"lakota" poems
I tromped across North America a few years back
Following the Mayan Elders
Listening to the powerful Lakota Brothers sing songs of mourning and joy
Building community
I was following a White Cherokee
We created clan
I was motivated by the teachings of the Anishinaabe
And represented Thunderbird Clan
We stopped in sacred spaces such as Serpent's Mound
And Cahokia Mounds
We peered briefly through the veil; Samhain
I followed the red path and eventually found I had always been on it
I met Hopi and Navajo elder's
And my friend Sea, a pipe carrier brewed a special tea
I was gifted tobacco that had been grown from seeds
Recovered from an iceman's medicine bag
She transmuted the ancient tobacco into a tea
By folding it into a sweetgrass and cedar brew
Sea gave it to me in a basic stainless steel carafe
Every time we drained the carafe
I refilled it and the essence was just as powerful as the previous brew
When I finally caught up with the Lakota brother's in Sedona
Their voices were raw
We all were
I shared the tea with them
So much magic on that journey
The joy on those brothers faces as the tea reached their throats
I gave them the carafe and told them
It was the gift that keeps on giving
Their thankfulness has been the gift that keeps on giving
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Western Sources
Mist, rain and snowmelt gather
And soak the Montana crests.
A trio of rivulets carves the slopes,
Grow to rivers that braid into a single course
And the Missouri is born at Three Forks.
Shoshone and Hidatsu rest from the hunt,
Kneel and cup their hands
To raise life giving liquid to their lips
While horses bow beside them
Bellies filled with the refreshing waters.
The river flows north dividing the tall grasslands,
Plunges over the cataracts at Great Falls,
Churns on the rocks below
And drives inexorably toward the sea.
Mandan and Sioux
Soft flute sounds drift from the Mandan village
Intertwining with the riffling music of the river.
By its banks a coarse French trapper roasts a rabbit
To share with his Shoshone child-bride.
Sacagawea sings softly beside him -
Charboneau's son stirring in her womb.
Sioux warriors on horseback
Stand guard by the shores.
How many travelers have passed?
How many are yet to come?
Beyond the rolling hills
A buffalo stumbles and falls
Pierced by Lakota arrows and spears.
Boats in the Water
At River du Bois where the Missouri
Collides with the Mississippi,
Forty men slip into boats and take to the oars
To interpret Jefferson’s continental dream -
Their keelboat laden with sustenance,
Herbs, weapons and powder.
They carry trinkets to dazzle the natives
And cast bronze medals to give them
Bearing images of their "Father in Washington"
That none had asked to have.
May, 2004
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:42 AM UTC
《☆ Ode to Miller Spring ☆》
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road since
first I came to be here.
This journey was
my awakening to the
new existence I would step into.
Foreign to me
the illustrious homes.
Dripping willows, old oaks, poplars...
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns carved
into lush grass.
This road is winding.
One needs to go slowly.
Families, children, animals,
all enjoy this path.
The winds blow at this highest point,
up above the Glacial Basin
that forms the river below.
Before farmland,
home to
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring
The deep Spring of Healing
Ancient, pouring forth
from the center of the Earth.
This road, brought me to a
place of solitude...
An open space.
Land of possibilities.
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road
since first I came to be here.
This road has led me to the new existence
I have stepped into.
Perfectly kept grounds
checkerboard patterns carved
in lush grass.
The wind blows at this
highest point,
up above the Glacial Basin,
that forms the river below.
Before farmland,
home to
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring
The deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth from
the center of the Earth.
This Spring, that quenched
my family's thirst.
This Spring, that pulled my
people here,
so many years ago.
A road brought me to
this place of solitude.
An open space.
A land of Dreams.
I wonder,
what Dreams,
this land
will hold for me?
☆●⊙●☆●⊙●☆●⊙●☆
~July 2014~May 2015~
2nd Edition
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
"Miller Spring" is a pure crystalline-rock aquifer that has been revered by all peoples blessed to live within it's reach. The tribes of the Ojibwe and Lakota shared the spring. It was called the "Sweet Spring of Healing Waters" This spring was also shared with Settlers as they arrived. When the land was owned, the spring has always been made accessible, to All People. It should be noted that this spring water is exceptionally clear,
crisp and has a sweet bright taste
It is delicious!
To this day Miller Spring is available to all.
It's icy cold waters gush forth 24/7~365
days a year out of a well by the side
of the road, down about a mile
from my home.
I actually live in a modest house
on two original acres of this
beautiful land, which is now
bordered by five "illustrious" homes.
