Best Peace Pipe Poems
In the twilight spirits come to play,
listen closely to what they have to say.
In the early dawn, they will sit with you,
and greet the sun that shines anew.
As our sacred pipe gets passed around,
through billowing smoke, some prayers are found.
A ceremonial tradition that honours all things,
come join with us as the Great Spirit sings.
Enlightenment comes when you open thy heart,
it's never too late to make a new start.
Beings from the stars will you lend us a hand?
To help unite this Earth across every land?
the eagle watches me
from high above
it has finally come to this
I stand on this ragged lookout
this jagged rock
alone
my friends are gone
Bruce "Bear Paw" Perry
Billy Fly and Blackpowder Bourgoin
died in these mountains
one by one
we shouldered hardships together
fought a winter
that pinched three toes
from my right foot
and took a bite of my left ear
I'll never understand
those flatlanders down below
where spring means mud
eating pigs and chicken
when they could be roasting elk
but the boosway is gone
rendezvous cancelled
no beaver left
heck, there's no wild Indians left
they've all been herded
into reservations
near the forts
a pitiful place
for a proud people
what is left for me?
where will I lay my trusty
Hawken gun?
perhaps I'll work
in a trading post
or guide wagon trains west
I've earned every tear
these mountains had to offer
battled bear, wolves, and hostiles
but my biggest sorrow
is leaving
I close my eyes
and I'm there
spring ice melting in the river
trading with my Indian brothers
smoking the peace pipe
the rustle of golden birch leaves
on an Autumn ridge
a misty waterfall
soaking me to the skin
throwing peat moss
on the roof of my log cabin
I think I'll just linger here
while the birds are singing
ONENESS
The heart of
my ancestors
beat not,
but their love does,
all in one accord,
our drums beat
for them,
and our love
always
once again,
beats our heart,
we are united,
warrior and peace pipe,
in
the light of the sun.
Date: 08/31/2019
howmanysyllables
3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5
I can't judge you for judging me, I'd just be judging you too. I can't point a finger at you right now, three more will just be pointing back at me. Two negatives may make it right in Math, but here in the real world two wrongs only equal disaster.
So be patient with my impatience and I'll love you through your hatred. These daggers called words we're flashing in our faces might just find their way to somebody's throat. Let's throw down our daggers and smoke the peace pipe, let's wave our white flags in the darkness.
We may not be at peace but let's not be at war. We may not be friends no more, but let's not be enemies. For we better be strangers to each other than casualties of enmity's battles.
Let's walk away and breathe again than stay together and burn to ashes.
Jesus turned the other cheek
Now we extend the olive branch
During this special holiday season
Let us make peace
Open our hearts to those who have hurt us in the past
Can we live in Christ’s image?
Or will we decline to pass the peace pipe
Take this challenge
Tear down barriers that separate us
Unblock poets whose words left scars that need to heal
Add more dignity to Poetry Soup
Spread good will to all
As our Savior intended
While we celebrate His birthday
The branch is hanging…waiting for you to accept
*Entry to Audrey's "To Err Is Human, to Forgive Divine"
Merry Christmas to all!
I was renowned as Chief Buffalo Chips, a great leader of many tribes.
I was given that pathetic name by my father resulting in a heap of gibes.
But with a name like his, Chief Tater Chips, what else could I expect,
So I had to count many coup in battle to gain my braves' respect!
I rode my pinto pony as free as the wind, as free as the eagle soars.
I smeared my bronzed body with colorful hues to enjoy the thrill of wars.
With bow and arrow true, I supplied my tribes with plenty buffaloes,
To feed and clothe the old and young to see them through winter snows!
I smoked the peace pipe with blue coats but they were wont to deceive,
But I got my revenge at Little Big Horn where I won my tribes' reprieve!
Many moons later The Great White Father set up a fund for Indian Relief.
(For some reason Libby Custer refused to donate due to a spiteful beef!)
My humble teepee housed many papoose and Red Deer my prolific squaw,
Plus her grumpy mother, Black Widow, my miserable mother-in-law!
When this mortal shell I shed, I thought I'd escaped eternal reprobation,
Only to find Black Widow in the Happy Hunting Ground! Oh! Such damnation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Carolyn Devonshire's " Past Lives" Contest - June 2014
Navajo Spirit
The Amazon is amazing, so why are you still destroying,
Its beauty and your integrity? You are a monster devouring.
This natural beauty is in our way;
So we must destroy to build again.
We must cause Mother Nature incredible pain;
For she has given us all these trees and this bloody rain.
A forest stump wouldn’t complain about anything.
Oh no! A Navajo!
We must kick them out of their homes!
We come in peace,
Shoot to kill! Shoot to kill!
We come in peace,
Shoot to kill!
Er; Captain. Yes what is it?
