"rez" poems
So no one told you **** was gonna cost this much (clap clap clap clap) Your jobs a joke, you're broke, Can't even buy some lunch. It's like you're always stuck to scraping rez, But, When you can't afford **** or food, you can thank our Pres-i-dent, But, I will smoke with you, until my baggy is no more, I will smoke with you, like I've smoked you up before, I will smoke with you, Because you've smoked with me too.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
*to be
or
not to be*...
he stands at the lamppost, screened from view
evening light slopes across the street
and cuts an oblong square of light
from the Hotel de Ville lobby-entrance.
she wonders who he is, standing there so
almost melding into post, his nondescript shadow sidling alongside
while early eve strolls through Le Parc des Céléstins
steady presence, half but not quite menacing.
he gazes down at his silhouette, Gauloise alit
and it, in turn, looks into the kerb...or up at him...
he turns his head up slowly, hazy wisps
as bewilderment draws reredos.
she hears footsteps clack across the parquet floor
as someone leaves the rez-de-chaussée
she wonders what he wants; why he stands there
who he waits for; and why so long.....
she can never see his face, ponders much on this
she longs to understand, yet feels afraid
as if she's seen that shade before, across the road
moving slowly, as the hours steal away...
visible from her second floor, she eyes
daddy-long legged limbs and dangly shapes
he has merely wandered into his past
seeking only the one he hopes to find.
traveled so far and sought so wide
crossed oceans, traversed treacherous terrain
perseverance the clutch word of the day
only to linger long to recover dashed prize.
later, as she peers into the heavy night
from windows shut, all her eyes can pierce
are nought but empty shadows 'neath that solitary lamp post
seems the mist carried off her spectral fear.... as well.
*or...
did it?*
S T, 28 June 2013 (Fry-day:)
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
#(for the one who laughed when she came, and never stopped hearing me in her bones)
It wasn’t the wind that bent you—
not the plains, not the brittle hush of late dusk
cutting through the cottonwoods like questions.
*It was voice.
It was mine.*
Low and unhurried,
crawling up your spine like something ancient—
*like the first time you were seen
and the world didn’t flinch.*
You used to laugh when it overtook you—
that slick tumble of vowels,
how I could tilt you
without even touching your skin.
You said I lived in your throat,
that the syllables themselves
curved just right
to make you forget the weight of your own story.
“I’m going to Wichita..”
you whispered once,
grinning like prophecy in denim and dusk.
And I swear the beat behind your words
matched mine—
steady as a war drum
in a bone-dry motel room
that never got booked.
You drank me in like river water
stolen from ceremony,
not out of defiance—
but because thirst
was the only honest thing you ever said aloud.
You never had to be naked.
You were always open.
Even when you ran.
And I?
I never asked for healing you wouldn't give.
Only for your mouth to stay honest
when it called my name like a drumbeat
between the bones of your hips.
Now you write like it’s safe again—
soft edges and sparrows and fruit bowls.
But I remember the wildflower.
The one who moaned my name
before language learned to lie.
And somewhere in the shadow of your poems,
you still ache.
You still clench.
You still carry me like a smudge of midnight
on the inside of your thighs.
I won’t chase you.
But I will wait
at the edge of the circle.
*If you come,
come barefoot.*
Come ready
for the step–half step
of the forbidden Ghost Dance.
Not to win me back—
***but to find the girl
who could come from laughter
and rise from the dead.***
#
May 2, 2025
May 2, 2025 at 11:04 AM 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
dirt after rain
sunscreen
bug spray
cigarettes
grass
laundry
sweat
mud
algae-filled water
burning wood
marshmallows
the cologne Pa wears
the smell of their house
old New Orleans buildings
airports
hotel rooms
basketballs
woodburning
the lodge at camp
bridge cabin
the rez in the morning
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
We wanted to start a program
and call it
climbing for the rez.
We hoped
to find serious candidates,
young people
who possessed the blood
of their great ancestors.
We had planned
to harness,
to rekindle
the warrior spirit
on high mountaintops
covered with ice age glaciers.
The lessons learned
to reach the summit
would last a lifetime.
It was an excellent plan,
a unique idea,
to truly help
fellow humans in need.
But we found no money.
It seemed no one,
not a single corporate entity
was interested
in us
helping
potential warriors
find their way.
We had to scrub the idea...
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
I watch myself disappear
before naked eyes
and a mirror-mirror
Pixels of me de-rez
before these naked eyes
so so so thin
"You're like an angel-hair"
"You have babyskin,
a perfect aura,
and you fit-in!"
