"mohawks" poems
As the Mohawks straddle the goal line
We hold our breaths.
We need a win under our belts,
And this is the most important game of all.
I feel the tension in my stomach,
Now in my hand,
As you take it into yours.
Normally I would be thinking of you
But we are so focused on this touchdown
"Hike!" Shouts number 7, and there it goes.
Caught by 22.
Almost intercepted,
But not quite.
We go wild.
Hearts pounding
Mohawk fans cheering
We won.
You grab me in a huge embrace and
I can't breathe
But its not because you're holding me too tightly.
Together.
Without thought:
Thought of consequence
Thought of the future
Thought of pain
Thought of who is watching,
You kiss me right there and then
And even though your eyes are closed
I still see the blue in my mind from moments before,
Letting me know that it is okay to dive in.
As the cheering roar dies out
I see that blue again
Confused and happy
Or is that me?
On this homecoming night
We won
And I'm not talking about the team.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
i love the fact that most people
rather enter the concept
of karma rather dialectics
to argue their point - makes
emily austen seem like a nutcracker
of ideas to come from
ikea as the self-assembled semi-detached
heights, otherwise known as wuthering, heights
or the disco-ball done in mahoganny eyed splinter
shine - sheens the spot!
it's just so ****** blocked nose rotten,
the opposite of polite society,
a bit like the middle-ages... reigning
paranoia imported from a lost colony,
library cards of blue indian peasants
turned into pheasants that did the cancan dance
all of a sudden... miracles christ couldn't even forsee!
i'm free every saturday if you're hashtag up-for-it...
never mind... i'll leave my quote and oil my phone-number
for a missing mobile telepathic nuance on
when differentiating blue indians with garam masala
and red indians with mohawks - easiest game of all:
snakes & ladders, noughts & crosses... garam masala & mohawks.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
THE DREAM CATCHER
(A RED INDIAN LEGEND)
* By Raj Nandy*
The continent of North America during those
ancient times,
Were inhabited by various Red Indian tribes.
The Delawares, the Mohawks, the Choctaws,
The Dacotahs, the Omahas, the Blackeet,
The Camanches, the Ojibways and the Apaches!
They inhabited the forest, the prairies, the marsh
lands,
The great lakes, the mountains and the fen-lands!
They lived close to Nature and honored their Gods,
With the spirit of Nature all thing were fraught!
If we recall the story of "MacKenna’s Gold",
The ‘Shaking Rock’ and ‘Canyon del Oro’,
Of human greed, - breeding death, and sorrow!
Which in celluloid has often been shown and told;
Yet none could take away that Apache gold !!
Today I narrate a legend of the ancient
Chippawa tribe,
About their "magical net" for a peaceful night!
An old Medicine Man of this tribe,
Wove a ''magical net" with fine gossamer strings,
To catch the dreams as they float by!
He hung this net above the bed up high,
To filter the dreams as they float by,
During those darkest hours of the night !
This wondrous net trapped all bad dreams,
Letting the good ones pass through its netted
seams!
And as the bad dreams got entangled in the net,
The good ones descended upon the sleeping bed!
So should you come across this 'magical net',
Never argue about its price, -
Just buy the one for your bed size!
Then hang the net high above your bed,
For there is nothing to be afraid!
Since dreams shall never ever cease,
Have sweet dreams always, with a good
night’s sleep!
- by Raj Nandy
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
your face is in profile, and i
can see your thoughts
etched across the skin
*cold,
pale,
posterity*
Your eyeliner dr
i
p
s
down your eyes in
S H A D O W S
and the profile is screaming
inside and
nothing
outside.
you made me
shiver.
Girls and dolls
and red ****** rain
train
tracks
silver in
the light
sparrows with
mohawks
****** tears and
guns you promised
never to give.
