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David Hilburn Jun 13
Had like a child with no forethought
Quiet, angel, thinking joy implicitly...
Is a babes dream, even where love is not?

Not the taming wind?
Severity, in the name of solemn justness?
Can a vice, be a lover's stare, to lend
The our of presence; of mind, kindred, and bless

What has my lip, for another sigh?
Of peace, the still remaining share
Of life; so many, so many mind...
Even when peace is a step forward, sensation cares

Callousness, are we a fate, in silences fury?
Of prayer; notice the shade we compel
To look one more time, a sated cause to carry
Away the copious day, that is for more than another haste of hell

Here to say, stay
Outward limits we will know
With a new solemnity, with an ear for any
Who would save me, from the mind I blow...?
Roses are indeed red, even when a halt is fed...
birdy Mar 8
Take away their power
and ignore their pain.

But culture is perennial,
and no practice is in vain.

You’ve cut the line
but the call is still coming through.

Change is coming.
With or without you.

Take away their language,
but the land will teach them the way.

Knowledge and memories,
will always stay.

Try to obstruct their knowing,
haven’t you heard?

Your graining insistence,
is quiet like the blue bird.

The river is flowing,
the sun is still stirred.

Ancient lines of wisdom,
what are you afraid they might learn?

Your resistance to beauty,
beyond absurd.

When will you let them find freedom?
Surrounded by the colonial herd.
Emilio Valdez May 2023
There's not a sun that rises by
That dulls her opulence
For every day my heart beats on
I fancy I'm her prince

My ardent lust may never cease
Mind, heart and soul know this
Black rolling waves with curves so soft
Sign in winter solstice

Indigenous blood with values true
Her traits my soul extols
With duties carried both out and in
She stands firm heart, firm soled

Soiled sanctity is not my wish
For once, and just this once
Entombed in full by your embrace
Your enraptured, enamored dunce
Khoisan Apr 2023
Smoke drumrolls dance,



a shaman's stance


to an historical prance.
Natives in a global circus.
Tourist attractions?
Khoisan Jul 2022
got caught crying
went straight
tongue is truly
Nathan MacKrith Feb 2021
The world grew sick
it happened so quick
and so the people prayed
in spiritual foundations laid

the people went to see
the healers to be set free
hurt souls seek relief
and beyond belief-
     ~the healers got sick

songs lathered in Purell
as the death tolls swell
ringing out the Sioux band’s
cared for with gloved hands
    ~hands that caught rain
       now wracked with pain

Standing Rock tumbles down
as fits of coughs drown
    “My girl, I don’t know what to do-“
the words of a dying healer
once free to roam
in death
kept far away from her  home

When they pass on
all that knowledge gone
the words and ways of old
lost as voices go cold

Breath taken away
also yesterday
is gone around the bend
ways of old set to end
     -the sacred fire untended

No more secret Candy
or cherished smiles
veterans vanquished
peacemakers in pieces:

Bear Soldier
Running Antelope
Cheryl and Jesse Taken Alive

lovers from the start
Cheryl and Jesse died
only a month apart
holes in the Taken Alive heart

Their moccasins remain still
big shoes for others to fill
Standing Rock’s hills rolling
as graves keep filling
  ~the healers got sick
     hands that caught rain
     now wracked with pain
     the sacred fire untended

... still, the fire burns
out of the ashes, Nola, a child
of those Taken Alive learns
to hear the call of the wild

Young pup’s paws will fill the boots in time
though Standing Rock’s still,
still it stands
rain to be caught by fresh hands
new ears record the tree’s chime

“We’re still here,” Nola said
Taken Alive stands still
at Standing Rock
The Indigenous people of North America are being disproportionately affected by COVID-19. Indigenous elders are dying at a rate of 2:1 in comparison to White North Americans.

This poem was inspired by the true lives and stories of the people of Standing Rock and other Indigenous communities.
Ylva L Dec 2020
One day you left your home
Among with all you hated most;
You left old lullabies unsung
And swore you'd lose your mother tongue
As shivering, small hands still clung
To one life free of ghosts.

After your ghosts had been released
You filled up all the holes.
You lived a life of mostly ease
And never knew you paid your fees
For ghosts are mostly memories
And languages are souls.
Tell me why indigenous
seems so obsolete?
Thoughts in the genius
whose sense is up so late

Why originality
seem so fake?
And off-reality
is worth the take?

It might not seem its best
nor have the Sauce
Not in Vogue as the rest
But it's the source

I choose #originality
your #LocalBoy

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