but, he is really a fictional character of Marvel Comics.
Marvel created a mutant human with superior animal-keen senses,
enhanced physical capabilities and healing regeneration;
and three huge retractable claws and each hand- a ferocious force,
though, he had a brooding nature ... a loner with a temper.
He was born to rich farmers but found out his mother had an affair,
and he was the result- he kills his father and runs away;
ending up mining in the Yukon and changes his name to Logan,
he accidently kills his girlfriend and flees to the wilderness.
There he lives with wolves until he is captured and put in a circus,
he escapes and lives with the Blackfoot people of Canada;
in time, joining the military- held captive and experimented on,
becoming an agent trained by the Canadian government.
But he is unstable, his past murky, and he is difficult to control,
he appears in countless comics, either solo, or with X Men;
X Force, Alpha Flight, Fantastic Four, Avengers and many more,
sadly, he does die from suffocation by a horrible potion.
The potion is a hardening adamantion created by a Dr. Cornellius
Wolverine, Logan, James Howlett dies- kneeling in the sunset;
unknown to him he has a son that he never knew existed,
the son, becomes the new Wolverine of the Ultimate Universe.
Of course, comics tend to change the story ...
______________________
January 30, 2023
Poetry/Narrative/Wolverine
Copyright Protected, ID 01- 1522-182-30
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Marvel Superhero Or Supervillian
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 02/20/2023
First Place
Categories:
blackfoot, fantasy,
Form:
Narrative
Desolate Woman: From the Novel 'Revenge Along The War Trail'
“She's what the Blackfoot refer to
as ‘Desolate Woman’
Sad when she's happy,
—not happy when she's sad"
(Villanova Pennsylvania: 2016)
Categories:
blackfoot, sad,
Form:
Ballad
The teeth are dry.
It is Silken Thomas
muffling for promises
among the rats in his straw,
jostling for a hand,
once wielding but now
scratching the toes of power.
The tongue leather bitten,
studded with the supplication to You.
A lament of request,
where a crumpled
cluster of bones saddens.
We can’t only touch the fingers,
it is the dust that we pray to.
Skellig harbours the aping of Him,
the attempt to elbow and impress,
to crack a languid smirk somewhere, somehow.
Bless us with crusts and drinking water,
a hard bed and no doubt,
for these thy gifts.
Tertullian calm in Tibet,
Cork bet and the hay saved,
a good death for the Blackfoot Shamen:
all the islands of possibility
chipped in Easter heads.
There are nebuli in half breaths
and in the vacant thoughts of man
we spawn vaticanus, Giza, Picchu.
A rattle of stones stacked by bones,
their names will sometime hurt us.
Poor half naked Thomas,
breathing on the kindness of strangers,
with his five uncles shivering
on the whim of one.
We are drenched in his fear,
in his fall, in his beauty cracked to stink,
in his soiled fashion.
Our guts rejoice like a pleasure sickness,
vomiting lechery. 10th Earl of Kildare,
loved by the wrong ones and too young,
your prayer is heard,
though it throbs at your heart like a wound.
Our school story is brief,
your prayer echoes still.
Categories:
blackfoot, devotion, faith, freedom, history,
Form:
Free verse
Elegy
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”
-Rumi
Soil so dust to dust another loved lost,
Harvested soul now risen separated from its host.
Much needed rest an eager witness missing,
Long lived Lue Birder Grandma Lue,
Creek Blackfoot of such decent.
Native American African blood from Cameroon.
Tears of misunderstanding understood not to understand.
Miss guise until she was under the influent,
Her self is not here inside tis casket vision.
Her self has risen, nor has she died she’s risen.
Place not flowers beside nor atop of her;
She no longer can shell the aroma,
That that’s in the coffin just bones, that’s not Grandma.
Heaven sent, heaven scents blessedness we miss,
I look up I submit I smack smooch Kiss”….
Blow up onto heaven a Kiss,
Daddy Father God her presence I sore, truly miss.
Heaven blessed be at peace enjoy the fellowship and view
She’s not gone she’s just not here
Grandma Lue
8/24/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Categories:
blackfoot, analogy, appreciation, bereavement, death,
Form:
Elegy
So much lost…
so little gained
Prairies in judgment,
our destiny framed
So little gained
for what we lost
Spirits now orphaned
—tomorrow the cost
(Browning Montana: Blackfoot Reservation - May, 1995).
Categories:
blackfoot, destiny,
Form:
Rhyme
Do you hear the drumbeat of my heart?
The thunder of a Star’s descendent?
I’m bound to the sound there is no evil;
Nature is both the left and right hand;
Do you hear the pounding deep inside?
My spirit runs with the seven in the sky;
Coast to coast through the mountains,
I honor every mile of wide open land;
Do you hear the ancestral cry roll
whenever the Earth needs a warrior?
Cherokee and Blackfoot within me,
the blood in my veins a native groove;
Do you hear the drumbeat of my heart?
The thunder of a Star’s descendent?
Categories:
blackfoot, emotions, native american, nature,
Form:
Free verse