You made me afraid
of the dark
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
we sang along to the same
ten songs, until we thought
we found solutions to problems
we didn't know we had
we hid our fear under
mohawks & dreadlocks
and stitched our sadness
in with India ink
on our knee caps
and metal in our
faces
we looked pretty from the outside
but I remember the tears that swallowed
his blue eyes when he said
*"i just hope for his sake,
next time he dies"*
because addiction was a pain
none of us knew how to mend
and it left a hole right through us,
no amount of music could fill
when i was five my mom
used to tell me
that it was all fun
and games until
someone got hurt;
i don't think she knew
at the time just how familiar
i'd be with that concept
by the time i was
nineteen
i stopped getting memorial tattoos
after the sixth one,
and i stopped trying to quit
chain smoking when i finally realized
we were all gonna die
blood red hair
and blood shot eyes
i know how love feels
when it sighs a worn out
goodbye
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
oh
the seasons have changed again
ten shades darker and climbing
they forgot who I was
who I am
gaining momentum
the whiteness that used to insist
that I am white
is confused
now they are leaning towards
not letting me be white anymore
till next season all over again
but this is the season of darkness
I can see it in their eyes
hear it in their voices
mostly being black in America
has been the epitome
of non violent resistance
in the season of darkness
non violent coping mechanisms
to a violent abuser
an abuser
called law
called psychology
called whiteness
called economy
untreated domestic abuse
whiteness calls honors history
dissociating from the repair work
that the American family must face
ever since I was a little
itsy-bitsy - innocent boy
the thought
the imagination
of being able to take out
a militia of whiteness
with my body alone
if and when they get as worse as they are
always prepared for the worst of whiteness
no matter what you say
cannot fool me
can I be more violent?
better at it
so I can sleep for a little while
dreams like some of the white kids
except lucid
In the season of darkness
I can prove it all wrong
the whiteness
its story
the companies it keeps
I can breathe a whole new world out
and breathe in clarity
in the season of darkness
my afros
my mohawks
mean something different
suddenly
my worth
is being threatened with an officer’s gun
peacefully letting handcuffs on
violently beaten afterward
hand over mouth
face in the cement
should out of socket
sciatic nerve damage forever
put in a cell
for the trauma
to reverberate
and echo
back into itself
in the season of darkness
whiteness was overwhelmed
without fear
domino affected
occupied whiteness
brought it down to its knees
that one percent of whiteness
is enough to get us all killed
America
in the season of darkness
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Dandelions thrash to the opening chorus of rattle clank by the chain links
yellow heads bobbing
tussled mops of white ****** back defiantly into the wind
until they lean against one another
exhausted and bald
Foxtails sway
feathered limbs thrumming
raised in the air like they just don't care
drumming to the beat of highway traffic
never alone
but gathered together in tight clusters
wary of outside influence
Thistles nod to smoother tunes
the conservative hemming in the edges
seeming almost out of place
until they throw down with their true colors
sporting mohawks in ever shade of purple
The show ends with deep shades of night
falling like a curtain to quiet the floral concert
Until dawn when the show goes on
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Mohawks everywhere
along the river
selling souvenirs
colonial body parts
souvenirs
of a failed genocide
vengenocide
vengeance
reverse genocide
reaction to genocide
colonial bodies in the rivers
limp
slander in writing
souvenirs
history of slander
intervened
abandon ships
millions of colonists dead
an eerie and safe silence of colonialism
a genuine sense of unearned guilt
in the natives
now the currents
the currents
having tried to save the colonists
from destroying themselves
but with no other choice
but to exterminate
we do not mention those evil people anymore
those colonists that tried to get rid of us
ended up
getting rid of themselves
on the shores of Africa
colonists rotted on wooden ships
decomposing in the ocean
feeding the wildlife
ships piled up
colonists piled up
dead
the ocean shore is unsafe
diseased for a long time
waterlogged and dead
for opposing freedom
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 4:49 PM UTC
Before they seal the coffin shut
Let me memorize his face
Touch his skin just one last time
Trace his silk, navy tie
Let me my memory
Leave behind
That I never
Said goodbye
Nor I love you
Just one more time
Wait a moment
Please
A little more time
The stuffed TY (beside your head)
A duck from me
I'll always remember
It was ET
Duffus, Wrestling and Shi Thead
How can I forget?
Mike Myers, Freddy and the 13th
Gremlins, trolls and in between
A Weird Al song
And gasoline
We set the world on fire
We skated ice
And ran in rain
In underwear
One in the same
Skateboards
Superman
And Choo choo trains
Fights
You were a liar
My brother
Peeing in apple juice bottles
Talking to rice krispies
Milk in hair
My best friend
Firecrackers
Sling shots
Everywhere
Even apart
Not far behind
Wait a moment longer
I can't leave him
He's mine
I'm crying
Holding on
Like those moments
On the red carpet stairs
Chubby cheeks
Wet eyes
Mohawks and double dares
Pretending we didn't care
But we cried
At each goodbye
Why? Why?
