Best Native American Poems
your labored breathing
called out to me
and in my soul I knew
what needed to be done
I reached for the drum
to summon the spirits
called out to ancestors
and anyone who’d listen
gently tapping to the rhythm
of our beating hearts
united as one in a prayer
released to the universe
filled the silence of
your labored breathing
drumming for hours
till the pleading was done
everything had been said
the prayer consummated
left in the hands
of the universe to respond
then it did in no uncertain terms
in an exorcism of sorts
draining the passages
to free your breathing
and so it was
in tune with the universe
the healing power
of the drum
Read on air by invitation ~ February 11, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
Read on KPBX called Poetry Moment by Kara Bowman 2022 [karabowman.com and griefpoetry.com]
AP: 2nd place 2022, 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on June 13, 2025 for contest YOUR BEST AUDIO POEM sponsored by TOM WOODY - RANKED 2ND
and on May 28, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (MAY 29) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow,
You carried burdens then; you see them now.
You’ve heard the cries your people who in pain,
Have shed their tears two hundred years like rain.
Your sad brown eyes, reflecting now the sky
I see the wings of eagles flying by
Beside you stands an Appaloosa mare
Her spirit one with you now over there.
You hear the drums, they bid you to come near,
Your spirit drawn the beats they ring so clear.
Song like prayers are chanted through the night,
Calling you come, and help them end their plight.
You’ve heard sad cries and now stand at their side,
You join the prayers with both arms open wide,
United spirits sing until the dawn,
When in the fire’s flames a golden fawn.
Remembering a smile crosses your face,
When tribes were one with Mother Nature’s grace.
The lakes and streams flowing with waters clear,
Flow sadly now, the planet lives in fear.
The weightless feathers that adorn your head
Your tribes grey future weighed you down instead.
Now breathing deep you smell the winds of change
While here on earth your people rearrange.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.21.2014
Giorgio A.V. Contest
Iambic Pentameter
1st place
listen to the drum,
talking to the dance
listen to the elders,
whispering their chants
listen to the hooves, pounding on the plain
listen to the birds, prophesying rain
listen to the moon, time to plant the grain
listen to the tales, told around the fire
listen to the breeze, and the clouds conspire
listen for the buffalo, warn of dreadful days
listen, The Great Spirit speaks in many ways
listen for the eagle,
calling from the sky
listen
for the drum,
hear
a mournful sigh
--Virginia Slim--
Different eyes, the same world
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair
---Now listen to the colors, of transformation,
On the day she was born, the wind blew in,
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim
Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names.
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl,
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,
Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman,
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero,
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas tricked and captured,
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over,
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands
Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before the princess,
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands
by;PD
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"
A feather lost glides, drifting, it soars,
In the mighty wind, it twirls and swirls, as if dancing;
Once, the People owned all the wilderness,
They called it home, now they watch it be destroyed.
There, high upon a sheer jagged, rocky cliff,
An appaloosa horse of many colors stands majestic;
There, under a blazing azure sky above,
An Ojibwa girl looks at the beautiful land of Canada.
There, in that mighty wind that roars and howls,
Eagle feathers in my hair and on my horse gently flutter;
There, below the Ottawa River thunders,
And the vast lands of wilderness stretch to the horizon.
There, above in that cloudless sky canopy,
Eagles fly, symbolizing the Peoples spirit and strength;
There, in my dream, I am one with my ancestors,
The only sound is the wind that moves the fluttering feathers.
A feather lost glides, drifting, it soars,
In the mighty wind, it twirls and swirls, as if dancing;
Once, the People owned all the wilderness,
They called it home, now they watch it be destroyed.
____________________________
April 29, 2016
Poetry/Verse/"A Lost Feather"
Copyright Protected, ID 16-783-077-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
4/1/2019, 2019 Poetry Marathon Final Placement
Sponsor, Mark Toney
Seventh Place
_______________________________
Submitted to Marathon, Mile 24
Sponsor, Mark Toney
First Place
________________________________
For the contest, A Poem Please
sponsor, John Lawless
Fourth Place
Charcoal black tip of arrowhead,
among these ancient, stones - stained red
Heartbeats share rhythms of ghostly drums..
Winds carry haunting, chanting hums
I feel your blood, flow here with mine,
outlasting, even decaying time
I've been told the stories, told to you,
I know we're just spirits, passing through
When thunder, shakes awake the night,
I vision warriors by firelight
Their voices echo, around mountain's soul,
while moon and stars watch us below
Respect the sky, and mother earth,
borrow the beauty, from time of birth
Then give in death peacefully
yourself, to rest eternally
Among these ancient, stones - stained red,
my mirror reflects traces, of those long...........
remembered.......
©Donna Jones
11-8-2013
‘neath the halo of a full moon
Wind Talker gives music to the night
flute carved from a fallen tree
he plays to the dwindling forest
trees that remain and creatures losing habitat
softly the melody resonates through the woods
Wind Talker recalls stories handed down
tribal legacies of prosperity, joy
an era when animals were protected and revered
glory days of spiritual people
proud Native Americans who honored their culture
cast away even as treaties were signed
so much has been lost
so much
clad in soft skins
Wind Talker wishes for what might have been
if settlers had never made their way to his land
yes, the land is his
it always will be; this he knows
his heart’s sadness emanates from Wind Talker’s flute
development is approaching, encroaching
more houses, more highways
fewer trees, less land for animals to roam freely
resignation sets in
no way to reclaim the past
ceremonial drums fade in the distance
so much has been lost
so much
trees tessellated
prismatic presentation ~
wizened eyes widen
(September Full Moon – Anishinaabe)
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.
Come with me to the Talking Tree
a place where spirit and nature can be.
Where science of the forest couples
with ancient traditions of the land.
Where indigenous people learn to live
with trees mindfully hand in hand.
Listen to branches rustling hymns
through silent sounds in their limbs.
Mighty Maples murmur in the breeze
sweet tales of syrup drawn to please.
Trees converse, they do care
sending forest messages everywhere.
Through the air and underground
signals pulse from floor to crown.
Quaking Aspen is known for being
the earth's most massive living thing
these trees united by one root system
the world's largest superorganism.
Trees often act for collective good
doing exactly what they should.
Sometimes they will reset their mast
until the attacking danger's passed.
Internal rhythms set their pace
slower than the human race.
Tree's daily burden that they bare
is they process the world's air.
Did trees learn survival plans proven
in the 360 million years pre-human?
What do 7 billion humans foresee
as the fate for earth's 3 trillion trees?
Fallen trees again live too
vessels that life flows through.
Their wood relives deeply in
buildings, books even violins.
So stand with me in equanimity
and listen for lyrics patiently.
Wait to hear beneath this tree
poised to the sound of "poetree".
Susan Boulet was an artist 1941-1997
Her paintings are famous for their layered effects which she started later on in her artistic career. She loved fantasy which is easily seen in her paintings. This is my fantasy poem as I look at this beautiful picture painted by Susan Boulet.
The old man sits quietly on the hillside, knowing his days as one
Spirit would soon be coming to an end. He stares blankly at the heavens where the pale blue sky is the backsplash for Cumulus clouds now filling in, the horizon. He chants his prayer over and over again calling his brothers to come receive his spirit and be one with him for all eternity. Brother bear, cloak me with the warmth of your coat that we may walk through each winter and never be cold again. We will stand together as one, never again will we know fear. Brother wolf fill my heart with your loyal spirit that we may rise to heights of a love greater than any human could possibly achieve. His prayer seems to rise more intensely as he continues. Mighty cat, share with me your speed that we may be faster than the wind, jumping through the clouds as one. Wise and good owl, become one with us that we shall have wings to fly as eagles and wisdom to find eternal peace. Now the old man whispers, together we shall hold the secrets of the universe in our hands. Soon his chin drops down on his chest as a smile crosses his face, and the old frail body crumbles to the hard rocky ground. Then the cry of a wolf, the hoot of an owl and simultaneously the roars of a sabre-toothed and bear echo through the valley. As darkness fills the sky and the moon is high, the silhouette of a young warrior stands proudly on the bluff.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.26.2014
For Debbie Guzzi’s Contest:
Free Verse, Prose Poetry, Haibun
Oh Great Dream Weaver
may the strands of hair
be placed just so
While the fog settles down
out in the fields hovering
ever so low
With wise hands just where
to wind the leather
to know
How to entangle bad dreams,
caught upon your web
so away they go
Through the many intricate
patterns and all the
tiny little holes
Permit the good dreams
to pass through and
take hold
Halito = Blessings to you in Choctaw-Apache
Copyright © by Scarlett Anderson
The year 1890
December 29th
Wounded Knee, South Dakota
My tribe lost their lives
The USS 7th
On their orders so
To round up the Sioux
Railroad herd them and go
Us Lakota were next
To disarm their request
But my cousin Black Coyote
At best he was deaf
Not hearing the orders
To lay down our guns
A chain reaction
Ensued on my tribal ones
Chaos and mayhem
Distressed our grounds
This proud nation
Beaten down
Men, women and children
300 slain
Another reminder
For the white mans gain
To disrespect the fallen
Slows our souls to our gods
We were left in a blizzard
Hardened like logs
In three days we rose
Civilians did lift
And dumped us unceremoniously
In a hole in the drift
My corpse and my peoples
Stripped and robbed
As flakes of snow
Confirm our spirits have sobbed
As i am reborn again
In another country
It gives me the freedom
To look back and see
That December day in 1890
Gunning down innocent ones
Not so mighty
The Medal of Honor
In their distinguished past
The record still stands
On their chests they flash
But attitudes change
As two centuries pass
The Medal Of Honor
Has won back its class
No longer the weak
Gunned down by the strong
Its man against man
Sometimes they do wrong
So as i sit back in my adopted nation
Will i live again past this lives station
Writing the wrongs of modern man
This Lakota warrior who never ran
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/native-americans.php
steal their land
then dine with them....
no reservations needed
**for Chris Aechtner's Yet Another Senryu contest