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William Crowe II May 2014
The headdress danced in the sun
On the Indian's hollow
And eyeless skull.

It was framed in feathers
Brightly-colored serpents in the
Salty air flames licking at
Dancing and ***** bare feet.

Dark-skinned, tall, high cheekbones
And solemn eyes full of
Wisdom--he surveys the
Badlands, Moses's rigid face
Blank and silent in a
Heatwave desert.

Beyond the teepees and the
Black bonfire smoke and
The buffalo rhythm, the plateau has
Risen, bleached bones
Litter the plains as a constant
Reminder.
brandon nagley May 2016
i.

The atlantian theorists, of the Masonic order,
Wanted a new world, ****** indigenous quarter's;
They came by their ship's, to conceal native truth's,
Only coming for a plunder, to giveth satanic rule.

ii.

The warrior-painted faces, naturally painted by ash and red,
Sawest their shores, being broken by it's door's; mad-men in
Shiny silver, hand's open, yet were fed. Sachem prophet's
Bellowed the harbinger's long afore, now all hast come, these
aborigines weren't dumb; they prophesied this long before.

iii.

The wigwams, longhouses, teepees and lodges, were uprooted from their sacred ground's, the creator's meek were ravaged; as giant bones were taken while found. As hidden beneath the surface, the haut monde made none sound; playing dumbed with Gun's, they ran their fun, fabricating lies, under the America's sun. As tis they gave the world alibi's to be one, O' what hath they done; O' what hath they done.

iv.

First the viking, with dragon ship thunder
came to conquer,pillage and plunder
taking lives without a thought
unwary of the cruelty they wrought.

v.

Then pilgrim's progress seeking new land
would have starved if not for the "savage" man
onward, westward, did they go
killing for profit, pleasure little did they know.

vi.


Grandfather, earth mother and spirit of wild
they watched as the white eye usurped the child
and still, no lesson has been learned
the people grew fat, their culture spurned.

vii.


Most of the tribes are gone away
and America has come to stay
but in my native heart i yearn
to see the Indian nation return.