We moved here from the
City in the year 2000
Living in the suburbs was the
"New Existence" I had stepped into...
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
*Wounded Knee--December 29 1890
The icy wind blows through the trees
The Lakota tribe brought to its knees
Red stained snow marks the shame
No one left to take the blame
History of a settlement marked in blood
Euphemized for the common good
In all of time the land defiled
with the spilled blood of a native child
In Washington the politicians sleep
But I know why the willow trees weep*
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
no bison on the menu
at the Buffalo; this diner
never served it
Big Mike, long gone
named it for the high shelf
on the prairie behind it
where Lakota learned
to stampede beasts over the edge, massacring
hordes without bow or sweat
the gully below,
their forgotten bone yard,
left little trace of them
save half a skull
Mike exhumed and hung on the wall
in the time of polio
before the wide whizzing interstates
when truckers still landed on his dusty lot
their rolling behemoths content in pasture
in a new millennium, the cafe highway is but
an accidental detour; the shack guarded by thistles,
long departed the Detroit steel
the truckers now in the ground, their bones
free from pillage, but the Cyclops on the wall remains,
eyeing the vacant prairie they all once roamed
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
#
Along the priarielands--
rolling hills previously
roamed
by wild buffalo.
Grouse
sage hens
prairie chickens
pheasant
hungarian partridge
and now you--
You, in that pretty, flowing
summer dress- walking that
line.. between planted field
and wild prairiegrass
and not a blade is broken.
Wind-- moving the grass and
nearly-ripened crops like
slow rolling waves
out on the sea.
Me.. watching you
move.. just watching you-- move..
along that line between
beautifully-planted
and natural..
and moving with understanding;
flowing--
ever-growing
knowing.. sweetly knowing
that there's a glowing
from what you are showing-- me;
Not a blade of grass or crop is
ever harmed by your movements
instead.. like me, they thrive--
leaning into you
whenever you are near.
. . .
I am the grass
the blade
the crop-- ready for harvest
the bison
and the upland bird
the forever wave hello
of the tall grass of the prairie.
And you are as much a
part of it all
as you are of me.
Like the native grass
and the native Lakota
that have both
always known its ways..
you were always meant to be here.
#
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 2:11 PM UTC
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road since first,
I came to be here.
This journey was my awakening
as to the new existence
I would step into.
Foreign to me, the illustrious homes.
Huge dripping willows,
old oaks, and poplars...
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns left behind
in lush green grass...
This road is winding.
One needs to go slowly.
Families, children, animals,
all enjoy this path.
The wind blows at this highest point,
up above the glacial basin
that forms the river below.
Once all farmland.
before...
home of
Ojibwa,
Lakota
The Spring.
The Deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth
from the center of the Earth.
This winding
windy road,
brought me to a place of solitude...
an open space.
Land of endless possibilities.
I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road
since first
I came to be here.
This road was my awakening as to the
new existence I would step into.
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns left behind
in lush green grass.
The wind blows at this highest Point,
up above the Glacial Basin,
that forms the river below
Once all farmland.
Before...
Home of
Ojibwe,
Lakota.
The Spring.
The Deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth from the center of the earth.
This spring, that has quenched my families thirst.
This spring, that brought my family here 14 years ago
This road
brought me to a place of solitude...
An open space.
A land of dreams.
And yet..I wonder,
what dreams
will this land hold for Me?
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
I've been wandering around, like a waltzing matilda.
From Fife in the lowlands, to the cliffs of St. Kilda.
Carrying my life, and all that it wills
Appalachia and plains, to the mighty Black Hills.
Trekking so far, exploring the Earth
Miles away, from the place of my birth.
From the land of the Scots, to the land of the Sioux
From familiar homes, to the places so new.
I'm wandering around, with so much to do.
In the land of the Gaels, to the land of Lakota,
I'm slinging around, like a waltzing matilda.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC
TO SHED MY TEARS
I'm sitting on the curb in late July between Al's
Barbershop and Harry's Hardware watching ants
making their way to the gutter where they disappear.
Busby, Nebraska is not a big town--in fact, it's not
even a small town--in fact, it's not even a town. It's
three blocks long, but Ethel's Cafe is open for break-
fast and lunch. And most importantly, it's on the
way to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation located
in the remote southwestern corner of South Dakota
where I'm headed on foot. I've been to Pine Ridge a
number of times. Something calls me there from time
to time. Not sure what it is--kind of like a spiritual
whisper. Only got 23 more miles to get there. I walk
wherever I go--reminds me of Wordsworth's THE
WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. I say I'm going
to Pine Ridge, but actually I'm headed to Wounded
Knee Cemetery, about ten miles east of Pine Ridge,
where so many of the Lakota Sioux men, women,
and children were slaughtered, then buried, the
last massacre of indigenous people by the U. S.
Army in 1890. I sit on the ground and cry and cry.
The dry grasses soak up my tears as fast as they
hit the ground.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Dec 2, 2022
Dec 2, 2022 at 1:11 AM UTC
For personal reasons,
that name conjures
in my mind only
images of war.
Yelling rebels,
teaming Lakota,
Nipponese samurai,
stealthy NVA.
Perhaps
it is time
to declare
a Peace Moon
and learn
to live quietly,
bathed in its
silken shining.
~mce
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
did you have a
good thanksgiving?
not to bring you down
but the people who
first helped the whites
are the poorest folk around.
the Nations of Lakota
the Navajo. the Sioux
they live their lives despairingly
not knowing what to do.
these people have rich heritage
some live off the land.
but the rez may not be able
to give them ground to stand.
what Caucasian people
gave the native folk
were the parts unwanted
a disgrace! a joke!
some put up casinos
to "help" them in their plight
but much of this income
is wrenched from them by the white!
drugs and "fire water"
are a great deal to blame
for destruction of a culture
which bears noble name!
I have read the stories
of Gallup New Mexico
of many deaths of citizens
of the nation Navajo
because intoxication
and the bitter cold
have them sleeping under cars
or so the stories told.
when the owner of the vehicle
gets in and drives away
they run over the poor drunkard
who dies where they lay.
other grave conditions
have these people fraught
they have no essentials
we don't give a thought.
don't want to be crass
don't want to be gross
but they have no toilet paper
use newspaper! or worse!
there are churches. charity
but the folk are proud
they have basic dignity
this is not allowed.
but you can help their Nations
by giving to THEM
the worthy tribal leaders
will help them once again.
I felt lead to write this
I am SO concerned
they are the source of inspiration
by a great respect
they've earned.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/27/2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Earthbound,
and yet I now fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that no sound
echoing by
below where the mountains are lifting
the sky
can be heard.
Like a bird,
but not meek,
like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey,
I will shriek,
not a word,
but a screech,
and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay—
the sheep,
the earthbound.
***
Tashunka Witko of the Lakota Sioux, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a spirit horse, flying through a storm, as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse.
Published by American Indian Pride and Boston Poetry Magazine
"We Came Together" was written as song lyrics for New Zealand composer David Hamilton.
We Came Together
by Michael R. Burch
We came together – people of two lands
so unalike, at first, we hardly knew
how to be friends. We went to war, and drew
lines in the sand. And yet the sky was blue
for everyone, and big enough to share.
We came together, and our friendships grew.
We had to learn to share the selfsame air,
to find the path to harmony,
to find some common ground and let peace bloom.
We came together and we gave hope room
to blossom in our hearts. We learned to be
together in our common destiny.
We come together – people of many lands
so unalike, at first, and now we know
how to be friends.
Keywords/Tags: song, song lyrics, music, composer, diversity, understanding, tolerance, common ground, multiracial, friends, friendship
We Come Together, Holding Hands (I)
by Michael R. Burch
We come together, holding hands,
the children of so many lands;
it’s what the day demands.
We come together, seeking peace,
intent of love, our hearts at ease.
We come together, seeking peace;
it’s what the day decrees.
The time is right. The time is now.
We come together, knowing how
the world depends on us to know
the only time to love is now.
We come together, holding hands,
the children of so many lands;
it’s what the day demands.
We come together, seeking peace,
intent of love, our hearts at ease.
We come together, seeking peace;
it’s what the day decrees.
Copyright © 2023 by Michael R. Burch
We Come Together, Holding Hands (II)
by Michael R. Burch
We come together, holding hands,
the children of so many lands;
it's what the day demands.
We come together, seeking peace,
intent of love, our hearts at ease.
We come together, seeking peace;
it's what the day decrees.
Earthbound,
and yet we fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that all our songs
that echo where mountains stand lifting
the sky…
can be heard.
The time is right. The time is now.
We come together, knowing how
the world depends on us to know
the only time to love is now.
Earthbound,
and yet we fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that all our songs
that echo where mountains stand lifting
the sky…
can be heard.
We sing together, holding hands,
the children of so many lands;
it's what the day demands.
We sing together, seeking peace,
intent of love, our hearts at ease.