No....
I don't want to let go...
Don't shut it yet
No....
It's too dark inside...
Please please
Open your eyes
I have to be dreaming
Come back to life
Shattered and screaming
The coffin is closed
They're holding me
Spinning out of control
Too young, too soon
The good always go
But I wasn't ready
It just can't be so...
A blurred ride and rain
As they lower you
Slow
Goodbye
What's goodbye?
I want hello
I'll never forget
12 years or so
I swear it was yesterday
Still can't finish...
Still won't.....No!!
©MV
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
Come lay under the stars with me,
Listening to Stevie sing the songs
That seem like they were written just for us.
Come play with me,
When I want to feel young again.
Catch me, catch me, catch me if you can.
Then lay on the floor with me
When our heaving lungs
Remind us that we're no longer 10 years old.
Come curl up with me
On this couch, under this blanket,
And watch this movie with me.
I know you wont complain,
Even though we've watched it a million times.
Come sing with me in the bathtub
As we give each other shampoo Mohawks
And bubble bath beards.
Sing to me my favorite song
And I'll sing to you that lullaby you like.
Come lay in bed with me
When our day is done.
I want to curl up with you,
Even though this bed is huge
You know I will always end up
Right on your side by morning
But you never seem to mind.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Cigarettes and ashtrays
Red hair and Mohawks
Tattooed is the temple
Rock n' Roll
Busy home and quiet thoughts
Coloured are the walls
Big cities and small streets
Dark nights and bright lights
Empty is the sky
Sketching and painting
Rhyming and writing
Amazing is the Man
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
*a sheeplish jaywalker
followed confidently by three others.*
I swim through people:
laps in the waves of arms
doggypaddle through
people and their backpacks
their breifcases, dufflebags
hockey sticks, saxophones, babies
mohawks, fauxhawks
pleas for change, professions of Christ.
offerings of pretzels and
poorly aged hotdogs
cheap sunglasses, perfume
not one, but two delirious people
drift to sleep on my shoulder.
I swim on.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC
Not Quite Ourselves
In whispers
“Cousin Tommy--
is passing among us--”
a photo
… at my father's funeral
We, dressed up to honor Dad
Spread the pall along his coffin
“The last thing you can do
for your father”
Mom whispered
to her daughters
There is never a last thing
that women do
...Then to her--
the folded flag
__________
Not quite ourselves --
that grief
that echos across decades
Memory is handed round--
that photo
of my Cousin Tommy
___________
His eyes gasp!
Grasp!
at me
desperate
in the sudden need for my knowing
that photo--
That this was all....
I would ever know of
you
In that instant
you pass on--
nothing--
but fear
You, paint for war like Mohawks
or something...
not quite yourselves
You guys
must've laughed
like hysterical fools
Half-shaving your heads
Painting each other's faces
And I don't remember
of course
Never met you
Not in my lifetime
________
That War
Not mine!
________
Germany
behind
the lines
of you
long since dead
at 18 years in '45
But I saw the photo!
RIP
the cord!
to slow descent!
Not quite yourself
Your head thrown back
against the terminal velocity
of your life
A war dance
that I had yet to know...
...your face reaches out
across the decades
for one last plea
“Tell them, Lizzy
Tell them 'bout me!”
Not quite myself
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
She always wore sensible shoes. No high heels, her mother didn't approve.
Her skirt was always below her knee.
Blouses buttoned no cleavage to see.
A ***** at School the boys would say.
Not in with the crowd in any way.
A swat, a pet and all the names called, as she disappeared under her load.
Mother had her at the age of 15 and was determined her daughter wouldn't be the same.
Then came the day she left their home, off to college and living alone.
Weeks passed, months and more and she returned home but not as before.
Tartan skirt as long as a belt, chains round her waist and a Mohawks hair.
Her mother went cold and ripped her apart. What had she done to her mothers heart.
Oppressed and caged no life had she. Locked in a shell that her mother had made.
Once she was free to spread her wings, she got tattooed and pierced with rings.
She never more wore sensible shoes or hid herself as one of the crowd.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC