BLACK HILLS OF DAKOTA
The red man mines his life for irony
while the white man tears the earth for iron
But treaties protect the sacred stones
as long as rivers flow and grass grow
Paper covers rock
in the Black Hills of Dakota
Gold in the Black Hills, end of treaty
Scissors cut paper
in the Black Hills of Dakota
But sacred stones outlive them all
Rock breaks scissors
in the Black Hills of Dakota
THE HANGED MAN
White hands red
with the blood of eighty
million red men dead
With a soul
that’s been through a Sioux or two
Upside down on a tarot card
hanging between the worlds
THOUGHTS TO PONDER – a story from the internet
An old Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson about how he felt about the tragedy (9-11) and what should be done.
He said “I have two wolves fighting in my heart. One wolf is the vengeful, angry, violent one. The other wolf is the loving compassionate one.”
“So,” asked the grandson, “which wolf will win the fight in your heart?”
“The one that I feed,” answered the grandfather
SHAMAN’S STICK
When dead Shamans spirits
pick a new Shaman to carry the stick
they always start by making them sick
In every tribe in the natural world
they whisper and press the same old trick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
Pick up the stick or your relative’s dead
pick up the stick or you stay in your bed
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
Life won’t be easy if you pick up the stick
life won’t be easy if you lay down the stick
You can’t teach a dead Shaman any new trick
so most times it pays to just pick up the stick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
you heal the sick when you pick up the stick
ROBIN
Robin is a pelican
she flies with perfect grace
swims with perfect grace
moves with perfect grace
Pelicans swim with Robin as a sister
pelicans are very old and wise
they know a pelican
can be a beautiful woman
Humans are not so wise
but there is a way to know
if a beautiful woman is a pelican
Robin is a pelican
when she opens to feed you
you can taste her heart
PELICAN PROJECT SALUTE
You are the pelican warriors
You are the pelicans who do not run away
you are the pelicans that stay and fight
you are the pelicans that defend your nests
you are the pelicans that defend your tribe
You are the pelicans
who fly from your homes to find a new lake
You are the pelicans
brave enough to fly near people
(it can be dangerous to fly near people)
You are the pelicans
brave enough to fly through your fears
You are the pelicans
who know some people are your friends
who know some people need your gifts
You are the pelicans
who teach pelicans and people
how to care for their young
how to live for their tribe
How to fly and dance and swim
and fish together again
I dip my ink tipped wing
in praise of you
I AM A PELICAN
I have flown over the dinosaurs dying
through the ash of the meteors crashing
I have swam in the ice floes melting
I have eaten the first fish walking
I have felt the poles a shifting
in the magnets in my head
I have seen the white man and the red
I have seen the old wives dead
I have felt the pull of the settlers need
and tasted the poisons of their greed
I have heard the earth a groaning
I have felt the earth in pain
I have seen the Rainbow Warriors
dance the vision back again
And I fly and swim and wait
and pray they’re not too late
THE PELICAN PROJECT
In July 2000 New Dance Horizons in Regina
Saskatchewan put together a presentation for
“Dance and the Child International”
It consisted of dance, song and poetry
performed by about thirty young people
many from Canada’s “First Nations”
I had the privilege of coaching and guiding
them as they wrote their own poems
Following are some poems that I wrote
for samples of metaphor, and for the awe and
respect I felt for their talent and their courage
Also, I was totally star struck by the grace and
beauty of Robin, the director and dance
instructor who goes around quoting Neruda
and holds my disowned love of movement
so wrote poems for and about her as well
NATIVE AMERICAN POW
There is a legend in Africa
It says that you cannot ever really
kill a people or take over their land
Because their souls
will be reborn in
your children
WOW!
SHAMAN’S HEART
Two centuries back I look down at legs
covered with buckskin white as whitest sand
In the valley below are the tepees
I go to my home
my wife rises to greet me
I speak her name
like water laughing over small stones
Feel full and more with a love for her
as warm as the sumer dawn
strong as my manhood rising
I am a chief and the son of a chief
not brave enough to deny
the life of a brave
Though Shaman at heart
not Shaman enough to break
the heart or the will of my father
I hang by my flesh at a sundance
and lead the young men to war
Say goodbye to my wife and babe in her arms
ride off to the folly of a raid with no cause
As spirit rises from body
my enemies honour my courage
cut my heart from my chest and eat it
Neither friend – nor foe – nor father know
it is not the heart of a brave