©Brandon Nagley \Wolfspirit duo poem
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Indigenous harbinger's revealed
I say atlantian theorists because the masons came here to build a new Atlantis, based on Francis bacon and other high masons knowing of the once Atlantis that did exist ( facts out there under sea, why under sea? God flooded earth because of what the watchers , sons of god ( demonic beings did with women mating with them, in genesis 6:2), and the masons came to America, to base a new order ( thus in place the new world order being revealed now, came long ago from the men who ***** and plundered once native land, that once was untouched.) As many don't know 44 of the 56 signers of the declaration of Independence were masons ( not Christian as many want to believe, and being a Christian myself must wake others up to that reality and what's happening before you was planned long ago based on an atlantian theory, as if you know what Atlantis is, many say land of the gods. Though not being gods at all but offspring of the watchers or fallen angels... The giants...!!! That their remains are scattered all throughout your land as Smithsonian museum has well admired to destroying giant bodies 10-15 feet tall over a thousand bodies,!!! And giant skulls and bodies and Skeleton's have been found by the thousands and used to be mainstream news early nineteen hundreds in papers worldwide and especially America, something that the natives knew as truths... What you don't know the chiefs all over America have spoke of these giant beings that used to walk among them matching biblical scripture and world history and native history not told in your school history books because it doesn't match up to a new world agenda world view and mainstream new world agenda that's being pushed in your sights!!! As history channel ( ran by elite and mainstream lies) sais to you one minute giants never existed. Though next show they'll put on is of the gigantopithecus. Lol.. How much truths you don't know thst you really should this isn't mythical. This is reality not just native or biblical truth, world truth hidden for a new orders agenda... awake to that... Look up facts through Tom horn, look up the watchmen channel on YouTube, Steve quayle, you'll learn alot you never knew I knew this for years, yet more I learn daily how much covering and hurt has been caused in this once great place to hide truths for a dark agenda....
Sachem- means a chief or leader...
Harbinger- warning, forerunner of something.
Aborigines- meaning not just people in Australia- meaning original people.
Haut monde- fashionable society...
Holly Salvatore Mar 2012
When you made preserves our house
Didn’t seem so haunted
Our kitchen seemed bright and inviting
Instead of white and sterile
The window above the sink seemed so far away
And the curtain above that
Even farther
They were
Peach
Turquoise
Brown
And they made me dream of Indians in their teepees
Lonely desert nights
Though I had never been there
Arizona
New Mexico
California
Colorado
I had never been to those places
Those were your places
That was where you fell in love
Dad told me
And the pictures in the laundry room told me
I always went in there to look
For a part of you I had never met
But sometimes when you were making preserves
You were that girl again
With a crazy mass of curls that you’ve never tied back
Cuz you hate your ears
After two kids, you were still skinny
And taller than I’ll ever be
And in the heat of the kitchen
Tiny drops of sweat beaded on your forehead
You’d roll up your sleeves
Tie your shirt at the waist
And laugh and play in the steam where you boiled the mason jars
Pretending you were at Yellowstone again
Watching Old Faithful erupt from the earth
Right on cue
Holding Dad’s hand
Back before he grew his beard
I tried to count your freckles while you were reminiscing
You’ve got a lot
A lot a lot
I thought you were the prettiest woman I had ever seen
As you turned those scalding mason jars upside down
And told me to wait till I heard them pop
You made it sound like it would be magical
Elusive
Like if I didn’t pay attention
I would miss it
And I did.
Everytime.
Cuz I was in the laundry room looking at pictures
Of someone I didn’t know
When a symphony of popping would ensue
From the kitchen
And I’d come running
But I missed the mason jars rattling
And shaking as they played their tune
Raspberry preserves in c minor
I missed the butcher’s block by an inch as I slid on the linoleum
And nearly knocked over the coyote cookie jar
I missed my chalkboard easel
By the Grace of God
My earliest masterpieces remained intact
But I did not miss your face
Or the grin that lingered
When the popping ceased
About my mom, about childhood
Godless Mornings
Trickle down my *******...
The empty thoughts shrivel
Into a pulsating pyramid,
Blushing with ribbons of grief.
Dreams that others hear,
             And I cannot see,
Spiral down towards
Shards of glass and the souls of feathers.
Bring me some thoughts
When you come back~
Thoughts of teepees
And of rain.
Bring me a cloud
To hold my tears
And place it on my wrist.
Do you not hear?
I'm asking to let go of this balloon.
Red...follows me.
Please leave--I want to see pinks.
Heavy laughter, dark and foreboding...
That doesn't sound pink.
I'm afraid in the dark...
My coiled dreams will send me to
Laughing Clowns,
Painted Smiles, and Crazed Eyes.
Move...just one finger...
The unknown entity of possession...
Breathe...Breathe...
Bushes in the background
And I pick Lollipops that are
Not Quite Ripe.
The roots are singing "Danny Boy"
And when they get to the
Snow-hushed valleys,
I am asleep
Entwined in their tentacles.
Angel's fish come to wake me...
Don't ask me how
Who's Angel?
I fly through the vents
Into your Room...
And there I shall ever Be,
A placenta protecting my Smile
The Terrible Twos never stop
What is that sound?
Wake up, Love.
I'd rather not--
It looks to be another
Godless Morning.

~christa elise cannon p------.
Ever suffered from sleep paralysis *and* a bad relationship?
Dre G Sep 2011
this is the finally finished poem that i had uploaded last year as untitled:


wake up inside a faerie
ring, sun probing
between canopies,
a musty odor leaking
out of the Styx, the dark
Master waits in hollow,
aching trees.

from the stumps
he calls to me, he wants me
to play hide and seek.
he can't hear, but he smells
and feels each warm, hungry
step bringing me closer
to the river.

a stew in my chest,
a stake for my shoulders,
i know he is my ancient Master but
i though i was released.
now i drip down like the slugs,
i scoop jelly out
of my eyes and feed it to my children.

like the bite and bark
of a Celtic Oak, i slice off calluses,
stratum by rooted stratum, till
i have a full basket of raspberries.

i just want to slide this naked, dead
weight body across the pointed treetops.

by the light of starving embers, i eat
my knotted hair and cough up muddy ice.
i burn down teepees at night so i can see
the souls of screaming children
rise like red dust to Andromeda.

last night the Acid burned
a hole right through my cauldron,
and when i could see
the other side,
i sat there- speechless, dumbfounded,
at all i had
forgotten:


a ball of mugwort, still aflame,
a purple spiral galaxy,
ten micrograms of safety,
and an echo
that escaped from me
every time i tried to pet it.
Martin Bailes Feb 2017
Because in my day dreams
& in a heartbeat,
the Coke brothers
would be re-educated
digging deep wells
in Flint Michigan
till they found pure
clean water.

