Long Peace pipe Poems
Long Peace pipe Poems. Below are the most popular long Peace pipe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peace pipe poems by poem length and keyword.
1971 (Hey Dude)
Hey dude, come in, come in.
Been a long time since we last smoked the peace pipe together.
Hey! I think it was during Hendrix’s set in Bethel, dude!
Here, let me move these Rolling Stones out of the way.
and the Taco Bell wrappers… There. Dude, let’s sit.
First, I need to change the record. Let me look here….hmm,
Iron Butterfly? Naw, too psychedelic. Blind Faith?
Naw, they’re too much like Cream. And I’m tired of them.
Hey, how ‘bout Led Zeppelin 3?... Naw, too new;
Ah! Let’s hear some very mellow Traffic music. This is cool dude!
It’s their second album…very trippy music...
Listening to this stuff makes me feel alright!...
Dude, Here you go. That hole there is like a carburetor;
Put your finger on it and draw in. Then, let go. Boom!
Dude! Welcome to the petrified forest, man!
Dude! I been kicking back here thinking about infinity, man.
My mind is constantly being blown thinking about how big the universe is.
Dude, we are so small, so infinitesimal, so minute,
in comparison to the absolute vastness of the universe.
Dude, here we are, riding on this huge ball of dirt,
turning through space at a thousand miles per hour,
and we aren’t even feeling it as we speed along,
like it’s not even happening, man!
You know, dude, we are so small, so very very small,
we’re all just a very small part of this vast solar system
with these humongous planets circling this huge ball of fire,
which are all just a very small part of this humongous Milky Way galaxy,
which is just one of billions and billions of galaxies in the universe…
Man, it makes my mind bend!...
Here, this purple haze from Michoacán will seal the deal, dude…
I also been thinking about God, dude!
We are all so small; we are all like spiders, just spinning our webs…
in this humongous garden called life!
So I must ask Dude:
What is God? Who is God?
I will tell you what God is! I now know! Dude!
Are you ready to hear what God is? …
Ice cream, dude! Ice cream!
Do you want some vanilla ice cream, dude?
I have a gallon in my freezer!
Think of the millions of people in the world right now,
the people of India, South America, Australia and even in Dinuba, California,
who at this very moment, this precise second in time and eternity,
are sitting there, eating vanilla ice cream.
Hey dude! Be right back!
Navajo Spirit
The Amazon is amazing, so why are you still destroying,
Its beauty and your integrity? You are a monster devouring.
This natural beauty is in our way;
So we must destroy to build again.
We must cause Mother Nature incredible pain;
For she has given us all these trees and this bloody rain.
A forest stump wouldn’t complain about anything.
Oh no! A Navajo!
We must kick them out of their homes!
We come in peace,
Shoot to kill! Shoot to kill!
We come in peace,
Shoot to kill!
Er; Captain. Yes what is it?
This thievery is taking longer than expected.
What!? Do you think I am an idiot?
No Sir; it’s just, we haven’t got enough biscuits.
What about Jaffa Cakes? No Sir, we’re all out.
Well what about meat? It’s all dead and cannot be eaten.
What do you mean? It’s obviously dead. (Clout!)
Ow! Sorry Sir, I mean it has gone rotten.
Well find some more natives and buy some more meat.
We can’t Sir; they have disappeared, since the last broken treaty.
They haven’t been seen and new supplies we just cannot get.
Doh! Why did we have to be such bloody stupid English Men?
Now we shall all starve because we couldn’t share the land;
The winter is coming and we have no friends.
Oh hello…I am Amity. I am a Navajo.
You look rather ill…where is your home?
England, I think; please help me I’m starving.
Oh of course, wait a second and I’ll get cooking.
Here take this, it will make you healthy.
Cough! Sorry. I never meant to scare you.
Oh you didn’t, don’t be silly.
I just saw you lying here in need;
So I thought I would come and see,
If there was anything I could do.
You’re too kind, after the way my people have treated you.
Oh don’t be silly, you gave us money,
To help us arm ourselves against you.
Such irony really, when we could just have been friends.
Here smoke this peace pipe, it is completely free…
I’m seeing visions…
I see us as neighbours, living beside each other in peace;
I see a time of change in the wind beneath our dreams.
Let us live in peace and never forget history;
For the Navajo Spirit has always been at home
In the Land of the Free.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
"I don't call them New Year's Resolutions. I prefer the term:
Casual Promises to myself that I am under no legal obligation
to fulfill." ~ jamonkey.com
I've given thought, after a titch of consideration,
to make New Year's resolutions... such a vexation
I hesitated to do so without serious contemplation
because quite often I'm led astray by temptation
I will write better poetry to post on the Soup
Be more productive among my peer group
Mind my own business, on others I won't snoop
But won't swear not to write limericks about poop.
I will waive my penchant for chocolate... well, maybe
That will be the most difficult resolution to keep for me
I vow to give up margaritas and switch to sweet tea
And I'll put it all in writing. I'll even sign that decree!
I will not let sticks and stones break my bones
I'll just blame it on an imbalance of her hormones
Or on a guy who acts like one of the Flintstones
Maybe on a plethora of a million other unknowns
I will forgive anyone who screams at me in rants
I will not respond like there are ants in my pants
I seriously promise that I will give peace a chance
Smoke a peace pipe instead of doing a war dance
I will consider it a compliment to be called 'mean girl'
By anyone who derogatorily behaves like a churl
I'll have more patience, so my temper doesn't unfurl
And smile more often. I'll give that thought a whirl
I will make it a definite priority as one of my goals
To walk away from bullies and persnickety trolls
Wooly wolves who pretend to be sheep in their roles
But who expose themselves as taunting buttholes
I am determined to start eating much healthier food
knowing it's a required taste that I've not yet accrued
I believe I will enjoy life more with a positive attitude
And ignore negative folks who like practicing turpitude
I will do my utmost best not to break one resolution
But if I do, I must supplicate for leniency and absolution
I'll not give up a resolution without making a substitution
If you see me cheating, take my chocolate as retribution
The past got a wet way of coming back
to unsettle the present
with haunting future dreams
Who moistened the bed
with such troublesome memories?
There are dark terrors in the night
for the children
of those whose fathers ignited the fright
Colonialism terrorism days
are washing back on the European shores
Time has run out,
there is no safe refuge anymore
Every land that the northern explorers
set sail to wind,
they built forts along the coastline
everywhere their war ships would dock in
Anglo manifesto: the world was theirs to claim —
every land discovered
was stamped with an European name
Greeting the natives with a peace pipe and a gun,
broken arrow friendship treaties
was how the New World was won
Centuries of taking colonial buried treasures
back to their homelands
left flotsam floating on the sea ...
a trailing legacy of perpetual Third World poverty
Cattle prodding the subjugated people
with grazing dreams of freedom,
only made them yearn
to be loosed from their colonial yoke
But their constitution was too weak
to stomach such rich hypocrisy
Therefore they could never break free
Until the winds of time
sent most of the conquerors away,
returning to their own lands permanently
Now the stormy waves of their past sins
have come crashing back on their shores again
New Age terrorism comes
with the waves of refugees now streaming in,
unhinging the doors of democracy
Fear was the face of colonialism terrorism
reflecting off the surface of the seven seas
Horror hollowed the eyes
that witnessed such degradation and misery
Those unclean waves are washing ashore salty tears
from long ago grief foaming years ...
And the human sharks have now followed the bloody trail,
back to the places where the children of the oppressors dwell
As waves of stolen heritage debris
washes upon the European shores
Dirty causality of the dark reality from the past,
can’t clean the wet night terror dreams
that the children of privilege now have
Chorus:
Dakota Land was Indian land,
Dakota Land was free,
The white man came,
Now all that remain,
Are the reservations,
And the broken treaties.
Narration:
He stands alone, his head held high,
His eyes have dimmed with age.
When days of yore pass in review,
His heart can fill with rage.
He was a mighty warrior then,
Sioux was his name,
Dakota Land was his alone,
Before the white man came.
The rivers wide, the rolling hills,
The thundering buffalo masses,
Rabbit, deer and phesant hide,
Among the prairie grasses.
Women tanned the hides for winter,
Spread the berries out to dry,
Gathered roots and herbs and bark,
To keep the winter colic out.
The warrior grand in his aray,
With achievements he could boast,
The boys playing warrior games,
Among ancesteral ghosts.
The strangers came, first there was one,
And then there was another.
What harm could these strange people do,
Amidst the mighty hunter.
Then everything began to change,
The white man brought decay,
The brilliant skies of blue he knew,
Soon turned to darkest gray.
He smoked the peace pipe, signed their treaties,
Gave his word and hand,
Then came the final crushing blow,
His own Dakota Land.
They put him on the reservation,
Told him here he was to stay,
Said that there would be much blood shed,
If he tried to go away.
Then came the wars, the rageing battles,
Their blood did mingle then .
Even with his many victories,
How could the Indian win.
To ease their conscience, they'd provide,
Clothing, food and bread,
Can this ever pay them back
For freedom, when it's dead?
Laughing Water, Singing Dove,
Crazy Horse and more,
Long time gone but in the heart,
There still remains the scar.
He stands alone, his head held high,
His eyes have dimmed with age.
But in his heart Dakota Land,
And Sioux, are still the same.
Chorus:
Cile Beer
written l975
Form:
Warlords love the crack cackling sound ...
faint vapors smelled worldwide,
when twine toking on the choking peace pipe
Lying lips huffing and puffing,
blowing smoke out the barrel rear end
Frontal sphincter holes
open and close ...
Pre-negotiated spoils fanning the wind
Rub two cancer sticks together,
to start a third global forest fire blazing
Twin Smoky Bear false witnesses,
like Pilate and Herod —
Duo hardcore sworn enemies
becoming so Maryjane best bud friends
Truth is a menthol breakdown,
a Kool summer breeze on a hot, Camel caravan night
Warning of mirage oasis whisperings
filling the Death Valley desert air with nuclear fright
Warlords love doing the iron lung Scorpion crawl,
passing the slim peace pipe inside of the toilet stall
Flushing nicotine hope down the porcelain drain;
huffing and puffing,
with covetous tar face delight
Singing with ember glee in the Inferno dire reign
Smoking jacket pleasure
fills talky polluted atmosphere
with syrupy cough pain
Paranoia beyond measure,
empties womb palpitating fear:
Tick tick puffer insane
Warlords love the milk poppy urn sound,
silent nods heard worldwide ...
when dumping vow ashes from the peace pipe
Truth is a menthol breakdown,
a Marlboro spring breeze on a cold, Salem witch night
Warning of hibernating pyre whisperings
filling the Negev autumn air with nuclear winter fright
Warlords love the crack cackling sound ...
vaporized air felt worldwide,
when chain toking on the cranium choking peace pipe
Lying lips huffing and puffing,
blowing idol smoke out the gunny shark rear end
Sphincter jaw Pinocchio nose
open and close ...
Fungi ‘shroom spittle spores make the sky darken
Warlords love the crystal meth blurb sound,
LSD plan heard dark web worldwide ...
Life-Stopping Detonations
be brimstone smoke coming from a broken peace pipe
please allow ample delivery time
per arability of friendship
and hoop fully this acquiescence
can render an accord shared
via exchanging calumet peace pipe
initially invoked qua
piercing, gouging, digging...from hooked aquilinity
upon awareness miss applying the squaw aridity
mine swallowing capacity as pins pricking
a voodoo likeness doll (of me),
though this claim could steeped
in utter contrived artificiality
fusing flagrant faulty aromaticity
asininity admitting absent attentiveness
as ska walking a fine line
betwixt asexuality behooves
rectification allowing solution Wiccan agree
upon linking assimilability, assignability, assiduity
implicating with asperity whore err roan
nee huss rubble word choice prompting asperity
inducing me to cast the first stone
of apology, and self awareness
totally tubularly offer thyself as human sacrifice
redeeming conceding unalterable venal tone
role of squawking chief fowl ling at the end zone
regarding, where associatively properly went
assumability, anonymity of the internet vent
ting modality adopting immunity,
viz virtual community tent
revival meeting adumbrating atypicality, attainability
avoidance of audiological atrocity, sans atonality sent
to ear rate, the autoimmunity authority,
authenticity, austerity, audacity, co rent
ting availability, automaticity, accessibility
asper automobility to scale tenement, pent
house, or pre faux ying bing avascularity,
avidity, avuncularity avers automatically tall lent
aim to amble along xy feigning tubby
with minimal audibility clark kent
information superhighway
axiality grid via galavanting gent
can be activated swimmingly
with less overt axe said dent.
Uncle soldier Sammie
is too flashback far Saigon
The bad memory withdrawals
are too ganja gun smoke strong
So he pumps up the blame volume,
saying who’s dirty napalm wrong
He’s got a shaky second and third finger condition,
a LSD (long standing delusion) induced affliction
So spaced out on
psychedelic visions of
democracy victory
It triggers poppy field decisions,
harvesting killing yields of foreigner derision
And the mushroom drum sounds,
from the Band of Brothers’ drone bong,
bangs out “Dogs of War”
Howling in the collateral fallout air, forevermore
Heavy medal addiction is a death blow score
Uncle soldier Sammie is a military basket case
in denial retreat
Accused of tour-of-duty dereliction
Suffering dishonorably from a
PSTD defeat affliction
The mine-trippy, Private Dyan head space
has EVAC landed in a heroin casket place
Platoon power puff disgraced
has a pompous, overdose face
A light brigade of reinforcements
witness the guilt heavy medal addiction
As calvary-came-too-late, doctored ambitions
belay any battlefield truthful admission
Uncle soldier Sammie has horrible dreams
of wounded pride Rambos’
giving way to hasty withdrawals
Shrapnel images betrayed by rancor rice bowl jowls
Armistice impossible,
cache cartel condoned
Crack-ed peace pipe got IED blown
More Flanders field flowers
blowing crimson petals
to destinations unknown
Triage tears dampens the runway moans,
and the mental escape hatch
has shut safely on it’s crystal meth own
Uncle soldier Sammie
self-medicates
the missing limb pain that has grown
over the daze and years for so long
Always seeing ghastly apparitions of Cambodia —
fearful flashbacks, so far sigh gone
And the hallucinatory ghosts of Vietnam
don’t give a bog-of-war damn
08-20-21
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
New World colonization,
territorial domination
Main strategic objective to be made:
land acquired by war,
or expansion thru peace by trade
All three needed native allies
They smoked the peace pipe;
puffing part truth, puffing part lies
Then swore on the ancient totems,
said they wanted to go where the eagle flies
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
They had the same common interest —
European superiority,
whose destiny needed to be made manifest
Although they fought one another,
they thought the same capitalistic way,
therefore they were blood brothers
The New World had so much natural largesse,
so many rich, uncharted regions which
Merchant explorers wanted to claim and possess
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
They planted their flags,
and gave the Western hemisphere
an Italian name
North and South America
got divided up
in the three nation poker game
Everyone knows that history
is written by the victors
And posterity
tosses the vanquished to the wind
All of the holy prophets declare:
the rise of man’s last great kingdom
is the beginning of the end
France
Britain
and Spain
Three of a kind,
all with one aim
Conquerors who coveted with no shame
But the justice of God is not blind ...
Search the Scriptures and you will find,
God’s final judgment
was declared before the foundation of time
Thus it is written:
The Spirit Horsemen of the Apocalypse
are four of a kind
"Spring Rain" she was named by her father Chief Many Horses.
Through her veins the hot blood of the majestic Comanche courses!
The young maiden crushed the hearts of many dashing braves,
But to be free to chase the vagabond winds is all she ever craves!
Her father willed her a handsome colt when she was but a little girl.
She named him "Big Thunder" - his coat was akin to that of a pearl!
Her raven hair streamed behind her as she clasped "Big Thunder's" mane!
Ah! Sweet communion with Mother Earth as they raced across the plain!
She preferred the buffalo hunt or spearing fish from tranquil shores,
To tanning hides, preparing pemmican and other such mundane chores!
Her father tutored the budding princess to assume the role of Chief.
She ever looked beyond the horizon to bring her people needed relief!
She fought in many battles and counted coup much to the Chief's chagrin.
She could be heard shouting the "Comanche Yell" above the battles' din!
Her battle cry was ever, "Great White Father, leave my people be!
It is our land the Great Spirit has given us! We just want to live free"
Alas, Chief Many Horses was killed in battle and she assumed his role.
To smoke the peace pipe and make a better life for the tribe was her goal.
Sadly, the Comanche won many battles but eventually lost the war,
But Spring Rain, the only female Chief, will be remembered forever more!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 inConstance's "Rain, The Story" Contest - January 2011