Everyone grieves in their own way
that’s a fact not a belief…
Which means there is not date of completion
no timeline for our grief…
To all the thought and prayers
those who’ve suffered a loss might be receiving…
Today I’m grateful to add
this Native American Prayer of grieving:
I give you this one thought to keep
I am with you still…I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not think of me as gone…
I am with you still…in each new dawn.
brightest bulb in sky
colors trees with chill and hue ~
sparks of cold winter
(September Full Moon – Assiniboine)
Today I revisit a blessing…we need to hear it more
perhaps that’s why I’ve used it so many times before
It’s from the Native Nations peoples
who had their share of tragedy, heartache and strife…
and how they understood about one particular circle of life…
I imagine long ago they found the beat…
and discovered it by chance:
Dancing is a way to pray
prayer leads to healing
once we heal we can give
to give is to live
and one way to show we appreciate being alive
is to dance.
Party Animal
I see you
Walking through that door
Standing on two feet
When you should be on four
I see you
Right through your disguise
Every word from your mouth
Nothing more than lies
I see you
Grinning from ear to ear
Won’t be long now
Until fangs and claws appear
I see you
Such a big talker
But you dont fool me
I know you skin walker
Once again I defer today’s blessing to the Native Nations
I hope someday their wisdom will help us understand…
how we are not the total masters…
but only one part of the land
No one owns the water
No one owns the land
No one owns the ocean
No one owns the sand
These are give by our Mother
The Planet provides for free
Only by the hands
of the greedy
does the Earth
require a fee
mauve mountain shadows
creep across verdant valley ~
purple moon rises
(August Full Moon – Tlingit people of the Pacific Northwest)
Amidst thy grassy sea,
Stands a lone cottonwood tree.
A man of red–
His many feathers
Scatter like dust–
Away in the wind.
Amidst thy cottonwood tree,
Lies a man who once was free.
A man of blue–
My musket, aflush
A sacred scarlet–
Stricken with iron.
‘Thy brother’s blood crieth unto me.’
My blank canvas,
Suspends in time–
For I – I
Hath begotten flames–
Unto this rich plain
Of gold.
My brother in red–
He is dead–
And my sin hath killed him.
In shaking tears,
I run out into the sky–
Chasing his feathers.
chocolate-cracked earth
sizzling Stygian summer ~
lizard on a stick
(July Full Moon – Native American)
Native Americans call me 'Paleface'
'Roundeye' say the Chinese race
to a Scot I'm a 'Sassenach' 'Boyo' to those in Wales
altho' a 'Limey' in New York
I answer to none such hails
once a 'Gweilo' in Hong Kong Down Under was a 'Pom'
you may give a dog a bad name (and/or a bone)
he may even be your (best) 'Pal' don't think me fuddy-duddy
for what's more I have my limits and I'm not your (good) 'Buddy'
then a 'Rooinek' 'round Cape Town
'Farangi' was I in Dubai
and tho' no English rose was a 'Bloke' when there
as originally from Kenya when owned by Blighty
in some parts of the U.S.A. I'm now called 'Whitey'
'Haole' in Hawaii that's me and 'Gringo'
down south in Mexico
seems I'm all things to all men a man of many hats
altho' no they know me not
whether saint or sinner
you may call me what you will
but just not late for dinner
1905
Geronimo went to Washington
to meet the Great White Father
(where he hoped to bury the hatchet)
and save his Indian Nation...
checking into his hotel, the desk clerk asked,
"Do you have a reservation?"
The perfect poker face when playing cards
(his guards were nearly always broke)
said to be blood-thirsty, his winnings used he
to pay for educating children of the Apache.
He later rode with Pawnee Bill
in what was known as the 'Wild West',
(and what a circus)
a chief he never was,
1909
died of pneumonia all too soon,
'Geronimo Now a Good Indian,'
read the headline of The Chicago Daily Tribune.
I as Cherokee must take a stand,
and say no more missing females from Native lands
Too many have gone missing through the years,
Along with too much sorrow and tears
I along with my Native sisters must stand and fight,
Along with our brothers to do what's right
I will shed my blood if need be,
If another sister is taken it will have to be through me
We as Natives what is right,
That's why we stand and fight to have no more sisters
gone out of sight
Juicy and sweet, these berries delight,
Unique flavor with a hint of almond's bite.
Native to North America's land,
Eaten fresh or dried, both are grand.
Baked into pies or made into jam,
Enjoyed in wines, a treat for the fam.
Rosy bronze leaves in spring's embrace,
Rich in nutrients, a healthful grace.
Indigenous peoples cherished them so,
Essential vitamins they bestow.
Saskatoon berries, nature's gift we know.
mauve to indigo
sweetened by nature's largesse ~
mockingbird mayhem
(June Full Moon – Haida)
Before the emergence
of consciousness
we were
a reflection of God
Afterward
unable to perceive identity
through internal reflection
God became a reflection
of US
Consciousness
splitting the mirror
2 hemispheres
Asking
WHO ARE YOU
But
No mirror
Can
Reflect
Itself
so in that fracture
Identity
Becomes
Alien
External
Something
OTHER
yet even in our exile our human
identity
remains
a single facet
of earth
a lens
through which
the planet
becomes
Aware Of
Itself
Thru
Language
Breath
Form
and in the question
that
echoes
from her
still
WHO ARE YOU
a placid lake at sunrise
bending to fill a weaved basket
water's reflect a native squaw
Specific Types of Native American Poems
Definition | What is Native American in Poetry?