Poetry & Prayer

THE LAMENT OF THE CHEROKEE

0, soft fills the dew, on the twilight descending,
And night over the distant forest is bending,
And night over the distant forest is bending,
Like the storm spirit, dark, o'er the tremulous main.

But midnight enshrouded my lone heart in its dwelling,
A tumult of woe in my bosom is swelling,
And a tear unbefitting the warrior is telling,
That hope has abandoned the brave Cherokee.

Can a tree that is torn from its root by the fountain,
The pride of the valley; green, spreading and fair,
Can it flourish, removed to the rock of the mountain,
Unwarmed by the sun and unwatered by care?

Though vesper be kind, her sweet dews in bestowing,
No life giving brook in its shadows is flowing,
And when the chill winds of the desert are blowing,
So droops the transplanted and lone Cherokee.

Sacred graves of my sires, and I left you forever,
How melted my heart when I bade you adieu,
Shall joy light the face of the Indian? Ah, never,
While memory sad has the power to renew.

As flies the fleet deer when the blood hound is started,
So fled winged hope from the poor broken hearted,
Oh, could she have turned ere forever departing,
And beckoned with smiles to her sad Cherokee.

Is it the low wind through the wet willows rushing,
That fills with wild numbers my listening ear?
Or is it some hermit rill in the solitude gushing,
The strange playing minstrel, whose music I hear?

'Tis the voice of my father, slow, solemnly stealing,
I see his dim form by yon meteor, kneeling,
To the God of the White Man, the Christian, appealing,
He prays for the foe of the dark Cherokee.

Great Spirit of Good, whose abode is in Heaven,
Whose wampum of peace is the bow in the sky,
Wilt thou give to the wants of the clamorous ravens,
Yet turn a deaf ear to my piteous cry?

O'er the ruins of home, o'er my heart's desolation,
No more shalt thou hear my unblest lamentation,
For death's dark encounter, I make preparation,
He hears the last groan of the wild Cherokee.

John Howard Payne, author of Home, Sweet Home

WAGE PEACE
a poem by Mary Oliver

Wage peace with your breath.
Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings
and flocks of redwing blackbirds. and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

Breathe in the fallen
and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening:
hearing sirens, pray loud.

Remember your tools:
flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

Make soup.

Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty
or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious.
Have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.

Don't wait another minute.

SO YOU WANNA BE AN INDIAN
Author Unknown

So you wanna be an Indian with your beads
and feather and exotic furs or skins.
You wanna cash in on minority
programs and grants and being noticed.

And you wanna rub shoulders with Brando
and go to cocktail parties because,
suddenly you're interesting
and everyone wants to be your friend.

So you wanna be an Indian,
go to powwows, dance like one.
But you don't want to live on a reservation
or in some cheap hot & cold frame on the other side
of the tracks in a city north of nowhere.

And you don't want to think about Sara, 34,
with her bloated, cirrhotic belly, dying, and
her seven kids, or have your non-Indian friends
catch you grinding corn on a metate,
or see the peppers and onions
hang from the ceiling and kitchen walls in your home.

And you don't want to work the potato fields in Idaho
or sell turquoise jewelry on the street in Flagstaff.

And you don't want to marry a drunken Indian
and get beaten up all the time.

And you don't want to pray the old way,
offer your flesh or fast four days.
And you don't want to go to prison
for fighting for your rights.

Okay.
Go Ahead. Be an Indian.
Native Americans will survive you, too.

Tata Rose (Navajo) - Photo by Chester Benally

I AM A WILD WOMAN
- by Melissa Clary (aka, Bright Star Woman)

I am a wild woman
I know, inspite of myself
and in spite of what I've been told
that there's beauty in every age
no matter how old

I am a wild woman
I've learned what it means to be a life bearer
to bear children
to create art
to plant seeds of love

I am a wild woman
from the depths of the dirt underneath my fingernails
to the height of my very soul
I am one with the Earth
the winds from the four directions whisper through my skin

I am a wild woman
and the spirit of every wild woman coalesces in me
for we are each wild women
and we are all the spirit of the wild woman
I will follow the voice in my heart

I am a wild woman
I sing from my heart
I dance with the stars
I howl at the moon
I love uncontrollably

I am a wild woman
from the deepest, darkest, most sacred part of me
I am fearless
I cry in strength
I open my arms to the sky and welcome the rain

I am a wild woman
I nurture, love and protect
I stand, strongly, silently, sweetly for my brothers
I walk dutifully, prayerfully, joyfully upon the mother
and I will not be stopped

I am a wild woman.

