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Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
When I was a little kid
My friends and I would play
At cowboys and Indians
In the barn with forts of hay.
We crafted guns from sticks
We found about the farm
And though we shot each other
We managed to come to no harm.

Bang, bang, bang! I got you!
No you didn’t, you missed!
The bullet whizzed by me!
You can’t see me in the mist!

Of course, if we were Indians
The same rules held true there.
You never managed to **** us
We never took your hair.
But, we knew we were villains
Because cowboys were king.
We didn’t even question it.
It was that sort of thing.

Bang, bang, bang. I got you!
Cowboys don’t ever cry.
We twist and dodge you redskins
So, don’t even bother to try.

Holding invisible reins, we rode
On our noble painted steeds.
We pretended it was the old West
Here in our playground of weeds.
Some of us had play weapons
Santa had brought to the lucky
But forcing improvisation only
Made us a lot more plucky.

Bang, bang, bang. I shot you.
You ***** lowdown rustler.
Oh, we thought of every dodge.
What young, clever hustlers.
Judypatooote Feb 2016
Hopalong Cassidy

When I was a little girl
Hopalong Cassidy
Was my hero
I would watch him on the television  
Riding his horse Topper
And then
PRETEND...
Hiding behind chairs
Running from one to the other
Shooting the bad guys
With my finger gun.
One birthday my mom surprised me
With a whole Hopalong Cassidy outfit.
I had a vest with fringe,
The cowgirl skirt, the hat
And best of all
A Hopalong Cassidy WATCH
And a silver play gun in a holster
In my imagination
I WAS HOPALONG CASSIDY
Back in the 40's
IT WAS OK
To play Cowboys and Indians
IT WAS OK
To shoot the bad guys
With a finger gun
Or a silver play gun
IT WAS OK
To use the word Indians
Without offending anyone
So Sad that kids can't play
Cowboys and Indians anymore
Because you wouldn't know
If that gun was real

By judy
I wrote rhis poem when i read an artical on a 5 year old boy who was exspelled from his school for pointing is finger at another student and saying bang bang.  What a different world we live in now compared to back when...
Brent Kincaid Jan 2016
Yesterday is much clearer
As the future is drawing nearer.
The histories we have rehearsed
Over time have become reversed.
It should make us very sad;
What was good has become bad.

The bad guys were the Indians
And the good guys Caucasians
And they were always right
Because they were always white.
The Red Man was a villain
Because he was an Indian;
And that was never corrected.
The name an invader selected.

These were people born here
Defending land they held dear
Because they had hunted
And were never really wanted.
The invaders called them savage
Their women okay to ravage
Because they didn’t have Jehovah
To issue them a binding mitzvah.

There were so few invaders
So at first they were persuaders.
But after putting out some feelers
They chose to become stealers.
They declared the natives sinners
And thus became the winners.
The natives hadn’t learned to read
So the invaders ignored all their needs.

The invaders were prepared to fight
To deny the natives their rights
So, the invaders created paper laws
Thus natives couldn’t tell what they saw.
Suddenly the noble savage was a crook.
The invaders gloated over what they took;
Stole native’s possessions from their hands
And declared it all as the invader’s land.

This is the Danes and Angles back when
And the story happened all over again.
But once the battle victory is scored
The native’s birthright is not restored.
The invaders cover up the tragedies
With inaccurate tales and call them history.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
We saw the natives,
Stole their land,
Burdened their country
With a foreign brand.
Called them savages,
Burned their villages
Prayed to God
To help us pillage.

Knock the natives
To their knees,
Call them inhuman
Take what you need.
Never apologize,
Never confess.
They deserve no better.
Look how they dress.

They’re not decent people.
They aren’t even nice.
How could they be?
They don’t believe in Christ.
We sure don’t want them
To be our neighbor.
They'd not even be that
Much use as slave labor.

Let’s fix this country
Everybody lend a hand
We are all living
In the Promised Land.
Stolen from natives who
Knew what they were doing
Now we are letting it
Descend into a ruin.
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Syrian pilgrims on boats of hope
Finding no place to land
No one to lend them a hand
No Plymouth Rock to throw rope
How can Republicans cope?

They believe this land is their's
Exclusively, for a Macy's parade
A big balloon with man in stockade
Thanking themselves, saying prayers
Really just showing no one cares

Blaming it on religious beliefs
Though zealots they are themselves
Confusing truer issues as well
Where have gone the Indian chiefs?
To Mexico forced by Trump's police
Hoping for some greater compassion this Thanksgiving.
Torin Galleshaw Nov 2015
I'm thankful
That we killed all the Indians
Isn't that what thanksgivings all about

I'm sorry Squanto
I'm sorry measles in the blankets
I'm sorry trail of tears

Well,
At least those Blackfeet
Got revenge on General Custer
A sarcastic poem, just looking at things realistically
Columbus sailed the ocean blue,
Only to not have a clue
Where the Indians were actually at.
Bluebird Dec 2014
in wild west there was a tribe,
of men fast as mountain river,
they believed in nature,they had vibe
and gaze that makes you shiver

Suddenly it's been deciced
that they that they become a prey
a white man came to take their land
but they stood in their way

indian only had a bow and an arrow
to fight for his own life
but white man brought some weapons
every one of them died

if you stood on red mountain
you could hear the wind hum a song
soft melody of indian flutes
that are gone for too long
indians red men land river wind mountains vibe shiver nature arrow flute song
Cherokee Nation was ******
From their way of life
Their blades and knives
Were banned and their wives.....

Cherokee Justice I will ask
Where is the saneness to this life
So proud to live and so sad
And death welcome to those so bad ...

Took their way of life
Turned them to shirts and ties
Took their way to live
As their young still cries....

Their Mother town given by the creator
Just one drop of blood to each
Each one important as the last
Cherokee, all was taken but not the past ...

I have Cherokee in my blood
So proud to say
With the flashback of their lives
They Cant take that Away....

Debbie Brooks 2014
I am proud to say this poem won gold on ALL POETRY...
They are a proud people and I am so proud...
Native American Indian Tribute by tony sercia
Tribute to the Native American Indians,write a poem honoring them,the pain they went through,and the joy of there life.below is a list of tribes pick one and write a poem or tale you think that would honor them
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