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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
Kenshō Jul 2014
Let me tell you a story about a man who had a revelation:

When he woke that morning,
He could swear, it all seemed normal, and ever so.. boring.


He stood up from bed,
Wondered what he could instead
Of cleaning his body, teeth and much less his head.

He was a working man.
He swore he had a plan.
To one day, own a beautiful car and home, possibly some land.

You may say it's normal and safe to think that way.
I'd say, It definitely felt good when I got paid.
The high was nice and I would have stayed.

But evidently that's not how the game is played.
Either way, I've strayed.
Let me get back to the man and how he changed one day.

He would always wonder about different ways.
Possibly living freely and in the flowers he could graze.
To stand boldly in the warm summer rays.

But those thoughts crumbled as his job gave him so much praise.
One month, he even got a raise.
He was being ****** into these typical ways.

But he would feel empty and lonely when he would work all day.
Wondering, why am I doing this anyway?
I remember hearing our ancestors didn't live this way.

Getting paid to create devices that save time.
Heh, It sounds insane and you'd be right to think so.
The things these devices do to the atmosphere is clearly a crime.

And as science develops and we see more clearly.
I can clearly see, this getting worse yearly.
That's a message from the earth, signing off sincerely.

He felt so trapped in someone else's plan.
Like he was almost being scammed.
As if the human world was run by an elitist clan.

He tried to tell people.
They called him insane.
Pointed him in the direction of a white steeple
...it all sounded the same.

Ya know, we all here playing a certain game.
If you play out of role you simply get shamed.
This is when he realizes he has things he needs to reclaim.

He calmly walks away, no worries, the time is always now and it's here to stay.
I won't run after someone that won't listen to me anyway
I'll find who I can and I'll be on my way.

Searching through the crowded streets and after hour performances with empty seats.
He realized that he may not find what he needs.
In this city of always active speed.

Taking his boots to the gravel.
He takes the road never traveled.
His story continues to unravel.

He plops his *** down below a tree and begins to hum.
He felt so alive as he chewed on the delicious tree gum.
So happy to be far away from the city ****.

He had merely clothing to keep him warm.
No cozy, quiet dorm
Certainly no shelter from the storms.

At times he would wonder.
Why do I yearn for something yonder?
He could never answer, only continue to ponder.

He awoke the next day.
Oh boy did his stomach have something to say.
He was tired, weak and vulnerable to prey.

Being a nomad was hard work, you would be foolish to lie.
He was merely a man
Barely getting by.

On the brink of death but most certainly not failure.
He realized he would settle down somewhere familiar.
He needed meat and plants to grow.

Gathering seeds and herding animals he became a master of sorts.
These were big jobs. But he didn't want to resort,
To asking another human for support.

He had left those ways and would never go back.
It seemed so long ago, even the snow had devoured his tracks.
But he surely was struggling to get even a snack.

In all of his woe
He promised himself to go with the flow.
One day, he came across another human. He was bound to say "Hello!"

It was awkward at first and words didn't know what to say.
He almost strayed away
When the man asked him if he needed a place to stay.

Tears were apparent but silent that day.
Maybe this is going with the flow and following his own way.
He was trying to hide his gitty insides but it was plainly on display.

He couldn't believe the amount of kindness that man gave.
It was very, very brave
For him to offer such a thing to a man who hadn't shaved.

But this was different, you know, not the same.
He had a keen eye for seeing through shallow games.
Being helpful and honest was his only aim.

If there was a moment that full filled any hole.
Any moment in time that proved we had souls
It had to have been the moment of the crunching of the gifted butter roll.


His belly was full and he couldn't believe it.
In his mind he had to admit.
Such a very nice thing from a man of the city, but he made no comment.

He learned that we need each other. We were born that way.
And is always reminded this lesson on a hungry feast day.
This one was written a few years back. I hope you enjoy it today.
kris evans May 2014
time and tide waits for none
nor does the soldier of the battle won
swift as the light that pass
the mist crept  the landmass

thunder and lightning left out
when the major called out
ahoy! all brave men
the sons of the Ganges terrain

reach out to the far north
where the enemy slept forth
show no mercy for you'l receive none
feel no pain and march as one

here's the ensign to raise up aloft
think of the weary deeds that you've got
let the din of cannon shred
the rhythm to carry you in right tread

never panic when the men grew wear
wave the standard to shook the fear
never misjudge the foe as weak
but remember your oath to our peak

never fall when ponderous struck
never halt when stark strike
fight till your warmth is turned icy
then the hawkish eyes will see

the unbeaten soul stamped on Indian lads
the mortal's robes you 've clad
holds the blessings of thousand
which will retain your soul and

spirit even when the tricolor is laid
on the honored graves made
hold tightly like limpet
till success is met

march brave Indians with gusto
and show them you are a maestro
draw your sword across
to pierce the devil's heart across
i grew up hearing the war stories of my granddad......he used to amaze me with the brave and adventurous stories of his military life....and i simply would picture him in my imagination....fighting like a hero.for he was my hero....always...
Joe Wilson Apr 2014
A big wooden train Dad made and painted red
Or a tricycle I sometimes preferred instead
Sometimes a Jeep or a truck or a plane
Those Dinky cars I played with again and again.

Cowboys and Indians that we played near the shed
At the end of the garden till it was past time for bed
Where I’d read Secret Seven books or Famous Five stuff
Till Mum put the light out and I’d feign a big huff.

It was a leisurely time full of fun with no fear
We enjoyed our school days and held them so dear
But it all fell to pieces on one Saturday past noon
When my beloved father died at years far too soon.

My childhood till then had been fun like a game
But from that moment on it was never the same
Though the standing by his grave in the cold pouring rain
Isn't the memory I recall, it’s Dad’s home-made red train.

©JRW2014

— The End —