Best Mohawk Poems
As the rooster crows:
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant Makassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, Mohawk, flamboyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.
Heckles from the henhouse:
As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.
A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?
No reason for men to grow manic;
Mustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.
The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive!
*Many thanks to Paul Callus for inviting me to join in this co-write.
Categories:
mohawk, hair, humor,
Form:
Verse
Haudenosaunee ...
translation: They made the house
But who painted it
the colors we now see ---
Red, white and blue
Let's go back in time shall we,
and observe who cut down the first tree
in the eleventh century
Five Nations ...
called by one name, Iroquois
A French given name
Separate nations who agreed
to live under the same
Great Law of Peace
Signified by the Great Tree
that housed all five families
under one roof
Haudenosaunee ...
The long house was proof
that all nations could come together as one
under one roof
A novel idea, way ahead of its time,
the first North American U.N. of it's kind
That was a nice trip back in history,
but the question still remains: who painted the long house
the colors we now see ---
Red, white and blue
The answer, perhaps you never knew
Even so, you never thought about it much, did you
Mohawk red ... a lot of spilt bloodshed
Onondaga white ... a lot of innocent loss of lives
Oneida blue ... a lot of human souls traded too
Cayuga red ... a lot of totems toppled on their head
Seneca white ... a lot of war whoops in the night
Iroquois turquoise blue ... a lot of ancient land taken by someone new
Seems two coats of war paint wasn't enough,
too bad they didn't first try the color of love
Categories:
mohawk, allegory, history, truth, war,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I cannot say with any certainty
why it came to me, then, there,
but it came to me
unexpected as birth.
The kitchen was bright as the summer
and comfortable as the paving
next to the swimming pool.
Our hosts were pleasant as we were,
the conversation pleasant as our hosts
as pleasant as we were.
Yet somehow it came to me
that there might be a man at the table
unpleasant and angry as life itself,
and somehow it came to me
that he might be me.
I didn't like him much
but I wouldn't dare tell him,
he was far too unpleasant and angry,
I'd seen his kind before.
He was shorter and stouter than I would be
but he might be me.
He was made of muscle and malice
and maybe some contraband too.
He had a mohawk, or something not far off,
they'd not been seen much
in polite society, not yet.
If it was good enough for Mr T
it was good enough for a swaggering bandit
returning from prison, or from the war,
or a crack-house on the fringes of midnight.
He ranted some, he spat it out with relish.
I'm not sure who he ranted at
but he ranted, maybe at everyone.
He may have ranted at me just a little,
perhaps because I let him,
but if you'd met him you would have too.
13th July 2018
Categories:
mohawk, birth,
Form:
Free verse
Climb high these mountains
And meet cliffs of history
Snug against the moon
Cold lover's warm kiss
Caress each syllable of song
Love makes joy exist
Adirondacks mist
The milk of mothering trees
Melted on morning's joy
Tongue lark the dark lakes
Water births of memory
Ego ice thin here
The nation's blood lens
The red moon night, so pride stakes
Claim to fluid truth
The wind prowls the skin
Stirring leaves of memories
A breast dried of peace
Algonquian trail
Footsteps eat the span of trees
Man is small in grief
The muskets torment
Fusion of mission and right
The north shrikes lament
And beg migrants gone
But wax wing they shun the sun
Bunting snow for life.
Old Mohawk glory
Gone when forest bare shivers
In castles of ice
Steel teeth scrape the rocks
And eat iron from the ore
Of greed, killing trees
Logging the green tongue
Of the sun's wealth of heat
For this new kingdom
Of civilized men
Performing barbaric feats
Distant from the den.
Dusk the Gilded Age
Of rage ... like natives, all past
Diseased to the eye
A new dawn breaks song
And howls of joy claim again
The blessings of rain
Sceptered in the throat
Cities' diamonds of dew
Love of warblers note.
Love is eagle's joy
Climbing high against the breast
Peaking in delight.
Categories:
mohawk, nature, satirejoy,
Form:
Haiku
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:
mohawk, joy,
Form:
Abecedarian
Poodle... A puff on the left
A puff on the right
And always dyed white
The Nest... Teased like a stampede
That's been unleashed
The look of an endangered beast
Shaved Art... Some with faces, some with decorations
Are they going forward or behind
I hope they are supervised
Mohawk... Oh my what a shock
Some are four feet high and unbending
If you don't duck you'll be crying
Half Of Hair... One side bald the other side long
What a dingdong
It's just all wrong
So this is my opinion, sorry if I offend you!
1/27/15 T Reams
Categories:
mohawk, fashion, funny, hair, hilarious,
Form:
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:
mohawk, native american,
Form:
ABC
Mohawk, Mandan, Kikapu, Cree,
Yakoma,Seminole, Crow,Shawnee.
Arapaho, Chippewa and Sioux,
Mystical names to me and you.
Names like Delaware, Fox and Paiute,
Listen to their music on the flute.
Lakota, Macuna, Omulgee, Nes Perce,
Yuma,Nakota,Ossage, Washoe, Hualapai
All names that should never ever go away.
Many now confined to history, sad to say,
Mans greed for land that was not theirs,
Caring nothing for the Indian affairs.
Starved and defeated they were moved away,
Now are conveniently forgotten up to this day.
For 400 years the remainder has cried,
Who is going to pay for this act of genocide.
Man will never right this wrong, or even admit,
To the atrocities that they did commit.
Sacred Lands abused all the way through history,
Hundreds of tribes that roamed from sea to shining sea.
All long gone now lost to you and me
So many nations will be no more,
But their names live on and their spirits soar.
Remember their music and listen to their song,
Then their culture and memory will continue long.
Lest we forget. My offering of Remembrance
for the Native American Indian peoples.
© Dave Timperley 20 September 2016
Categories:
mohawk, america, discrimination, eulogy, holocaust,
Form:
Rhyme
A Storm is whirling in town this week, as Dragon’s sidekick is on a streak.
Yes, the little Dragoness is here, and its havoc, she does endlessly wreak.
She took her cape with a small “d”, and made it definitely, into a large “B”.
Then she appliquéd butterflies all around, and painted her wings… yes…
With matching abound.
Now, when Super Dragon is called, Madame Butterfly arrives first, all recall.
She invited the Trolls to follow her around, making it a gang of true renown…
Yep! The butterfly gang has come to town with Dragoness wearing the crown.
Super Dragon was following a length behind, because she was faster, by dang!
And she’s fighting crime with a Capital BANG!
Some teenagers were bullying, little kids, of their lunch money, it’s true…
So Madame Butterfly gave them a reverse Mohawk, with her fire that flew!
Then sent them to set up their own rock band, which became the hit of the land!
Now making tons of money, while having a hoot, they send her, a weekly tribute.
So now the Trolls have butterfly capes, too.
Then Dragon was called to save a family caught in a fire, their plight was dire!
Dragon was inside to get them out, Dragoness instructed the Trolls, on how to…
Put the fire, quickly out! She was talking to the Paparazzi when Dragon came out,
Discussing, with them the plans, on how she was instructing the Trolls to build…
Them a bigger, and safer house, and was dutifully signing autographs for her fans.
Then that mugger, that came to our park, she chased him away, and he never again,
Chose here, to embark… Then she finished up, by putting the Trolls to work…
To build a new Butterfly House… as a perk!! Yep, Dragon was soundly forgotten.
As she kept beating him there first, and he was shoved into the background…
For him it was the very, VERY worst!
But her Mama Dragon only allowed her to stay for one single week…
Then the town was given back to Dragons’ Super Duper mystique…
Still the legend of “Madame Butterfly” will always remain, yes, it’s true…
And her stories will be told throughout time, until the end, of this town, it’s true.
Will she return? Or with Super Duper Dragon, will they have to make do?
For that answer… Stay tuned… is all I can say to you…
Written 5-5-2016
Categories:
mohawk, fantasy, fun, funny, hilarious,
Form:
Light Verse
IF’s and Buts
I started this poem way back in September
Dog-eared my journal so I could remember
I didn’t have much, just one line in rough-cut
And it all started out with “if” and “but”
If “ifs” and “buts” were candy and nuts
I’d be in a diabetic trance
For “ifs” and “buts” have driven me nuts
At each and every chance
If only I were richer
If only I was smarter
If only better looking
If only a self starter
But gambling is a habit of mine
But school was a waste of time
But I got a Mohawk when high
But I am too lazy to try
Yes, if “ifs” and “buts” were candy and nuts
I’ve sampled more than my share
No one’s fault but my own
Now just leave me alone
For if truth’s told, I really don’t care
Mdailey 3/8/12
Categories:
mohawk, introspection, on writing and
Form:
Rhyme
As the rooster crows:
A look in the pool mirrored a perfect mop
At times of frizzy hair or defiant shaggy tresses
Ohhh the satisfaction at the sight
And yabba, dabba, doo!! echoed loud and clear
Triumphant male ego at its best!
A man’s crowning glory
Pulled, cut, brushed, curled, straightened, shaved
Lathered, gelled, creamed and pasted
Soaked in fragrant macassar oil
Invigorator, conditioning both groom and style.
Macho, gentle, sweet, daring tastes
Side-partings, medium, undercut and long
Sporting pony-tails, short back and sides
Elvis and James Dean quiffs curled kiss-me-quicks,
Punk, mohawk, flambouyant fringes
Highlights and lowlights, sprays and blow-dries!
All part and parcel of male vanity and crowning glory.
Heckles from the hen house:
As some men grow older they shed hair.
Each day they seek strands that were once there,
But skin patches widen --
Just check out Joe Biden.
Prepare to shut eyes in the bright glare.
A comb-over seems like a good plan,
But ladies don’t flock to a con man.
With 10 hairs remaining,
A “crown” they are feigning.
What happens when strands face a wind fan?
No reason for men to grow manic;
Moustaches and beards can work magic,
Diverting attention
Without the pretension
That balding is simply too tragic.
The “rug” method’s just too expensive,
Espec’ly when loss is extensive.
Like Telly Savalas,
The outcome’s not callous --
Few women find baldness offensive!
-----------------------------------------------
With special thanks to Carolyn Devonshire
with whom this fun write was written.
Categories:
mohawk, hair,
Form:
Free verse
A Place of Creation
---------------------
Telephone City, Wayne Gretzky’s home town, the place of my birth.
Thirty three years, I played, worked and walked this piece of earth.
Given - by Sir Frederick Haldimand, “ Haldimand Proclamation, ” -
to the Iroquois, six miles, each side of the Grand River, the six Nation
Reserve, from its source to its mouth ( 950,000 acres ) 904,000 eradicated,
46,000 acres left for the Mohawk, Cayuga, Onondaga, the rest confiscated,
as the Oneida, Seneca and Tuscarora are left to share this land.
Most taken by many devious means at the white man’s hand.
This is the place I grew up, the place that educated me.
The mean Streets of Brantford, forty years I seldom see.
Three thousand miles, forty two years away.
Life has been, in many ways, lived within a fray.
Home is where the soul, the spirit, the heart is, anyway.
So out here in beautiful B. C., is where I will stay.
B. J. “A” 2
April 4th 2016
Categories:
mohawk, home,
Form:
Rhyme
I was heading to the bunkhouse, after a wild night on the town
dancing & romancing & one too many round
Back in my wild & woolly days, one more rowdy Saturday night
full of cheap beer & whiskey & the necessary fight
I set Ol' Gus on auto pilot, he knew the way back to the spread
And I set to fighting with those rotgut demons dancing in my head
We were getting pretty close to home, so I eased up on the bit
when all of a sudden that dang horse he up & quit
His ears were all pricked forward, listening quite intense
I caught a drift of what might pass for music, somewhere beyond the fence
It took a lot of persuading, cussing & cajoling
but I got ol' Gus headed for all the caterwauling
the sound got more peculiar as we crested the hill
the memory of what I saw that moonlit night stays with me still
for I had stumbled on a peculiar party, hosted by a peg leg dog
and there was a one eyed pole cat doing comedic monologue
A Blueberry Roan soon took the stage, singing Motley Crue
I swear I saw a big ol' ornery hog with a "born to squeal" tattoo
There were bulls & Heifers dancing, I couldn't believe my eyes
why those bovine wore spikes and body piercings, in places utterly unwise
There where horses with mohawk hairdos head banging to the song
I swear to you, Ol' Gus, he began to sway & sing along
Now I know what you're thinking & I most heartily agree
it was the moon & wind playing tricks, along with rotgut whiskey
You city folks can keep your pink elephants parading in tutus
for this cowboy was shown the light by a Roan in blue suede shoes
I gave up hell raising & carousing, said so long to the honky-tonk life
Happy now to stick to ranching & dancing under the moon with my wife
But every now & again, when the wind blows & the moon is shining bright
I swear I can hear the livestock laughing & head banging through the night
Categories:
mohawk, cowboy-western, funny, happiness, song-night,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
each stroke of greased fingers on the mohawk
was a result of a genius work of art
an outlet where my soul barely peeks
yet you cut with your hypocritical shears and your rusty hand
and you call it discipline
and you call it concern
I call it ********
the shadows on my
eyelids were davincis and picassos
sketched in a magnificent representation
of inner self which you all want to see
yet suffocate by your rotten curricula
and you call it quality
and you call it excellence
I call it ********
the silver that glitters in these ears
conceals the tortures of my youth
the horrors that dwell in my every sleep
yet you rip from my skin you are unworthy of touch
and you call it decency
and you call it suitability
I call it ********
An Entrant into SKAT ACE's POEMS OF ATTITUDE Contest
Categories:
mohawk, angst,
Form:
Verse
Hey, Pilgrims,
Let's dress-up
Dress-down the plumes
of the dancing Peacock
(If we'd allow)
but for the Ritual;
For Francsly speaking
in tongues of plata y oro,
Pound-for-bloody-pound
How much 'cide this buys?
A simply-uneasy angst to the quest,
Oh, how Corpulent "m.d.'s" -
Which dystrophy Indigene Water - Land - Identity muscle
Manifest your Destiny! - Trophied.
Lots of time for sargeants,
for unhappy Cherokee rides on trails to tears
Led from 50,000 years to Discovery? Indeed!
With no reservation
'cept to enslave the Spirit,
And with tobacco & cotton gotten
from the corn colors of the Earth!
Are the Iroquois/Mohawk/Navajo/Cherokee/Hopi
Thankfully jeeping...?
Don You grisly-now...
Our meleagris gallopavo decapatito,
Strut and march like mute Mummera in the Charade!
Cum Multis Aliis
Categories:
mohawk, angst, black african american,
Form:
Free verse