This thievery is taking longer than expected.
What!? Do you think I am an idiot?
No Sir; it’s just, we haven’t got enough biscuits.
What about Jaffa Cakes? No Sir, we’re all out.
Well what about meat? It’s all dead and cannot be eaten.
What do you mean? It’s obviously dead. (Clout!)
Ow! Sorry Sir, I mean it has gone rotten.
Well find some more natives and buy some more meat.
We can’t Sir; they have disappeared, since the last broken treaty.
They haven’t been seen and new supplies we just cannot get.
Doh! Why did we have to be such bloody stupid English Men?
Now we shall all starve because we couldn’t share the land;
The winter is coming and we have no friends.
Oh hello…I am Amity. I am a Navajo.
You look rather ill…where is your home?
England, I think; please help me I’m starving.
Oh of course, wait a second and I’ll get cooking.
Here take this, it will make you healthy.
Cough! Sorry. I never meant to scare you.
Oh you didn’t, don’t be silly.
I just saw you lying here in need;
So I thought I would come and see,
If there was anything I could do.
You’re too kind, after the way my people have treated you.
Oh don’t be silly, you gave us money,
To help us arm ourselves against you.
Such irony really, when we could just have been friends.
Here smoke this peace pipe, it is completely free…
I’m seeing visions…
I see us as neighbours, living beside each other in peace;
I see a time of change in the wind beneath our dreams.
Let us live in peace and never forget history;
For the Navajo Spirit has always been at home
In the Land of the Free.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
dwelling on the past
can offer us no repast
share that peace pipe, fast
"Spring Rain" she was named by her father Chief Many Horses.
Through her veins the hot blood of the majestic Comanche courses!
The young maiden crushed the hearts of many dashing braves,
But to be free to chase the vagabond winds is all she ever craves!
Her father willed her a handsome colt when she was but a little girl.
She named him "Big Thunder" - his coat was akin to that of a pearl!
Her raven hair streamed behind her as she clasped "Big Thunder's" mane!
Ah! Sweet communion with Mother Earth as they raced across the plain!
She preferred the buffalo hunt or spearing fish from tranquil shores,
To tanning hides, preparing pemmican and other such mundane chores!
Her father tutored the budding princess to assume the role of Chief.
She ever looked beyond the horizon to bring her people needed relief!
She fought in many battles and counted coup much to the Chief's chagrin.
She could be heard shouting the "Comanche Yell" above the battles' din!
Her battle cry was ever, "Great White Father, leave my people be!
It is our land the Great Spirit has given us! We just want to live free"
Alas, Chief Many Horses was killed in battle and she assumed his role.
To smoke the peace pipe and make a better life for the tribe was her goal.
Sadly, the Comanche won many battles but eventually lost the war,
But Spring Rain, the only female Chief, will be remembered forever more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 inConstance's "Rain, The Story" Contest - January 2011
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
New World colonization,
territorial domination
Main strategic objective to be made:
land acquired by war,
or expansion thru peace by trade
All three needed native allies
They smoked the peace pipe;
puffing part truth, puffing part lies
Then swore on the ancient totems,
said they wanted to go where the eagle flies
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
They had the same common interest —
European superiority,
whose destiny needed to be made manifest
Although they fought one another,
they thought the same capitalistic way,
therefore they were blood brothers
The New World had so much natural largesse,
so many rich, uncharted regions which
Merchant explorers wanted to claim and possess
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
They planted their flags,
and gave the Western hemisphere
an Italian name
North and South America
got divided up
in the three nation poker game
Everyone knows that history
is written by the victors
And posterity
tosses the vanquished to the wind
All of the holy prophets declare:
the rise of man’s last great kingdom
is the beginning of the end
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
Conquerors who coveted with no shame
But the justice of God is not blind ...
Search the Scriptures and you will find,
God’s final judgment
was declared before the foundation of time
Thus it is written:
The Spirit Horsemen of the Apocalypse
are four of a kind
Peace and war
Why should the world like a magdalene
Cry over the war heinous atrocities
Abide reaping scores of casualties like sardines
Castigate fate and disregard unbridled hostilities
Why should the world license instead
War merchants over our destiny preside
Amble leisurely and upon our values tread
Inundate the market and imposts hide
Why should the world continue to swallow this bait
Let arms dealers bedevil our feeble minds
Turn a deaf ear to quandary and so peace ignite
Bury the hatchet and peace pipe light
We will tarry to God insistently implore
Yet bring war criminals to justice and terminate this folklore.
The past got a wet way of coming back
to unsettle the present
with haunting future dreams
Who moistened the bed
with such troublesome memories?