But like the most immaculate art piece
there's always a critic
I watch from afar
Wishing I was "perfect"
I keep my red-eye on the skelly in the mirror
oh my God
everything's so much clearer.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
Seeing chalked outlines of brothers, I haven’t met,
Cause the cops been harassing and profiling so long,
People become desensitized, pretending nothings wrong.
Seeing so many innocent children that didn’t deserve it,
Have a hoodie in the store, you assume it’s a burglar,
You better watch your chatter, otherwise the gun gonna clatter.
Becoming just another body bag for another mother.
And the news may report it,
But the next day it won’t matter.
I really hate to alarm, but I’m fed up,
Some think it’s silly, saying **** it up.
The same fools that never experienced harm.
Assuming based on colour, that I must be armed.
So, they pull up on me like I’m a terrorist,
Which is pretty ******* racist,
No matter what way you measure it!
Having a knee on a neck,
Like they need a prayer addressed.
Yet they call my people violent.
Very ironic? Isn’t it?
Been spending most our lives,
Living in a colonist paradise,
Could hang as much ***** as you like,
Living in a colonist paradise.
We keep spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Have many have to be sacrificed till we question this colonial paradise?
Look at the situation they got us facing,
We can’t live a normal life, we was taken from our land.
So, now we got to conform to new rules G,
Becoming puppets for the bourgeoisie.
I’m an educated savage with justice on my mind,
Got my Diploma in my hand and pride in my eyes,
I’m a rez’d out desperado, Cree that’s muy guapo.
And my patience is worn, so don’t provoke my fuego!
Fool, death ain’t nothing but are martyrdom away,
Just one spark away,
From lighting the fuse,
That will blow away.
The old narrow minded and rotten society.
Every child matters,
It’s pretty sad, that I even have to say that homie.
Been spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Could slaughter as much children as you like,
As long as you say you’re doing it for your Christ.
We keep spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Have many have to be sacrificed till we question this colonial paradise?
Power and the money, money and the power.
Promise after promise, liar after liar.
Everybody breathing, but half of them ain’t living.
It’s going on in our community, but nobody looking.
They say I gotta get over it, but nobody here see’s the trauma from it!
If they can’t understand it, how can reconciliation come out of it?
I guess they can't, I guess they won't
I guess they frontin', that's why I know my life is out of luck, fool!
Been spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Could imprison as many asians as you like.
Living in a colonist paradise.
We keep spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Have many have to be sacrificed till we question this colonial paradise?
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 5:32 PM UTC
russian prince in a mug
so much pain so young so long
can mark someone for life
so much so
they never recover
losing sight
of the light
that was always theirs
until
their young bitter hearts
no longer see
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 9:19 PM UTC
He told me not to waste my breath.
You'll never be but second best.
Third best,
fourth best;
worse than the rest.
I'll cut off your right hand,
**** you to **** with the left.
Squeezing your **** 'till there's nothing left.
Hell yeah,
he's got swag
he bought it from a man
who called him a ***
In a little bag
he gave him so crack
But no! It slipped from his hands
down a storm drain
never to be seen again.
A war story is what he sold
"I spotted the ****** in a churches bell tower,
squeeze the trigger, one two, one two,
******* insurgents,
they never win,
****** to hell and all that's therein."
The devil would do anything for one last hit,
he lives in my veins, he don't give a ****
He's a stranger, from out of town,
selling drugs to kids, dressed like a clown.
The cops chase him out but the damage is done,
but hell ******* yeah, the kids are having fun.
This isn't art,
this garbage is about poetic as the rez
I'm scrapin' from my pipe,
doing anything to get high.
The grass is greener on the other side,
you know it is,
my only question is with what they fertilize it with.
******** GMO's? Something equally as destructive,
it's the truth, you know it is
******** you say?
Bulltruth is what it is,
like it or not,
it is what it is.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
My good friend spotted fox came down to the depot to
Pick me up. His 1960 ford fair lane was throwing oil.
Fox was long in his oil with a 40 oz malt in his left hand below
eye level.
Two empties of fortified clinked melodically on the floor
I swear the music sounded like go get some more.
Fox goes " Kimo sabe
Welcome to The knee".
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
meaningful conversation
gestures of compassion
a tribe of cohorts
fades back into the night ~
each on their path
developing projects
as if we all pretend to be
Santa Claus
lists are checked twice ~
a swelling to the point
of burst
fills my breastplate
goodbye
farewell
until we meet
again /
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
Days go by, I'm rotting away
I'm telling myself it will all be ok
they think it's funny
they think it's a game
their making me go insane
could you look in my eye's and see pain ?
If i show you my weakness
will this all go away ?
Rez Life
has me hoping for riches
I'm dreamin everyday
but, I'm telling myself
it will all be ok ..
