Best Stance Poems
God Break Me from My Ridgid Stance
God break me from my ridged stance;
Chance allowing me to escape trance,
I had been in,
Again and again,
And enlightened when You enhance.
Jim Horn
Categories:
stance, allegory, analogy,
Form:
Limerick
Dark chest
inhale your bite
exhale its shadow
wings that twisted pierce
like barbwire
cover your heart
black feet on glass
I watch my spine
still touch me
A raven cries
give me my nights,
give me my nights,
give me my nights
(I do not have a bad stepmother. I was just personifying the raven's darkness. Just the metaphor. )
Categories:
stance, angst, bird, birth, gothic,
Form:
Free verse
All we eat is elk meat, boiled elk, roasted elk, elk jerky
sometimes fried elk if we get bear or whale oil,
oh, and sometimes elk soup,
for four months we've subsisted exclusively on elk
except for occassional dog meat, candlefish or duck,
the elk have become our saviors, and our culinary suffering,
yet it keeps us nourished like some kind of ape predators,
Clark has officially named the massive boulder at the front of the bay
Cape Disappointment on account that its now March 1806
and since November no one has spotted a merchant vessel
nor has any trading post been discovered along the coast in either direction,
frankly its astounding, has the world done gone forgotten that the Columbia exists,
everyone is gettin uppidy as bull frogs
and we've had enough rainy hours here to last ten lifetimes,
to hell with the sailors, we've gotta race to finish
and we ain't gonna get beat by a disappointment or by a sinister suprise,
Load'em up!...
Since coming out of the Rocky Mountains
like a migrating pack of wolves pursuing the scent of a bloodied den
I've been spending more time away from the river's rigors
providing fresh meats for the mission that we leave hanging along designated banks,
for the first time I feel liberated from the fear of failure
winter can no longer hurts us,
the great mysteries of the continental crossing have been revealed
through their savagery and splendor
the tribes have been touched with a new spirit of survival
animals ferocious and exotic have been tasted and classified
we have learned what these landscapes can lend to farming legions,
the mountains no longer menace us, we know how to travel their pain,
as my horse feeds on the grass of unowned soil
I reflect on my moments of intemperance with the natives
when I thrashed a Chinook thief into bleeding shame,
the order I gave to burn their village to silent ash when my dog and saddle were stolen
fortunately that was not necessary because I got them back,
the time I was meanly mocked by a Nez Perce Indian for eating dog meat
and threatened to split his skull with my tomahawk if he ever insulted me again,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure, introspection,
Form:
Epic
The natives believe that the Mississippi River
carries the souls of their ancestors into the water of judgment
wherein they will either enter the Sun's fire of joy
or sit in the ice of the Moon having their feathers counted and examined,
I suspect that when we, The Corps of Discovery accomplish our mission
this Grandfather river will haunt us like a deep dream that fights Time,
He is an American river now, an avenue for the trade of empire, substance and soul,
President Jefferson purchased the Louisiana Territory from Napoleon in 1803
for 15 million dollars, enough gold to build a bed with
and a landscape large enough to construct a nation on,
it is now summer of 1804 and with hearts, rifles and ores we explore
into lands that lurk with life old as oceans and tribes ageless in tribulation,
we are three dozen men whom hunt not warriors or wealth
raiding and rapine be not our pleasure, war party song our spirit sings not,
we are agents of destiny,
emissaries of Washington and explorers of the Northwest Passage,
the Spanish, French, and English already have merchants and mercenaries
peppered in remote areas of lucrative wilderness
furs, precious metals and trade routes lay naked to the will of disciplined conquest,
for the Indians survival is the business, their heritage hinges on heroism,
everyone has a claim yet only one power will reign,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure, america, christian, courage,
Form:
Epic
As the moon and sun share the fabric of a fading song of ancient blues
a ceremony of torch light identity ensues
chieftains in regalia of royal feather headdresses and mantles of warrior mania
approach the flagstaff that Clark and I stand under with a procession
of musicians clad in the symbols of their souls
playing instruments that speak the language of their knowledge,
after being bedazzled by the brute majesty of the music and pomp
our men give gifts of tobacco carrots, knives, beads and small bells,
