what kind of parrot is he? We wondered, Chickasaw, Wyandotte or Crow?
His war paints of turquoise, pink, and yellow had been applied just so.
He was talking nonstop, but in tweets, whistles, and noises from a beak.
Possibly an Apache or one of those odd tribes south of east Chesapeake.
Just about a mile outside Pyrite Town is Black Powder Mountain,
It has a grizzly disposition and a couple of veins of mean.
Lightning licks the peak at every opportunity.
Some went up to tame it and vanished like a dream.
Some say they saw the ghost of an old Chickasaw chief.
One night, a 90-proof bet got the better of me.
I quickly packed up some grub and a fifth of bravery.
I brought my four-legged chum, for a little bit of company.
We made our way through the speckled forest.
Waded through half a dozen icy creeks.
A thick mist slithered up the neck of the valley.
That night I prayed up a little fire to keep the ghosts off the dream.
The night dealt nothing but jokers and spades.
Something brutish barreled through the forest.
My eyes were wider than the barrel of my gun.
I fired off a warning shot to keep the phantoms on the run.
Imagination was beating like a war drum.
Somewhere in the trickster's night I lost my little chum.
I never made it to the summit and lost the 90-proof bet.
A day later, as I was airing out my tent.
Out popped the faintest chant and a pale green arrowhead.
Paiute warrior horses cannot outrun wild quarter horses.
Spanish mustangs and Chickasaw ponies run past.
Taunting and daring native americans to try and corral them.
Paiute warriors admire the way brother horse runs.
He is outfoxing them, wise and wonderful in his wildness.
They turn back to their homeland, knowing they have been bested.
Many moons ago,
a languishing lamentation flow
carved a grievous path
in the red soil
Defying moral gravity,
downtrodden fallow weeps
flowed upward to the heavens
With river Nile ease
Native American Exodus
wasn’t done willingly
Oh, how the Five Nations
were saber led forcibly!
Time traveling eyes
need not ask why
Oh, why does the Crow cry?
Ask rather,
why did the crimson-winged Eagle
tell a bald-faced lie?
Many blood moons ago,
there was an Abib scarlet woe flow
Rapid gushes
making a slow, sorrowful path
Towards barren adobe Reservations
Defying logic gravity,
nether voices
offered an uprooted exchange
Trade Choctaw fertile land
(whereupon Creek footfall doth Seminole stand)
for Chickasaw burial sand
Miry ground
to baleful irrigation
live sadly on
Trail of Tears Exodus
was a lamentation overflow undertaking
Oh, how the Five Nations
were talon misled horridly!
Perpetual Cherokee tears
for the living dead is levee heartbreaking
Posterity passenger eyes
need not ask why
Oh, why does the Crow cry?
Ask rather,
why did the granite-hearted Eagle
let so many weary souls die?
Indian woman
from the territories long ago
you no longer walk Mother Earth
Did the wind whisk you away?
I feel your spirit rising up in me
my Chickasaw blood blisters
from within...
I have lost my way
once, I saw you in a vision
your long ebony hair blowing
riding the pinto pony covered
with the red painted hands...
you wore no moccasins
only your leather garment
no saddle for your horse...
the horse's mane, your reins
the weapon you carried
sought a mark to enter
I wanted to travel with you
to ride far into the hills and hide
live alongside you in the old ways
my dreams come in ripples
through my mind’s eye
Indian woman, I yearn for you
Wishful thinking
rests upon soft summer
butterfly wings
warm breeze
swims across my body
taking with it
my
thoughts, dreams,wishes
now they float, high
above the endless
clouds, like seeds
from an empty
dandelion stem
suns rays
wrap me in an invisible
blanket of comfort
tiny, speckles of wet
dew drops from morning
when God kissed the ground
As I lay, feeling
the touch of mother earth
I drift to dream freely
my Native ancestors
dancing and chanting
the songs of my people
the Chickasaw
A sudden itch on my nose
brings me back to the present
and as my sleepy eyes lift
from crescent slivers
to full dark chocolate moons
I watch as a monarch
dance across my face
and kisses my cheek with
its powdery wing
as it travels
above the endless clouds
like the dandelion seeds
Chickasaw warrior…Apache brave
Chimed echo from recent pasts
Rawhide clad of bow and stave
Our iconic figure now cast
Roaming prairies open plains
Selfless equal within nature
A simple life of a people proud
Societies of ancient stature
Cherokee warrior…Arapaho brave
Awakened into midnight battle
Blue eyes aim down the thunder sticks
Reaping from cavalry saddles
Shunned showpieces of society
Called examples of a savage pride
Crushed of tyrannical booted propriety
In the federal wastes to reside
Tillamook warrior…Shoshone brave
Hunted through the very last stand
Forced to the brink of identity lost
Imprisoned in fenced desert sands
Allow the great spirits to soar the skies
A birthright given back anew
This aspiration for the tribes we hold
Sadly realized by consciences few
Indian warriors…fighters brave
Truest peace I offer my hand
Headdress upon the shadowy brow
Those great tribes once roaming the lands.
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