"comanche" poems
The battlefield was here, where these cattle graze
The cavalry and Comanche fought the better part of a day
Guns against arrows, savages against the savagery, they were out-drawn
Braves against the bullets, so helpless their plight
Defending their land and families
Maybe they were right
Now, it’s just a valley
The way it was back then
The day before that massacre of forty honest Indians
This is their memorial
This bright day above
A view that lasts for miles
The many trees and shrubs
And the wild flowers
That grow between the rocks
Their maidens wore them in their braids
Before their loves were lost.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
I looked into my grandpa's eyes
In my daughter's face disguised
My son's hands now strong indeed
Just like my dad's I see.
Temperament like calm currents flow
From generations long ago
Eyes hazel gold so beautiful
Passed to me ... ages old
Grandma gave her that tenacity
And there's Meema's willful personality
My son took Peepa's tender heart
That feels the pain of another's lot
High cheekbones a dead give away
Of Comanche heritage displayed
Blonde hair like one we never knew
His life cut off way too soon
Deep poetic waters flow
Music locked inside us rose
From history past revealed today
Sweet sung lullabies relayed.
Unknown tears that flowed from souls
Pain and hardship we'll never know
What did it take to bring us here
What suffering did they volunteer
Archives of history living in me
Within me the keys to great mysteries
Treasures buried deep inside my soul
Tapestries of lives sewn together as a whole
Fragments of you, pieces of me
Weaving together delicate filigrees
Illustrious building rise from the grave
Living forever through endless age
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
Between empty junction gullies of the Dogskin mountains,
the BLM has once again released their Judas horses
luring the free ranging mustangs into capture corrals.
Their crime --- thriving in a battle of survival.
I assure you the Comanche do not dance around the fire,
nor does the ghost of Cortez roll in the wildflowers of El Dorado.
Ironically this native species is now considered feral,
introduced in the very habitat which shaped its evolution,
arcanely empowered to exceed enviromental carrying capacity.
The lands of nature are so dear: rejoice their freedom!
The mountains do not judge, they merely shelter.
Let the mustang graze unfettered through winds of dawn.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:56 AM UTC
I haven't ****** much with the past
But I've ****** plenty with the future
Over the skin of silk are scars
From the splinters of stations and walls I've caressed
A stage is like each bolt of wood
Like a, like a log of Helen, is my pleasure
I would measure the success of a night by the way, by the way I
By the amount of **** and seed I could exude
Over the columns that nestled the P.A.
Some nights I'd surprise everybody by skipping off
With a skirt of green net sewed over
With flat metallic circles which dazzled and flashed
The lights were violet and white
I had an ornamental veil, I can't bear to use it
With the way my hair was cropped, I craved, craved covering
But now that my hair itself is a veil
And the scalp inside is a scalp of a crazy
And a sleepy Comanche lies beneath this netting of skin
I wake up, I am lying peacefully
I am lying peacefully and my knees are open to the sun
I desire him and he is absolutely ready to seize me
In, in, in, in, in heart, I am a Moslem, in heart, I am an American
In heart, I am Moslem, in heart, I'm an American artist and I have no guilt
I seek pleasure, I seek the nerves under your skin
The narrow archway, the layers, the scroll of ancient lettuce
We worship the flaw, the belly, the belly
The mole on the belly of an exquisite *****
He spared the child and spoiled the rod
I have not sold myself to God
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
~*~
Rising from the earth,
like the native Comanche.
He’s really quite dandy.
Introducing...
President Chimpanzee.
So fierce and strong,
like a banshee—
but brave and cute,
Like little orphan Annie.
No, his name’s not Randy,
or Sandy, or Fannie, or Mandy—
get it right!
The name’s,
Chimpanzee.
You may find him with Andy,
eatin’ nanners in the pantry,
but no need to get antsy—
He’s not getting handy with granny!
I mean, come on—
he’s a chimpanzee!
Oh, that fuzzy man candy.
His ideas—so fancy dancy.
Building a democratic jungle of equality.
A born leader like King Ramsey!
Did you forget him already?
You know the dude...
Chimpanzee.
So, get up, America!
Stop playing with your testies.
Pull up your pantsies.
Go gather all that you can see,
and put them in a frenzy—
with definite intensity,
For the
grandly,
swanky,
vigilante,
Yankee,
of Miami.
Give us liberty.
Give us...
President Chimpanzee.
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 4:31 PM UTC
By Alexis & Arcassin
:::AW:::
When the arch of my back doesnt fall lower then London bridge
The tip of your fist meets my skin, breaking the bridge, breaking my skin breaking my heart and
Leaving broken pavement under my skin you call
love marks
Hickeys even
Bragging saying you ****** the life out of me"
Yes Indeed you did the moment that bridge collapsed with our love
Leaving two hearts in a Comanche,
:::AB:::
Centipedes crawling on their way to salvation, I hope you reach the top,
For which you came,
Spirits grabbing and pulling,
I see you found the love huh?,
Don't want your feelings to be caught being futile,
Wind through your sorrows and not through your hair,
I swear I got to steal a moment when you only,
Dancing in the Moonlight,
The churches bright lights,
Not knowing that devil dances with you,
A spirit gripping and pulling,
Did you reach the top yet?
Almost selling souls,
Like it was a cockpit.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
coyote yelping helps;
the winds, too, distract him
from the now
the Comanche who
put the arrow in his back
lays beside him
gone before him;
that is condign comfort
to him
he cannot speak, nor move
his tongue, but he smells the
***** the creosote
he sees the clouds,
stingy white whiffs in a hot
summer sky
as good a day to die
as any he reckons, and
he feels no pain
again the yelping,
closer now -- are they talking
about him?
will they beat the buzzards
to his body? would they begin their
feast while his eyes are yet open?
he closes them; the flapping of
the wings does not arouse him--he
knows they are on the Comanche
beaks and talons at work
he lets himself drift, content the
vultures are choosing the dead
but they fly off; the coyote pack
approaches--the pads of their paws
patter on the hard caliche
he lets himself sleep
dreaming now of sweet green grass
and good water
and the coyotes begin their work:
the ***** and he now a solitary offering
for the ravenous dogs
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
Chop wood, carry water,
channel Ra.
Overtones over the undulations of Nun,
where the first man stood quite
apart from his father.
The cattle of Ra poured forth from his eyes and
thus he ruled over what he made.
Red frequencies in the dark are
strung outside of time -
the mana by which energy makes art.
I cannot look toward the Black Octave…
bad cymatics in the Red Resonant Year.
I’m barking at the Blue Tetrad.
The indian guides couldn’t tell if it was
Comanche or wolf.
They remained still for quite a long time.
By: Jordan Gee
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 4:17 PM UTC
Thanks for breaking me out, pal
Thanks for breaking me in
Got no reason to pout, now
With the stars on my skin
‘Cause the moon through the windshield
Never tasted so good
And the moon whispers louder
Than the sun ever could
Let’s forget the stale glories
We dreamed up in the day
You’re the king of the night, now
And I’m the queen of LA
(Yeah) I’m a modern day Bonnie
And you’re a latter day Clyde
Never mind my kid brother
He’s just along for the ride
Fire up the Comanche
And gather up the debris
Strewn across the cracked vinyl
Holding down the front seat
Let’s shoot south for El Paso
Then whip hard to the East
We’ll make Denver by morning
Or Grand Junction, at least
Tell a lie to my left ear
And I’ll lie to your right
In the bed of the pickup
On the floor of the night
Here’s your pistol and pick-ax
Where’s my chisel and stone?
We’re the smoking sage bandits
Throwing fate a fat bone
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
a yellow flower
or two,
ones I can't name,
survived June's arid,
brutal assault
ant mounds abound; scorpions
aren't despondent
Timothy grasses, weeds
don't complain
always there are
mesquites
stubborn adolescents
unaware steer dung left
their ancestors here
this is not a place one
can walk barefoot
not even the Comanche
had such soles
I tried, but you
lashed out
leaving goatheads
and other burrs
in my heels
perhaps to
remind me
I bought you,
but I own
nothing
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Did You Grow Up in a Palace Too?
In Memory of the Palace Theatre
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
A Technicolor palace where Robin Hood
Saved England for only twenty-five cents
And the royal feast was popcorn and RC Cola
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
Which was so big that the Comanche Nation
Could encircle both a fort and a wagon train
And a candy bar was chuck-wagon stew
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
And softly, sweetly found another’s hand
As the cowboys and Indians rode away in peace -
There was a newer magic for you to discover
If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace
In the summertime of your happy youth
Aug 29, 2023
Aug 29, 2023 at 10:56 PM UTC
No, I'm not addressing those
residing at surfers paradise or
the beach combers who are out
there looking at the wave graves
in the off chance of finding floaters
gold which is no different to what
one expects to discover at the end
of an Irish rainbow, providing you
get there before the Leprechauns.
Road rangers of ******* left to the wind,
CokeCans@McDonnells should have been binned.
Appache are pronto delivered by Tonto
Kemo Sabe's Comanche, but could be Monsanto?
Is it just here in Cork that those boxes are red
Kentucky Fried Chicken to the crows it is fed.
So who are the Tidies around town here in Mallow,
do they go out much further? Yes, as far as Duhallow !!
For the volunteers. Mallow Tidy Towns.
Polluted by American take away's
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
Circles and Squares May 24 2022
what’s on the agenda for today?
the pre-summer soil is softening for the till
and time is fast ripening on the vine.
seventy-two silly angels are swimming sideways through the ethers
sowing sacred seeds of sacral energy
and so blooms celestial clusters of protons and neutrinos.
we’ll reap a golden crop of Elysium wheat -
come this Autumn’s Comanche harvest moon
because the fruit lives in the harvest
like a bee in the hive
like a house made of hexagons in the sky.
place the left hand over the heart
place the right down upon the belly
breathe deeply from the sacrum
everything is gonna be alright.
two hands of woman and man
feel the heart thumping
plasma and prana pumping
the sun and the moon orbit according to fated rhythms…
everything already is alright.
‘things are that which the word makes them in naming them’
cleaved from the tongue
your word is Law.
tilt your head back
blow prana vayu in the sky
watch the egress of the thunder clouds fleeting
and the bending and the bowing of the rain.
our eyes are two prisms
refractors of the Light
they vibrate together to make an octave
like a dial tone just behind your brow.
your heart is a silicon satellite
picking up on all the waves and boson particles
magnetizing
synthesizing
so many shades of green I almost ran out of canvas
feel the space open up wide inside your sinus
and wide horizons of your mind
the Spirit is gently rapping
tapping at your inner door-
the door of Brahma-
the Brahmarandhra-
unlock the latch and let your Self in.
take heed of the Sacred Feminine
her compassion is boundless in the bottomless night
and even unto the highest firmament
the crows are there cackling in a happy ******
hear the echo in their caw
the morning birds are pecking at the sun
giant sine waves from little bird lungs
thai elephants doff their tack and saddles
even also the claw bells and mahouts and all the bronze.
there is a deep well hidden behind our sternum
behind the high fencing of our hearts
Shiva dances there inside a lotus flower
and all we hear are the circles and the squares
what's on the agenda for today?
my voice is barking octaves
my eyes, they are two prisms
my body is a shrine.
by: Jordan Gee
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 5:42 PM UTC