chiefs Wueche and Arcawechar tap both of my shoulders
with their ceremonial spears, a gesture of friendship and blessing
after which we toast to the fortune of patient eyes with a dram of whiskey,
my elocution of America's intentions and jurisdiction
is delivered with sincerity and alacrity just as an eagle protects it's range
and with the wit and instincts of a wolf Chief Wueche
agrees with the terms of allegiance but also admonishes us
not only of the pirates of the Plains,
but that supremacy is the child of wrath for the natives
especially for the dominant tribe of the Sioux Nation, the Teton,
he seems to somberly realize that his Yankton people
must either become a weapon of America's war machine, or be destroyed by it,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, america,
Form:
Epic
The river smells like damp cotton this morning,
the weather has been so complimentary to our exertions
frost invades the nights nicely and soft sunshine comforts our faces in daytime,
we have been averaging 26 miles per day for more than a week
which gives us fat optimism that we'll reach the he Mandan villages before November,
our sense of serenity and ease is abruptly shaken by a suspicious sight,
from the boats we notice , not far inland
a settlement abandoned to arid earth and the whispers of sullen fate,
with a detachment of 12 men
this broken place in paradise is searched
with the circumspection of armed archaeologists,
from wood and rock totems
we have surmised that this village belonged to the Arikaras,
evidently, they systematically left here, or were decimated by some terrible force,
a gutteral roar rips into my ears
as I see the most monstrous beast of my life,
it is the great grizzly bear, wicked in temper and simply petrifying in stature,
about 40 yards away Sheilds stumbles out of an Arikara sod lodge
as the grizzly emerges from it's liar, standing upright like a tower of terror
fangs in the air and claws ready to thrash
Sheilds buries a slug right into it's chest from 10 feet away
sounding like a large stone plunging deep into water
white panic stretches his face while the beast stammers for a moment,
there is no time for him to reload
and he starts running to the canoe faster than a fuse
several of us take aim and unleash a crossfire of lead
pegging the bear every which way halting it's chase
and with the speed of a two horse wagon it's running to the brush,
we forgo the hunt and evacuate to the canoes,
enough has been seen here,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure,
Form:
Epic
Now that December has descended
with it's roots of ice and skies of snow
our timber fortress is a sanctuary of ethnographic enlightenment
and embassy that entreats the exchange of craftsmanship,
lately I have been preoccupied with my etymological research,
it is important to President Jefferson, an anthropologist
that we discover the origin of the natives through their languages,
he is obsessed with understanding the diversity of the human race
a bone collector of civilizations and shaman of scholarship,
Private Sheilds, through his blacksmithing expertise
has allowed us to barter iron for corn without which
the Corps of Discovery would either lose vital quantity of provisions,
be reduced to malnourished paupers, or even engage in unscrupulous raiding,
there are still a thousand arduous miles to go
from all estimations, before reaching the Pacific,
as is, the Elders, especially from the Hidatsas
are suspicious of our motives
because of the 18 foot high pallisaded fort we have built adjacent to the Mandans,
so mistrust is suppressed well with an open door policy
and liberal trade of battle axes,
knives, weapon and tool sharpening, kettles, needles and so on,
January 1805,
the new year has introduced 40 below zero weather, syphilis and fists fights,
to stave the ills of boredom we routinely go on hunting expeditions
through the gruelling grip of winter's madness,
another activity that warms the soul are the spectacular jamborees
that conjure the whiles of instincts
and reminds us all how the heart seeks it's deepest expressions,
Cruzzatte plays the fiddle like a tempter of lunatic love
while Silas Goodrich thumbs a mandolin into the dreams of romantic heroism,
the squaws often coo with eyes of diamonds
arms outstretched with fingers swaying like wind blown wheat,
York is a sensation with the Indians
they have never seen a Black Man before
describing him as the black clay of chaos,
they believe there is magic in his skin
touching and rubbing him constantly like a healing stone,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure,
Form:
Epic
The late may sunlight is bathing a monument of Nature
so colossal in sculpted vertical structure
that it may very well be the palace complex of forgotten supermen,
stories from my childhood pastor of biblical Petra
