Long Native americanme Poems
Long Native americanme Poems. Below are the most popular long Native americanme by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Native americanme poems by poem length and keyword.
My name is running water did you see me on the trail where I cried
Plymouths gold rush to California good byes Weymouth’s tongue forked for new they died
pilgrims to Indians to native pilgrims joss’akeed the prophet saw the ghost dancers die
prince Philips war another pawn in the game of bowl great sachems had to play the role
My name is running water did you see me on the trail where I cried
Americas forgotten conflict or is it not sovereign in land of free sovereignty
Gitchemanito saw you sing this land is your land why you took it from the free
was it a prelude assawompset under frozen pond to we the people’s Boston tea
My name is running water did you see me on the trail where I cried
was it a red king rebellion or praying town intercession new Mount hope
Swansea still swimming for freedom not all the black robes at peace
ambassador for my people imprisoned they destroyed a praying people
My name is running water did you see me on the trail where I cried
pushing east to west for they loved land the best when will they take no more
some tried to help it is true from the killing at dancing rabbit creek to widows peak
trucebreaker in the first degree Farwell letters from noble five to America
My name is running water did you see me on the trail where I cried
Georgia soldier saw a cruel work I will walk the lonely path to be free
from fertile florida to Oklahoma dust bowl you take the land you take the gold
as they build a fire we go I rather lose the world to loose my soul
My name is running water did you see me on the trail where I cried
1The Life Of A Fictitious Person (Name Here)contest by Matt Caliri
where will i find her?
i will find her hiding
inside a triangle
humming, bent over
and sewed into
my many great grandmother's
signature
buried, saved
for the hungriest of winters
like a swan passing
white with long leaps
shapeless spirit
who keeps
herded colors
locked inside her
bone tooth box
stars on either side
the sweetest prayers
work best with tears
i will go crying in to the night
red all over
i will go dangling my song
howl for dawn
creativity
you told me to come!
my woman drummers drumstick
is stored, come straight
a thick and sticky swaddle
for my dream children
for all the ideas in my mind
help me
hear me
i am afarid of this silent birth
geometric babies
overwhelming strength
in words
i believe in the cloud
you float in over me
my needle
my thread
my fingers
this earth paint
every single sight and all the words combined
some say you are dead
gone with the rest of
our world hoop
ha!
i see you in the water
where you breath in the screams
of wishes
woman who you collect
drop by drop by drop
woman whose
skill is not enough for you
women whose
minds are not yet open
spirit i am aware that you presented yourself to me in my mind world last night and i am
here to sing to this song to beg and plead for you to pity me
prove the story my grandmother heard while inside her mother
about rainstorms
that bled glass
beads
shapes
rhythm
a steady flow
it all fell into my palm
only one woman every thousand years
here i am
it is me
shapeless spirit
you offered me the power to create
i accept
here are the words, remember them, remember us, and we will remember you
lady sovereignty, hear me
help me to live honestly
guide me and my inner me
restore my feet and lead me
across clear and feathered fields
toward competence
creation, inspiration
independence with connection
so no longer will i float about
in the skin of a long lost fawn
who waits in silence to be rescued
by the ones who left me so easily and cold
i have tired of the chase which leaves me hungry
angry
wanting more of the real thing
help me to remember what is important
help me to lead myself in a good way
i will listen, wait, and prepare
fresh, wet wreaths for your arrival
so easily will you float into my lungs
clear me out and hatch me open
inside the nest of patient sovereignty
i will think by feeling
and i will listen to my thoughts
i will drift and ride inside your current
with an open mind and invitation
i will teach, learn, and recreate myself
each morning
that way my will
will never be destroyed
choked or forgotten
help me be the steaming light
that rushes from your strong
outspoken, ancient choral drum
i will memorize your sound
and listen deeply when you speak
you say your name means
that of self-acceptance
of self-awareness
inner guidance
ideas, peace, and family
well i will take these words
and crush them up
and with them
i will paint myself anew
i will walk clearly, honestly
with both palms turned up and free
to trust and work and live my life
for lady sovereignty
I take all this in
This moment here and now
Feeling despair.
I’ve died already,
Been beaten, tortured, and raped a thousand times over,
That will never go away,
I carry the hurt of my ancestors in my chest.
Hearing their stories be cast aside, mistaken, or not heard at all
Burns in my soul like a fire I can’t put out.
Within the walls of this humanity that blinds me
Will I ever begin to exist?
Colonization rears its many heads with a sword,
I died hundreds of years ago.