There are dark terrors in the night
for the children
of those whose fathers ignited the fright
Colonialism terrorism days
are washing back on the European shores
Time has run out,
there is no safe refuge anymore
Every land that the northern explorers
set sail to wind,
they built forts along the coastline
everywhere their war ships would dock in
Anglo manifesto: the world was theirs to claim —
every land discovered
was stamped with an European name
Greeting the natives with a peace pipe and a gun,
broken arrow friendship treaties
was how the New World was won
Centuries of taking colonial buried treasures
back to their homelands
left flotsam floating on the sea ...
a trailing legacy of perpetual Third World poverty
Cattle prodding the subjugated people
with grazing dreams of freedom,
only made them yearn
to be loosed from their colonial yoke
But their constitution was too weak
to stomach such rich hypocrisy
Therefore they could never break free
Until the winds of time
sent most of the conquerors away,
returning to their own lands permanently
Now the stormy waves of their past sins
have come crashing back on their shores again
New Age terrorism comes
with the waves of refugees now streaming in,
unhinging the doors of democracy
Fear was the face of colonialism terrorism
reflecting off the surface of the seven seas
Horror hollowed the eyes
that witnessed such degradation and misery
Those unclean waves are washing ashore salty tears
from long ago grief foaming years ...
And the human sharks have now followed the bloody trail,
back to the places where the children of the oppressors dwell
As waves of stolen heritage debris
washes upon the European shores
Dirty causality of the dark reality from the past,
can’t clean the wet night terror dreams
that the children of privilege now have
From the cradle to the grave,
from A to Z ...
the wrath of my youth
has been wine-pressed out of me
When the dark zythum mellows with time,
American me
need no longer anger ferment lament
I don’t have to keg pall bear the Egyptian brew —
carry the toxic, tainted taste
of slavery mentality
to the waiting black funeral hearst
As has been written: the first shall suffer worst,
the rejected people of God will carry the curse
Redemption of healing only comes
when we call
on the Prince of Peace Physician to pacify nurse
Yes, the American zythum
has mellowed in my mind
The process of dampening the rage
has perfected the inner calmness over time
Good fermentation ... good tasting wine
Peace was given to American me,
not the kind that make you forgetful and groggy
Egyptian white rice
boiled to super saki specification
Serene recipe that made me standstill,
not riot burn down the nation
American zythum wasn’t given to my red friends,
when the blue eyes
were passing around the peace pipe
War paint on the pirate ships’ flags
hoisted at night wasn’t white
Surrendering to the rage
woulda caused me to forfeit my disenfranchised life
American zythum ... Egyptian brew
Come taste how my anger got peacefully subdued,
how the hot emotional coals got cooled
Privileged pale ones
take this strong concoction
of American zythum ... Egyptian brew
Pour it into my homeless cup,
and let me offer
your lips to suffer
a decadent swallow or two
Warlords love the crack cackling sound ...
faint vapors smelled worldwide,
when twine toking on the choking peace pipe
Lying lips huffing and puffing,
blowing smoke out the barrel rear end
Frontal sphincter holes
open and close ...
Pre-negotiated spoils fanning the wind
Rub two cancer sticks together,
to start a third global forest fire blazing
Twin Smoky Bear false witnesses,
like Pilate and Herod —
Duo hardcore sworn enemies
becoming so Maryjane best bud friends
Truth is a menthol breakdown,
a Kool summer breeze on a hot, Camel caravan night
Warning of mirage oasis whisperings
filling the Death Valley desert air with nuclear fright
Warlords love doing the iron lung Scorpion crawl,
passing the slim peace pipe inside of the toilet stall
Flushing nicotine hope down the porcelain drain;
huffing and puffing,
with covetous tar face delight
Singing with ember glee in the Inferno dire reign
Smoking jacket pleasure
fills talky polluted atmosphere
with syrupy cough pain
Paranoia beyond measure,
empties womb palpitating fear:
Tick tick puffer insane
Warlords love the milk poppy urn sound,
silent nods heard worldwide ...
when dumping vow ashes from the peace pipe
Truth is a menthol breakdown,
a Marlboro spring breeze on a cold, Salem witch night
Warning of hibernating pyre whisperings
filling the Negev autumn air with nuclear winter fright
Warlords love the crack cackling sound ...
vaporized air felt worldwide,
when chain toking on the cranium choking peace pipe
Lying lips huffing and puffing,
blowing idol smoke out the gunny shark rear end
Sphincter jaw Pinocchio nose
open and close ...
Fungi ‘shroom spittle spores make the sky darken
Warlords love the crystal meth blurb sound,
LSD plan heard dark web worldwide ...
Life-Stopping Detonations
be brimstone smoke coming from a broken peace pipe
Indian chief floating in the sky
Smoking peace pipe, relaxing
With tear in his eye
As he looks down on Mother Earth
Land that gave his forefathers birth