When all the water has left
the dry Earth will sing to Sky
Return, please, return!
Both the stone pulling
and the void pulling
like to kiss in the middle
of war. Scorched turns to damp
in the end, providing our
diligence and duty to life.
It's shameful the water goes
now when such destruction
hangs in the near distance.
Diligence may no more undo
the damage, for the time
has gone as well.
is why we do
what we do
that is why we are vulnerable
does anyone else
notice that there are no natives
on waking up
I bet you think this poem is about you
who knows the plants?
who can speak to nature
and make agreements with it?
who signed the organic peace treaties?
who tried torturing ethnicities
into demanding to the death
they are in the state of whiteness?
You do not understand how lost
until you call for help
out of desperation
into nativeless derangement
you were wrong
about being able to control nature
and there is nothing you know
that is organic that can renegotiate
the organic peace treaty
I receive your native tongue
like a desperate missionary--
letting it run over my teeth,
stroking the roof of my mouth,
and dancing with my own foreign entity.
I come to you aching
to inhale your exhale,
place my lips to yours.
In the diaspora of spit
from your mouth to mine,
deliver unfathomed riches
of love and wisdom
into my trembling body.
Michelle Obama is hopeless?
Why SHOULD she have any hope?
It's been a hopeless situation
Ever since Christopher Columbus
Arrived on the shore of the Island of Hispaniola.
His first words upon seeing the nearly naked bodies
Of Native American Women was,
"Let's fuck them bitches!"
That probably wasn't the way Conquistadors spoke,
But That was just the way they ACTED!
The next Question was,
"Where's the Gold?"
It's been all downhill since then.
The Fact that Barack Obama
Was our "First Black President"
Didn't shift this pattern one iota.
It's worse than ever now!
The shit started hitting the fan a long time ago
And we haven't even BEGUN
To clean it up.
You have the resolve to breathe Shasta
As you were intended to master
And you should resolve to use that fuel
To rapidly unspool
A vast expanse of kicking mistings
Which pushes along a
Train of "if" and "yet" existings
Now is not the time to plaster up
And stow avalanches
Now is the time to think
And stand tall like the mountain
Now is the time to grind and erase
Now is the time to shine and brace
Take the slopes of granite rock
And cliffs of sudden Siskiyou drops
As the castle to your castor
And crags of your forsworn
Breathe the ivesia and aster
Love the oaks and whitethorns
With your stone office
And rigid map rooms
With banquet halls
And ornate ballrooms
Buried under acres of dirt
Founded upon baroque geode
Sit atop your mountain throne
To think of your resolve
Cast the die
Dice will roll
Old era woes
I cannot take this scorching heat,
I need to rest my burning feet,
I do not submit,
I can't say defeat,
nor will I run back in retreat,
please I beg a needed seat,
I hear ahead a native beat,
I move my hands in the softest wheat,
awaiting me my native greet me
lovely familiar & very sweetly,
They clear for me some lovely aisles,
I've walked a hundred thousand miles,
I've smiled a hundred million smiles,
endured a hundred billion trails,
as they took my blood in greedy vials,
I held hands steady all the while,
My lips are parched,
my body blistered,
my ink is dark no longer glistered,
there's a sturdy board to which I've sistered,
Teardrops fall like steady pounding rain,
she looks high above in light to strain,
she knows it could not possibly be in vain,
she believes inside she can take the pain,
To see a lovely glimmer of hope
on the distant horizon blue,
violet pink and tangerine are her favorite shaded hues,
she sees a favorite angel who's giving her a little cue,
come to my my darling here's the needed clue,
everything at once will eventually be clear to you,
You are blessed,
kissed by luck and fate,
and today just wasn't quite the date,
now you know why we never hate,
you glimpsed a moment inside the pearly gates,
I release you back to those you eternally, love,
I gift you back there,
with fervent praying hands from all above.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sistered is a word my Father used.
Sitting by the river
Two hands in the dirt
On the bank's slope
Watching trees in the breeze
Out of so many
Ink points were
Mistaken for spears
Gold in the water glitters
Snow-melting sunspots glisten
Day rises to grace rock formations
And the great mountain's faces
Bladed pens on staffs are tied
In forever winter forest's stride
Moccasins protect footpads in shade
From inked paper's unfightable fade
Roll with the presses
To reclaim command
Take empires inland
Our ancestor Miller
To survive hereafter
In pressings of paper
And bladed pen drapers
Robes and scrimshaws
Hoods and fur pelts
Leather cord tethers
Mythic bird feathers
All atop robes and dusters
Lying in wait, sprawled astir
Observing changes in luster
Aware now to ambush voyagers
Tints change in tribe simulacrum
A clear mistake on the pretty painting
It'll be fixed
With bladed pen serum
After we materialize
From hidden camp's caning
We rise from the winter
To keep our land's proper shading