Long Teepee Poems
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She was a wise woman, a natural being, a female shaman
Her magical ways were known by most, especially the Lakota
We came to her for truth, guidance, spiritual wisdom.
The men revered her as much as the women, maybe more.
She had a connection with the Great Spirit most do not garner.
Respected and revered, we trusted her to guide us along our path.
She was a fantastic listener, who enlisted the spirits to help
Always encouraging us to make our own connections,
So we could follow the path we had set in Father Sky
Before we ever put our moccasins on Mother Earth.
As we left her campfire or her teepee, we always felt more in tune
With brother deer, sister rainbow and cousin lake.
Light travels faster than sound... that's why
Some appear bright till they speak
I'm sure we've all met some people like this
They're not all totally unique
The main reason Santa is always so jolly
He knows where the bad girls reside
Never really thought Santa could be naughty
Sure like to go with him on his ride
A psychiatrist once told me I was crazy
Told him I wanted a second opinion
He said well then, you're quite ugly too
Ain't no cure for that condition
Men have two emotions, hungry and horny
If you see one without an ********
Make the poor man a sandwich, he's hungry
Later you can show him affection
A fortune teller once told me I would marry
Into a very famous Indian tribe
You'll surely become one big Hopi family
And live in a teepee with your bride
The world's fattest man should be a hockey goalie
He'd be famous and go down in history
For never allowing even a single puck past him
The reason is certainly no mystery
I received a degree in Calcium Anthropology
The study of creatures called milkmen
When asking for something on sale at the store
Surprise, it's not available. Amen!
© Jack Ellison 2015
LC
I bought an eighty-inch TV,
just for the box—
set it up like a teepee.
Jump in like tee-hee!
Throw the screen out the window.
Let it crash.
Now there’s an 80” stuck in my lawn,
and people slow down just to whisper,
“Wow… this guy’s artsy.”
Turns out Mary didn’t even have a lamb.
She was just a crack head
Life is better made of lead—
Anyway—
I’m the Wall King.
Just walking.
Dripping with metaphors,
casually passing a bar
so packed with puns
I can smell a librarian’s breath
from the sidewalk like:o
shhh… no talking.
I wave.
Web spinner, sinner—what’s for dinner?
Probably canned beans and regret.
I’m a different thinker.
Opened my brain like a paint can
and painted the gray
a little pinker.
No dreams.
Noted.
Polyurethane coated.
Polly, you’re a pain
with your coats and coats
and coats of—
Breathe.
Breathe useless airs.
Angel lets me breathe.
Devil always stares.
But I cares…
I cares. I cares!
That’s when I hear it—
“Hi, I’m Death.”
Oh hey.
Didn’t expect you this early.
Death shrugs:
“As a frequent spectator…
take a side quest.”
So I do.
I walk down to the park
where squirrels are doing calculus
and pigeons speak in Morse code.
I sit on a bench made of half-memories
and I think:
Energy is everything.
It exists inside your mind.
Space is confidential.
Which is why we keep
bumping into each other’s
potential.
Suddenly—flashback.
Sandler, on TV,
taught me about my oblongata—
made connections like:
“Hi, I’m the brain. What’s up, pain and suffering?”
And I answer: Nada.
Then I freeze.
Manual breathing activated.
Chest rising like it has stage fright.
Autonomous… imagination…
and a Beatle told me once—
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da—life goes on, too.
And I laugh.
Because I’m sitting in a teepee
made from a TV box,
eating cold soup with Death,
and nobody can tell me
this isn’t art you see.
Cherub's unfurled fingers faithfully extend to his fallow fringe
hung from a chest made firm by suede, sweat and rain.
Chernobyl blue irises mimic April '86 radiation,
dessimating her Cherokee's sense of societal decency.
Devoted to her capture, suede cape kidnapped,
kept protected.
Kernel lodges promise in her gut, cob of compassion sprouts
from yellow potential.
Shrewd Indian whisks his skin of citrine amber sap seraphim
away, to landscape blameless bare.
Motor mumbles underwater torture breathes through
chrome clothing.
Frothy stew swirling storm of snake flesh snow flakes.
Cherub's education quells emotion, pain never developed.
Teepee tall frame levitates in opaque of inequitable love.
Flimsy slim strands strong in Cherub's raised comprehension.
Fringe flown backwards flattens beneath her face,
bohemian bombastic.
