Aside from its indigenous natives
when those there United States
(home of the braves)
were first settled by white colonists and pioneers
it was advertised with a carrot
(not a torch)
held by copper-sheathed Lady Liberty
with book candle
(no bell)
française est elle
with the slogan 'Land of the Free'
propaganda of the day it's enough to make one sick
as today there's far less carrot and way too much more stick
haves and have nots will always be there
(the tired poor huddled wretched masses)
but we you and me can make a difference if we really care
In the past we had to rip them from their mothers
screaming, crying ... afraid
and remold them in our image
antiquated traditions to be discarded
minds and values to be upgraded
by the Machine
Oh! The Glorious Machine ...
But the smoky, grinding beast of old has evolved itself
Glistening, oiled, sleek ... and quiet ...
Pure power - now alluring, irresistible.
Now they leave their mothers of their own choosing
Caught up in wonder of the Machine.
Oh! The Glorious Machine ...
All shall serve for they are served.
All are used up as they learn to use.
All must bow before it ... or break
Oh ... The Glorious Machine ....
2024-09-15 finished quickly by 10:51 AM inspired by article "Sacred places" by Phillip Whiteman Jr.
"Pacha MaMa"
(written by Michelle L LeBlanc 07/20/2024)
Pacha Mama, sweet Mother Earth
I find peace within your presence
From you, much life has given birth
I am thankful to you today
For peace within your wings
As I sit under your branches
As my heart learns to sing
Your beauty all around me
Such peace within your arms
As I ground in your presence
It shuts off the inner alarms
You nurture my heart
And bring healing to my soul
So many wounds from childhood
The Frog helping me to console
The wind blows the branches
As you wave through the trees
You sure know how to soothe a heart
And bring it a sure sense of peace
Too often we've been disconnected
From the power you withhold
I guess it's time to listen
To the ancient stories being told
The Natives had it right
We are connected to the Earth
More than we could ever imagine
I think it's time for a rebirth!
Mocking the dead, is that a thing?
How many ways can one be disrespecting?
Laws that cause offenders to be free?
Rape kits that exist only to be not breached.
Little lies and big divides of right and wrong genocide.
Our forefathers could not ever predict
We would be as disrespectful as this.
Ancestors bones surely roll like river
As the wicked become powerful while weak lips quiver
Fowl language and worse ethics morale and actions
Political powers that endorse for private satisfaction.
Mocking the dead what about the little kids
Who inherit the earth in the shape of it
We enjoyed youth clean air and water
And dirty it up for son and daughter.
Looking back only with limited views
Erasing the truth of ill will and abuse
A country started by taking from the natives
Blended into a melting pot of many races
Mocking the dead playing music head like fiddler
Warming the red bed of fire for Hitler
Are we so pompous we can never admit faults
Until it is too late and we too are lost?
Written 9/21/23 For Mocking The Dead Contest
Sponsor Silent One
Natives and relatives all positives
Alter natives isn’t an alternative
Focusing mind to picture negatives
I
The former Minister said, "You are born out of the world,"
Not into it! Think of a flower, How is it born?
Myriads of marvelous blooms are born into the world
And we, humans, want to be sui generis, alone!
II
When you think of a wonderful waterfall, serene
Your (thyroid &) internal organs calibrate your fuel efficiently
By forsaking angry thoughts, envy ... you are naturally
Healing your body & mind, or slowing their decay
III
Loving Nature, thanking plant & animal as you say Grace
Much as Amerindians did before, during, after hunt & growth
So close were they (but without Jesus), sensing Spirit in all
Perhaps erring only in valuing Creation more than tribal foes
IV
So while I celebrate a natural life, tuned to the universe
I believe the words in Scripture (Romans 1)
Free-willed humans worship created things, idols made by us
Not the Creator, who gave all tribes rules to control NUMBER 1
V
In concluding this sermon of a poem, readers
I evoke a smile from you, about social distancing:
We have been practicing it for too long with Nature
When COVID19 returns humans to more "natural managing."
Creative Native, quite contemplative-
he draws on walls in ancient caves.
So Hieroglyphic speculative:
Cuneiform curses mark mummy graves.
On land the sand, the grains of Man-
exoplated, protective shells.
A last ballast, we're sinking fast;
step lively men, and hoist the sails!
The Tribe has grown and it has thrived-
(their drumbeats echo as if alive!)
We've lost our rudder, I wince and shudder,
and I have lost all will and drive...
No longer fond of the Amazon-
Jungle be damned; I wish 'twere gone!
(7/5 Trochee rhyme form)
They’re coming. Listen closely.
Hear that distant thrum. . .
that steady thrum- thrum- thrumming
of a tom-tom drum.
There! Beyond the cornfield rows.
Tell me, don’t you see
the tops of feathers moving
forward stealthily?
They’re so close to the house now!
Soon they’ll reach the fence.
Where have all the cowboys gone?
War will soon commence!
Wait! I saw the bushes move.
Roger with his gun
spied a Cherokee and now
has him on the run.
But appearing on the scene,
tomahawks in hand,
those Cherokees have attacked
just to save their man.
Roger’s fallen to the ground.
Oh, my son is dead!
Indians now are swarming,
faces painted red.
Running toward the bushes, they
give a mighty whoop!
Cowboys must come out and fight
this most fearsome group.
A cowboy wins if he is
first one to take aim,
but, touched by a tomahawk,
he will lose the game.
When THE NATIVES ARE RESTLESS
it just isn’t cool,
and I’m counting off the days
till they’re back in school!
For The Catch Phrase Contest/ sponsored by Deborah Guzzi
(My catch phrase: The natives are restless)
Jewels covered the earth,
And gold paved the streets.
Like an Eden amongst Eden’s.
And fruits grew everywhere,
Even in the sea and the air.
Words like baron and land,
Never touched skin, or formed words together to touch the lips of natives.
Natives that planted and deeply rooted there feet’s unto the soil,
And whose hands stretched towards the sun like flowers.
Then the roots of the natives,
That where so deeply rooted.
Left the soil and started picking jewels,
From left and right, they started hacking away at the golden streets like mad mans.
They even sold their soul for the gold,
Then in reverse, they sold gold for others soul.
Then there eyes blinded by greed was set,
On the most precious jewel of them all.
The blue gem,
Which they all sought to plunder.
At first they called them savages
then took away their land,
then they called them primitive
and didn't understand.
They had their own society
before the white man came,
who forced them into slavery
which filled their hearts with shame.
Pushed into reservations
and told they had to stay,
forget about the life they had
and learn a different way.
Forced to live a white mans life
with nowhere left to hide,
they didn't forget their own beliefs
and they never lost their pride.
Decendents of these brave natives
now in our social throng,
will never forgive the nation
that treated their people so wrong.