24 Beautiful Poems
She often beckons me from my sleep
We walk the paths of long ago. She softly speaks secrets.. I am sworn to keep
She speaks of a home she knew long ago When she took for granted the seasons The spring flowers and the winters snow..
When they came and made her family leave She was too young to understand how she would Grieve..
The sight of strong men and women .. Growing weaker day by day.. What could they say ?
Over mountains steep and tall Across rivers deep and wide.. To hot prairie land scarce water.. Or no water at all..
Bitter harsh land was where they were led "Indian Nation" so it was said. The land was to be theirs forever and a day.
She reminds me to never let bitter hate sit in.. Love and hope should dwell within.. With a heart yearning for Peace... The promise .. I will endeavor to keep
We pray for Peace upon this land On Mother Earth.. We make few demands..
We beseech those empowered to .. Set wrongs done ...Back to right... We seek justice and our birth right...
© Ladybird - July, 2003
A Hot Day In July
The Buffalo fly's are so thick I must continually wipe my baby's eyes She no longer has strength to cry.
I long to see the mountains green Taste the cool clean water. Find the healing herbs. Wake up and find this all a dream.
My baby can no longer roll over on her own I must move her head She now lacks the pull to make my milk flow. This child I watch weaker grow.
So many have perished on this march, Once we were many Now we are few. I feel eyes stare from beyond the trees. Knowing some are watching me.
Do they know what we feel? Do they really care ? I would throw food To even a wild dog, I could not watch children die.
The tree's are far, the grass is high. I sense my baby is to die.
I gaze up at the endless sky... I hear Mother Earth as she cries. She sob's ... She sighs She say's not question why.
I must will myself... To pass this test To know inside that Survival is my quest..
To grow old and wise.. And tell of all that died..
© Ladybird, June, 2003
AS MAN IS TODAY
Submitted by Weaver
I greet you, Ancient Brother Man
And point with gratitude
To these the artifacts you made in eons past,
The signature of man's slow rise
Is on each tool, each point, each axe
And we can sense the human impact still.
Who smoked this pipe? Who threw this spear?
And was it made for enemy-or deer?
I kneel upon mountain circled flat
To feel the ancient ashes yield, and see
A kinship gift which you have left for me,
I grasp within my hand a perfect tool
So long ago chipped carefully from stone,
And know but for the timing of our fates
It might have been my own,
I touch with care its edges keen and fine,
Where once you placed your thumb
here now is mine.
A POWERFUL PROVERB
Submitted by Lynn Smith, Austraila
A wise woman was traveling in the mountains and she found a precious stone in a stream.
The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did so without hesitation.
The traveler left rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime. But, a few days later, he came back to return the stone to the wise woman.
"I've been thinking," he said. "I know how valuable this stone is,
but I give it back in the hope that you can give me something even
more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to
give me this stone."
The Sundance grounds bask in the rays
of the setting sun
The exchange of time;
Of the bright energy of the sun
for the soft, unfocused energy of the moon
Day into night
Shadows and light
pass over the dance arbor;
The sacred circle of interlocking trees,
blessed for their sacrifice;
surrounding the warrior tree
That stately sentinel
pointing the way to the heavens
o Wakan Tanka, the Creator
An eternal symbol of
Courage of the heart
Bravery of the body
And humility of the spirit
From the trees on the far side of the grounds
A shape without form
A form without substance
One who watches and guards
this sacred place
And two who enter
with pure hearts
And souls open to absorb
the wisdom of the ancient ones
I watch the emerging of spirit,
the passing of time;
humbled beyond belief
To be so graced
That after years of wandering unaware,
my steps led me to this land of enlightenment Shine down on me beautiful stars;
faces of my ancestors who passed before
Hold me safe in your eternal glow
Oh, gentle night breeze;
whisper softly over my skin
Cradle me close, as a child
in her mother's arms
Gracious moon, light my way
to the warrior tree
Where I may kneel and pray
for guidance, for assurance
Spirit keeper of the Sundance
Guardian of the sacred land
You blessed me with the gift of sight
A fleeting glimpse of the immortal side
May I now receive the benediction
Of an ever growing soul,
and an ever opening heart
And may I always
be worthy of this night
THE DANCE IS NEVER DONE
In the beginning,
there was silence
Until God taught the wind
to whistle through the rippling grass
And echo in the highest mountain pass
He taught the mocking bird to sing
And the tiny thrush, the trill
that's carried on the still morning air
He taught the leaves to rustle in the breeze
And the thunder, its sonorous rumble
He taught the waters of the world their rolling beat
as they lap against the shores
When all of nature knew their parts to play,
God taught the art of the dance
he sun does a stately promenade
across the arc of day
A wallflower, the moon will never be;
For the stars line up to partner her
in the night's minuet
The planets all fall in line for their dance
of synchronized turning and timing
As the dance of the dawn;
between the stars and the sun,
goes on and on
Life's dance is never done
From the first step,
in the moment just before birth;
when the soul comes spinning down to earth
Spinning down through time
to find the ones chosen to instruct
Through mating dances,
loving dances, and leaving dances;
Our feet continue to find the steps
Our hearts to feel the beat
The dance is never done
Even when living and dying become one
For death is but a segue
to another world
Another way of life
With a different partner
by your side
She sings the song of life.
May we now be the chorus.
into healing quartz;
down a mountainside
The pride goes
in the fall;
on the downward slide
the debris of despair;
once scattered about
in the wind
tears of quartz
For those of us
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