Long Moccasins Poems
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When I was very young
All I really wanted
To be was an Indian.
My mother always read to me -
Stories of fairies and elves,
Of princesses and ogres, witches,
And brownies who did good deeds.
Poems, “Wynken, Blynken and Nod”,
“The Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat”,
And “The Sugar Plum Tree”.
Books, Alice in Wonderland,
The Little Colonel stories, and
The Five Little Peppers.
(I wonder if my grandchildren
Have ever heard of any of the
Old-fashioned stories and poems
Which were all magic to me.)
But, most of all, I loved
Longfellow’s poem Hiawatha.
“By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining deep sea water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis…”
I hear my mother almost singing
Those magical words from
“The Childhood of Hiawatha”.
I could see Hiawatha growing up
And learning Indian ways in
The woodlands of his youth.
I wanted to live in the woods,
To learn to talk with animals
And know their secrets.
I wanted to wear moccasins
And build a birch bark canoe!
One Christmas my brother got
A cowboy suit and hat and holsters,
But I, wonder of wonders,
Got a “real” Indian dress
With designs of tiny beads,
A fringe on the skirt,
And a headband with feathers!
I told my friends I was part Indian,
That my great grandmother
Was a real live Indian!
When it got back to my mother
She just said, “What stories you tell!”
Although I outgrew the dress,
The dream stayed with me
Throughout my childhood -
Sort of wishful thinking.
I always wanted to
Be close to nature.
Much of my childhood
I spent by myself, somewhat
Of a loner, climbing trees,
Making hideouts in the woods,
Walking in streams
To “cover my tracks”.
That “Indian child” I was
Still lives on in the
Recesses of my memory.
Maybe that’s why now, “grown up”,
I love walking in the woods
Or foraging by the ocean,
Why Stalking the Wild Asparagus
Is one of my favorite books,
Why I love picking wild blueberries
And grapes and making jam, or
Digging for clams and mussels.
Why I HAD to experiment with cooking
Slipper shells and making
Seaweed pudding and “Sumac-ade”.
Of course, I realize,
As well as anyone, that
The life of an Indian was not
As idyllic as I had once believed,
But, even now, after
All these years have passed,
It appears that
My “inner Indian”
Is alive and well and
Living on Martha’s Vineyard!
Wandering through the bayou,
wrapped in its eerie embrace.
Mysterious and strange--
a magical place.
Never seeming to change,
even as seasons come and go,
swampy waters ebb to and fro.
Like long-lost daughters,
gnarled courtly cypress trees
rise from black, murky waters.
Draped lovingly in Spanish moss,
swaying softly in the breeze.
Butterflies float across
as gentle winds ruffle their leaves.
Bouquets of wild hibiscus fill the air,
mingled with sweet azaleas blooming there.
Bullfrogs croak and crickets chirp--
the bayou is awash with soothing music.
As dragonflies flit the cattails, elusive,
water moccasins slither at your feet,
or lurk above you in the trees.
Just as the sun begins to sink low,
comes the faint sound of a fiddle and bow.
The gator comes out of hiding,
rising from the dark waters below--
looking for his meal and smiling.
With snapping jaws, a deer is caught,
then taken below, where he will rot.
The moon rises high into the night,
as fireflies glow in the twilight.
A voodoo queen slips into sight--
with gnarled hands, she rolls the bones.
Whispering cryptic words, she softly moans,
tenderly caressing her snake,
wrapped around and about her neck.
A coon hound whoops it up.
The gnarled trees cast spooky shadows.
Is that the ghostly apparition of Jean Lafitte--
who managed to escape prison and gallows?
Did you bury your treasure in the water or weeds?
As the wind moans softly, it’s time to turn home,
where you can fill your belly with spicy gumbo.
Alesia Leach © 10/2014
The sun receded quietly on a relaxing siesta, as
Calm clouds of the mid-afternoon smiled henced,
The beat of the drums provideth dancing rhythm
As she moved in pure elegance with harmony, to
A style of danced buoyantly bouncing in melody.
Crafted beadworks accented her warmth charm,
Under her delicately brown-jeweled moccasins
The grass provideth such a natural cushion,
As Angular unique flexings of her gentle knees
Resonated like an eagle’s stealthy landing
Quietly in its nests with an eye on a nice prize.
She tingled as the sound of bells jingled
Sending pure melodic rhythm to ears—many!
Whilst she turned in an elegantly slow motion
Fringes from her shawl swayed air of warmth.
