Best Ojibwa Poems
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
I walk an already trodden path...
Uncertain, of future lives that lie ahead
But, in faith I close these earthly Ojibwa eyes
In trill, thus, I hear the old ways in your presence amidst Chinook winds
As harmonic they play across the plains, from sacred astral pipes
Mimicking cricket songs that echo abstract out of the season's last autumn mist
I also hear your fifes in the rustle of the leaves, rising into writhe
And almost see your spirit aura as it accompanies the Algonquian breeze
Ancient ghost of proud, but now lost upon a dying nation tribe
Your music from beyond is narrations of a mystical language nature speaks
Sweeping thrush calls, chirps through weeping willow weeps,
Unto past September sounds, beating down on war drum clouds, of thundering maelstrom claps
And babbling brooks going on and on until narrowing creaky creeks
Alas, whooper wills warning and morning loons mourning, hidden amidst the swaying grass
When I see you, I imagine spectral legends majestic high across horizon's sky
Snowy silhouettes in headdress, drifting in flowing rainbow crowns
And with the night, I see you in my mind dance as the "Will-Ó-the-wisp" just might
Then, my body shivers from the distance, where your flute imitates the cry of the lone coyote's sound
As for all of your Mishomis (grandfather) traditions, I accept there is a greater essence
Kindred I am, son to your spirit and without partition from an Ojibwa eye
And I stand here staunch in cattail marshes, pondering my place in ancestral questions
Now, your answers again begin to play upon the wind, but this time traveling through the November... Whispers on needles of the pine
I walk an already trodden path...
But, each new step before me keeps this culture alive...
Written in honor of my Chippewa family ©2012 Michael G. Smith
My people the Ojibwa are fierce and strong. A people of stories, myths and
knowledge. On birch bark scrolls and stones their history is told. And I,
a mere Ojibwa girl writes stories. The early Canadian explorers wrote of
our fierce warriors. "Strong arms held bows, arrows and clubs, their bodies
tattooed in various fashion and design, faces painted and noses pierced."
Eventually they stole our land, so I fight for the rights of my people.
I tell my stories
keeping the warriors alive -
their strength and spirit
And there upon a sheer and rocky cliff a black stallion stands majestic under a
blazing sun. My Ojibwa warrior looks at me with great love. In the air and wind
that roars, his feathers earned in acts of bravery flutter. I am nestled within his
strong arms. My turquoise and glass beaded dress sparkles in the sun. Far below
the Ottawa River thunders. The vast lands of Canada stretch to the horizon. Up
above in the azure, many eagles soar, as a symbol of Ojibwa unity. The Spirit
Fathers approve of this love. And in this dreamy dream the imagination of this
Ojibwa girl moves his majestic feathers. The beauty will never fade in stories.
wild water echoes
of land as far as the eye -
and tribes brave and fierce
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May 1, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/An Ojibwe Girl - My Spirit
Copyright Protected, ID 05-668-447-01
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Stndar contest, Show Me Your Spirit,
sponsor, FJ Thomas, HM, Judged 2015
The plains people such as Lakota, Crow and Ojibwa
Spread throughout the Native American world
Who believe that the sickness is borne out of
The individual’s being out of harmony in life.
Witchery, sorcery, wizardry ways they heal it
Out of the three they prefer the witchery way
Corn pollen is said to be pure and immaculate
Sprinkling with corn pollen helps to cure disharmony
In fact corn pollen so powerful and trusted
That people carry it simply for good luck.
Navajo shamans confirms it as the most powerful
It’s a healing bridge between humans and spirits
+++++++
Date:5-11-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth Place Win
Contest: Native American people by Shanity Rain
^^^^^
My people, the Ojibwe, fierce and strong
A people of stories and myths and knowledge
On birch bark scrolls and stones their history told
And I, a mere Ojibwa girl, write stories . . .
The early Canadian explorers wrote of our warriors . . .
". . . strong arms held bows, arrows and clubs,
their bodies tattooed in various fashion and design,
faces painted and noses pierced, majestic feathers"
Eventually, they stole our lands . . .
So, I tell my stories, I dream my dreams of a time past . . .
There
Upon a sheer and rocky cliff
The Appaloosa horse of many colors stands majestic
There
Under the blazing blue sky
An Ojibwe warrior looks at me with great love
There
In the air and wind that roars
His feathers earned in acts of bravery quietly move
There
Nestled in his strong arms
My turquoise and glass beaded dress sparkles in the sun
There
Below the Ottawa River thunders
The vast lands of Canada stretch to the horizon
There
Above in that perfect sky
Eagles soar together as a symbol of Ojibwa unity
There
In the imagination of an Ojibwa girl
The only sound the wind that moves those feathers
Today, the majority of First Nation still live on reservations . . .
