Long Native Poems
Long Native Poems. Below are the most popular long Native by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Native poems by poem length and keyword.
I pledge FirstNative gratitude
for unfederated,
unmitigated
positive local through global
regenerative attitude.
I pledge gratitude to this Sun
and EarthMothers
from whom we come
into trusting democratic wombs
and eggs
and seeds
for which these continue to revolve life's harmonic ecology,
one uniting species MotherTree of Life through Death
under and planted within God
as Gaian Goddess Principle
of ReForestry,
between glacial deforesting climates,
indivisibly polypathic,
with regenerative liberty
and authoritative egohealthy wealth of ecojustice
with
and of
and for
and from All EarthLives Matter.
I pledge gratitude
for unmitigated
positive local
as global
trusting attitude.
On the dry bed of old Birch Creek lay bones
Of deer picked clean by buzzards these stones
Forged a path for a thousand dances of the Sun
They came here for me I am the one
The last of my band to make my home
On the dry bed of old Birch Creek
On the dry bed of old Birch Creek I take
A deep drag from my pipe my son will make
His living packing meat in Great Falls
Far from here it is good for him but these cabin walls
Will ring no more with laughter of children at the break
Of dawn on the dry bed of old Birch Creek
Along the dry bed of old Birch Creek where Apisi
And I would run to see Grandfather ready
For the hunt in the days the buffalo
Were a thick fog on the plain oh how we longed to go
With Father and Grandfather who would wave to me
As the band moved out along the dry bed of old Birch Creek
On the dry bed of old Birch Creek I pass
The days smoking drinking waiting but at last
The Great White Father's rations arrive
My boy joined the Army and now must survive
The white man's war in France
Better he die fighting than conquered on the dry bed of old Birch Creek
September 16, 2016
"A drum beats within me of my Ojibwe spirit ancestors.
It echoes in the forest and above in the azure sky and down flutters
an eagle feather that I place in my wind swept hair."
____________________________________
On birch scrolls the history of the Ojibwe is told,
and I, a mere Ojibwe girl write of their courage and fight;
not just for recognition but of their battle in wars so cold,
thousands join the white troops to feel death's bite.
The Ojibwe are fighters, snipers, coders, and scouts,
the warriors fought and fight bravely- I have no doubts;
and to my ancestors in the sky I send my dancing shouts.
Once they fished, hunted and worked their land,
then, they were put in reservations by government command;
starved, but not until the fierce warriors made a stand.
In dreams, images of warriors with bows that turn into guns unfold,
I am so proud of my native culture that I must write;
that after many years- there are monuments scattered thereabouts;
and this Ojibwe, says thank you to each no matter from what band.
___________________________
November 16, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/An Eagle- Because Of Them
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1085-555-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, A Tribute To Native Culture
sponsor, Line Gauthier
First Place
Angel Bones
Two Hundred fifteen angels (Narration by an elder)
each buried in a shallow grave
The monsters said the Angels were savages
that they were there to save
Each little heartbeat
cries up from the earth
“Come seek out our answers. (Narration by child)
please prove that we have worth”
“Those who survived us
have tried to be our voice.
Why have they been silenced?
Please listen it’s a choice.”
“Return us to our families,
so they can beat the drum.
Then our spirits will find peace,
in the place that we are from.”
“The world must know the truth,
the Government didn’t know best.
They fed us to pale monsters,
we were cursed instead of blessed.”
“Yes cruel pale faced monsters,
robed in uniforms of black.
Pretended to be Godly,
while perpetrating their attack.”
“Touching our little bodies,
telling us we were blind.
Deriving their cruel cruel pleasures,
monsters of a different kind.”
“The school was their playground,
these monsters had their way.
Each time we tried to speak,
there was a price to pay.”
(Drum beats)
thump thump, thump thump,
Thump thump, thump thump
Thump thump, thump thump
(Native elders singing)
The bones of our innocent Angels (Narration by Elder)
that they buried beneath the ground.
Their spirits speak in unison
Without emitting a single sound
Each little heartbeat
Cries up from the earth
“Come seek out our answers, (Narration by child)
please prove that we have worth.”
Once upon the start of time,
Universal Space was permaculturally natural systemic
intelligence
information--
Positively radiant development
of nondual co-gravitating systemic memory capacity,
progenerically,
pregeneratively,
birth-bang Father Solar System
revolving Mother Earth,
their swirling twisting revolutionary prime relationship
diastolically reflected in Grandmother Moon's
monthly periods of fertile gravitational light
and dark newly dissonant transitions.
YangSun radiates Yin's EarthTribal Skins,
breeding hydrogen and oxygen,
and that whole tribal table of
ecological economic transactional cooperation,
air and water and soil and fire
and synergetic love-chemistry sets
of live-systems,
evolving and absorbing reverse-evil non-paradigms
of generally dissonant and yet prime-consonant negentropy,
and the rest,
as we often say,
is justice enculturating and in-forming history;
Of poly-cultural evolution and development,
in-carnation and meta-systemic karma,
of enthymematically rooted stimulus and response communication,
of Yang greets Yin
meets bi-rooting Yang
greets binomial Yin
meets binary balanced Yang;
+/(-)(-)0Bit-monomial Time
balancing
Permaculturating
Universal Systemic Well-Being Relationship.
So, if don't nobody bring me no bad news,
we can live cooperatively and peacefully ever after,
with emerging proclivities toward warm glowing campfires
under the stars
reflecting sacred burning bushes
dreaming bicamerally balancing minds.
