Long Cherokee Poems
Long Cherokee Poems. Below are the most popular long Cherokee by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cherokee poems by poem length and keyword.
The Terror newly started in eighteen twenty eight.
And has continued its reign for two hundred years straight.
The party of evil began their fierce destruction
And started the once great Nation’s deconstruction.
They removed the Cherokee, Choctaw, Seminole, Creek
And the Chickasaw, while killing the strong and the weak.
They enslaved black people, as well as Irish whites, too.
The hated “one drop rule” from their sick perversion grew.
People still today are not free to be who they dream.
Even Adolf Hitler thought this rule far too extreme.
The Party soon gave rise to severe agitation
And so started a Civil War through their aggression.
During that war they pioneered use of fake news
Something else that they still use to this day to confuse.
From that dark, wicked party terrorist groups began,
The Bushwackers, and the Raiders, and the Ku Klux Klan.
All black people were of the other party but with
White people and others were forced to vote for them swith.
They kept the South in the deepest kind of poverty
And made well sure that the people lived ignorantly.
They dragged the suffering nation into two world wars.
When black people tried to go to school they blocked the doors.
They used the National Guard and the police
So that education would never increase.
They made new socialist organizations.
All would serve the ‘massa’ for generations.
Still worshipping at the red altar of Mars
They got our nation in the Vietnam War.
At the same time they stirred up strife back at home
And left our Nation in a deepening gloam.
Through murder and election fraud very blatant
And often times through scandalous back door payment,
They managed more than once to secure the Pres’dency
Using foreign powers to gain the residency.
Disciples of Saul Alinsky they used chaos
To push their ways in like a herd of curacaos.
Leaving America in disarray they used
Violence and the nation’s people they abused.
When will their dominion cease?
When will we finally have peace?
When will they finally decrease?
O Lord, grant us freedom from their tyranny.
The ancient woods came alive in his dreams
dark visions of forests and spirits were seen
incessant drums beat into his heart
escape the reservation and make a new start.
Hotly his Cherokee blood burned within
with an urgent tribal beat to begin
a discovery to recover the distant past
and go into the ancestral woods at last.
For his people had roamed and knew the land
had skillfully traded hides with the white man
presided over the prairies and plains
and in the mountainous regions had reigned.
With ceremony and dignity he prepared
to live life in the woods where he would share
skills of nature and being one with the land
to breathe and find freedom from society’s demands.
Written on 1/9/2019
Written: September 08, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He has blue eyes and lovely blond hair,
Curls rose above his pink and pretty ware.
Do not mention his background or affairs,
With Africa by people who settled there.
His father's family tree has extensive roots,
Has Swedish, Cajun French, and British limbs.
Grafts from Choctaw and Cherokee wood routes,
That got some black stems from long-time whims.
His mother comes from a Creole background,
Descendants of a native African tribe.
Parentage from France and Spain was found,
And mingled with Bayou Indians and more vibe.
Because intolerance and hatred confine,
They also obstruct the expansive plain.
Therefore, bigots are vindictive and supine,
It is only clear to observe the gutter drain.
There are no pleasant views of the spleen,
There are no cloverfields or rolling greens.
Restricted minds lack the ability to see,
a breathtaking panorama of the scene.
And biased men with pretentious pride,
While in white, they become narrow-eyed.
who despise Blacks, Jews, and Native side,
They are completely sealed and closed inside.
You can not hurt me nor make me cry
I have built a fortress around me in my mountains in the sky
High above it all I can now see
The true path that was destined for me
It is not in this life that I seek my reward or glory
I am here for a simple task and to tell a story
And when my story is done
I will return to where I belong
Where my heart song waits patiently far beyond.
He knew that his task was to find me
Yet in was not together for us to be
I miss him more than simple words can express
But I must remain here to follow my quest
And so I sit here and think of him fondly
Knowing that one day once again I'll see my brave Cherokee
Form:
A shepherd girl named Bo Peep lost her sheep and her Jeep
And didn't know where to find them.
She fell asleep stoned,
When she woke they were gone,
Leaving hoof prints and tire tracks behind them.
She offered as ransom a handsome reward
And assured there'd be no repercussions.
Then the cops said, "Go home
And wait by the phone
For the culprit to call with instructions."
They nabbed an indigent herder who confessed to the murder
Of all of her sheep and to stealing her Jeep.
But still Little Bo Peep lost her job herding sheep,
And then, to her added dismayment,
She lost her practically new Jeep Grand Cherokee, too,
When she couldn't keep up with the payments.
Let this be a lesson, boys and girls, when you're grown
And are working and making it all on your own.
Though it is an annoyment, you only get unemployment,
If you're laid off, not fired,
From the place you were hired.
At the closest point, Russia and the U.S.