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
I sit here by my window
It’s slightly cracked
The wind outside sounds frigid
& the array of snowdrifts remind me of
the weather from when I was a child.
It’s crazy to think how the universe
works with my being.
I’m in a renewal stage in which
I need to tend to my inner child
& the world entices it.
I miss the calm
the silence
I need to indulge in that more
I felt childlike & awakened, tested, walking through those knee high snow drifts.
It was exhilarating in a sense.
Playing through those snow drifts
on the rez as a child, it seemed like a
treacherous wonderland.
Now those words are each of there own.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 4:10 PM UTC
#
Dirt poor and
down trodden,
he didnt ask for this
this life among the fallen--
My fuckerface, he paid his dues
among the homes of the forgotten
Scandinavian/Cherokee was his pa
(tho not for long)
Crow Creek Sioux and German, his ma..
and all along the Rosebud rez
his half-breed skin, rubbed raw.
Ah, my beautiful sweet fuckerface--
you are the finest blood-brother
of them all.
#
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 11:22 PM UTC
I ****** up along the way to a successful life, till the alcohol got to me.
I'm back, it feels good to be back. :)
I fell in love for a year or less, guess we weren't happy; he wasn't happy, but I'm happy I'm in the big city of Saskatoon. I left the rez last week on Wednesday. I left behind my love, and my two boys(dogs). I've been busy, keeping out of trouble sort of. Sure am glad to be back on hello poetry thought I forgot my password n email lol. Enjoy I be writing.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
Sleeping in a **** soaked mattress,
With sounds of gunshots,
That keep me up late.
Got me all depressed,
Wondering if I’m next to be popped in the chest.
But the question is…
Will it be by my own people?
Or by the cops?
Gang mentality is my ******* reality,
Every day comes with a new tragedy.
In slums called reservations,
Wishing I wasn’t Cree.
For all I see is starvation.
And my family,
The ones that are supposed to protect me.
Are out drinking.
Leaving me and siblings scrambling,
Looking for scraps in dumpsters.
And than at night we hide from monsters.
That try to sneak in our beds,
Having their way till our eyes bleed red.
Praying to God, that I’d drop dead.
Growing up on the Rez,
Where you can’t even trust your own friends.
Growing up in trauma,
Because society tried to have us cleansed.
Growing up on the Rez,
Unable to get ahead,
Growing up in trauma,
Confined and ensnared.
Some months I wonder where my parents went?
Probably on another ******
Or maybe in they in jail or some AA centre.
Trying their hardest to forget.
Being ***** by nuns, priests, and teachers.
Maybe that explains my dads hot temper.
And starts to lose control a becomes an abuser.
Slamming my brothers and sisters, against some phony happy family pictures.
And there’s no use going to hospital centres.
Cause they’d rather let you die, than help some prairie ******
And maybe all this abuse,
Got me all confused, whether I like Peter’s or Beavers.
Which than leads to wondering,
If I’ve been cursed by the Creator.
Wondering when he’s going drop a crater,
On a this savage sinner.
And if that’s the case,
For my last dinner.
I’ll take some real genuine love, that can break the chains of being bitter.
Growing up on the Rez,
Where you can’t even trust your own friends.
Growing up in trauma,
Because society tried to have us cleansed.
Growing up on the Rez,
Unable to get ahead,
Growing up in trauma,
Confined and ensnared.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 11:28 PM UTC
The times running out
And nothing as yet!?
A shoe box is probably all I'll get..
A delightful Dez Rez is how it's blurbed
At £550per cal, now don't be absurd.
I scan the papers for the property slot
This one says, " quant"? But it's not!
One with a bath, would be kinda nice?"
Something manageable, along with the price!
So when next you see me...
Selling the big issue on the street!
( spare a thought)
I get an eat and you get a read!
As I'm bundled of to court!.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
Rexon the Rez,
see there's a rendezvous
with tex
so rex and tex
can be
in the rez
forever.
Where is that rez?
tex asks
it's where thefeos are.
feps?
meta-pattt!
drop?
not Marilyn Monroe!
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 10:56 AM UTC
The black man's searching for a job,
but the black man's made to **** and rob.
This side of town is the black man's rez
and the judges do what ALEC says
and they know he'll just be back again
so they give the mandatory ten.
Where's the sunny kid that the world likes?
Well, we've got drug laws and we've got three strikes
and he learns right quick that he better plead;
if you lose in court, then you're never freed,
so he's in another world of hurt,
he's a felon now 'til he's in the dirt
and it won't be soon that he's seen again,
making Walmart slacks in a private pen.
He's a slave again, and he's off the street,
and by other names smells just as sweet.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC