Aztec Warrior

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

Falling Man & The Mountain**

The gathering of stones grew
the higher I climbed,
I could climb no more
realizing too late
the mountain would never touch your sky.
~~~
Never meant as invasion,
just some coffee and hi.
Maybe talk some about
the Birch and Oak
down by the small stream;
or the way wild marigolds told
of their sun soaked scent;
and how long ago our youth was spent
star gazing from our grand mother’s porch.
Your’s from a small town in Italy;
mine from the country side of Pennsylvania.
~~~
While I will climb no more,
I am not sorry for the journey
as it was made honestly
like the wind, Spring touched,
as it whispers through the valley
bringing green grass and clover.

Aztec Warrior 1.15.16

NOTE: I wrote this poem after reading Nagi’s poem (“High Value”)
and Vicki’s poem (“the moss and the moon”). Both poems spoke to me and inspired this poem of introspection, since I have been chasing “skies”
and am in need of a “waning moon”... Thanks Nagi. Thanks Vicki.
Your poetry truly does inspire. So I hope I have not in any way
disrespected you or your poetry.

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 113

Remembrance**

A dirt blown wind
stings my face as I walk
this dry river bed below the mesa.
It is a barren time of year and
cold, with some snow on the ground.
This is the land of our ancestors,
it calls to me
even though I now live in a larger city
east of Four Corners
and the Four Sacred Mountains.
~~~
It is in the hogan of my Grand Mother’s family
that I am learning the ceremonial dances-
the Blessing Way;
to sand draw the signs
and dance the dance
that can heal the diseases
of the belegana’s hatred
for our traditional ways:
the Ghost Dance of the Sioux;
the Katsina Songs of the Hopi and Zuni;
the Circle Dances of the Cherokee.
~~~
Belegana society teaches our young
the ways of money, alcohol and ****,
of scorched earth, casinos
and death.
~~~
I am only a small part People,
my moccasins too new
and still hurt my feet.
And yet, I would willingly sweat out
every ounce of belegana blood
for just one glimpse of seeing
the full moon rising over Big Mountain;
of watching Coyote dancing
to Kokopelli’s flute;
our People happy, in balance
above and below,
no longer forgetful of our Origin Songs.

Aztec Warrior 1.15.16

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 112

Jazz**

Perhaps I am just getting older,
struggling to understand life’s dance,
or just from living alone
but I have turned,
listening to jazz once again
and its deep tonal mysteries.
There is something in its rich idiosyncracies
that appeals to my urge to return home,
to the deer and the hawk
to the old council lodges
and the circle dance;
broken for too long by self-serving philosophies
of a society that has lost its humanity.
~~~
“Kind of Blue” is an album that settles me,
comes closest to a round dance
that turns inside and outside of time.
It lets me enjoy my worn out jeans,
oft washed flannel shirt
and soft moccasins.

Aztec Warrior 1.13.16

NOTE: “Kind of Blue” (1959) is the title of a Miles Davis
album that is one of his best in my opinion. I embedded
the link to the entire album.
https://youtu.be/kbxtYqA6ypM

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 108

Whitman Revisited**
(Note: apologies to Walt Whitman.. this poem is metaphor for American/U.S. and not, as in Whitman’s classic poem “O’Captain, My Captain”, about Lincoln.)

“O’Captain, O’Captain"
the ship you sailed from port to port,
its prize did surely win,
but its sails were always blown
by winds of war and sin.

"O’Captain", your dreams
were born of pure fantasy of myth
to benefit a few,
all was needed to see the truth
was to take a whiff
of stench in genocidal schemes
turned into tears and screams,
creating chaos and more
from shore to shore.

“O’Captain, O’Captain",
your Yankee Clipper has won,
a single flag was raised
but never should be praised;
from the Halls of Montezuma,
to the shores of Tripoli,
your bombs and drones and unjust wars
have blown many Peoples away
on every single shore.
It’s called the good ship
Manifest Destiny -
it should sink and sail no more.

Aztec Warrior 1.6.16

Further Note: Walt Whitman was a wonderful poet, controversial in his views and style of poetry at the time, but Whitman saw Lincoln as a hero for uniting the states and ending “legal” slavery (though as history has shown, a different kind of slavery emerged after Reconstruction- share cropping. As stated in note above in beginning of poem, my use of Whitman’s poem is not about Lincoln, but is a metaphor for America/U.S. and it’s “myth” of the greatest country in the world and having a “special heritage”, “special people” and “destiny”. There are NO special people anywhere in the world. One of the best things to come out of the 60's was that for literally millions living here, began to understand that “American Lives Are Not More Important Than Anyone Else’s Lives.” And the politicians, and official spokes people hate us for it.

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 111

POEM 111*

Sometimes I feel like
I’m in a Nicholas Sparks novel;
one of those deeply romantic
love stories fated to leave tears
contouring your emotions,
and now I am walking alone,
down by this old river,
ear bud melody
of “Sweet Jane,
sweet sweet Jane”
holds my heart
hoping I might find you again.
Could we ever get back home;
dance those back porch dreams,
dive into the clear blue river
holding hands? Laughing?
~~~
“Sweet Jane,
ah, sweet sweet Jane”
you hold the best part of me.

Aztec Warrior 1.10.16

(NOTE: poem inspired by the movie, “Best of Me” and the song “Sweet Jane”, done originally by Lou Reed/Velvet Underground, but covered nicely by the Cowboy Junkies.
Here is the link: https://youtu.be/BHRFZFmEq9o
Hope you enjoy...

never, ever watch a Nicholas Sparks movie alone... and not be able to talk with someone afterword, share coffee and thoughts... maudlin poetry results

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 110

CHALLENGES**

This spirit journey, dream walk starts with a single step taken while standing on the very edge of the precipice, over looking the path of truth far below. Not the abstraction of a never reaching truth, or the truth of some idealist, subjective plane of reality, but a reality that serves humanity, its desires to dream and make real an earth of no pain.

For too long we have only blindly followed the world, known only its suffering and seen its vast oceans of tears shed for many millennia. We have felt the wounds festering in our souls, tasted the salty bitterness of broken promises and wasted lives, even as we have worked and toiled with all our might.

So much is yet to be done though this dream journey has already begun. Soaring along the condor’s wind, breathing in the crisp snowy air as it washes us clean, savoring each crystalline speck, we follow the gathering avalanche as it cleanses the earth in newness along with our ability to know how to fulfill our collectivity, our humanity.

In tomorrow’s land, where wolves have learned to whisper to elk and bear; where our journey’s dream continues, I will still step off the precipice edge seeking truth as it knows and changes the world. Perhaps you too will walk and stare with me at the night’s sky and hear the songs our ancient ancestors sang to the galactic winds.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 5.5.04~~

I was looking back through my notebook again and found this poem of some years ago. This one was also written using "redzone" as my pen name... hope you enjoy reading

Aztec Warrior Jan 2016

POEM 109

DECEMBER DREAMS**

December dreams spiral
thru the whiffs of smoke,
emanating from forest hidden Cherokee homes.
They pirouette the way notes
imagine Lester Young’s
tenor music to be;
the way Blue Jays flap
while protecting their territory.
~~~
The Eastern mountains,
snow covered and brown,
rise gently as I walk
yet provide glimmers of ancient valleys
carved out by receding ice.
There is the feel of human destiny
washing me as a breeze
sings thru wild peach trees;
And a breeze lifting sharp talon hawks
with its hunting melodies
carrying the owl's secrets
thru even more exotic landscapes.
~~~
Over looking the Talamaque River,
I rest on the brown
frozen earth becoming
lost in ancestor dreams.
I can see the blood flowing west.
I feel the tears soaking the ground
where Dogwood now grows.
And Grandfather speaks to me
with a warm sun in the ‘long ago tongue’:
“Redzone, it is good to
have these memories.
To remember the trees
the bear and the chic-a-dee.
One day, May will arrive with the morning crows
and Turtle will once again discuss
constellations with the Moon.
Our people, will no longer be forgetful
of who we are and how far we have to go."
~~~
December dreams spiral
thru whiffs of smoke
and Lester Young plays
with the flapping Blue Jays.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 12.15.01~~
(written after finishing a collection of poems
by Ron Welburn called “Coming Through Smoke
and the Dreaming”)

This is an older poem written when I was using redzone as my pen name.. it is also influenced by some of my Native American heritage..