Kobe Bryant's wife
would have her
million dollar ring
expropriated & broken
down for drill bits
to use in the digging
of Flint wells by the
same Coke brothers.

All Kardashian holdings
everywhere & anyhow
would be seized by
the state & sold to the
foreign precious stone
market & the proceeds
used for funding
school book buys.

Trump Tower would be
occupied and stripped
of all its false veneer
while Barron's gold
baby carriage would
take pride of place
in The People's Museum
of The New Dawn &
groups of school children
would field trip to marvel
& learn.

Fox News executives
would be arrested along
with Limbaugh, Hannity
a multitude of talk-show
hosts as enemies-of-the-
people & re-educated
digging canals from the
high Rockies through to
San Luis Obispo to help
water the farms which
would now be unionized
& minimum waged & there'd
be taco trucks on every
corner for free workers
lunch & luxury campers
for naps from the burning
midday sun.

History lessons would
be for real this time,
buffalos would be
encouraged mightily
to breed and roam the
western lands where
Indian tribes would
return to pastures
of old & they'd house
themselves in teepees
hand-sewn by bankers
& hedge-fund managers
lodged in converted
L.A. mansions with armed
guards for the duration.

The NRA leadership
would be hog-tied &
immediately put to work
in foul prison conditions
producing ploughshares
from swords in blazing
merciless kilns & every
Sunday they'd be cuffed
& 'compassionate-leaved'
to the closest cemetery
where they'd visit the
graves of the fallen
children & granmas
taken by ricochets.

Prisons would use
psilocybin cure-alls,
golf-courses would turn
into adventure petting-
zoo play grounds,
Syrian children would
move into Hampton
mansions,

Detroit & West Virginia
would be declared
emergencies & the
entire overseas hidden
off-shore accounts of
the top 1% would fund
roads, bridges, schools,
doctors & nurses,
teachers, professors
& crossing guards.

Trump himself would
have to restore all the
gravestones in all the
Jewish cemeteries in
all the States,
& then,
& only then,
could he have
his lunch hour.

Because in a heartbeat
I could be far worse
than that & perhaps
in some ways it's a
good thing I'm not
the boss.
port Jan 2016
she left me with a wound on my tongue ,
which hasn’t stopped bleeding blue since i was four
(i can’t blame her for everything)
(only for a few sick days).

my blue tongue flings out words that shake like the world is too cold.
my blue tongue isn’t connected to my mouth and
you can find it if you look hard enough,
you can grab it if you don’t mind a loose barbed-wire fence,
easy to sneak under and tresspass and destroy with the right words that leave me a blurry brown.

these stanzas sing about new mexico as if i were a new muse,
neurotic with drips of life drip drip dripping out like a drum.

my blue tongue is blue.

my blue

tongue

is blue because i became a blue corpse when i was a bumble bee child,
stinging and dying and repeating repeating
repeating until i’m ornate like the teepees i visited, oh-so cyan, oh-so turquoise, oh-so royal.

oh-so

blue.
Chapter 20: The Formality Of Acceptance

As he entered the village, it was not what he expected ...

“The women are in the process of building a great fire. Before you can be asked to sacrifice on behalf of The People, you have to be honored and formally welcomed into Piegan society,” said Jimmy.

Cutty wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was sure of one thing—there was no mistaking honor when it rose up to greet you. “These people may be down on their luck, but their fundamental spirit is intact.” He repeated this sentiment to Jimmy. “Only because you returned tonight, Major.”

Only Because You Returned!

Cutty and Jimmy had walked through the trees with the big white horse at Cutty’s side. Behind the horse had walked the rest of the Piegan Tribe: First Stoneheart with the Council of Elders, then the Warrior Societies, then the Hunters, and finally the Women and Children.

Everyone From The Tribe Had Come Out To Greet Him

The big horse had neither bridle nor rein but seemed to know exactly what was happening and where they were going. That was good, because Cutty hadn’t been sure. In times like these he had learned that the most successful route was the one of least resistance.

He had slowly walked beside the large stallion by the light of the three-quarter moon—with the torchbearers all behind him. The few times he had slowed down to make sure they were still on the trail the horse had lowered his head on Cutty’s right shoulder and brushed his cheek.

“It’s almost as if he understands why I’m not riding him,” Cutty had thought to himself.

The big white stallion was reminiscent of the one The Emperor had ridden during ceremonial parades in front of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. He could now hear the women chanting behind him, and their voices were raised in what sounded like somber celebration.

The path opened up into a wide broad area with burning campfires and clapboard shacks extending as far as the eye could see. “So, this is what a modern-day Indian Camp looks like,” Cutty thought out loud.

Jimmy could tell that Cutty was confused as he said: “Only the elders and medicine workers live in teepees, Major. The rest of the tribe lives in wooden shacks that are both cold in the winter and hot in the summer. Many of the People have lost their way and for that reason the Siksika have been able to prey on us so.”

The Piegan Were Caught In A Time Warp Between The Old And The New

The next voice he heard was that of Chief Stoneheart coming up on the left side of his horse from behind. “Ichiban, would you please mount the white horse as we approach the fire? It would mean so much to the People.”

Cutty’s initial feeling was one of embarrassment.

His mind flashed back to the story of Jesus triumphantly entering Jerusalem on the back of a donkey as people waved palm leaves at him in celebration. His self-consciousness was again tempered by the importance of observing local customs. He had learned this on several continents, and it had served him well.

After Stoneheart had passed by—and was now in front of him—Cutty spun 180 degrees throwing his right leg high into the air and over the back of the big horse. Like all good horses, this one immediately knew that he was now in the hands of an experienced rider. Cutty sat motionless on the horse’s back as it slowly made its way toward the flames.

Wooden shacks had been built in a circle around a large stone-rimmed fire pit. It reminded Cutty, in a strange way, of the squares or pracas he had seen in Portugal. Three women were standing inside the large pit and had lighted a fire. The flames danced in the moonlight as Cutty wondered what was coming next.

Then Instinct Overtook Intellect

Without fully understanding why, Cutty reared the stallion up on its two hind legs. He kept the horse in this position for what seemed like forever, before patting it on its right wither and dropping it down on all fours. It was then that he charged.

Cutty charged up the right side of the fire pit at a full gallop. He rode completely around until he was back where he started from—but he did not stop. He drove the horse even faster around the fire, two more times, before rearing him up again in front of Chief Stoneheart and the Council of Elders. The entire tribe was blinded by the aura of Ichiban. Cutty whispered something into the horse’s ear before dismounting in one fluid movement.

“So, you speak to horses too, Ichiban,” said Stoneheart, as he touched the stallion’s mane. “You two seem to know each other well. Maybe from a previous life?” Stoneheart said these words with the first smile Cutty had seen from him since leaving the train station in Missoula.

“There is nothing like a good horse,” Cutty said back to the Chief, as Stoneheart escorted him to a place of honor.

Cutty was being led to the southern end of the fire pit, when Stoneheart asked him to turn around. The women had all stopped chanting, and in a louder voice than all of the women combined—Stoneheart began. As he chanted, he raised both arms to the sky and rotated slowly.

Cutty Was Discovering Just How Important The ‘Circle’ Was To Native Americans

Stoneheart rotated in two complete circles—first to his right and then to his left—before stopping where he had started directly in front of Cutty. This reminded Cutty of the many Katas he had practiced—always finishing in the same spot he had started from.  Stoneheart never lowered his head as his eyes had been fixed on the night sky.

“That sky is almost as impressive as the one over the Himalayas,” Cutty thought.

Stoneheart ended his chanting and turned to face The People. His head was now down as he started a slow and rhythmic dance around the fire.



Chapter 21: The Dance

One by one, they fell in behind Stoneheart dancing their way around the fire. Each tribal member had their own personal interpretation of the drumbeat as they danced through the mixture of moon glow and firelight.

Jimmy had now walked up to Cutty and was standing beside him.

“This is all in your honor, Major. The People can feel the magic of this night, and to them the magic is only real when it is felt in the heart. Stories, and the retelling of legends, don’t often create what they are feeling at this moment. After they have completely circled the fire, they will one by one take a seated position around the circular stones.

When the last dancer is seated, Chief Stoneheart will stand again and raise his arms to the sky. He will then chant a Blackfoot Piegan poem of thankfulness and lower his arms in your direction.

“That will be your invitation to dance, Major. I know this might make you uncomfortable, but it is a great honor to be asked to dance in front of the entire tribe. It will bring untold meaning to everyone. It won’t matter how you dance as long as The People can feel the spirit of your movement.”