We sing together, seeking peace;
it's what the day decrees.
Copyright © 2023 by Michael R. Burch
i wrote a giddy little song
by michael r. burch
i wrote a giddy little song,
which u can dance to, all night long;
i wrote a giddy little poem,
it’ll tempt a smile, like sea foam;
i wrote a giddy little line,
it’ll tease a laugh, like a dandelion;
I wrote a song and took the trouble,
it’ll make u smile, like a soap bubble;
i wrote this giddy bit of fluff,
now dance to it, get off ur duff!
Copyright © 2023 by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 1:06 AM UTC
Sioux Vision Quest
by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux, circa 1840-1877
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A man must pursue his Vision
as the eagle explores
the sky's deepest blues.
Originally published by The HyperTexts
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC
☯
Full Lakota moon,
unzips me from her womb &
dismantles this love.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
Too many of us prize the place over the person.
When I dream, I dream of hobos--6 to 8 of them--huddled around a make-shift fire next to the railroad tracks eating warmed cans of pork and beans. We chat, tell stories and jokes, and sometimes break into laughter. Maybe Woody Guthrie is among us.
Other times, I dream of the **** death camps, not an easy, not an enjoyable, thing to do. But that did happen, and not by economic circumstance. And even if fleetingly, they were together. I think that's what draws me to them.
Sometimes I dream of the Lakota Ogala Sioux before Wounded Knee put an end to them and their way of life. I see Crazy Horse, one of my few heroes, always self-effacing, and as true as the arrow he just shot as he was to his word.
And when Martin Lither King, Jr was murdered on a balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee by a single rifle bullet to his head, 4 April 1968, I dream of standing over him with others, crying.
The ugliest place I've ever seen is Versailles. Opulence on top of opulence on top of even more opulemce. Made me want to throw up.
Often, maybe too often, we prize the place over the person.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 4:35 PM UTC
For all my Friends, Much Love Meesh Washta Lokka Neesh ( I Love You , in Lakota Sioux, spelling a mistake ummm, yeah well thats a given for me lol,
wink emoticon
"Say Love,,, Alma..."
Paul Simon - You Can Call Me Al
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uq-gYOrU8bA
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Oh Hear, Spiritual realm above and below, in Heaven and on Earth, the Great Spirit is one, and the sacred name is one, a unity in divinity...
Blessed are You, Great Spirit, [Meditation of the sacred name], Who strengthens the people with might..
Blessed are You, Great Spirit, [Meditation of the sacred name], Who crowns the people with splendor..
And the Eternal Fire shall burn upon the Altar, and shall never extinguish...
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
...
I've been homesick,
*It's been a long time since I've last given birth to gods in my poetry; so to the old truths and the new: 'hallelujah'
My tongue was a slave to lovely things---I'll admit it was easier that way, but now I've been writing it down again; turning spiders into stories and cancer into planets
who was I to begin with,
who was I.
I'll say it now. I will never escape the wolves. Those wolves with their chalk outlines and their lakota moons. They'll try to teach themselves how to walk back into your life again and don't you dare forget the ruin, oh don't you dare forget how the fire kissed you
she was moonlight sonata,
but he was clair de lune.
He fed me to the bullet feast when he saw fit and I left his ashes on the sidewalk; daybreak can have it for all I care now.*
"I don't know if I'm in love with you anymore"
*I remember my body as a garden of stars disguised as flowers; my roots merely empty spaces dismantled by the light. I remember the bullets in the soil he planted, and the wars that grew in it's place. I became a walking example of death; a soul in the process of decay.
Who was I,
who was I to begin with.*
Dear all that has haunted me all these years: *I am ready for you. I have always been ready for you.
Tell me where to sell my soul, and I will meet you there.*
---Swimming in the moonlight
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
Tell me, and I will listen.
Show me, and I will understand.
Take me in, and I will learn.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
great grandfather sky
we are
The People of
The Lakota Tribe
give us
this day
our daily bread
as we survive
we leave our
flesh and bones behind
before we
enter the
divine circle of the
Ghost Dance
through the
sacred ring of fire
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
The clouds are somber
-Your hair smells like wildflowers-
The wind is furious
-You dance like a wild Lakota-
The storm has started
-You grab my hand and smile-
Thunder strikes
-You offer me shelter from the rain-
Lightning sears and sizzles
-I follow and soon forget my pain-
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
The wolf demands
what the shepherd
can’t protect
A busy hand
helps the angry heart
forget
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: July, 2019)
‘To Mari Sandoz’
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 9:16 PM UTC