From the Kiowa to the Cree,
people sing and dance
Prairies ringed with fire
—a ghost returns at last
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: September, 1994)
Pea Soup
A lot of party people have perfect bowels.
What would it take to totally kaput Nork's military machine?
Same ferocity in battle as that one bollock corporal’s?
All along the periphery, East v West, their games of cat and mouse, thrust and parry continued.
Warpac Hungarian Hind and Yankee NATO Kiowa getting intimate in the weeds.
No one ever won; a draw.
Thirty years later Korea time destination central.
Viper v Fulcrum.
Nothing changes but the year.
Seen in the deep forest
Seven Indian maids
Seeking fun and frolic
Scared by a massive bear
Shooting rock arises
Scratching bear in pursuit
Safety in the heavens
This is the Kiowa legend of the creation of Devils Tower and the Plieades in the sky.
Subaru is the Japanese name of the Plieades
-
Kiowa Arapahoe all on the trail
The bronze of the warrior the bird is not male
Put down a pit with meat and some sticks
Here lie and wait is cleverly tricked
She swoops and saws and looks for a cry
It hungers a plenty and looks with an eye
Down she goes and swoops and she nears
And something tells you there's something she fears
Chicks a hungry calling she flies feet in a gate and streaming she glides
She shoots to the floor and hooked to the meat
She losses her pace she losses her feet
His two hands that reach out and grab at her gate
She looses her loft and she looses her mate
It's over the struggle the bites and the flutter
To screach and to peck and the sticks are like shutters
With hands holding tight and blood issues slow
A pull and a wrench and the bird falls below
The meat and the blood and the feathers a fly
She's lost her own life and chicks soon will die
War bonnet built and worn with a pride
Bow down to the dance and darkness deride
But first thing the pit the blood and the squawk
No wait for a moment he's lost all that torque
Fear not for this spirit the bird got away
The trail it awaits on another day's play
She left one day, her Kiowa village
And stood proudly in the sun
Beneath the Tabletop Mountains
And walked among the golden sea
Of waving grass, fearless and alone
Waiting, with keen ears and sacred breath
For the setting sun to call her name
So that her spirit could cross the great divide
No more would she walk
Across my night or my day...
Except on the wind that touches my face
Or the laughter from a child
Or perhaps in the song a meadow lark sings
And surely in the pleasure of my dreams
And in slumber I can rest, knowing full well
That her spirit has entered the land of green pastures.
Inspired by t.c.cannon and his wonderful artwork
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