discovered by Crusaders, or the Temple of Ramesses in Egypt
emerge in my mind as we course through this valley of watered chisled fascades,
sandstone worked by the trickles of centuries
has created craftsmanship of rusticly romanesque grandeur,
pillars, cornices, porticos, grotesque statuary
invites the imagination into the architecture of antiquity
and the legacy that looms in the landscape of divine forces,
these are the White Cliffs of America
born from the bone of Divinity
and worked by the water of will,
Coming out of the Atlantis precinct as Clark calls it
a fork in the river confronts us like a new religion
a pathway heretofore unknown to our shadowed souls,
the Hidatsas mentioned nothing of this avenue,
I am angered hot by this suprise of doom
if we choose the wrong river we find only dreadful failure,
both waterways are mighty , broad, and of a similar depth,
one goes northwest the other southwest,
I swear my brain is gonna burst,
Clark is bracing himself against a tree as if he is waiting for a heart attack,
nobody knows blue from black at this juncture
and the guys are gettin hyper as horses amid thunder,
after discussing the odds he and I return to camp
as professional officers, no doubts, only orders,
two small detachments , one led by me, the other by Ordway
will traverse on foot one river each
up to forty miles examining clues like owls on a mouse's trail,
each party is on extra alert for bear and Indians,
grizzlies have become a common monster lately
sometimes requiring 12 shots to subdue,
they are infamous for their zombie qualities
having freakish endurance and bloodlust while being injured,
as for the natives, one only knows after eyes are shown,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure, endurance,
Form:
Epic
Back on the river, forward into the howl of the unknown,
for three days Sergeant Floyd has been crippled by excruciating pain in his abdomen,
as the only man here trained in internal medical matters it is incumbent on me to treat him,
Doctor Rush's "Thunderbolt" pills are failing to alleviate the malady
and the ground Peruvian bark hardly sedates Flyod, his agony is bleeding into the eyes,
for 48 hours the rains have been rampant making the river sizzle in cool agitation
the mosquitos are swarming like whispers in a brothel
they are the devil's needles, we resort to spreading lard on ourselves as a repellent,
ironically, despite the downpours the wind is high at our backs
so the sails are up and we are moving swift as a curse off a witch's lips,
Sergeant Pryor woke on the boat this morning with news of death
his voice didn't wait for breath, the steps of his boots broke open my irritation
after informing me that Charles had recently died,
I believe he expired from a ruptured appendix which we had no remedy for,
he had the soul of a lion, Godspeed to him,
while I slept my spittle smeared the ink in my journal
forming a pictorial omen of a tombstone on the page,
the only question is whom be it for,
Clark has identified a suitable burial place for Flyod on a large hill,
no one speaks, its just the slurp of the paddled water
and a handful of gold finch birds that seem determined to skip on the wind
reminding us that there is always a place for a soul to go,
coming up on the riverbend we are accosted by an armada of geese
so plenty that the trees wish they had that number in leaves,
my Lord, the ruckus these creatures are generating in honking indignance
as they lift into flight is nerve pinching,
its like an army of imbecilic people shouting in panic all at once
yet these geese are noble in their beauty and militant nature
and I see this moment as a sign that no Indians will interdict our passage,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure,
Form:
Epic
Our fortified camp is well out of range of arrow, or gun shot, except the rear flank,
of course the Shoshone are reputed to be deficient in firearms
but are expert in hand weapons and guerilla tactics,
its a gamble, but we must seek to establish identity and intent
I'm taking a recon group of twelve into the valley
we're spread out to mitigate the impact of ambush
remaining close to the brush and treelines
the interior of the mountains look like the inside of deep candle wells
and we are the flame that attracts attention,
I see three people by a popping creek,
its a girl child, a teenage girl and an old woman with baskets picking grapes,
for an instant I think of the mythological Fates, have we been plucked and cut,
signaling for Drouillard, I procure a mirror, a comb and other small trinkets
to offer as gifts, and I'm rolling up my deerskin sleeve to show I am a White Man,
tactfully I step out of the snowberry thickets unarmed
pleading repeatedly the Shoshone phrase I've learnt from Sacagawea,
" Ta ba bone...Ta ba bone...Ta ba bone..."
