Native American Poetry

I sit outside during a cold winter night,

Watching the stars shining so bright.

I take a sigh and breath in relief,

Because I know someone up there is watching out for me.

A Warrior has fallen… A Warrior has fallen… Fallen far from her home… upon the sands of a foreign land. Iraq… a land of sun and sand. Her Spirit… A Warrior’s Spirit. Her Heart… A Warrior’s Heart. Her Bravery in the face of the enemy… A Warrior’s Bravery. Her Courage under fire… A Warrior’s Courage. […]

The long epitah engraved on the tombstone on Ten Bears’ grave was written by Ten Bears himself before his death. Here it is.

Deidra Suwanee Dees, Muscogee Nation, recently won the First Place Award for her creative verse “Celebrate” by The People’s Poet in the United Kingdom. “Celebrate” addresses an indigenous viewpoint on Christopher Columbus’s impact on the western hemisphere exploring residual effects of colonization. Her writing incites mixed emotions of anger and sadness over conquests of indigenous […]

My People have been scattered, My People have been killed. Their dreams lay on the ground, They have lost their will. Their minds numb with pain, Their hands no longer weave. The Warriors no longer hunt, But await Death for reprieve.

In the depths of blackness

Lies the Raven’s beauty.

The Sun does glisten and gleam

Upon her fragile beating wings

As we sat around the Sacred Fire Calling out to the Spirits Which haunt the deep and dark, One by one they came to us. They sat and they talked. This is what they had to say To all of us there Who took the time to honor The Heritage we bear.

When I can no longer See the Eagle soar, Will you call my name? When the end of my Path I have finally reached, Will you sing my name in Ancient Prayer?

My moccasins have tread Many a long and weary mile. Our days of glory and hunts I remember well. Now just dusty trails abound In this dry Hell.

In the beginning

Four Elements there were:

Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water .

~I am the daughter of the Wind~

The drums beat, The rattles call, The flames of fire grow tall. Tis wisdom of the ancients We do call.

Standing on the edge,

landscape flows before her.

Spirits of the past,

May they guide her this day.

Tradition says that A Golden Eagle Feather Is the highest tribute To any tribal member… It can only be given To those who have earned Never to be taken from This Sacred Bird…

I am a daughtr of the Earth, A sister to the wind and the water Kneeling before the Great Spirit Yet standing tall to open my arms Rejoiciing, the gifts Of the Great Spirit.

Howa,it is good. things are as a circle,forever guiding itself back to the start. our hearths we keep lit,as summer’s rain turns to fall.