Best Cherokee Poems
Cherokee Tears
ceremonial drums' rhythmic heartbeat
impassioned tribal chants
echo in Smoky Mountain mist before dawn
tortured spirit of an ignoble president
Andrew Jackson seems imprisoned here
haunted by wailing ghosts of tribe members
too old to meet Jackson's mandate
rise up, carry all you own
except your memories, your hopes
abandon graves of your ancestors
trek the "Trail of Tears" to a barren land
restless are the rising souls
natives who passed the pipe, welcomed whites
campers still report sightings
spirits walking and wailing from dusk till daybreak
specters bearing blood-spattered treaties
mingle in the Smoky Mountain mist
created by Cherokee tears
*Written November 20, 2018
For Line Gauthier's "Tribute to Native Cultures"
Cherokee chamber,
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,
She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,
I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -
J.A.B.
Cycling through time;
this wrack of flesh fleets on.
Spinning indifferently on a compressed
ball of mud.
Pulsing and thumping against
the deafening destiny of becoming
a part of what it was spat unto.
Sipping the blood of my father,
seeking understanding.
The wine of revelation is an
acquired taste and so I tend
to use it for marinating my
battered will.
I pray alongside songs of my peers,
and hope I can stand the flames
I am sure to meet;
This world is full of fire,
and I am it’s smoke
accumulating under blankets
held by my ancestors.
I am their story.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Mingo Falls, Cherokee NC
Come walk with me and rest your soul.
Go to where the waters flow,
and hear the music of natures’ best,
see how much we’re truly blessed.
Into the forest we’ll walk today
and see God’s splendor on display,
cascading down the mountain side;
Mingo Falls in all her pride.
We’ll sit awhile among the trees
and feel the cool, cool mountain breeze,
reflect upon the native’s ground,
enjoy these treasures we have found.
The water‘s pure, the air is clean
and everything is fresh and green,
for life is good despite our pain
when we take note of healing rain.
Come walk with me, forget despair,
enjoy these blessings that we share.
Upon this mountain, you and I
can spread our wings, learn to fly.
“Grandfather, grandfather! At school today,
a classmate hit me with a book.
The teacher made him stay inside
for recess. She said he was a good boy
who did a bad thing. What did she mean?”
“Grandson, I will tell you a story.
All men have inside of them two wolves.
One wolf is all that is good in the world:
the bravery of our fathers,
the strength of our mothers,
kindness toward friends,
compassion for our elders.
The other wolf is all that is bad in the world:
the hatred of one man for another
murder and theft among the clan
envy, sorrow, regret---
all that is evil among man.”
“And Grandfather, which wolf wins?
The one that you feed, grandson.
The one that you feed.”
The mother’s tears fall along the trail where they cried upon the bloody ground Families huddled together in a circle like quail The women’s smiles are nowhere to be found A prayerful flower along the tears has flourished Looking for beauty to forget the pain for the people need to be nourished like the thirsting earth needs the rain This flower blooming white with tears In the center stands the golden thieves coming to take the land now many years Finding strength from seven green leaves
Cherokee spirts riding in the clouds
Cherokee winds crying out loud ( Chorus )
The Cherokee spirits whispering from far away,
Calling, Calling, Calling through the winds,
Oh the longing message it sends.
Whispering ancestors bacon all family when life ends.
Cherokee spirts free, longin again to roam
Among the lands they once called home ( Chorus )
Winds sing banchee songs bellow in the night,
Of spirits calling of their long ago fright,
All souls now weakening with out fear, all who hear
lonely hearts those left behind, Rains of loved ones sheading tears.
Cherokee spirits roaming through the clouds
Looking for lost family among the crowds ( Chorus )
So if you hear at the end of your days,
becoming banchee winds calling your name
Though you never knew your ancestors,
yet unknowlingly always obeying Cherokee way
Cherokee spirits riding on the clouds
Calling through the winds riding over the crowds. (Chorus )
Then you may be....indian Cherokee family
Once so free that roamed this land endlessly
Cherokee spirits roaming still ever so free
Calling one last time all Cherokee family
By Linda Terrell
many days we walked
an unforgiving sun
beating down upon us
and at night
even the cold moon
seemed to curse us...
Seeing what no eye should see
our tears mingled with dust
and angry winds spoke
of the death of our people
our children, our old
succumbing to grief...
Our hearts cried out
Great Spirit, give strength
give courage to your people
let not this trail of tears
be the end of our great nation
let this not, be our defeat...
The Great Spirit heard
the anguish of his people and said
I will send them as a sign
an indestructible flower
which has both strength and beauty
a symbol of my love for them...
As dawn awoke
we turned our faces east
longing to see our ancestral home
to savour the richness of our heritage
as it was before the fathers of greed
stole it...
But what we saw was amazing
the trail we'd watered with tears
was alive and growing...
A white flower as pure as fresh snow
within its center gleaming gold
a lovely flower
surrounded by seven green leaves
and armed with sharp thorns
the Cherokee rose...
I know the Bear.
watcher, courage
unpredict(ability)
I know the Snake.
wisdom of initiation
I know the Wolf.
I know a pack of 'em.
loyalty, intuition
I know the Spider,
though I pretend
I don't.
shadows, communication
I know the Owl,
or, I pretend
I do.
insight, clairvoyance
I even know the Fox.
(I may be the Fox.)
cunning, hidden
messenger
I know the Bobcat, the Alligator.
patience, revenge
and other far-off
Beings, lost to this
space, but not lost
on me, not lost to me.
I know the Bat.
secrets, longevity
I know the Cougar.
So well that I call her,
not by her first name but,
the First Peoples' names:
I call her Catamount/Painter/Puma/
I call her Panther/Mountain Screamer/
I call her Amigo da Onça
foresight, leadership
silence, patience
I know the Coyote, the Crane.
ingenuity and folly; vigilance and independence
I know the Heron, the Lynx.
self-reliance, balance
guardian, listener, guide
And each of these,
each Medicine
each is prayed for
and each preys on
each arrives from
some inchoate world
(land? sky?)
beyond all sight.
An answered wish,
a plea,
a demand.
And each, a predator.
One who wrings life
from flesh
that it might deliver its
song, its dance of Medicine
to one so foolish as
me.
and yet the Hawk,
I see today,
though predator,
is the Medicine of
Solitude.
Near enough,
Far enough.
Alone enough,
apart enough.
a lone Alone.
Hawk
Arc
Lofted.
Lifted.
Hawk.
Medicine.
Alone among...
Denadagohvyu
I, born of the Cherokee man,
As their mothers and fathers were,
No blending to erase because of race,
I, a full-blooded Cherokee man.
Raised by a white man,
Without Cherokee blood.
Grew old in my blood,
Memories not told.
Known by the Tribe as a white guy,
With Cherokee blood,
Known by the white guy,
As a full Cherokee Man.
Moving forward I wed,
A full Cherokee woman,
Our children, raised by the Tribe,
My ancestry is alive.
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Sponsor Emile Pinet
She was sixteen when she spied her Cherokee.
Only fifteen, he was young, unsettled, and free.
At school they worked together so each could learn.
Before too long their friendship began to churn.
They blushed into their love; she waited for him.
Three years soon past while dreams flowed over the brim.
His father thought to stop the marriage sentence.
But elders watched them take their independence.
Time blooming with her love lived locked up inside.
The two of them were by new life bound, allied.
One spring night she became his beautiful bride.
Both knew they would forever be side by side.
Yes, they were young, so together they would lead.
Hearts bound by dreams and hopes surely should succeed.
Their family began without much guidance.
The scent of love became days’ sweetest fragrance.
As time grew on, manhood decided to lead.
A mom at home became his family creed.
Three children later and parties held at home.
His work grew slimmer; her Cherokee did roam.
He listened to outsiders and left his throne.
Then, suddenly, she and three kids were alone.
She tried to face all the problems fearlessly.
But ten years later, she lost her Cherokee.
12/30/2016
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
A journey they seek
Now forcibly evicted ~~
Generations past ¬
Everlasting memories
Follow the Cherokee Trail ~~
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/indigenous-americans-2.php
At the rising sun they came,
driving us from our homeland.
Miles and miles our people limped.
The weakened ones fell.
For the "Miles" contest
Illahee. Awenasa, Mahkah.
The lesson Momma taught me
(which momma never taught me)
was -
No, is.
To not be angry.
To endure your pain.
To let be as things be.
To not multiply your pain
by fletching and loosing blame.
Bend the bow into a bow,
offer connection.
Seeing.
Welcoming.
The lesson Momma taught me
(which momma never taught me)
was -
Notice.
Endure the theft of self by other.
Endure ignorant and ignoring.
Endure the losings of the way.
Support it all.
Support it all.
Offer flowers where you can.
Feed the trees.
Carry the herd.
Invite the flock.
Wait with the stones.
One day one will listen.
One day one will see.
Will that one be one being?
One culture?
One day?
One may one day One.
Endure.
Support.
Offer, Feed, Carry, Invite...
Wait.
The lesson Momma taught me.
Wordlessly.
Unceasingly.
Inerrantly.
(Which Momma never taught me, ‘cuz Momma doesn’t do.)
Know this.
To earn, to see, to receive these the lessons.
Is on us.
Our active offering to the Great Receptive.
Listen. Love. Learn.
One may one day One.
One day no one will have won.
One may one day One.
Listen. Love. Learn.