Are less than two miles apart
If an altercation breaks out between them
Using bikes instead of tanks would be smart
Baby robins eat 14 feet of worms a day
Eeew! That's pretty gross to me
If you're a baby robin though you'd be anxious
To slither them down with glee
Cleopatra married two of her brothers
Might have considered it if I had one
George Washington grew marijuana in his garden
A pothead before President he'd become
Q-Tips were originally called “Baby Gays”
For obvious reasons, not a good idea
Tablecloths were originally meant to be towels
To wipe your face after eating tortillas
Cranberries are sorted by bouncing them
Ripe ones can be dribbled like a basketball
Hope their floors are immaculately clean
Else yours truly would be really appalled
Ancient Egyptians slept on pillows of stone
Guess they'd never hear of a Tempur-Pedic
Must have got up in a pretty foul mood
Uttering phrases that weren't too comedic
Did you know Burt Reynolds is a Cherokee
Well Kimosabe, that's a new one on me
A ball of glass bounces higher than a rubber ball
Who owns a ball of glass, that's silly
In our lifetime, we grow 590 miles of hair
Imagine if we never got it cut
We'd need a special valet trailing behind
To make sure in a door it don't get shut
Lightning generates temperatures 5 times hotter
Than those at the surface of the sun
One ragweed plant releases a billion grains of pollen
Allergy sufferers don't think that's fun
© Jack Ellison 2015
With wings as black as night, what death holds sway
By powers strong and ancient, death’s favored creature
Spirits burst to song at the Morrigan’s passing
With dark song filling the air, tulips wilt turning bare
As they pass through the morning air
Bird of mourning wears death’s sting
Fear of dank, dark passage, ‘neath thine unholy wing
Cold and callous they now fly
Great Tsi Sgili eye, born of fear and nightmare, true and sure
Thirteen times it calls
Thine soul bids goodbye, heaven and hell ever near
Which are thee - shall thou persevere?
*1: The Morrigan are the three Celtic sister goddesses of battle,the earth, death, and destiny, their names are Morrigan, Badb,and Nemaine.
*2: Tsi Sgili is a Cherokee witch who has the power to kill with their mind, and the ability to feed off of death,according to google the name literally means owl witch.
They say he had three Mothers
The Earth, the Wind, and Water
And His father was the Sun
And the Moon was his daughter
He wore a gun in his belt
With clothing made from hide
As He walked, He made no sound
And never broke his stride
Folks say he was part Cherokee
Others say, part Crow
There wasn't any clarity
There was no way to know
He wore a shiny locket
On the inside of his shirt
That he took out of the pocket
Of a dead Comanche’s' skirt
The feather in his hat
Made the white folk all take notice
And on his belt a sack
With an ancient Aztec Poultice
The myth, was he knew magic
Taught by spirits raised by Shamans
And because His birth was tragic
He was thought to be a Demon
As he passed through our town
The People, looked away
Afraid of being cursed
They where glad he didn't stay
The sun sank in the East
As the wind blew from the West
And he walked in a straight line
Like a man bent on a quest
He climbed up to the foothills
Where the Injuns made their graves
There he raised them from the dead
As he made them all his slaves
No one knew his purpose
For the dead upon that mound
Not at least, until that day
He came back to this town
after Charles Bukowski
No bird lives
in my heart. An
inhospitable place, flooding
every morning
with curious
blue blood.
The bird I know
lives
in the park or,
the zoo, or maybe
the splintered telephone poles
on Cherokee.
He does worry after
me, though. I can
hear him, his corvid
questions, “when
are you quitting cigarettes? when
are you making that
cranberry
and arugula salad?
did you have that
dream again?”
I used to worry after
him, too. Human
questions like, “where
do you go in
freezing
rains? did you ever
know your
grandfather?
have you ever been sad?
But,
today I saw him pull
an apple slice
from a torn,
plastic bag. Now
I know he’s never
shed
a tear in his life.
Just like he knows
that I’ll never eat
cranberry
and arugula salad.
We lock eyes in
the park. My heart
pumps blood. Then—
again.
I took my bike on Amtrak, got off at Charlottesville.
Climbed up to the Blue Ridge parkway, the first of many a hill.
I met a Canadian Carpenter as I got closer to N.C.
He was cycling alone; his wife would meet him in Miami.
We shared some jokes and when food ran low
resupplied at the green valley of Shenandoah.
The Laurel by the road is pink and white in spring
But late fall had its charm as well, a bike ride for a king.
The carpenter told me that I biked too long
He was right: I gave out, it was he who was strong.
He kept riding south but not with me.
I turned back just 60 miles from the town of Cherokee.
All I really needed was a day or two to rest
But a foolish reflex made me give up the quest
I had told him I had to get back, which was a lie
He shook my hand; one last wisecrack and we said goodbye.
I got home and there was a letter waiting for me:
the Carpenter praised to the sky the stretch to Cherokee.
Sometimes clear, sometimes fog, on the ridgeline high,
Blue smoky mists blended mountains with the sky.
The road climbs above 6000 feet, there's red spruce and pine:
He said I had to go someday, the views were so sublime
But there were too few blocks of time when I was free
And for those times, storms raged above the land of the Cherokee.
Then dad got cancer, and mom got cancer too
Brothers sometimes shared the load, but the years still flew.
But I'm hoping that there is an opening yet
that I can reverse this particular regret
I'll tear the veil, warp time's bridge
And make my way to that lost Blue Ridge.
But you never know, you can't open every door
There are portents on every scale, and I'm afraid of what's in store.