Wind blowing,whispering, moaning
Across the prairie plains
Spectres of ancient warriors
Dancing - leaping to drums' refrains
The echos of once long past
Flow through mind's hearing
Telling the stories of long ago
Before a nation's erring
For what was then
Is now no more
Memories of things once true
All now behind closed door
A once tall and proud people
Wild prairies grassy tides did roam
Once a great nation, now forsaken
Traveling the plains, once their home
Freedom ways only a dim dark
memory
Now moved to the reservation to dwell
For them and all their childern to stay
White man says "You should do well
We to you are granting this land
And are newcomers here to this heaven
So you must give to us your home
It's on a reservation you will be living"
Plains once rich with all
earth's bounty
Now houses stand far as eyes can see
Winds blowing, whispering, moaning
Mourning for all that once used to be
Winds blowing, whispering, moaning....
White man, White man You took them from You mock them all What chances are given Now, we tell you Our people stand tall So white man, white man
Indian Youth
Tell us the truth
What do you want
With our Indian youth
Their family and kin
Put them in your schools
To make them fit in
Until you decide
It's back to the Rez
For them to reside
For them to succeed
You take away their
Long hair and sacred beads
To leave them alone
Let them grow up
In our ways straight and strong
With pride in our youth
For they will inherit
That one greatest truth
Leave us alone
And give to us back
Our sacred native home.
Poem is copyrighted by Jan Tallevast, 1997
Atop a cliffside
I stand
My Staff
Clenched tightly in my hand
The wind swirls
Blowing the clouds
Across the face
Of the growing moon.
My cloak whips in the wind.
I stand still
Waiting for the right moment
The moon needs
To be full
To make the speaking right.
The thoughts
Clamor around
Inside my mind
Waiting, ready
In my mind
Ready to be spoken
And all things be made right
Finally the moon shadows
Fall over me
It has arisen
Full and golden.
I open my mouth
and speak
The words that will make
All things right.
Paha Ska
You sit there quietly
Painting visions on skin;
As I watch you work
Your hands so gnarled
Twisted with arthritis
Yet such beauty
Comes forth from them
I watch as you
Look in the distance
Seeing things I cannot
Your eyes distant
As you seem to dwell in
A different time and place
You give yourself
A small hardly noticeable
Shake of the head
Then putting hand to pen once more
Transforming this canvas of rabbit skin
Into a thing of pure spirit and beauty
Your hand moving with such grace
You sign your name then turn to me
A smile broke out on your face
You called me Kola... and then
You held out your hand to me
In friendship and trust and
Into your circle you brought me
An Elder you are,with wisdom
and knowledge
You bring to my life much joy
For that brief moment when we met
And touched hands in friendship's handshake
I saw acceptance in your face of what I am
Those things I have been striving for
It was at that very moment
I knew that it all was true
My search is still just begun
But in my heart you have come
You shook my hand with solemn grace
I think of you as I look upon
This picture upon fur you drew
You signed it -- and also my Heart
To My KOLA!!! Because you knew....
Prayer
Indian people
get out of the way
there is no room
now for you to pray
We are threatened
by your sacred ways
so Indian people
why do you still pray
Indian People
your God is not good
pray at our altars
not where you once stood
Your god has denied you
Indian people once proud
prayer should be silent
not said out loud
Indian Elder looking
at mountain once sacred
still knowing in his heart
that he is not forsaken
A voice deep inside
speaks of Mother Earth and Father Sky
his spirits have not left him
his soul shall never die
Indian Elders knowing
that once more it shall be
their once sacred places
to pray there again... free
Poem by Jan Tallevast
My sisters and brothers
Life was so good
Those days long ago
The days we roamed free
The wide open spaces
Of our vast prairies.
Our tipis reached upward
Under blue skies so clear
No smog, no highrises.
To mar our view.
The spaces wide open
For all our people to see.
Our braves ranged
Far and wide
Hunting for our wants and needs
We were never fenced in
Reservation was a word
We never knew.
Our people stood tall
And were proud and free
Never at another's mercy
To provide for our wants
Or for our needs
That was the life my
Brothers and sisters
That which was
Is now long gone
Only a far off memory
It is not here nor is it now
It is only an echo of the past
Which dwells deeply rooted
Within our hearts, souls and minds.
Let that much at least
Always forever remain free.....
Lakota People
Standing proud and free
Still seeking,and yearning
For what once used to be
Living in squalor
And in forced shame
Now is the time
To break those chains
Hold to the ways
Still strong and true
Know in your heart
They are still there for you
Be like a willow
Bending in the wind
That life - once known -
Will never truely end
Listen with your heart
To the Elders' wisdom and lore
Seeking always that path
Of sacred truth once more
Once the first step
On that path is taken
Forever your people's ways
No more to be forsaken
The path long and hard
to walk straight and true
Remember that always
Great Spirit walks with you
We glory in our proud past:
When the earth was our nurturing mother,
When the night sky formed our common roof,
When the Sun and Moon were our parents,
When all were brothers and sisters,
When our civilizations grew under the sun,
When our chiefs and elders were great leaders,
When justice ruled the Law and its execution.
We are the Indigenous Peoples,
We who have a consciousness of culture and peoplehood,
On the edge of each country's borders and
Marginal to each country's citizenship."
"Mankind must be a steward of the Earth;
Caretakers for all that dwells upon it;
To be of one heart with all things.
Human beings must learn to share the tears of every living thing,
To feel in his heart the pain of the wounded animal, each crushed blade of grass;
Mother Earth is our flesh; the rocks, our bones;
The rivers are the blood of our veins.
We are all children of God.
Traditions are open to anyone who wants to learn."
Huichol Holy Man
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