the child has immediately wrapped herself around the old woman's leg
the teen has scampered like a doe in silent terror
looking back at me with eyes of screaming innocence, mouth crying open,
the woman is standing frozen with a face of defense
and from her beaded belt unsheathes a carbonized dagger,
Drouillard comes out gently doing his best with the speech and sign language
as I go on one knee showing the gifts, thank Deity they calm, smile, and accept,
we have convinced them to lead us to the village
the woman has persuaded the teen, named Maraseca to rejoin and receive the mirror,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure,
Form:
Epic
We are hours into the mountain riverway, the current unfriendly to us
paddling earlier had simply strained the men to burning exhaustion,
those who have the shoulder strength are paddling the two larger canoes
while the other six vessels are being pulled along in the side shadows with elk skin rope,
their feet and ankles paying the price,
an incredible sight is rapidly, dramatically coming towards us,
two hundred yards from where the river bends
an unmanned horse is galloping in our direction
with a confident craze in it's agility as it stomps through the rocky mud shore to the left,
running like a messenger of madness, reckless and unstoppable in passion,
a white, grey spotted horse, mane long, white and smoking in the wind,
it has already run past my canoe 50 yards off shore
but Sheild's canoe, being pulled very close to it's path
and McNeal has gotten a rope to lasso this animal,
in trying to claim it they have only sped the horse's instincts
McNeal nearly trampled, has gotten a face full of rock water for his effort,
that beauty is long gone, but everyone saw the sign,
the hip of the horse had a skull, and crossbones of rifles painted in black,
suffice it to say our hearts are humpin hot!
down here where we are predictable targets confined to the river's warpath
in order to saddle up on the upcoming banks some of our men must remain exposed
everyone else has rifles lead ready and hugged, telescopes spying space,
Clark and I kneeling with plank boards for armor, rifles in hand
Sacagawea standing inbetween us at the nose of our trespassing vessel
breasts uncovered, her son Jean in her arms swaddled in a U.S. flag
repeating a Shoshone lyric of peace, her clarion voice of sincere spirit
echoing through the mountain passes like an angel of sapphire wisdom
in this methodical moment of cautious maneuver
I realize that I love her,
I love her like eyes love color,
she is so above the ordinary, so forbidden to me,
we must clarify to the unseen onlookers that we are no warparty
but that we are no laundry squaws either,
20 minutes later we find a suitable shore line and disembark swiftly,
there be no indication of Indians, no presence of hostility,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure, love,
Form:
Epic
Damn it!
Crouching low on the ridge with Joseph and Rubin we see
that twenty horses or more are grazing with a group of Indians in the valley,
through the telescope two things are clear
the Indians are young Blackfeet braves
and they appear to be watching a curiosity in the same area that Drouillard is hunting in,
the battle sheilds on their horses have the fire arrow emblem of the Blackfeet,
there can be no doubt that more of them are in the vicinity
and Clark is at least 100 miles away on the Missouri,
the decision is simple in it's danger
we must ride down there before they attack Drouillard,
maybe a friendly meeting can be achieved,
Entering the open pasture on horseback
the three of us look like river bandits in a sunburned style,
their is a discernible panic amongst the Braves
as we approach them steady as a drumbeat
I get off my horse cool as Sunday news and walk a few yards with our flag in hand,
one of the youths breaks away towards me on his uncertain colt
I stand undaunted by the act of bravado and he steers the animal back to his posse,
Rubin and Joseph know what's up
and life and death have their breeze upon us,
respect introduces itself and brash violence is subdued by handshakes,
as evening invites the pipe, together we camp
the four of us, the eight of them,
we discuss the shifting balance of power on the Plains,
I inform them that there is a new eagle named America
and it will look over this territory with strength and justice,
they tell us about the English intrusion into the area, how furs are traded for guns and liquor,
these young Blackfeet don't seemed chagrined by the thunder of change,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure,
Form:
Epic
August is ending with a heat that gives no mercy to the land or man
so intense that the air swelters off the river into the tree tops,
looking ahead, its as if we are passing through the gossamer of summer's spector,
Private Shanon has been missing for six days
although, we believe he is lost, not captured or deserted
only God knows where his feet have taken him,
evidence along the riverbank indicates that he is alive and pursuing us
perhaps mistaken and disoriented, thinking that we are further up river,
Old Dorion is seeking him now like a clever wolf,
Shanon was seperated from me while stalking a coyote
a most mischievous animal that is entirely foriegn to us except in prank,
a bottle of whiskey goes to the first man who can lay a coyote down,
yesterday half of the expedition went hunting the prarie dog
a critter more cunning than a cat and jumpy as a log spark,
after several hours of scrambling around like lunatics
Private Sheilds has finally caught one with pork bait and a twig basket
the poor rascal squieks like a cheap violin,
eventually I will send it to Washington with other novel specimens,
President Jefferson and the Philosophical Society will be good guardians,
the men and I have been refreshing ourselves on the jewels of soil
the wild grapes are so succulent that the Italians would believe
Bacchus himself had seeded this earth with a secret serum
and the plum groves cuddled in the most unadulterated coves
invite the mind into Eden's shadow,
on this journey we have observed migrations of pigeons
that have rivaled the stretch of storm clouds,
crowds of squirrels so numerous they have canvassed the ground with a sea of fur,
and now the mighty, mythical buffalo walks before us
a legend amongst beasts, monstrous in girth
with hooves that peel the Plains and horns shaped by vengeance,
as they graze we seize the prize of their offering with thanks in our aim,
not having horses strategic concealment is critical, they are reknown for retaliation,
we dropped seven of them in a great pandemonium of panic
the gun smoke, field dust and perspiration meld into a fragrance of sacrifice,
our sustenance is secured, their lives feed our future,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, destiny,
Form:
Epic
Baseball Stance
No gym bars for him,
this big boy on the playground,
intently waiting.
With baseball stance, glove in hand...
eyes, mind only on the ball.
November 22, 2015
Contest: Oil Paintings 4 & 5
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Painting #4
Categories:
stance, baseball, devotion, kid,
Form:
Tanka
The Shoshone bargain their horses like apathetic bankers,
what we all have in common is constant starvation
and near death stumbles, several times this month our pack animals
have slipped and fallen on this treacherous route,
in the Bitterroot Passes there is virtually no game for food
and everyone is broken in some private way,
September snowfall is beginning to seize this rocky world
now the trail's knobs, broken timbers and deadfalls are even more sabotaging,
all we have are weapons, tradegoods and clothing, and a whole lotta wet cold,
we're outta food provisions, and the whiskey has been gone since Fort Mandan,
sometimes the men catch small fish in the creeks and grab hold of grouse,
Sacagawea sulks no more than any of us when frustration and pain bite
she's real tough, and sexy in strain
she has been scrounging edible roots for us,
thank goodness she wanted to come with us to the edge of the world,
begrudgingly we kill and cook a colt, the meat is good and vital
but in so doing costs us so much,
11 days since the Bitterroot risk, marching 160 miles through this mountain crucible,
and finally an open, low flat pasture where game and efficiency can be gained,
we are not going to die in this stone necropolis,
I feel a kinship to the Carthaginian General Hannibal
who succeeded 2, 000 years ago leading an army through the Roman Alps,
although we have no elephants, but we do have a young Republic on our backs,
J.A.B.
Categories:
stance, adventure, history,
Form:
Epic