The balls of her feet moved in slight degrees as
Her heels touched Mother Earth softly in harmony,
She smiled as the judges watched intently. Like
A graceful dove she floated with precision—uniquely!
Her buckskin regalia trimmings—so singed softly!
As she danced in the sunset evening's twilight;
She created an energetic circle of life’s fire
Yet, never raised her ceremonial feathered fan,
Whilst in clear focus emerged from the dance
Regal styles of proud cultural Native heritage
A contrastingly exquisite fine female figure
Arousing sights in the soft evening’s twilight,
Dispelling the uncertainly to even look twice,
Elegantly noble and much marvelously nice:
She was naturally—First Woman!
~~~~~~~~~**********~~*~~~~~~~~~
Written During Oneida Nation Annual 2010
Independence Weekend Pow-wow Celebration
Host Drummers – Bear Creek
Oneida, Wisconsin, Bordering Green Bay
~~~~~~~~~**~~*********~~~~~~~~~
Won Honorable Mentioned Prize
Images Contest
Sponsored by Frank Herrera
7/15/10
~~~~~~~~~**~~*********~~~~~~~~~
Lay down noiselessly,
as long as you stay still
and breathe lightly, then they will ignore you.
You can smile under your eyelids,
you can pretend that they have legs
and wear business suits.
You can imagine milking the poison
out of their hollow fangs;
like sperm it will ease your mind.
In the viper pit
let the forked tongue's sense your resignation,
let the forked tongue's lick your meekness.
Let the forked tongue's wrap you up
in their sinuous dreams.
On Monday morning they will be waiting
to interrogate your presence,
Their tight shiny pants dick slick
and cocksure. Their pointing shoulder pads
puffed up like rock adders,
high hips sharp and akimbo
pencil-sharp eyes probing,
testing your capacity to still undulate.
If you are male, screw red thorns upon
your rodent parts.
The mice around your spine
are freezing,
wrap them in fox skins
you haggled for at the meat-market.
Grin with your back teeth.
If you are female,
If you have hands,
then hold them up, reveal your armpits,
cream your pheromone-laced musk
into their morning coffee.
Loll with the water-cooler moccasins,
laugh at their venomous jokes.
Feed them scraps of velvety rabbit skin
you have shaved off your inner thighs.
Wear your skirt just a little bit higher.
At the end of the work day,
if your eyes are filled with dried-up slime
remove the crud with a cattle-prod
then slither into a deep sleep.
Dream of eating the juicy white meat
of roasted pythons,
or disemboweling a writhing nest
of Anacondas
with a razor-sharp, steely forked tongue.
.
Eamon heard the rocks skitter away,
scree tumbling down with his every step,
descending from towering Mount Gilborne,
to a lake below where he could rest.
He knew a spot to set up his new tent,
where the conifers came down to the shore,
vibrant blue waters, the peak high above,
a nature-lover could not ask for more.
After setting up camp he went to the lake
to get water to boil for his food,
when he happened upon a man setting traps
in the water wearing clothing quite rude.
His shirt and pants all seemed to be deer-hide,
right down to the old western type fringe,
he wore a fur hat and long moccasins
that ran all the way up past his shins.
Standing in the shallows, he set his trap,
then he looked up and jumped back two feet,
shouted,”You fool, you could’ve been shot!
What’s the idea sneaking up on me!”
Said Eamon,“I didn’t mean to scare you,
and I see there that you’ve got beaver traps,
I like cosplay as much as anyone,
but I must ask, have you a permit for that?”
The man just gave him a peculiar look,
“Now just what’re you talkin’ about, man?
I came out here to this cold frontier,
ain’t need no permit to be on this land.”
Said Eamon,”I get you are playing a part,
and I don’t work for the Forest service,
but I want to keep the wilderness wild,
so I’m going to have to report this.”
“You’ll ride all the way back to St. Louis
to accuse a man committing no crime?”
The man just gawked and shook his shaggy head,
“Good luck then, you’ll have one hell of a time!
“I holed up here to avoid the Blackfeet,
they’ve been rampaging ’round without care,
you try to go now, I’ll bet you twenty plews,
you won’t escape these peaks with you hair!”
Said Eamon,”I get that you like history,
but I don’t really care who you are,
you can’t just go and trap any old thing,
that is taking this bit much too far!”
With that he turned to his bulging frame pack,
and dug out from it his satellite phone,
he typed in a number, and then turned back,
but the strangely dressed man was long gone…
* * *
Birthday thoughts
Flush of feelings;
One year older
~~~~~~~~~
Happy memories
Mental corridors;
Echoes sum
~~~~~~~~~
You and me
Me and you;
Lovely my dear
~~~~~~~~~
So many miles
Worn-out moccasins;
Fruitful journeys
~~~~~~~~~
Hand-in-hand
Trip to nowhere;
Arrivals and departures
~~~~~~~~~
Poignant feelings
A royal flush;
Happy endings
~~~~~~~~~
Ecstasy unfurls
Tender moments;
Affairs of heart
~~~~~~~~~
Birthday haiku
Arithmetic progression;
Beyond sums
~~~~~~~~~
Lovely feelings
Simply subtle;
Hearts in-sync
~~~~~~~~~
Joy feels profound
Perfume on skin;
Lasting fragrance
~~~~~~~~~
Greetings my dear
Same to you;
Same birthday for two
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
08 July 2015
Singapore
Obsess with the color of skin
do you ever see a person
Judge by perceived beliefs
not by a conversation
Every person has a soul
each created by God
in His image
Yet base all emotion
on skin color.
Walk a mile in his moccasins
or only see a pigmentation
with judgement based solely on that.
I myself am not perfect
I am a blend of humanity
trying to live and let live with peace.
Cannot see what is seen by some
to know everything about an individual
just by skin color.
Simple minds believe simple things
When you fall in love, true love
do you see a person, a spirit, a soulmate
Or are you busy checking off
a skin color match first.
Love is blind
Hate sees what it believes
Safety in comfort, similar, likeness
Color of skin important
is it everything
The mind of being human within Divine
our heart is who we are and to become.
1/22/16
Always negative
Is not a good way to live
Be positive
And think cognitive
Don't speak derogative
Because that is preposterous
Considering that there will always be contrast and opposites
Across areas full of rocks having traces of phosphorous
And nearby deposits with onyxes
As well as places that have ostriches, hippopatamus
And rhinoceros
Or wherever it may be in all honestness
Across the continents
One thing it seems we all have common is
That we are members of a group labeleled Hominin
If you make and break the promises
Accept and face the consequences
Always be yourself and have confidence
But not to the point of obnoxiousness
I got to work harder for opulence
Because I want to help friends, family and the populace
With or without pairs of moccasins
All along the grid
No longer want to have any of my pockets thin
Got to bulk it up, going at a speed faster than any known rockets did
There was some wrong I did
But I wanted to make it right, and did not want to fib
Make it to the very top and grin
Near hawks, and anything else that walks and lives
By: Dalton Ogletree
Let’s face it
living here is a lottery of death.
Most countries have their natural perils
but if danger were a horse race
The U.S.A would beat all commers by a head and a neck.
Those early colonists
should have interrogated the natives,
recorded the dire jeopardy of everywhere,
but they were bold and daring and died in their hundreds.
The fauna alone is enough to make you hide under a stone.
Black bears, Brown bears, Grizzly bears, Kodiak bears,
Polar bears……it’s unbearable.
Then there’s the wolves, mountain lions, puma’s, panthers,
enough to make you climb a tall tree and stay there.
Not to mention, but I will,
the alligators, crocodiles, and sharks,
or the rattlers and water moccasins,
also the big or small biting bugs,
sneaky killers all.
O and those interesting, varied, diverse and ever changing climates;
earthquakes, Alaskan tsunami’s, the tornados
and hurricanes, Ice, dust, and snow storms,
Volcano’s, scorching desert death valleys, raging forest Fires.
The many land and rock slides
so many unsettling ways to drown in flash and surging floods.
America I kind of like you, but each day
I roll the dice
just to see if snake eyes foretells of the usual
trouble ahead.
Now we have rampant crime and monkey pox,
there’s always something to harm us
on the way to the hospital.
Rainbow Forest
Indian maiden, resting on the verdant, grassy, shore.
White leather, beaded dress.
In moccasins, does dream, she would confess, longing
for my happiness.
For now, dreams of days of serenity galore!
She,of unknown beauty, does not know.
Of how lovely, she is, truly as gorgeous as the
diamondesque sparkling stream.
She, was created of glistening metallic dreams.
As an ultramarine light show.
Amazing Star is her name, in this universe aglow.
She of ebonied, flowing hair like a waterfall dream.
She is my Spirit Guide in the land of peaceful, moonbeams.
I meet with her, and other animals, who seem to flow.
Oh, a most fulfilling, flute filled show!
6~7~2021