ONE CHEROKEE MAIDEN
~ Marge Tinda ~ 1999

The Cherokee Maiden Princess
struggled to keep up with the band.
Why they had to travel so far,
she did not understand.

They traveled by night
and rested by day ...
Got up and moved
like cattle strayed.

Sometimes in the shade
of a tree they slept ...
and mostly she saw
that even braves wept.

Driven, driven,
onward through the cold.
No mercy for the little ones,
or the ones so very old.

They fell to the ground
like the mighty buffalo.
How much could they endure?
How much further could they go?

She summoned the mighty spirits
to lead the best of the best ...
then she laid down
her weary soul to rest.

The youthful Cherokee maiden
did not give up her right.
Yet the spirits took her home
one cold, dark night.

Buried on the trail.
Her tears dried on the sand.
Taken beyond this earth
to the great spirit land.

If you go out tonight
and gaze at the clear black sky ...
you'll see the Maiden Of The Cherokee
as she sparkles on high.

Remember her story.
To others take time to tell
how she walked the Trail Of Tears,
now with the spirits she dwells.

One youthful Cherokee Princess
no longer resides on this earth,
but remember what she surrendered.
Our thoughts still give her worth.

SHE LOOKED AT FEAR AND SAID
Bloodpoet / 2002

Do not talk down to me
Look to my eyes
Not to my breasts
They have fed children
They have comforted men
But they carry no wisdom
Do not talk down to me because I am a Woman

She looked at Fear and Said

Do not talk down to me
If I answer slowly
I am looking at you
I am listening to you
I am thinking on if your words match your eyes
You are not better than I am
Do not talk down to me because I am Indian

She looked to Fear and Said

Do not talk down to me
If you see a weakness
I am not a child
You cannot control me
I recognize you
I know your name
Do not talk down to me because I was Once a Victim

She looked to Fear and Said
Do not talk down to
For the clothes I wear
If my shoes have holes
If I am hungry
And no pillow for my head
I am not stupid
Do not talk down to me because I am Poor

I am

A wolf's howl
A baby's cry
An Eagle's flight
A Stone's strength
A meadow's breath
An angel's prayer
A man's vision
A dream's keeper

She looked to fear and said

You will not overcome me

I am your Mother

I AM
The "I" that is me - you cannot see
You see only the form that you think is me.
This form that you see, will not always be;
but the "I" that is me - lives eternally.

-Mary Lou Van Atta

CHEROKEE WEDDING PRAYER

"God in heaven above please protect the ones we love.
We honour all you created as we pledge our hearts and lives together.
We honour mother-earth - and ask for our marriage to be abundant
and grow stronger through the seasons;
We honour fire - and ask that our union be warm and glowing
with love in our hearts;
We honour wind - and ask we sail though life safe
and calm as in our father's arms;
We honour water - to clean and soothe our relationship -
that it may never thirsts for love;
With all the forces of the universe you created,
we pray for harmony and true happiness as we forever grow young together.
Amen."

Great Creator,
Allow Father Sun to always shine down upon us
Allow Grandmother Moon to always return for the Ceremony
Allow gentle winds to always brush across our faces
Help us honor all that is part of where and what we are.

Finding Her Here

I am becoming the woman I've wanted,
grey at the temples,
soft body, delighted,
cracked up by life,
with a laugh that's known bitter
but, past it, got better,
knows she's a survivor-
that whatever comes,
she can outlast it.
I am becoming a deep weathered basket.

I am becoming the woman I've longed for,
the motherly lover
with arms strong and tender,
the growing up daughter
who blushed surprises.
I am becoming full moons and sunrises.

I find her becoming,
this woman I've wanted,
who knows she'll encompass,
who knows she's sufficient,
knows where she's going
and travels with passion.
Who remembers she's precious, but knows she's not scarce-
who knows she is plenty,
plenty to share.