Best Hiawatha Poems
The Cave
I descended in the cavern,
Through a passage, I descended,
Deep and deeper, ever narrow,
Ever further, ever darker.
As I sat and turned my light off,
Not a glimmer, not a flicker,
Not a shine of distant lantern,
Utter darkness, black and starless.
Not a sound of beast or human,
Not the plink of dripping water
Nor the rustling of faint breezes –
Utter silence, mute and soundless.
And I felt the cool hard limestone,
Felt the rock beneath my body,
Felt the wisdom and the secrets
In the ancient womb of Gaia.
Contest Echoes of Hiawatha:
Compose a poem in the style of Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, maximum 20 lines. Form must be trochaic tetrameter, no rhyme (Select form as "verse"). Incorporate Longfellow's use of repetition as a device.
Riding bareback ‘cross the wide plains
Brave Geronimo in his deep pain
Makes his pathway, looking forward
Never losing faith in fortune
To the far off land Dakota
Where he will seek for an answer
To the question that pursues him:
How and why and where he came from.
Warrior, peace man, loving life
Through this world’s unending strife
Boldly, lonely, empty-hearted
Seeking out the place he started,
Gripped and held in life’s deep wonder
Hearing only endless thunder.
‘Cross the wide, dark Gitchigumi
Named and famed by the Ojibwe
Through the lands of the Navajo
Apache, Cherokee and Sioux
On and on he journeys fiercely
Never pausing, never fal’tring
Prowling through his mind’s great vastness:
Infinite, eternal, endless:
Here he seeks to cease pretending
That he knows his life’s true meaning.
Without guide, without companion
Through forests wide and darkest canyon
Holding fast his faith in meaning,
Hope and purpose to his dreaming
Of his love at home awaiting
His return with light enlightened.
Peacemaker of the forgotten days.
He fasted and suffered
for the peaceful relations
of all the people.
“My poor children, listen to the word of wisdom,
listen to the word of warning
from the lips of Great Spirit,
from the author of life”.
Abandon your war-gear
and you will enter the Sky World.
God gave you Guardian Spirit
for protection from evil.
Souls of the Blessed were visiting Hiawatha.
He spoke to good spirits often,
when the pallid moon, the Night- sun was on.
In his visions, he spoke to Manitu.
He devised the written language for his people,
directed them not to bury the dead with earthly possessions
and changed the pagan custom of opening graves
to free the spirits of dead people.
He told his people to accept
pale-faced people who will come
in a great canoe with wings –
so they obeyed, the prophet of God.
The 90 year old
Could no longer bend or even lean
Over
His brother’s grave
Stands in the sun with his planted cane
At his elbow
Tells me
He hears his brother speak from the grass
“Bobby, where have you been all these years?”
Dad turns to me
Says when he was 13
And the Army telegram arrived at the house
And his mother and father tore it open
On the Roosevelt porch
He ran down Sutherland Street to downtown Ironwood
With shock if not even a grin
Wired across his face
Shouting from the Walnut-split sidewalks
“My brother’s been killed! My brother’s been killed!”
Haunted
By his youthful exuberance
For all his old days thereafter
Thought he was responsible
For his mother losing her hair
Nest unraveled by a storm
For his father
Never using a razor again
Instead, each morning
Rubbing expressions clean in the sink
With his palms
For the only thing
Left standing
In this near-abandoned mining town
A fifty foot fiberglass statute
Of Chief Hiawatha
Gazing over the passage of centuries
Never lets go of any soul
No matter the crimes against humanity.
Today we traveled from Bayfield, Wisconsin to Bark River, Michigan
We are staying at a beautiful cabin by the lake….
The 200 mile drive went smoothly…except for one slight navigational mistake.
We planned to stop at this 52 foot. statue of Hiawatha
In Iron River…where…since 1964 he has stood.
In my defense…not knowing Michigan
it’s easy to mix up Iron River…with the similar sounding Ironwood.
So…when we reached Iron River and Deborah read about the statue
I was half right …Hiawatha is his name
but he stands in the town of Ironwood…100 miles back the way we came.
So much for Hiawatha…and my map reading expertise…
but we forgot all about him when we reached our cabin…
nestled among white cedar trees.
We learned from Walt, the owner of our cabin,
as we felt a cool Lake Michigan breeze…
how, to the Native Americans, white cedars are considered sacred trees.
In his front yard we listened…surrounded by a wide array of flowers
while Walt told us how they believe the white cedars are imbued with healing powers.
How passed down from their ancestors…were legends such as these…
that there are protective spirits hidden in these trees.
He encouraged us to hug these trees… so we could feel their power too
which of course the two of us were more than willing and happy to do.
The white cedars are also called the tree of life…
because…lasting through the summer heat and the winter cold….
some white cedars standing today…are well over 1000 years old.
If we had to miss a 52 foot Hiawatha…by taking the wrong route
landing in thicket of 50 foot tall white cedar was a wonderful substitute
Stories such as these…like the one you have just heard…
prove once again how life is…and always will be…such a beautiful word.