The Indian brave rides all alone
Beneath the mountains made of stone
Under the clouds that go sailing by
With heavy heart and occasional tear he will cry
Lost many tribesmen during the Indian wars
Though white men he killed by the scores
A war of hate from both sides
That’s why a lonely path he now rides
A fearless warrior, a commanding chief
Who had to lead his people through all the grief
See women and children killed at will
Many terrible sights he see’s still
Now he wanders in his buckskin clothes day and night
With his feather in his hair an awesome sight
With his trusted pony his only friend
He will now roam until his end
Chawathka, a last remnant of the Great Plains war
Now he rides and thinks what was it all for
Was it worth all the sacrifice
His people paid a terrible price
As they fought for freedom from the whites
But he still has nightmares during his lonely nights
And he will wander until his dying day
Under the Sun and Moon, riding every which way
63.
Three Charms of Luz-Vi-Minda Against Spain
She's Luz-Vi-Minda
Priestess of Asia
When incubus harms
She takes out her charms…
Behold! Jose Rizal
Our hero national
Poet, doctor, researcher
Farmer, herder, school-builder
Fought Spaniards with paper and pen
Luzon's charm – noblest of our men!
Behold! Lapu-Lapu!
Defender of Cebu
First terror of invaders
Famed Magellan's death renders
Rammed Spaniards with native bolo
Visayas' charm – quaintest hero!
Behold! Purmassuri!
Awesome Muslim lady
Wise heroine of Sulu
Foreigners cannot subdue
Disturbed Spaniards so tribesmen won
Mindanao's charm – enemies thrown!
-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
they made shreres with holes through the center
and painted symbols of wheat on them
and made large doll like figures
with wig like hair
that were used to scare
the animals and humans away
from the crops in the gardens and feilds
some natives often used humans who
camped around the garden and feilds
with bow and arrow in hand
to scare away pests of all kinds.
Cinderella's great, great, great grandmother
was a whore
from the Pestwassa Pan Tribe
she got pregnant by the
Mussan Dubiff the Mean man
from Brazil, he owned acres and acres
of crops and sold beads to tribesmen.
He saw the beautiful
sheres and filled it with beads
and gave it the woman and well she was pregnant
and they sent her off to were cinderella did
all that hocus-pocus stuff. In 1899 she came to america
on a frigget
and took a train to somewhere on the east coast.
we found several bead filled spheres
there in the Agri-shed
we desided to see if they were spooked.
Mother thought me gone.
She wrote cryptic notes
left them in the mailbox unaddressed.
Occasionally she thought me dead
or travelling in a dangerous land
being held hostage by hostile tribesmen.
Eventually she gave up
yet I was always near
laying on my bed next to her room.
She never did discover my vicinity,
my close proximity.
When she died
- I travelled.
Journey
Dirt, grass and wildlife govern
The Savanna
Elephant, lion, hyena
Roam the land
We pride on our livestock
Of goat and cow
There’re all we’ve got to survive
Our journey on foot
Will leave our mothers worried and shook
For the bold and untamed
Claim the terrain
They hide and poke their heads out
The giraffe is a beauty
Yet rough and daring
For we’ll risk our lives
To get to the other side
An unknown territory presides
Of freedom, literacy and discipline
Early into the morning and late into the night
A young Kenyan boy makes a fire
He’s on the watch
To run off every beast and critter
Who seek to feed on the flock
I will learn Swahili, English and math
The leopards hang by the cliffs and rocks
They’re vicious
They’ve attacked our tribesmen
Going there is forbidden
There are snakes in the bushes
And monkeys in the trees
Though I see elephants and buffalo
I must do what I was told,
Walk where the wind blows
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
06/18/19
Moccasins crunching on crusted snow,
wolf-fur hood warming what I breathe,
jogging with lance and tomahawk,
other friends spread out, left and right.
The wapiti run before us,
big elk, eight or so moving,
no chance with fleetness of foot
to run down or diner out here.
They approach a wood bound by steam
and a corral we built last night,
funnel into a single, beige line,
when arrows slice through cold air.
A half-dozen of our tribesmen
let loose with stone-headed shots,
elk bleat and scream, some go down fast,
living ones trample them to flee.
Frantic milling, blood and hooves and snow,
then they’re gone, dashing through the spruce.
Eight lay on the ground, two alive,
I plunge my lance to end one’s pain.
Send a prayer to the creator,
words are vapor in the winter sky,
obsidian blades start to cut,
a runner is sent to the village.
All will help butcher this meat.
Some men are breast men,
some men are leg men.
Some men are butt men,
and some men focus on that area most feminine.
This behaviour that men display towards women,
is all due to a lifetime of conditioning.
Primitive tribesmen admire the whole woman,
and caress from the top of their head to their feet's bottom.
Whenever you show your pet affection, you pet the animal over all.
You don't pet your pet and then focus only on your pet's balls.
I listen to my words but they fall far below
I'll never make the same mistake
carnality lifting through the extreme
blinded decorum of harmful interludes
there isa cave with evil twisted ways
caverns filled with darkened conclaves
dark viscous fangs that bite dripping blood off side
the highway indian spirit burning riding on Hell's highway
the sound of a motorcycle engine exploding
a sound of laughter beneath it's swell
a highway to Hell
decorated plains headed as nomadic tribesmen
darkened caverns of high volume of steel
in the darkened dungeon in the pit of death
when no one cares or gives a ****
the motorcycle gang was coming out swinging
a crowd of social anarchy in the midst
the less a man thinks then so he does
we sweep things underneath the rug
here we celebrate in a new caged swing
the way the fallen apart at the seams
the wolves were in a tragic scene
things falling apart at the seams
beady little eyes with blood off side
locked away in the solitude of the moment
caged barbaric conquest through the battle
black smoke of radiating heavy metal exploits
Poetic Licence
I've been granted my Poetic Licence,
Which allows me to write as I find.
Exaggeration here, embellishment there,
A free spirited open mind.
With vivid inspired imagination,
I see clearly the world around me,
Never letting the truth spoil a good story,
My pen writing the things I see.
As I look from my bedroom window,
An apartment in an industrial town.
Wildebeest migrate to the Serengeti,
Silhouette of Giraffe, as the sun goes down.
Fishing boats come to safe harbour,
Greedy Seagulls stealing their cargo.
The full Moon appears over the horizon,
Illuminates the seascape all aglow.
Stonehenge is in the far distance,
A Spiritual place of ancient times.
Eagles and Red Kites soar up above,
I’ve added this line because it rhymes.
Camels roam the hot dusty Desert,
Tribesmen take fine goods to trade.
Crocodiles in Wetlands, South Florida
At home in their tropical Everglade.
Bluebells are singing in the Meadow,
Tulips and Daffodils harmonise.
How wonderful, thoughts so inventive,
A world seen through imaginative eyes.
Great Spirit whispers on breathing breeze; 'It is time',
puce plume in saffron noon signals hunt's aborning,
ThunderBeasts' harrowing hooves erupt Great Plains grime,
soon will ail, widow's wail like a wild dove's mourning...
Ancient wisdom, ebony eyes, high cheekbones wide,
buffalo, he knows, mystical foes who fight back,
astride, he rides his Spanish horse with native pride,
his soul cleared, spiritual prayers 'fore the attack.
Timeworn trails, bison beaten by shaggy stampedes,
hunting grounds feared and revered, tribesmen o'er the brae,
power potent, cloven cloud, hastened heart proceeds,
ambush laid, panicked herd, embrace the bloody fray.
Casualty's chance, horseback dance, drum lethal hoof beats,
thunderous trample of ample prairie crocus,
Sioux and beasts' sacred throes, their crimson flows 'neath feet,
death has a way of bringing life into focus.
Susan Ashley
October, 24,2017
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Tribute To Native Culture
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Easily entertained by the oppressors yet offended by the truth that seeks to wake us.
Invade our stable to take us, give you a smile or two you accept the fate that they give or better yet gave us.
Shaken by the wrath of reality still it's no big deal cause you're favorite show is on.
Presidential figures and team owners attempt to shove our faces in s#it... But that's fine long as the television and radio is able to remain on.
We are such a petty bunch of folks, yet all we wanna do is wait for someone to save us.
And smile at our oppressors as if he or she wants to own us or better yet pay us to enslave us.
DEATH OF KING HUSSEIN
February 7, 1999 Amman, Jordan
Uncertain wings, Hawk of the Qureish fly
out of the night to meet the coming day
of certain mourning, he is set to die
as is uncertain peace that was his way.
Amman is crying, streets are washed with tears
of followers and tribesmen of his own
who've prayed for miracles down through the years
but he is all the miracle they've known.
The powder keg is primed, and set to blow
what peace he's made now hostage to the past,
and still the Jordan makes it's dreary flow
through all his world and time that can not last.
divided tribes are joining, aiming for
a swift, decisive act of holy war.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Dusk, prone for a head-on collision
For the trees brace themselves
Huddle as tribesmen to swat away
The human dirigibles taking laps
Around this pathetic attempt
To rape nature for commerce
With intimate kiosks acting as
Mini brothels looking to get laid (and paid, at 70% off)
I hear the trees whimper slightly
Marginalized for the margins and cracks looming
Inside each retail fish* tank
Let's choose to ignore them
Let's oxidize together
For the trees need this more than us
Because guess who's left standing
When the brothels close
From diseased indulgence
And reddish overuse
When the game's over
After last rites granted
And the lights go out
When we simply need to gaze
Towards the heavens and
Honor these angelic trunks
Of tantric glory.
(10/23/14)
*replacement word; actual is not allowed by site standards.
the side hunt of another being distracts from the main goal the bigger picture new blood in the tribe all ways brings new thunder in the lighting storm of a cloud to rest tribesmen warriors questioned on there Integrity coucils held in different ways non
traditoal ways many societys in the past life many crumbles many edgeings craved in stone from past generations in the over all lifeform many civalazations crumbled before the one being build before the eyes of the laborers the laborers of the temple the foundation of the
lifeform The structue of which u create for ur self the old carpenters saying mesaure twice
cut once comes to mind we all might not come out square every mock up but the
ability to adjust and measure up time and time again to become the master piece
we all want to become is the test of the builder within
SERMONS IN MY NATIONS
Lucky are the elected,
For they shall have all chances,
To change the law and favour themselves,
To increase their pay and rob taxpayers.
Favoured are those with tribesmen at the top,
For they shall find no hindrance,
In any office they shall seek,
Neither shall they be jobless nor be job-seekers.
Great are those with power,
For no law shall be above them,
They shall kill or rob or justify the unjust,
And the law will always be on their side.
Happy are power owners,
For they will reap where they had not sown,
Through corruption and scandalous embezzlement,
Of the common man's hard earned funds.
The rest will just watch in silence.
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