_________________________
May 24, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/The Ojibwe
Copyright Protected, ID 05-480-540-24
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Your Nationality
sponsor, Nathan D, Judged, 05/30/2013
Second Place
^^^^^
My people are the Ojibwa, fierce and strong,
a people of stories and myths and knowledge;
on birch bark scrolls and stones their history told,
and I, a mere Ojibwa girl, write stories . . .
There, upon a sheer and rocky cliff the Appaloosa horse
of many colors stands majestic.
There, under the blazing blue sky an Ojibwa warrior
looks at me with great love.
There, in the air and wind that roars.
his feathers earned in acts of bravery quietly move.
There, nestled in his strong arms
my turquoise and glass beaded dress sparkles in the sun.
There, below the Ottawa River thunders
and the vast lands of Canada stretch to the horizon.
There, above in that perfect sky
eagles soar together as a symbol of Ojibwa unity.
There, the only sound is the wind that moves his feathers.
______________________
May 24, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/A Mere Ojibwe Girl
Copyright Protected, ID 13-1072-902-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Mid October 2018
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
"Beautiful Heart"
Miikawaadizi
Kindhearted, thoughtful, courteous, trustworthy
Daughter of Jacqueline and Conrad (address Heaven)
Lover of my Ojibwa grandma, beloved husband, and baby boy (gone)
Who feels blessed by God, blessed with words, and with good memories
Who fears floods, wild winds, and earthquakes
Who would like to see no wars, justice for First Nation People's, no prejudice
Resident of this great big wonderful World
Ode
I have a really precious kitty cat by the name of Snuggles Kitty,
she is so soft and fluffy- she purrs all the time and talks a lot;
I have to admit she is like my child and makes me feel good,
she sleeps, she plays, she meows and she is sort of naughty !
The days moved slowly, but did pass.
He had spent the last three dreaming
of his mentor Wakan Tanka.
Calling him from Han in darkness,
waiting for his sign of answer.
It had come in bits and pieces
of Ojibwa legend mainly.
Thirty days purification
Of mind, body, spiritual.
Bathed in ginger, pomegranate.
In the round house incense offered,
Calls shadow land of Lakota.
Nagila, Nagila come be my bride.
The hawk and fox are beside me.
I have fasted forty summers,
visited the spirit of death.
Niya, the spirit of life’s blood
has lifted me up to the stars.
She has cleansed with healing waters.
Now let me take the talisman.
Now let me repeat the promise.
Now let me take my rightful place
among my people as Shaman.
Apr 16 2011 CGH the Ojibwa of the
north western plains
Wakan Tanka- creator of the Sioux
Han-place of great emptiness, darkness
Nagila-shadow land
Niya-breath of life
ginger and pomegranate-not factual
Within a catcher, dreams do scream
feathers redeem
man's sullied soul
sweet dreams the goal
Within their vanes they transfix
each demon lick
each channeling's
imaginings
Within the web they flutter, curs
nightmare mutters
beaded offerings
each feather sings
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Just a Minute!
Date 10/20/12
*It is believed that the origin of the Native American dream catcher (or Indian dream catchers) is from the Ojibwa Chippewa tribe.
A feather lost glides, drifting, it soars,
in the mighty wind it twirls and swirls as if dancing,
oh once, THE PEOPLE, owned all the wilderness,
they called it home, and now it is being destroyed.
High upon a sheer, jagged cliff a horse,
of many colors stands majestic under the azure sky,
and an Ojibwa girl looks at the land of her Canada,
where below the Ottawa River thunders and roars.
In the wind that howls, eagle feathers,
in her raven hair and on her horse are fluttering,
and in the sky above eagles fly and screech,
to symbolize her ancestors great spirit and strength.
And in my dream, I am that Ojibwa girl,
who stands upon that cliff with her horse and feathers.
_________________________________
September 25, 2016
Poetry/Verse/A Feather Lost
Copyright Protected, ID 16-833-434-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
NA in Contest # 211, finalized 9/26/2016
Submitted to the contest, Any poem that got NA'd
in a September 2016 Contest, sponsor Janice Carnerdy
Third Place
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
We are at the junction of the Little River and the Ottawa River,
journeying into the Canadian wilderness by canoe, the
paddles stroke slowly into the water, paddles heavily incised
with vines and flowers, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue.
Spirit, is a native man in a crisp white shirt, his head shaved
but for one braid with feathers, his blue leggings enthrall
me, intricate beaded moccasins are sublime, his leather
pouch and glass jewelry lovely, I think I love him . . .
Falcon, a beautiful man with raven hair falling down his back,
his feathers are fluttering in the wind, he has dangling earrings,
a red cape edged with gold threads, his beads are exquisite,
and he is telling me stories and smiling at me . . .
I could love him, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue.
O, how can this Ojibwa girl choose, I love them both . . .
I truly do, but luckily for me this is a dream and I can love both.
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
_____________________
December 10, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/A Dream Comes Floating
Copyright Protected, ID 12-441-915-10
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Arms and legs peddling struggling
I tread
In the middle of the lake
There is 300 feet of blue water
Between the soles of my feet
And the 10,000 year old dance floor beneath.
Torch Lake never gives up her dead.
The lake’s bottom is pocked
With springs bursting as jets from Middle Earth
Jumbling boulders like popcorn.
This is where the drowned bodies sink
Irretrievable by dive teams or priests
Those Ojibwa fishermen ripped from their Birch canoes
Loggers clunked dead on their heads
Great Depression titans
Still stitched to their britches
Top hats and bow ties
Pistols clutched to their hands
Wives sunk from hurt and betrayal
Factory workers snapped in two
A young girl from a rowboat
Caught in a sudden storm
Clapping for her tossed dog
She dove in.
I wonder from down there
Where they’re all doing the jig
What I look like to them
Up here?
Another man walking on his knees?
Upon a sheer and jagged cliff an Appaloosa horse of many colors stands majestic
under the blazing azure sky. An Ojibwa girl, proud, looks at the beautiful land of
Canada as the mighty wind roars. A feather in her raven long hair quietly moves.
Below the Ottawa River thunders and the vast lands of wilderness stretch to the
horizon. The feather is caught by the blowing breeze and . .
fluttering drifting
it dances in the mighty wind
to and fro it soars
Above in the perfect sky an eagle glides symbolizing the strength of my people,
the Ojibwa. We and our native brothers once owned this land, the rivers, the
trees and the fish. In the end we lost. The only sound is the wind that takes
my beautiful twirling, swirling feather . . .
floating hovering
a ballet in the mighty wind
to and fro it glides
___________________________
April 25, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/The Fluttering Feather
Copyright Protected, ID 04-666-867-25
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Pellucid pearls in northeastern North America
since planetary birth
Comprise Lakes Superior, Michigan, Huron,
Erie, and Ontario dearth
Largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth
Straddle Canadian–United States border
tethering partial global girth
Constituting 21% of world's surface
fresh water species hearth
Total surface equals 94,250 square miles
And total volume equals
5,439 cubic miles immeasurable worth.
Lake Erie from Erie tribe, abridged form
of Iroquoian word erielhonan “long tail”
Lake Huron named by French explorers
for Wyandot or “Hurons” whence they did sail
Lake Michigan likely from Ojibwa word mishigami
“great water” aka outsize gold quail
Lake Ontario i.e. “Lake of Shining Waters”
shimmering like hammered coat of mail
Lake Superior coined from French
“lac supérieur” "upper lake", an emerald watery dale
Ojibwe people called it gitchigumi medicinal
to cure that, which might ail.
These five lakes each reside in separate basin
Form a single, naturally interconnected body
of fresh water caisson
Linking east-central interior of North America
to Atlantic Ocean akin to an escutcheon.
From interior to outlet at St. Lawrence River,
Water flows via Superior to Michigan-Huron
southward to Erie to avoid a shiver
Finally released northward to Lake Ontario
as like a well taut archer with his quiver.
The lakes drain a large watershed via many rivers
as an Olympic team
Populated with approximately 35,000 islands
this estimate not x stream.
The Great Lakes region contains
many thousands of smaller lakes,
Often called inland lakes undulating
in cascading analogous to a fluid ream
Lake Michigan the only one located
entirely within United States
While the others border between
United States and Canada – essentially a liquid seam.
Fluttering, drifting
to and fro it soars
it dances in the mighty wind
it twirls, it swirls
There
upon a sheer jagged rocky cliff
an Appaloosa horse of many colors stands majestic
There
under this blazing azure sky
an Ojibwa girl looks at the beautiful land of Canada
There
in the mighty wind that roars
a feather lost from her raven hair, quietly moves
There
far below the Ottawa River thunders
and the vast lands of wilderness stretch to the horizon
There
above in a perfect sky
eagles soar, symbolizing "The Peoples" strength
There
in my spirit dream
the only sound is the wind that moves my feather
Fluttering, drifting
to and fro it soars
it dances in the mighty wind
it twirls, it swirls
_______________________
December 9, 2012
Poetry/Verse/The Feather
Copyright Protected, ID 12- 441-546-09
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France