Held in chains called a percent
When will the killings stop?
If you ignore my history, ignore my struggle
It doesn’t make me any less real,
I am still thriving, alive.
Forget I’m here now
But remember to sexualize me, make me inferior,
Take away my existence.
Forget what you learned or what you think you know.
We celebrate a painful history,
With Jackson on the twenty dollar bill
And Columbus a national hero.
I can’t say I’m not angry
Because I’m pissed as hell
But I won’t be angry and give you that strength.
I was raised to have respect
Though I never thought it could come to me.
I have to change where I’m coming from,
Heal this place of pain,
Be open to you whom I love
And stand up, tall, respectful,
Respected.
-Tuiyanti Mampihandon
My children are all grown and have gone to seek their own lives. Since that time on different
occasions, I had two very close friends show me their warts and tell me how they've worn
them since the age of five. They didin't even know each other. I listened very carefully
while
each told all they've tried and how they wished to be rid of them. One of my friends even
cried. And then I told them the story of the Spirit of the Healer Ms Agnes as I held their
hands in mine. When I said, "maybe. Just maybe there's enough of the Spirit of The Healer
Ms Agnes left in there for you too", Not wanting to give false hope I added, "it may not
work
it's been such a long time".
Many moons went by before I saw those two friends again. But the first thing they wanted to
tell me was that they awoke with their warts in their bed and to offer me thanks. "No thanks
goes to me" said I. "It's all the Spirit of The Healer Ms Agnes who comes to make the warts
go away. I am merely a vessel" I said, as I hugged them goodbye.
The End
Copyright © by Scarlett Anderson
The days moved slowly, but did pass.
He had spent the last three dreaming
of his mentor Wakan Tanka.
Calling him from Han in darkness,
waiting for his sign of answer.
It had come in bits and pieces
of Ojibwa legend mainly.
Thirty days purification
Of mind, body, spiritual.
Bathed in ginger, pomegranate.
In the round house incense offered,
Calls shadow land of Lakota.
Nagila, Nagila come be my bride.
The hawk and fox are beside me.
I have fasted forty summers,
visited the spirit of death.
Niya, the spirit of life’s blood
has lifted me up to the stars.
She has cleansed with healing waters.
Now let me take the talisman.
Now let me repeat the promise.
Now let me take my rightful place
among my people as Shaman.
Apr 16 2011 CGH the Ojibwa of the
north western plains
Wakan Tanka- creator of the Sioux
Han-place of great emptiness, darkness
Nagila-shadow land
Niya-breath of life
ginger and pomegranate-not factual
Oh Great Spirit whose voice I hear in the winds and whose breath gives life to
everyone, hear me.
I come to you as one of your children. I am weak. I am small. I need your wisdom
and your strength.
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunsets.
Make my head respect the things you have made and make my ears sharp so that I
may hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand what you have taught my people and the
lessons you have hidden in each leaf and each rock.
I ask for wisdom and strength. not to be superior to my brothers but to fight my
greatest enemy, myself.
Make me ever ready to come before you with clean hands and a straight eye, so as
life fades away as a fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame.
Yakoke
Copyright © by Scarlett Anderson
My Spirit
My spirit clings to these forest trees,
seeking the help and revenge that I need.
Underneath them he greedily took me with his filthy body,
leaving me bleeding between my knees.
Hours later I died,
leaving few if any leads.
My spirit whispers for help still
within the leaves of these hardwood trees.
I was pleading for help as loud as I could,
while he was planting deep in me his family seed.
My pleas, echo in soft whispers
as the wind blows through the green leaves.
This is a ghost/horror poem about a young girl's spirit haunting the trees in a forest. She
was raped of her virginity and her girlhood by a disgusting man under the trees. Hours later
she died. This is her story telling of the echoes that still can be heard, if you listen carefully.
As the desert sun beats down
turning to ash, everything in sight,
the desert wind sings
mournful wailing songs
for millenniums past.
I stand upon the parched ground,
boot heels digging into the cracks,
beneath the shade of
a broken down and now abandoned
shell of a shack’s roof.
although the weight of death
seems to fill the air,
the ancient energy of human presence
dances around me,
stronger than I’ve
ever felt,
leaving me light headed
and swaying in the moment.
I lay down upon a rickety bench,
I begin to hear my name
amongst the wind’s wailing songs,
calling me to come home,
come home,
suddenly I awake
feeling cleansed, rebirthed, renewed,
and ready to make my way again,
on my own ancient desert trail.
still hearing the voices,
as I walk on past time.
Form: