How is it
that the white man
cannot ride the wind?
Nor hear the bear
upon his smell?
I painted my arms and face
with the fat of the slain coyote
and daubs of ocher
wrenched from the spirit of the dirt
reddened the mask upon my face
And I went to war
not the white man's war
not a war to win and kill
but a war to love
to love with flinty arrowhead
to love with scalps adorning my pinto
to love by returning the paleface to mother earth
where he could rise again as precious maize
cleansed in the site of Hrumpquatatwilli, the maize spirit
O spirit, O Great Manitee!
You howl on the wind now
where is the bear fat?
where the coyote?
where the wigwam that echoed with the laughter of the nursing Cherokee?
Gone, to great lament
Damn whitey!
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4 comments:
Great Manitee... Now all I can see is a great grand fat figure swimming across the sky---OH THE HUGE MANATEE!
Damned, damned Whitey!
Tis true. His soul, adrift on the "breath of the bear".
God rest it there so!
God, rest it there so.
I suppose I must point out that I'm well aware that it is "Great Manitou." Those days in Y-Indian Guides were not all in vain. (I also know how to make a torch from a broomstick, a nail, a coffee can, a roll of toilet paper, and lighter fluid, which is how I hear the Indians did it).
I must explain that I am not the author of this poem. It is actually the creation of the Native American poet known only as "Dreamweaver." He is a contemporary of Svante Thornquist and Athano, two of the other artists in the famed "Sevierville Round Table."
I hear they are all Republicans in Sevierville.
Damned those seekers of republics, putting their faith in those mortal "others".
What will become of this Kingdom? How can there be a divine leader among those who put faith in the elected mortal.
A consortium of the fool-hardy, an opinion wrought by a collective putting faith in one-another.
There can be only one!
Remember Inverness!
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