None of my shrunken heads are happy the tribal chief said.
Was he not quite upside up in his own oversized head?
Did he not know that most skulls do not like to be shrunk?
Maybe he said it because he was a tiny bit drunk?
The last batch I made came out happy and gay.
I am so irritated with these three, I may throw them away.
Throw them away! Screamed the tribal chief’s wife.
She is so terrifying, I am surprised that he still has his life.
For she is the one who likes heads to be shrunk.
She wears them as necklaces, she has a whole trunk.
What is wrong with this batch? She shrieked at the chief.
I sneaked away then, and believe me, it was a relief.
little flower whisper
fairy with attitude
apache born
recruiting braves in their sleep
rejuvenating their ideas of bravery
giving them directions
as fierce as any tribal chief
little flower whisper
" Unforseen Evolution"
Meant for something better
Wait for me.... the world is changing!
I swear l will find you and when l am on top she will say l do it good this a journey of a lifetime in a Lexus without a nexus l was King in my nightmares only to be resurrected by the Knight in my dreams this tale is of royalty.
No plan l was scratching my head , no nosh it was water boy , no toys bro , just a base ball cap and a string for faith .
On my knees l was praying each and every day l saw an angel in my mento and she whispered you are a warrior keep your head up you are almost there.
Forget about the shortcuts , cutting corners l use the long road it got me safe on my feet when l landed l took a trip to Mars and the moon winked my approval for a chance at the hightable.
A tribal chief like Roman Reigns l am a champion , two formidable cribs with a pool and a jacuzzi , a German shepherd , one cat and thirteen fast cars the last disciple being him l am talking Mustangs.
A slice of cheese , cameras shooting , history being made and l ain't never going back to empty shelves and pockets this is my moment l am basking in.
He was not arrogant, but he was proud.
A protector, a good listener, a wise man.
He watched and waited, did not rush.
The best tribal chief we had ever seen.
He did not take sides. He listened.
He let everyone speak.
His heart was full of empathy.
But he was no push over.
He was a man who heard.
He listened to his heart.
He was a listener.
The best tribal chief we will ever have.
You wear your feathers proudly like a tribal chief.
However, the things you do cause your better half’s grief.
You gamble away the wampum that was meant for groceries.
That money can’t be picked as if it grows on trees.
Other females are taken in as if they were refugees.
How many nights have you spent in other tepees?
You load up with fire water until your head starts to spin.
That’s enough to make your woman’s patience to be thin.
You had better start running faster than Rin Tin Tin.
She will come after you with a barrage of artillery.
Nothing will save you. Not even the U. S. Cavalry.
Can’t you see that her skin is turning red?
When she catches up to you, she will bust your head.
He plays a song passed down for centuries,
By a nation that exists no more;
On a flute carved from a sycamore tree,
While sitting on the forest floor.
His father was a tribal chief,
For a people who once were great;
Now living on welfare relief -
His punishment for being born too late.
Holding fast to his cultural ties,
He is the last of a dying breed;
Not succumbing to a history of lies;
Warnings to fit in, he does not heed.
At home by himself in the thick of the woods,
Under a full moon in the quiet breeze;
He lives his life the way that he should -
The last to play this melody.
by, Joe Flach for Constance's "Tell His Story" Contest