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Jordan Rowan  Mar 2016
Pocahontas
Jordan Rowan Mar 2016
Sell me Pocahontas
She is only seventeen
Paid in full for a painted skull
And a million apple trees

Guide me, native spirit
Teach me how to speak
To tell them why they have to die
And why they're so weak

Pocahontas, come with me  
Take my hand and you'll see

The land of fallen glory
Of courageous family men
Fought for truth and killed the youth
After we called them friends

Pocahontas, come with me  
Take my hand and you'll see

Listen to my promise
This is my desire
Just sign the line and close your eyes
As I set your home on fire
Lucius Furius Aug 2017
Pocahontas, Little Snow-Feather,
what possessed you to marry that pale stranger,
to cross the blue, blue Atlantic,
leaving behind your mother and your father?
How naive you were to think they wouldn't destroy you....

But Pocahontas, Little Snow-Feather,
bones-under-England-soil, it is your spirit--
not that of Cortez or Colonel Forsyth*--
your generosity, your love, which will prevail.
* Little Snow-Feather: "According to the early colonists, Pocahontas, like all other Powhatans, had two names.  

* Pocahontas, the name given to her by her father, was translated by the English to mean 'Bright Stream Between Two Hills' but in the Powhatan tongue perhaps meant 'Little Wanton.'  Her secret name, known only among her own tribesmen, was Matoax, 'Little Snow Feather,' a name conjuring up the image of a slim, amber-skinned girl enveloped from neck to knee in a mantle woven of snow-white feathers plucked from the breast of a wild swan.  Such a mantle, worn by Pocahontas in winter with moccasins and leggings of finely dressed white skins, would have given her people ample reason for calling her Matoax." (From G. S. Woodward's Pocahontas.)

* pale stranger:  I recently found that I didn't know as much about the historical Pocahontas as I thought I did.  I had reckoned the Disney movie (the first one) to be laughably inaccurate in showing Pocahontas staying behind when Captain John Smith returned to England (--everyone knows she married him and went with him, right?....).
    Pocahontas, the 11-year-old daughter of Powhatan, chief of the 8,000-person Powhatan Confederacy, was a great help to the early Jamestown settlers.  She learned their language, got certain of her elders to secretly trade them critically-needed corn and fish, and warned them away from ambushes planned by her father's warriors.  She was especially friendly with John Smith and --by Smith's account-- saved him from death at her father's orders.  (Throwing herself on him to protect him is probably something Smith invented to add drama/romance to his Historie --though we can't know for sure.)  There were certainly no other Englishmen in the vicinity.  Smith was injured (a gunpowder accident) and returned to England --but that was not until 1609 --2 years after the near-execution --by which time Pocahontas and he were no longer in communication.  She found contact with the settlers increasingly dangerous as the war between her people and the English grew fiercer.  In 1613 the English kidnapped her for the odd dual purpose of blackmailing her father and making her into a gentlewoman.  Powhatan decided that she wasn't really suffering and refused to pay the ransom.  A different John --John Rolfe--even more of a gentleman than John Smith-- fell in love with her.  They were married in 1614, had a child, and in 1616 sailed to England for a 9-month visit.  As they were about to embark on their return voyage, Pocahontas got pneumonia (or perhaps tuberculosis) and --after all this, only 21 years old-- died and was buried in St. George's Parish Church, Gravesend, Eng.  She'd had an emotional reunion with John Smith in England.  Years later, he was said to have commented: "Poor little maid.  I sorrowed much for her thus early death, and even now cannot think of it without grief, for I felt toward her as if she were mine own daughter."
[Pocahontas II is far inferior to the original.  It doesn't even begin to have any historical basis.  Pocahontas is jailed in the Tower of London; John Rolfe and John Smith team up to rescue her; they subvert an armada threatening to destroy the Powhatans; Pocahontas chooses John Rolfe, sails back to Virginia with him.  Though Judy Kuhn once again does the Pocahontas singing, the songs she's given are far, far inferior to those in the original.]

Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_096_pocahontas.MP3 .
samasati Feb 2014
Grandmother Willow said
listen to your heart, you will understand
but when it pounds all I want to do is run

my heart says so many things
one minute it's telling me to climb a tree as high as the branches let me
the next it says hook line and sinker
and when I'm with someone beautiful, it says
nothing, it just
flutters and pitter patters

Mulan was always my favourite because
she had her heart broken and still
She Saved China
all on her own

my heart breaks like twigs and crumbles like dry
stiff leaves
in Autumn
and my heart is also a rubber ball that bounces from
one place to the next
too rapidly,
I forget where I am
and where I just was a moment before I ended up
wherever I ended up

my heart is like ice and sometimes if you are the right temperature,
it will melt for you
my heart is aware of fallacy and sometimes if you try to coax it,
everything I ever felt for you
won't exist anymore

a few months ago I was sitting at the back of
a midnight bus
in my hometown,
with a hippie headband on, accompanied with braids,
a long dress and moccasins of black suede
when a drunk teenager pointed and hollered directly at my face,
"you look like Pocahontas, how many John Smiths love you?"

I don't get angry anymore
I just get tired
my heart goes to sleep for days and wakes up at
the sudden gong of recognition
in eye contact
that lasts longer than just a few seconds;
my heart awakens at sunsets,
when I am sitting in a tree alone
and it awakens each time I successfully skip a stone

I've always thought highly of the two
disney cartoons
and it's not just because they can fire a harpoon
it's something like embodying the female
self-assurance,
strength of the soul,
embracing solitude like wind on a stroll
heart strong from a softening,
heart loved from singing just for singing
heart open like eye contact
that lasts longer than
just a few seconds
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
based on a you-tube video: milo yiannopoulos vs. hysterical feminists; 1 17 2016.

i've never hard long relationships,
the last one i had was a long long time ago,
she said: i enjoy pain -
maybe - but i did also:
i unsheathed my ***** and put on
a c-ring on my helmet:
yes, circumcision does ease
the florals of afro lips
              and you find the cut off skin
in the ******* all the more appealing
all the more necessary to fight for,
oh wait: or so you thought.
hijab blah blah: take away from man
and we're constantly in feminine mourning:
akin to Darwinism's motto:
     there's a reason for everything; everything!
and there is! that's the universal suggestion,
adapt, create a reason for such adaptation -
god in mind (without prayer and laments
at funerals or judges' commentary) -
        ha ha how about we make Poles the
scapegoats, ******?
                well: now i really feel special,
are we supposed to say: yes good lord,
aye aye sir, kiss the ******* of Brooklyn
queens?
                 but you know what's funny...
bird songs...
             birds have an aesthete -
sure, they **** me off when spring comes
and the window is open and it
starts to feel like Africa at noon (i admire
the colonial powers of England:
how did they manage all this ****** heat?!) -
i'd spend a day there and then say:
**** it, get me back to the Scandinavian
refrigerator, can't stand this, ******, heat!
look at me: piglet albino!
                some say white some say
black, some say auburn some say chocolate
some say emerald, some say copper,
  some say pink, some say piglet -
some say 'you squinting, or something?'
try: white boy does a Buddha on marijuana -
people think Buddha is ******...
****** racists...
     one Czech who travelled to Mongolia
told me a secret: the Mongolians don't like
marijuana -
                    the Czech? met him at U.C.L.,
called Jacob - oh sure, grand guy,
                     so if you suddenly interpret
Buddha as ******, get serious:
      look looky at the squint -
then on the page the cipher: renmimbi
and 100 yen -
                        tugged by a ******* yack.
****** complex but then in Latin
simplicity:
                      chow mein -
or chewed a rubber tire and hence came
locomotion: a jaw in a pickle jar,
at every cannibalistic gathering of connoisseurs;
burying my great-grandmother i was
attacked for my expression of guilt:
when the priest started his litany i started
laughing... laughing a funeral, ha!
but it's this you-tube (hyphenation does not
exist in logos - anti plural, hmm:
or to use shorthand off words, i.e. images
to convey less wording and optical adventure
on the sly: hyphen! here boy! tear these
superstitions apart: like in the medieval
period charms and spells and Merlin,
so too the Mc and the i-) -
but enough about the funeral, that video i
referenced first:
                   a throng of crows sounds more
beautiful than humanity talking over each other...
it just hit me! like a bulldozer -
      we are actually so divergent from a unifying
causality, having conquered all natural
predatory forces, that when we're actually
accountable for being collected and told to
say freely what we want, we sound so
****** disgusting - i listened to this video
until i heard that a 10 second silence was required...
        the same we give to those who passed
in war: that's the difference between Western
Europe and Eastern Europe:
the division lies with the idea of remembering:
western europe has the first world war covered,
eastern europe has the second world war covered -
hence the ****** poppy parade;
       and how could i completely integrate into
such a society? what, be fake? relinquish my
bilingual ontology and hollow out, ethnically
cleanse myself? sure, i speak the tongue:
but i treat English as rooted in all things Germanic,
given my baptismal name: Conrad - hell, what
could possibly go wrong.
          i, will, not, assimilate, into, this, *******,
culture, like, some, ******.
                end off!
it would mean: oh you're be happy here,
but forget the 8 years you spent in Poland and
developed a psyche -
i hate it when people force a soul on people
without the capacity to develop it...
  ******* freak saints with their autistic children:
if the thing in question is unresponsive
         toward developing the mere notion of a soul /
a self: why does the church implement this
****** sin against abortion? if i were an agony uncle
i'd tell the girl: think about that scene in
the film Prometheus (2012)...
       i don't get how something that can't even
create the mere idea of a soul actually have a soul...
limited instinct, sure: but a soul?
     hence Santa Clause: or where all innocent
idiots go - provided by Satan's Clause, which in
jurisprudence suggests Disney as the patriarch.
still, with so many eloquent minds about
in history and as in now,
put them together and they sound so ****** ugly:
humanity can create the abundant leaning tower
of Pisa (or let's just call it the ρoμbυs of Pisa) -
we can't recreate a congregation of sparrows' song
nor a lion's roar in a **** way: like grrr -
            what i said above?
we have the power of the atom bomb, and we
decided to champion science, but in the case of
application? we're lazy! we create these sadomasochistic
saints who never bothered to do research into
what might happen - shoot me,
       if we exclude the mere notion of god
and do as Marquis de Sade did and champion nature
(who, by the way, was actually a militant atheist)
        we can't avoid the economic barbarity of nature:
it's inherent cruelty -
                    and this is the modern curse
of outrightly censoring a certain part of human
history as if "it didn't happen".
  it did happen, no wonder i have a plot of land
near Cracow reserved for Jew snow (ashes) -
    it's almost as if to say: because the black plague
didn't happen in the region: here's the holocaust!
      and you'd think this might bring me closer
together with an Egyptian... n'ah.
       as i once said - *oni pyramidy, a my kominy

they the pyramids, we the chimneys.
            maybe the Yiddish evolved in Germany
had something against the Polish Jews?
                            maybe...
who knows...
                 civil wars are known to happen -
maybe that was a subversive version of a civil war,
given that Israel didn't exist, you could have
the Jews of Manhattan ******* at the Moscow
Jews and it all became expressed in Poland...
         they did have a saying, those Polish Jews
back when the money was there -
   nasze kamienice, wasze ulice
(our houses, your streets) -
            as my grandfather used to say:
they fought the war with the rifles bent,
shooting into the sky or into their foreheads
like any Jehovah's witness stance to war was deemed
appropriate to join the cult.
         now i can say, kinda proudly,
sure, your houses our streets -
                           nasze szubienice (our gallows):
or was the free Palestine movement slowly
dying?                  all i know that by the time
we reach 2099 - things will look drastically anti
1999 with that party culture -
      someone just decided to cut off the *******
of a great poker player - America is these days
castrato - Castrato America! Castrato America!
they blame immigration, i blame them
bribing "saint" John Paul II for ******* displacing
me...
            i lived in a city where there was
more than just football taking place: water-polo
for ****'s sake! my father played it!
             Olympic diversity: not this inbreeding
****** of sport coverage:
television, a.k.a. the box? more like a zoo cell.
             the busy market place where i was born?
just banks, no shops, just banks.
  they tell you **** on the internet isn't real:
then t.v. is desperate,
and no teenager commits suicide from a weak
grammatical membrane to invert naked words
into clothed words: red (noun) etc.
and let me add: where are the editors in this place
and are any necessary? no -
what's troubling to the west / capitalism is how
socialism has resurfaced -
          it's not called social media for nothing -
sure the model is capitalising on opinions and conversation,
but how ugly this socialism now looks;
       my grandfather? he's living in a safety net
of actually having a pension -
                   he retired more than 10 years ago,
way prior to reaching 70...
              this is Poland, the so-called "acid satellite"
states of the Soviets...
    where the **** will your old be with "sir" philip
green and the 0-hours contract?
                                                      nowhere!      
oh i would go back: had i not lived here most of
my life and built a greater capacity for the language
beyond a large majority of natives:
  oh look, here comes the Rotherham Pocahontas.
Elijah Corbeau May 2014
Today, I have encountered something enchanting
Flowing through the outer forest, alighting
With birds and deer, All flora/fauna delighting
In her presence. I was taken to demanding
From myself a further look, reprimanding
my soul for wanting to see more of this beauty
Who could she be? This brown woman, set to soothing
my sailors heart? With another wayward glance,
She vanished- Leaving behind a memory, a missed chance;
And a man with knees too weak to stand.
Madeleine Toerne  Jan 2015
Tulip
Madeleine Toerne Jan 2015
It is worse for a tulip to live again and be renewed
than for the tulip to die and be dead.
“What happens when you die?”
I asked several romantic partners over the course of my adolescence.
“You’re dead,” they answered.

It is worse for the tulip to be born again,
dust to dust, dirt to dirt, true god from true god,
in a process that spiritual peers define as, reincarnation.
No tulip is an individual (that is clear), but a process.
A perfecting oneness.

I can’t admit or bend to any resounding belief that every tulip is the same.
That FernGully was a farce and Pocahontas, a phony.
That is just not going to fly.
Maybe it is the environmentalist inside me speaking,
or maybe it is God.

I refuse to believe the prodigies and professors of renewal and rejuvenation.
I can not discount individuation, even in tulips!
Tulips are victims of suburbia, they have been relegated to the lawn, to the mulch bed,
but inside of them there are remnants of humanity.

I couldn’t believe it, ever.
Not ever, even if you convinced me or bribed me or seduced me.
No chance.
ghostsonpaper Feb 2015
after all her anxious scribbling
while chasing late night demons dreaming
she looks at the sky.
now it's so hard not to cry.
heavily sighing, but why?
is it even worth trying? oh I...
I don't know, I think I'll
save my tears for someone worth my time.
your pretty face isn't one that ever crossed my troubled mind.
when our flaws were all undone
in this battle no one has won.
and the mess we made
lies in scattered pieces on the floor.
you know I've always played it safe
too afraid of all the words I really want to say.
because I know aliens are real
so I'll never wish on shooting stars.
I can fly away in my ufo
while you drive off in your car.
heavily sighing, but why?
is it even worth trying? oh I...
and I don't mind
saying I'm a little cray from time to time.
you aren't the reason for all my sleepless nights.
but when our flaws have come undone
in this mess we have become
our hearts now shattered, lie in pieces on the floor.
oh I, I think I'll
save my tears for someone worth my time.
your pretty face isn't one that ever crossed my troubled mind.
now our flaws are so undone.
oh, what a mess we have become.
has nothing else mattered?
we can't pretend quite like before.
my heart just shattered, is it still beating?
because I swear I'm barely breathing anymore.
"because aliens are real and I only wish upon ufos" -miquela  (the quote and inspiration that started this♡)
Brandon Edwards Jun 2014
I'm not spewing no hate, I'm just being honest.
This not a Disney Channel movie, no Pocahontas.
Not really a fan of Father's Day, cause i ain't have a father.
I felt as a kid, he was just like why bother.

As i got older i wished that he had tried harder.
Consistent phone calls, that would have been a good starter.
But i ain't get any of it, and soon i was like **** it.
I got tired of waiting for something and receiving nothing.

At a point in time i started to hate him.
My heart for him was cold, like who the hell wants to chase him.
That feeling went on for a couple years.
My heart and mental kept changing like i was switching gears.

Since we being honest recently those feelings stopped.
You can't hate a stranger and truth is i don't know my pops.
Although you said you love me and i said i love you back.
Love and hate has twin rules, so what type of love is that.

I mean it's not sincere.
It's like you're pushed to say it like you're pressured by your peers.
And I'm not saying that it's sad and that brings me tears.
But man-to-man it ain't something that i want to hear.

— The End —