Three days and topo,
Drawn circle to stay
Within; can’t
Encounter another.
Three days of solitude
Bare provisions, no tent;
Fruit, jerky, one egg,
Three matches.
The rest of food to find
Mid-summer, Sierra,
Plenty if you know,
Nothing if not.
Night one, little sleep
Chilled, shaking fingers
Touch flame to tinder –
Welcome whisp.
Eat one half orange
Put egg within
Then orange into coals –
The first breakfast.
Eve, day two,
The silence doesn’t speak;
Smells and sounds
Grow strong and loud.
Night three, a voice
Different language
Primal, musical,
Ecstatic, empowering.
Hike back, meet others
Sit in circle, no talk,
Eat sandwiches
Listen to a drum.
In the belly of Enugu’s coal-dark earth,
Men toiled beneath for all they were worth.
Sweat and silence, pickaxe and pain,
Digging riches, yet bound by chain.
No crown they wore, though kings they stood,
Their hands were scarred, their hearts were good.
But when they rose with voices loud,
The empire answered with gun and shroud.
November wept in forty-nine,
As rifles cracked a crimson line.
Twenty-one fell, dreams undone,
Beneath the unforgiving sun.
They asked for bread, were given lead,
By those whose flags in silence bled.
Their only crime? To dare to stand,
For justice on their native land.
The coal was black, but deeper still,
Was British greed and iron will.
Yet from that grave, a fire grew,
A cry for freedom, strong and true.
Oh Iva Valley, sacred ground,
Where martyr’s blood still speaks profound.
Not just a tale of loss and dust,
But how the broken found their trust.
Their names may fade from pages read,
But history walks where they once bled.
And every step toward liberty’s light
Was paved by those who dared to fight.
Move over Matilda… Waltz with Galinda.
There’s a new Aussie bush ballad in town! Introducing Waltzing Galinda — a cheeky, heartwarming tribute to Aussie folklore, with a twist! Starring a mischievous quokka, a sparkly snail named Galinda, and a trooper koala riding an emu, this is my playful reimagining of the classic Waltzing Matilda — packed with native animals, bush slang, and outback charm.
Perfect for kids, adults, and anyone who loves a good laugh with a bit of Aussie flavour.
Hope it brings a smile to your face.
Waltzing Galinda ~ the Lyrics
There was a sneaky Quokka camped beside a billabong
Under the shade of a Stringy bark tree
And he sang as he watched waiting till his kettle boiled
“You’ll go a-waltzing Galinda with me”
Waltzing Galinda, waltzing Galinda
You’ll go a-waltzing Galinda with me
And he sang as he watched waiting till his kettle boiled
“You’ll go a-waltzing Galinda with me”
Down came Galinda all sparkly and sassy
Followed by her children, one, two and three
Quiet sat the Quokka, pouch open and ready
“You’ll come a-scooting and munching with me!”
Scooting and munching, scooting and munching
who’ll come a-scooting and munching with me!
And he twirled with a giggle, all fluffy and jolly
“You’ll come a-scooting and munching with me!”
Up rode the Trooper, a-huffin’ and a puffin'
Hat on his brow and boots to his knee
“What’s that you’ve got stashed in your tuckerbag
“You’ll come a-waltzing to the jail with me!”
Waltzing Galinda, waltzing Galinda
Caught by the billabong under the tree
and his voice still lingers, listen very closely
“You’ll come a-waltzing Galinda with me!”
Waltzing Galinda, waltzing Galinda
Caught by the billabong under the tree
and his voice still lingers, listen very closely
“You’ll come a-waltzing Galinda with me!”
Waltzing Galinda, waltzing Galinda
Caught by the billabong under the tree
and his voice still lingers, listen very closely
“You’ll come a-waltzing Galinda with me!”
At any moment, you can enter the deep, strong river of your being.
You were born to swim these waters, because you were born in them.
You know the eddy, surge, wave, stream, currents — all swiftness and steady flow.
You are the head and delta, that spring where the waters are born, and the ocean that receives them.
No one and nothing can prevent you from finding your way into any bend of your own river.
Right now, an hour from now, tomorrow, next Tuesday, a lifetime ago,
You can dive into the most welcoming waters and find your native element.
You are a strong swimmer; go to your depth and set your own course.
These are your waters, this is your stream; you control the flow.
All mysteries and molecules obey your thoughts.
Music and reason are flowing together.
Nourish your body and the grateful earth.
Take to these waters.
They’re yours.
Swim.
Now.
Christopher M. Swan 2008
A feather lost glides, drifting, it soars,
in the mighty wind it twirls and swirls as if dancing,
oh once, THE PEOPLE, owned all the wilderness,
they called it home, and now it is being destroyed.
High upon a sheer, jagged cliff a horse,
of many colors stands majestic under the azure sky,
and an Ojibwa girl looks at the land of her Canada,
where below the Ottawa River thunders and roars.
In the wind that howls, eagle feathers,
in her raven hair and on her horse are fluttering,
and in the sky above eagles fly and screech,
to symbolize her ancestors great spirit and strength.
And in my dream, I am that Ojibwa girl,
who stands upon that cliff with her horse and feathers.
_________________________________
September 25, 2016
Poetry/Verse/A Feather Lost
Copyright Protected, ID 16-833-434-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
NA in Contest # 211, finalized 9/26/2016
Submitted to the contest, Any poem that got NA'd
in a September 2016 Contest, sponsor Janice Carnerdy
Third Place