Dislodged sand grains foretell
Grasp nestled naive fledgling
Prospered pillion flame
7th June 2022
Written for Contest:
Like A Child
Sponsor:
Regina McIntosh
There was a Red Indian Chief
his name was Raging Waters
he lived a pleasant life
surrounded by his four wives
They took care of all his needs
gave him strong sons and daughters
he ruled mainly in peace not war
apart from raids on the Black Hawks
It was one of his joys to sneak up
and steal their very fine horses
and to capture some of their squaws
these he could trade for guns and whiskey
As time went on he grew very troubled
he consulted with the medicine man
who sent him to the hot bath teepee
there smoking his pipe he relaxed
Soon the visions started to appear
war was on the horizon he could see
also a squaw so comely he lost his heart
he left the teepee and sent out scouts
They scoured the lands searching for her
at last one came back with the news
she belonged to the Crows and was promised
gathering up a raiding party, he set off
At dead of night they sneaked into position
then rushed the camp catching the Crows off guard
they killed the warriors and took the squaws,
children and horses too and well tanned hides
Now there had to be a comeback from this deed
Mighty Hawk gathered his tribes of Crows
and set off for Raging Waters camp for revenge
barely escaping he fled for the mountains
There with just a handful of warriors and squaws
he set out to build up the tribe once more
when at last they had enough warriors
he set out to recapture that beautiful squaw
Never had he forgotten her soft lips on his
driven wild by his desire, he lost all caution
warned by his medicine man it would end badly
he paid no heed and set out to make war
The Crows soon heard he was on his way
and set a terrible trap in between the hills
Raging Waters and his warriors were cut down
the unlucky ones were scalped then given to the squaws
Who beat them and treated them harshly as slaves
thus a lesson was learned do not take promised squaws
Raging Waters name was in time lost in the annuals
his tribe no more, just forgotten ghosts in time
inspired by soup mail chat with Sandra
What if God isn't a he or a she but a he she
eating quiche in a teepee with a toupee
in the company of a grumpy hippy
seeking to unleash a fart storm our way
solar gusts of gigantic proportions
across intergalactic star systems
unholy guffing crushing our sun
with radiation to our extinction
anything is possible it's all unknown
take a guess at the probable fart tone
all we ever do is disbelieve and joke
open up minds after cannabis toke
some believe he's a vengeful bastard
out to punish us thereafter
in a world seeing many disaster
these people couldn't be dafter
so maybe God really is a he she
toupee wearing and living in a teepee
perving on a world of birds and bees
with an irritable bowel about to let free
Long before the white man came
to the Black Hills of South Dokota,
in a teepee made of buffalo skin
lived a young Sioux warrior called Akecheta;
he hunted with a hawk that spotted the slowest
horse, his friends admired him for his courage.
He rode through prairies for hours,
never taking taking a nap and rest
under the shade of a Prickly Pear Cactus!
He watched rainbows stretching
over a horizon dazzling with sun
and invoked the Great Spirit before
heading home through prairies;
he lived in the shadow of mountains
where Howthorne trees showed
their small red berries in the beezy
and pleasant days of early autumn!
He found a hawk who had injuried
wings and showed him his kindness;
hunter and predator became friends,
their boldness could scare a bear.
On his hunting days Akecheta carried
a red-tailed hawk on his shoulder
for guidance, hoping to find a fawn
to take home to feed his family!
Ackecheta hunted for rabbits and deer,
their meats were so tasty and tender;
there's was no scarcity of food:
either be buffalos, nuts or berries.
America was already blessed by God
before Europeans came to conquer;
was the God of the Sioux kinder than
that of the adventurous pioneers?
Ackecheta never saw a beautiful ocean
with shrieking seagulls flying overhead...
only mountains that he called canyons.
He loved the majestic Roughlock Falls,
but he cried when he saw the newcomers
cut down all the tallest Quaker aspens:
had he tried to stop them with angry
screams, he would have been killed!
Written on 6/12/2017
[This is the poem that made me think ‘Hmmm… Sixgun Sid?’
Which led to a plethora of (at least one) ‘adventures’]
*
Cowboys and Red Indians they ride in any weather
Though one will get a soggy hat and one a soggy feather
And all that soggy headwear has been happening forever
Cos Cowboys and Red Indians are really not that clever
Cowboys and Red Indians they rarely get together
When they chase each other they ride horses hell for leather
And Sitting Fox seeks Sixgun Sid for he’s a scalp to sever
And Cowboys and Red Indians they rarely get called Trevor
Cowboys and Red Indians they simply wont endeavour
To shelter under canvas when its raining… No, not ever
Yet even when they're soaking wet they shrug and say “Whatever.”
For Cowboys and Red Indians will share a teepee never
As part of planning this trip—-for one night we were set to reside
in a tiny house in Alberta, Canada…that came with a teepee on the side.
This tiny house had all the amenities we needed…much to our delight
while the teepee had the bed…where we’d sleep under the stars at night.
That was the plan at least….
until we received a text when we reached our Spokane destination
It was from the owner of the tiny house alerting us to a…’situation’.
Apparently Alberta where the tiny house sits, (this is something we didn’t know)
is subject to the strong Chinook winds which across this part of Canada blow.
The situation was…we learned that fateful day
the teepee which was to be our bedroom…in the night had blown away.
Which meant a last minute change of plans…
so to the internet and through the listing on Air B & B I plowed
and luckily found this little cabin on the prairie outside of Fort Macleod.
So we left the mountains behind us…stopping every now and then
to enjoy the country where the land, the hills, the valley together seemed to be flow
ending at this beautiful cabin on the prairie…where the Chinook winds still blow.
Protected in this beautiful little cabin…so comfortable and pleasing to the eye…
and it was here we watched the sunset on the prairie…and the stars light up the sky.
It turned out to be just what we needed…and we thoroughly enjoyed our stay…
making a memory we would never have made…
if our teepee hadn’t blown away.
Cherokee chamber,
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,
She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,
I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -
J.A.B.