Best Indigenous Poems
©1996 RICO LEFFANTA
Apache Ga-an are like the disciples of Christ, they were most highly respected
Missionaries condemned the Ga-an as “Devil Dancers,” and called them inferior
“New World” new beliefs, but even the woman and children were unprotected
Apaches totally rejected a religion where humans only are considered superior
Evil men, who taught they were above everything else, “The Chosen Ones”
Apache language was unaccepted, so punished when it was proudly spoken
Franciscan’s, Jesuits, Spaniards, Comanches, confinement, disease, and guns
Killed, called them savages, or their spirits and bodies were gradually broken
The dance ceremony is performed to drum and song, and mostly at night
Four dancers representing different cardinal directions north, south, east, west
The messenger, “clown” with a dual nature is the only one who wears white
Dancers represent mountain spirits, their masks prepared by a shaman guest
A bull roarer or whistle starts the ceremony to create an ethereal sound
The ceremony is performed at na’ih’es, girl’s adulthood initiation ritual
Flashing adding to the dazzling effect are the mirrors on the crowned
Apache, indigenous peoples, associate with spirituality and are habitual
Powerful mountain spirits and a comical teacher who heals through laughter
You may see the Ga-an rise from the flames, when you hear the messenger
The dancer’s bodies painted with symbols and patterns, stars, of here after
Today, more enlightened Americans call the Ga-an, “Crown Dancers” ~
For several thousands of years
you upheld the sacredness of Nature
avoiding wanton destruction
of plant and animal life
taking only what you needed
since their sacredness was
just as important to you
as the sacredness of humanity
When harvesting wild rice for food
you let some fall into the water
to produce crops for the future
Surrounding a pack of wild sheep
while hunting in the mountains
you let a male and female escape
so by their reproductive process
they would ensure the
continuation of their species
You saw yourself as part of Nature
living in harmony with it
and not plundering it with greed
Your religion was to respect Nature
viewing all plants and animals
as parts of its magnificent fabric
Abuse of a part of it was
an abuse of the whole
Your way of life
provides valuable lessons
that can teach mankind how
to deal with today's ecological crisis
that threatens the survival
of all life on the planet
You were the genuine
Guardian of the Environment
I have always admired the way of life of the Native American Indians living in harmony with Nature before the advent of the Europeans. By extension, this applies to all indigenous peoples including the Amerindians and Polynesians. This piece is dedicated to them.
Let me hug you, human, and be one being,
Let the stars shine and go for sightseeing,
Let us share smiles under the moon,
Let our children play together at noon,
Let us be storytellers of justice and truth,
Let our people join our energetic youth,
Let us stroll in mountains and the huge lands,
Let us harvest and mix our colourful hands,
Let our souls heal the wounds of the past,
Let our hearts share lovely dreams so vast,
Let me make a step forward and close the gap,
Let me start a new page and recreate the map,
Let our lands be neighbours of one community,
Let me raise my head, at last, for the unity,
Let the rain fill my eyes so I water my mind,
Let me make a statement that we were blind,
Let these words make an epic song so original,
Let me become you, oh beautiful aboriginal,
Let the indigenous of you paint my words,
Let us swim like fishes and fly like birds,
Let me give you what is yours and all of what is mine,
Let us plan our future and for our past build a shrine.
Monday, 26th of November 2012
Indigenous feel of peaceful love Interferencing touch of skin
There has been no where better I have been
So empowered , clean , free
Often like Im at ease , drinking a tea ,
With stream ,
Although a dream It may seem
Weightlessly I can consumate
a lot more tonnage
At lifes pondurousness ,
Positive evoke , Energy we soak ,
Life comes on a stroke , but we stroke ...
So much left to unlock .
Potential in the abnormality , we catch stars with dignity ,
As one comes as one goes
Fly Away.. the crows
Come over , our doves
Closer together , the line draws
the hole hollows
Heart follows
Sweet marshmellows
and melons
We're here in the comfort
in the fort of love
Rozalia P. XS
No amount of political education
could quell his mingling organ they call ‘simple brain,’
while mutations from grammar association
to unravel civilization's complex pain.
His shield prepared against another man’s logic
a mind opened only to serve his needy soul,
he knows the whole wide world lost in pedagogic
actors all on strings portray their orthodox role.
Many years he stood in testament of this place
a visual creation of his ancestors,
deluge of emotion the wind of change did brace
where cultures collide to appease his molesters,
forced to greet one’s neighbour face to face in shackles
before moral bait preached from veiled tabernacles.
© Harry J Horsman 2019
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family
And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill
This explains much
Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk
There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing-
...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end
Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs
With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull
And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall
to grouse about my work...
As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind
Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures
Yes, this explains much
For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically
'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years
Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece
Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
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.
This is a journey, a trip call it what you will
It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill
Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past
Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last
This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me
To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen
How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official
Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale
It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see
The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me
The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five
Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive
Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed
Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void
As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day
I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played
We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find
Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind
He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed
Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked
We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago
They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows
This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will
No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill
Said the indigenous people of their land,
"Our Lord,
Since time started we lived here,
before prophets and their offsprings.
We built sanctuaries and prayer houses.
Our Lord,
today like never before,
we are under siege
as suffering invades our homes,
steal our sons,
silently rape our daughters,
and imprisons our men.
Our Lord,
when will you end this siege,
this carnage,
this destruction,
this inhumanity.
Stop the collective effort by mighty nations
to suppress our people.
Do we not show solitude in prayer to you?"
Do we not show humility,
to those who seek our brotherly feelings?
Yet these evil outbursts and suppressing efforts to batten us down
keep us enslaved within new walls in our lands,
of ancient times,
which we had never forsaken.
Our Lord,
Four thousand years back,
we took in their father Abraham,
treated him with love and kindness in our homes
and when he wandered off,
raised his children as ours.
Do you not see how they repay us?
With evil upon evil,
Our Lord,
We beseech thee,
free Palestine and the Palestinian people from this siege.
© Al. Juman The "said" Poet 6/29/2016
-'
-,
It is not my intention
to discriminate against anyone
by race, sex or religion
I write human err
The indigenous people of biafra
Every poeple has a right of an identification
Every poeple has a right to live
among themselves by themselves
If they so wish to isolates from an old identity
Hi friends have you ever had of biafra
A new nation is about to be born in africa
So to all biafrans
As you fight for freedom
Never gave up your right
The indigenous poeple of biafra
The country nigeria is a British colony
Before the existence of the name nigeria
first exists biafra
We are older than nigeria
We are a people from the supreme
We have our traditions
And our religion is truth (ofor)
We lived peacefully on our land
before the arrival of the hunters
Oh biafra my beloved country
The indigenous people of biafra
We speak igbo
And we worship the supreme
(chukwu abiama) the God of truth
We are well know as hard working
and creative people
And this is the only crime
We ve commited
So we are hated
As well isolated economically
and systematically
After we lost the war
3million biafrans dead
We had nothing left
But now we are the richest
in nigeria
Oh biafra
The land of hope
The land of the rising sun
The indigenous people of biafra
We are peaceful people
That is part of our tradition
We are tough but not rough
We are brave not coward
I see too many calls for freedom
In different places by same people
We need our right
We need be biafrans
And this is the only crime
We ve committed
It been too long we are not satisfied
with nigeria
Is been so long we yain to be free
As we sick for freedom
We are been jailed killed
Tortured
It been too long
But i know one day
We are going to gain
our long awaited freedom
By the grace of (chukwu abiama)
Our reality will soon come to light
Oh biafra my biafra
The land of hope
The land of the rising sun
I want to live in my mother's cheekbones that kiss the moon,
then climb down her braids and fall asleep in my indigenous silver spoon.
Indigenous forest so awash with trees.
Leaves strum a tune in the cool Autumn breeze.
Rustling rowans and galloping ash.
A rustic blanket for a well trodden path.
Plum tinged foliage,fleet of foot in the dance.
Melancholy movements has me in a trance.
Woodland dance floor with pine-needle skin.
Acorns descend hit the floor and join in.
Ancient great oak stands fearless and tall.
Watchfully presiding over each leaf that falls.
The seasons will pass and flowers will flourish.
All dancing their feet in Gods soil to nourish.
Drifting of herbs and bluebells in spring.
Come Summer,a chorus,the nightjar will sing.
Badgers emerging on mild winter nights.
Flittering bats in forest twilight.
Crossbills and siskins searching for fruit.
Goshawks and buzzards circle and swoop.
Indigenous forest,a landscape supreme.
Take the kids there tomorrow,its got to be seen.
Angry words have fear-mongering consequences,
said rhetorical behaviorist Hillary,
then Kamala, to Donald,
we would no more peacefully
and compassionately select a Donald Trump as President
than we would bipartisan co-invest to win Donald Duck for Empire Builder.
Words mean things,
said linguistic behaviorist Anat
to her fellow Economist Collective,
and the absence of kind words means something too.
We're not sure what
but I place my bet
on more discommunicating eco-political
ego-apartisanship.
FatherSun enlightenment led toward EarthMother liquidity.
We know this from our indigenous history
of Yang/Yin Win/Win
environmental science books
but this is difficult to see
how exactly this could be
without sufficient silence to recall
what dipolar co-arising energies lie in wait
within this shared bilateral brilliance.
Fire and water,
progenitors of stardust
eco-empowering,
sacred ecologizing
fertile organic planets
birthing health moisturized wealthy regenerations.
To paraphrase bodhisattva Joanna Macy,
Co-invested communing economics
is not more wishful monopolistic thinking
(or messianic ideation).
Active political gathering verbs
enlightening sacred habitats
do not wait for renowned
divisive
drowned-out
dis-organic trauma issues
to be reverently resurrected
and religiously re-membered
by monoculturing Donald Ducks
or by some Anti-Other quacking
self-serving colonization
of patriarchal monotheistic
discommunicating misbehavior.
Active Hope wakes up in love-life's ecological
EarthMother baptismal beauty
wonder
fertile light and flowing power sabbath
on who's silently communing behalf
we can act in sacred light
for animated
organic
polyamorous co-empowerment.
To the responsible Hillaries, and Kamalas:
Follow positively cooperative light,
not so much darkly threatening
reactively monolithic
swampy miscommunication.
To the authoritarian Donalds:
Follow your competitively brilliant
SunFather responsive truth
with EarthMother beauty
loves polyculturing liquidity,
not so much your prized
monopolistic
and monotheistic
anthro-patriarchal
discommunicating fear and anger
military-industrialized pathologies.
My beloved tekeli pitha!
They are rice cakes from Assam.
They are made by steaming them in a kettle (I call tekeli) lid.
Tekeli pitha
or
Kettle cake
tint of jaggery
making love with crushed coconut
cloak in grained rice
and spell of sesame seeds
steam and serve me
i tucked into the pithas in my kitchenette
I live with the aroma here in Assam
I carry the recipe to you there in London
Restless indigenous soul
Scraping the sky for new experience
Men drown their days in sequence
Bone eyes cast aside in assumption
Work contracts to forcefeed diligence
Its a pity to stay glued and arranged
Love knows no mobility like fame
Circulate your sordid notes
We will join irresistibly