Here is cross-eyed Eagle Stripe Dog Mongrel
Luckily he cannot see his own donkey like face
consternation galore when he is afoot
nonsensical war paints make other braves snicker
squaws consider him a smoking warm bird roost
ceremonial nightmare when he enters the sweat lodge
no one shames him, for he is son of the chief
a steady excruciating embarrassment to his tribe
laughing stock of reservation until he learns English.
The only Wallawalla who can bring his nation
The steady conniving lies of the paleskins.
He shows them treaty after treaty
But of course the paleskins keep none of them
for there is no honor there.
Categories:
squaws, nonsense,
Form: Free verse
The world is strange with it's customs and laws
They're meant to be bent when we eat at the trough
Within reason I mean
Not too extreme
Not overboard stuff like molesting young squaws
Categories:
squaws, humor,
Form: Limerick
It’s time, by now, we did away with nations.
I tell you, hand on heart beneath the flag,
This jingo jag has now become a drag.
Those puerile patriotic palpitations
had meaning only when we lived in tribes.
Today our people mix and mingle freely –
so can’t we now dispense with Horace Greeley,
and wetbacks, wops and wogs, and all those jibes?
Since nations never have a sense of humour,
it’s little wonder why we have these wars.
We need a change of heart. Embrace the cause:
don’t split us into gooks or spooks or squaws,
or hicks or micks or spicks, or baby-boomers.
One nation under God, we’re all consumers.
Categories:
squaws, satire,
Form: Sonnet
Raised on promises ? Trip the wire where nothing remains...
An east coast orphanage and red coats, fighting for her republic
Dolls in rags their quivering lips these salty tears Eurydice a crazy life
Insidious circles Paul Revere stigmata's, the British are coming offertory's
Communion Alfalfa versing Buckwheat a Shakespearian send'off Monroe's doctrine
Alibaba's all saints day Bluebeard's manifest, destiny Mahican squaws as trails their tears
Longfellow reciting Darla's dreams; love's turn'coat screams pledged of dire shots, ringing out.
Categories:
squaws, angel, baby, love,
Form: I do not know?
There was a great Chief named Many Papoose,
Who with many brave's squaws played fast 'n' loose!
When in battle the Chief died,
The Chief's tribe was well supplied,
With many papoose since he was profuse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Categories:
squaws, humorous,
Form: Limerick
There once was a sweet Shawnee squaw
Who left home and Ma and her Paw
They had given her life
But he’d wanted a WIFE!
So she left with that brave Checotah.
The Checotah brave was a knave
Made his fine Shawnee bride his slave
she ditched his rawhide
And left on his ride
That’ll teach that guy to behave!
Well, the horse was a fine pinto mare
Who loved men and for squaws had NO care
the woman got off
The mare she caste off
And returned to the Checotah’s lair!
Categories:
squaws, adventure, animals, cowboy-western, funny
Form: Limerick
He was an old Crow Indian
Rejected by all his kin,
That never fit in any world,
But now lived among white men.
He must have been near one hundred
In our scale of years on earth,
And acquired a wealth of wisdom
From the first day of his birth.
All his words would tell his visions,
And I can hear them all still—
Especially his prophecy:
The dark horse upon the hill.
The time would be of many storms,
And grim changes would occur—
There would be wars and many deaths
And the bloody, silver spur.
The chiefs would be great and many,
Yet their medicine be bad—
And on the land would be defeat—
Squaws would wither and be sad.
Yet, there would still be one more feared
To trap us with his cruel will—
The one that spoke of hope and change:
That dark horse upon the hill.
And so the once great nation falls
And becomes like all the rest—
The mighty banner now unfurled
As it sinks into the West.
Yes, that old Crow saw it all then—
Now we know the coming chill—
We hold blinded eyes open to
The dark horse upon the hill.
Categories:
squaws, dark, horse, old,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
Amid 240 units of toil
Reigns my Connie
Where she walks
Is blessed soil
California sun
To match her hair,
No nature's beauty
Could compare
Sitting at a table,
With her friend Denise,
Mulling over a
Possible lease...
To an Indian
named Cochise...
Will he pay in wampum
Or scalps he'd taken,
Or Indian souvenirs,
Or maybe he's fakin'
Maybe he's
really from Jersey
Or maybe he's not...
Will he want
To keep buffalo
In the parking lot?
Will arrows fly
When he gets mad?
Will he smoke
odd stuff
When he is sad?
Erect a teepee
In his living room?
Keep six squaws
To dispell his gloom?
Ride his horse
bareback to work...?
Feathered head
that he can shake?
Or suit and tie,
Briefcase at his side,??
Laptop computer
Covered in cowhide??
It's a mystery,
As you can see...
Time will soon tell
What will be.
I'll let you know
how it turns out,
And even though
You likely doubt,
This story that
I'm telling you...
Yet, it's possible,
that it just might
be true.
Categories:
squaws, adventure, fantasy, funny, history,
Form: Light Verse