When the last dancer was seated, Stoneheart rose with his arms reaching for the sky. It reminded Cutty of when he stood in front of Captain Nagata while first being introduced aboard the great Japanese warship—the Kagoshima Sun.

Eternal Moments Are Never Measured In Blocks Of Time

Chief Stoneheart dropped both of his arms with palms up in Cutty’s direction. He then spread them widely in a gesture of welcome.

Cutty had never really danced and was known as a notoriously bad dance partner both by Adrian and by the few girls he had tried to dance with at Academy *****. He knew he was bad, but there was one thing he could do better than anyone of his generation. He retracted his Katana from the Saya (scabbard) on his belt.  The entire tribe sat motionless—feeling his power—waiting for what he would do next.

“KIAI”

Without warning, Cutty let out with the loudest vocalization anyone seated had ever heard. It filled the night sky, as it bounced off the mountains with its echo of immortality. The power of its reverberation infused into the tribe, and for the first time they felt the connection between themselves and this ancient warrior.

He would share his spirit with them, and their hearts would be renewed. Their ancestors were now looking down from above and smiling at what they saw.

Cutty had watched Stoneheart as he danced around the fire. His movements seemed much slower than the other (younger) dancers, but they had a subtleness to them that seemed to contain great meaning. The other dancers—no matter how energetic—could not capture the feeling that had poured out of his every movement. He knew he could not dance like that.

Cutty Raised His Katana Over His Head With Both Hands

He then dropped his head, before beginning Kata #8. It was the same Kata that he had performed for the crewmembers of the Kagoshima Sun. This form, when done perfectly, took exactly ninety seconds to complete. It was based upon a circular attack, and Cutty would have to amplify its movements to be able to make it around the fire as its last strike was ****** into the air.

Cutty KIAI’d again! He then leaped forward with both feet while striking with his sword both right and left. He jumped and rotated in mid-air, striking an imaginary opponent with a downward killing blow as he landed.

Opponent after imaginary opponent was slain as he made his way around the fire. Everyone seated was frozen in amazement as this intrepid warrior vanquished his enemies in ways that they had never seen. He swept the blade through the embers of the fire as he passed between tribal members seated in front of him.

Not One Of Them Ever Moved Or Flinched

In the shadow of the fire’s glow, there appeared to be three warriors dancing and slaying their enemies. Cutty made his way back to his starting position and then KIAI’d again before dropping his head. It was customary—in Samurai tradition—at this point for someone of authority to release him from his exercise. Captain Nagata had released him while on ship with the command “MOKUSO YAME!”

Cutty Stood Silent With His Head Down In The Firelight

A red-tailed hawk then cried out in the distance, as Stoneheart rose with his arms extended and again started to chant. Cutty took this as the signal for his release. He sat down where he stood and waited for what Stoneheart was going to do next.

Every member of the tribe was still seated and facing Cutty, many with their backs to the fire. Jimmy got up from where he was sitting and took a position just behind Cutty. Two young boys had also walked over and were now sitting quietly beside him.

Stoneheart Finished His Chant And Began To Speak

As Jimmy translated, Stoneheart told those seated that…

“Tonight is a new chapter in the history of the Blackfoot Piegan People. A warrior has been shot from the bow of all that is good, and he has come to free the Piegan from our enemies and to resurrect our spirit. He is a warrior who has fought many battles and walked on foreign lands—lands that we can only wonder about. His enemies have been many in the pursuit of his honor. Early on, he conquered the only enemy that might ever truly defeat him—and that was fear.”

Cutty smiled inside himself, as Jimmy translated Stoneheart’s final words.

“The wisdom of savages,” he remembered the Colonel once saying. If anything savage had happened—since first meeting the three Piegan at the station—Cutty wanted no further part of what posed as civilization.

Stoneheart looked at Not-Many-Prisoners and, with sign language, instructed him on something he wanted done. Jimmy did not translate this, but the look on his face showed total disbelief.

“What’s the matter, Cadet; is something wrong? Is it something I did?”

“No, Major; there is nothing wrong. A new chapter in the long history of the Blackfoot Piegan People is being written tonight—a chapter that none of us had ever foreseen. Please remain seated until Chief Stoneheart and Not-Many-Prisoners come to get you.”

Cutty looked back and forth across the fire. Every member of the tribe was looking directly at him, and they were shaking their heads up and down.  Several of the men had gotten up and followed to where Not-Many-Prisoners had walked off into the darkness.

“I wonder what kind of ceremony comes next,” thought Cutty. “I hope it is accompanied with food.”

His Stomach Had Started To Growl



Chapter 22: The Intercession

Two women—seated to Cutty’s right—approached him and started to tug at his blouse. He was instantly confused at this strange behavior, as Jimmy said: “Please give it to them, Major. The reason will become clear before the night is out.”

With a slight bit of embarrassment, Cutty removed his military blouse. The brass buttons reflected the fire’s light as the women walked off into the dark.

Cutty stood there naked from the waist up as every scar he had ever suffered in battle seemed to dance across his body. The People were mesmerized by these scars and started to talk among themselves.

“Holy Markings,” said Jimmy. “They see your scars as something holy, and in their storytelling, they will become symbols of reverence. It has been a long time since any of them have seen scars made by a sword, and this will only add to the sense of immortality that they already feel for you.

This is a truly magical night, Major; and the best part is still to come. I hope you can feel what we are all feeling.”

The Best Part Still To Come

Cutty started to feel the cold and moved closer to the fire. He tried to do it inconspicuously so that no one would notice, but an old woman sitting on the other side of the fire was watching him with great interest. She stood up and started to walk his way. When she got to where he was sitting, she removed the blanket she was wearing from around her shoulders and wrapped it across and over his back.

Her Head Was Down

Her eyes were almost closed, and she never looked up, as Cutty turned to thank her. Jimmy said something to the old woman in Piegan, and she stopped and turned around. Cutty reached out for her right hand and pulled her down closer to him by the fire.

He stared deeply into the old woman’s eyes. There was a wrinkled and withered beauty to her face that he had never seen before. Every line and crack seemed to be hiding something of extreme importance.

Cutty could feel the power come through her hand, as her eyes never blinked. She was another one of those kindred spirits who had seen more than can be observed in any one lifetime.

Cutty smiled and asked the old woman for her name. “Mimiteh,” the woman said as she held on to Cutty’s hand. “New Moon,” said Jimmy.

“The old woman’s name translates to New Moon. She has been a source of knowledge and renewal within our tribe for many years. No one is certain how old she is, but her stories go back to before the whites came to our land. She is one of only two people who can talk directly to the Old One and enter her teepee unannounced.”

After looking the old woman in the eye, Cutty said: ”She has stories that go back much further than that—further than even the Piegan language can tell.”

As she got back up and started to leave, Cutty repeated her name. She turned once more in his direction and said: “The wind only blows—and the waters only run—in the shadow of your spirit. The Piegan People now live in that shadow, waiting for a new dawn.”

A New Dawn

Cutty tried to speak to the old woman again as another woman wrapped her blanket around Mimiteh and led her away. “That other woman is Hanata, the mother of Stoneheart,” Jimmy said. “It is best now to just let them go about their work.”  

A new drumbeat had started in the distance as Stoneheart and Not-Many-Prisoners walked back around the fire. Cutty stood up to meet them as Jimmy looked over his right shoulder. The two Piegan Elders flanked Cutty on each side and walked him toward the darkness.

No one spoke, as they walked quietly along a narrow trail. The moon’s light was hidden by the cottonwood branches above—spread out in full bloom—and acting as a canopy.

Cutty looked back over his shoulder, but Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. He wondered where they were going and how long it would take. After ten minutes of slow walking, Cutty heard the sounds of running water. The drumbeat had gotten louder, and now seemed close, as it magnified each image inside Cutty’s imagination.

As they got closer to the stream, Cutty could see that it angled steeply down from a ravine high above. The moon’s light was again visible along its banks. There were seven teepees going up the stream’s rise. They were spread twenty to thirty feet apart, and there were curious writings and drawings on their outsides.

Stoneheart and Not-Many-Prisoners walked Cutty by six of the teepees not stopping until they arrived at the last one. It was situated at the top of a short rise where the land leveled off and he could see for miles even in the dark. Cutty could hear voices inside, and he could see the glow of a fire through the teepee’s deerskin covering.

The Other Six Teepees Had Been Dug Into The Gently Sloping Bank

Stoneheart took the blanket from the back of Cutty’s shoulders as Not-Many-Prisoners bent down and pulled back the flap. “Please enter, Ichiban,” Stoneheart said. “Please enter this teepee as a visitor for the last time.”

Cutty ducked his head and stepped under the flap. In the center of the tepee was a smaller version of the stone-ringed fire pit they had just danced around. Ten Blackfoot Piegan men were seated cross-legged around the fire. Cutty was led to a seat of prominence, at the very back of the teepee, where he could see the entrance when he looked straight ahead.

Stoneheart walked back around the fire and took a seat right in front of the flap. He was now 180 degrees across from Cutty and sat cross-legged as the rest. Cutty also crossed his legs.

For a long time, there was silence inside the ancient dwelling with the crackling of juniper wood the only sound being made. Cutty thought it brought peace—along with great warmth—as the spirits of those seated chased away the past.

Old Memories Were Now Free To Leave, As New Ones Rose From The Flames
RCraig David Jul 2014
The corn stocks shocked across the field,
and pointing to the sky,
like Indian teepees in a row,
watched the world go by.
The distant hilltops wrap themselves in robes of smoky haze.
Trees leaves painted,
red and gold.
These Indian summer days.


Comments:
(Driving through the Ozarks when the leaves are changing...well you just can't beat the feeling, especially when you're 9 years old)
Dre G Feb 2011
woke up in a pile of dead leaves
sun peeking in from canopies
an earthy odor dripping down from above
the dark master waits in the hollow trees.

he is divided among six trunks
he left his ears under a striped rock
i traveled out to meet him when i heard of my demise
all i can do now is watch my flesh rot.

and he calls to me
he wants me to play hide and seek.
he can't hear me but he smells me
and he feels every step that brings me closer to the river.

a fist on my chest,
a knee in my shoulders,
i know he is my ancient master
but i though that i was freed.
now i droop down like the slugs,
i take the jelly out of my eyes
and feed it to my children
i slice off callouses, layer by layer,
till i have a basket of raspberries.

i just want to slide my bare body
across the treetops in this jungle.

i keep eating my hair and coughing up muddy ice
i keep burning down teepees at night so that i can
see the souls of the screaming children
rise like red dust to the three witches.

last night the acid burned a hole through my cauldron
and when i saw what was on the other side,
i sat there, speechless, at the feet of what i had forgotten.
a ball of cotton, still aflame,
a purple spiral galaxy,
3 milligrams of safety
and an echo that escaped from me
every time i tried to pet it.
music is blooming
and plumes of smoke
are looming on the horizon
sidelines are bustling
and the diner is hustling
and we all feel overwhelmed
show me the ancient fingerprints
as we listen to the sound
of women screaming
her eyes are like lightning
and there is fire in her chest
our teepees have rusted in the wetness
so ****** a penny between the rails
and watch it fall into the well
wishes are abundant
but we often fail to remove
these plundered treasure chests
his arguments are not about the weather
on his face are the frozen eyes of death
this hunger is nothing new
so look at me and i’ll smile
i'll swallow the starched collar
and scents of old perfume
for god is grooming you
removing your stains
and painstakingly spending his time
trying to make you happy
so for once in your life
please remind yourself
that its alright to be grateful
English Jam Jul 2019
Writer's block in the Old West
Sexually repressed
Tumbleweed blew dust
Nomadic, full of lust
It's only getting worse

All the cowgirls seem to like me
More than I love myself
I think I need help
All the cowboys seem to love me
More than I care to admit
Wrickety-split

Silver horses, bloodstains
No direction, no aim
I'm walking in circles, not steady
Haven't I written about you already?
I'll be back by the next verse

All the chiefs seem to love me
As I colonise the frontier
This town is so queer
All the native girls seem to like me
In their teepees
Though I disagree

Sheriff, colonise me
I'm better off dying
Hide before I forget
Ride into the sunset
Carry me in a hearse
There's a snake in my boot.

Or is there a boot in my snake?
jeffrey robin Jan 2016
.

Is the moment you discover

Just how beautiful you are !

( and what beauty is for )

..

in the bright valley

Teepees on fire !

Minds are on fire !

Hearts are on fire !

;;

She sets the rifle down by the cabin door

But
Instead of going inside

She turns around
Looks around

And with a resolute sigh

Goes a walking down the road

)(

The birds and the sky and the trees ....everything

Smiles at her

And she is loved !


"""


Loved !


She is loved !


Oh how so very beautiful she is !

••

Yeah

Yeah !

We are all beautiful

When we decide to be


The living truth in this dying world


.
wordvango Sep 2017
all alone I hear a crowd
feel whispered things
ancestors Tall
calming the seasons
In the woods, I listen deep
to the worn path the moss on trees
the wind
the grass laying down
in a field I pay attention
to the ghosts of maidens deeds
teepees once held their
papoose and warmth
in a wild America
as they skinned deer
made life  worshipped
nature sung danced
before
before
before
progress butted in
somewhere there they are
if just in my worshipping
my forefathers
the scared women holding tight their young
as progress
slaughtered them
and I chill
a tear is unnecessary
I sing
sing as loud as
I possibly can
for them
Tiffany Valdez Jul 2017
i am...
a little child awakening from slumber. eight hours, three hours, ten. all curled up in cotton - lying upon the mattress which is lying upon the floor. soaked in sun rays kissing upon skin. knowing not what today holds. a blank letter in a vibrant envelope. imagining and playing along. this is that. this is there.

i am...
a dancer who dances, mostly alone, through carpeted hallways and kitchen tiles. silent rooms like a silent film, scratch it back, back, back in time. or ribbons and bows of harmony to melodies that tied themselves around my heart, around my feet, to stir up love. sway to the right to the rhythm and bend to the left to the beat.

i am...
a lover. loving. longing to be loved. to taste love or feel it rustle the leaves of my heart. to eat love up like one would swallow the sweetest of candies down into the belly. than breathe out the scent of sugary goodness upon it's partaker. fragrant eating fragrance being its own delight, being your delight, delighting in you delighting in me.

i am...
a writer who houses words within a carcass. a tent of a being that's made of skin and bones where words and sentence and description dwell. the a's and b's are indians chanting in their teepees, burning a fire. but this smoke that arises is pale, pathetic narration's of the hurricane within. rushin' round and round.

i am...
a musician, if only in dreams, for melodies are heard and tinkering of keys within a record player that is playing my vinyl. but there is no megaphone to let the tunes free - singing, singing, singing chained down. the rhapsodies of heaven. the lyrics of prophecies. the braided do, ray, me's of another world.

i am...
an artist of sorts. making that which is like a pressed flower between the pages of the book. hidden from anyone, folded between story and word. it is poor & starving. starving & poor. it is letting this little string of the tapestry hide for another day when it has the hands and dollars and dimes to weave it back together.

i am...
a dreamer. a seer. a participant and viewer of a great, and even grander, theater. watch the heavy, velvet curtain be pulled back upon angel's wings. in the day. in the night. seeing things from other places. other worlds. other times. waiting. wanting. waiting to let them fly free from the cage of the rough pages of the diaries of unknown into the blistered hands of the hungry and upon the parched tongue.

i am...
21 in a world that is but 1-80, yet bought by a God who extends past the numeric line of time. an Infinite where beginning resides and ending finds its home. that which beats within is made up of the same blood type titled eternity - where the zeros never stop nor does the ticking and circling of the hands of the clock.

i am...
a woman. a woman. a woman. a responder. a creator. a connecter. a mother. wanting to feel the contrast. wanting to hold the tomorrow's in the womb of her today and breathe life and beauty onto the coming fields of darkness, little puffs of air from lungs that create lilies hidden in thorns. adorned with buttons of an inner-sanctuary and lace of gentle waves crashhhing upon the rocky shore.

i am...
a nomad, whose grasping, yet fully alive. letting life live, living life. a wanderer in an unknown land, riding in the carriage of refusal - denying this is home, resisting the roots wanting to go down, down deep into the crumblin' earth, commanding a heart to look towards the time when that Desirous One takes the scroll and makes all things new.

i am...
what i am that i am.
almost 10 years old.
Acme Apr 2021
Spacious skies
    beautiful eyes
    you soothe the beast
    afterward the feast
    paleface took the bait
    red man chose his fate
    better never than late
    death served on a plate
    we set up shop here
    moved teepees there
    cleared the fields
    for lovely yields
    nothing else cares
    corpse never swears
    buy a black slave
    pick cotton and save
    your precious crop
    and blood they drop
    each day something new
    my open minded view
    set them free
    lost as they can be
    40 acres and a mule
    offered to a fool.

    Chicago. Baltimore.
    Jungles in city's
    in deadly playpens
    no hope. Deal dope
    die young a hero
    all you left was zero.
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2020
We cannot eat lies
or feast on empty promises

No more than the bison,
starving in the desert sand

We cannot clothe our children
as we run from the Wasichus

Our teepees torn and freezing
amidst the winter snows

(Pine Ridge South Dakota: Late September, 1994)

— The End —