Poetry competition CLOSED 8th December 2023 00:14am
WINNER
slipalong
slipalong
RUNNERS-UP:
wallyroo92
and Jordan
Native American Heritage
Poetry Contest Description
Poem about Native Americans
November is Native American History Month. You can write from the perspective of a Native American in a modern world, or from a memory of long ago, or from the perspective of an observer who has witnessed what the Native Americans have endured since the colonization of the white man.
Guidelines:
Historical research and facts will definitely be a plus. Emotional impact is always what I seek, something from the heart - something felt and conveyed to the reader.
Rules:
1. New writes only - 1 per poet.
2. I don't want to suppress the Muse but try not to write an epic.
3. Spoken word accepted.
4. Image accepted.
Any questions feel free to ask. Best of luck to all entrants.
Choctaw Cherokee
I channel it often
without even trying
feeling the reservation
beating history's
drum of time
Dust devils swirling
around moccasins
summer heat distorting distance
into fractured particles
across the Blue Ridge
Winter's stillness
under a Moon so engorged
children believed
it was pregnant with snow
We lived simply; rose early
knew our purpose
honored our daily duty
to the tribe as a whole
Never had money
but lacked for nothing
through sharing and trade
This poem is simple
uncomplicated
as the bloodline of a life
I channel it often
without even trying
feeling the reservation
beating history's
drum of time
And often wonder
If we'll ever find our way back again
without even trying
feeling the reservation
beating history's
drum of time
Dust devils swirling
around moccasins
summer heat distorting distance
into fractured particles
across the Blue Ridge
Winter's stillness
under a Moon so engorged
children believed
it was pregnant with snow
We lived simply; rose early
knew our purpose
honored our daily duty
to the tribe as a whole
Never had money
but lacked for nothing
through sharing and trade
This poem is simple
uncomplicated
as the bloodline of a life
I channel it often
without even trying
feeling the reservation
beating history's
drum of time
And often wonder
If we'll ever find our way back again
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Not an entry.
Native Soiled
"How is it most cultures are generally alike?"
-- the culture of a Rational Ethics,
the sole exception to the rule
*
How could a humpbacked, shaggy-haired wild ox
disdain to be among the Native stocks,
to offer up its innards, skin, and flesh,
in making wholesome Native snacks sliced fresh?
How could the creature balk or hem and haw
on being asked to give its organs raw
to nuke in secs a healthy Native treat,
like but a bit of minced neat's tongue or teat?
How could the brute let out a hue and cry
against its shedding blood to pacify
the Native thirst for rank and rectitude,
besides a salty sauce for bison stewed?
How could the beast not yield its beastly breast
to spice each dish delish of those oppressed?
*
-- the culture of a Rational Ethics,
the sole exception to the rule
*
How could a humpbacked, shaggy-haired wild ox
disdain to be among the Native stocks,
to offer up its innards, skin, and flesh,
in making wholesome Native snacks sliced fresh?
How could the creature balk or hem and haw
on being asked to give its organs raw
to nuke in secs a healthy Native treat,
like but a bit of minced neat's tongue or teat?
How could the brute let out a hue and cry
against its shedding blood to pacify
the Native thirst for rank and rectitude,
besides a salty sauce for bison stewed?
How could the beast not yield its beastly breast
to spice each dish delish of those oppressed?
*
Written by Jordan
(D.O.C.)
Go To Page
Cuzcatlán
The native Nawat has been slowly disappearing
Like a piece of art lost in the thread of time and history
You would have to go deeper into the hills to find it
The native tongue that sounds like legend and mystery
Amidst the small pueblos and cantones you find them
Living in small houses made of brick and mud
In the patios women make tortillas over brick ovens
And delicious beans in a pot to add iron to the blood
Nantzin sits with her visitor, speaking both languages
Her native Nawat and the Spanish everyone uses
The smell of wood, beans and corn a few feet away
As she regales with stories of her youth
Her voice is soothing and calming like a warm breeze
You can hear birds singing somewhere in the distance
Her eyes are lively her hair is gray and her smile is bright
Reminding us of a time and peoples and their existence
Shes not really mestizo but more original, indigenous
Families that have lived around the cerros for centuries
They wear clothes with traditional colors and patterns
Speaking a dialect of their Aztec-Mayan ancestors
Today towns bear the names of ancient people and places
The stadium proudly displays the name like a palace
As the modern age seems to weave itself through
A mix of the old and new tries to find balance
Now the dialect is being resurrected by young academics
Trying to connect to the forefathers, back to their roots
Trying to preserve what was once almost lost to the settlers
The Cuzcatlecos, part of my native ancestral attributes
Written by wallyroo92
Go To Page
Felt in the bones
Barren hopes of the reservation
when dignity is stripped away
wars, with their precipitation
tribes long gone, deaths flooded plain
Custodians, tended it with loving touch
violence came and conflicts crunch.
As in Hiawatha's song
that ideal`s gone
so long held and right was trumped
Wordsworth's lines ring clearly, truths
spirits stir, ancestors ghosts still ride
If poetry could turn the tide
stallions with flaming hooves
a trial where nothing was denied
A heritage of beads and feather
savages trapped in celluloid of film
slaughtered for their brave endeavour
John Wayne master of the thrill
democracy through death distilled
Songs of valour, fought against the cur
all around the campfire seated
of what we were, and passion stir
not swept beneath the carpets reaches
Fight on for rights, brave, undeterred.
A day to short to be reversed.
when dignity is stripped away
wars, with their precipitation
tribes long gone, deaths flooded plain
Custodians, tended it with loving touch
violence came and conflicts crunch.
As in Hiawatha's song
that ideal`s gone
so long held and right was trumped
Wordsworth's lines ring clearly, truths
spirits stir, ancestors ghosts still ride
If poetry could turn the tide
stallions with flaming hooves
a trial where nothing was denied
A heritage of beads and feather
savages trapped in celluloid of film
slaughtered for their brave endeavour
John Wayne master of the thrill
democracy through death distilled
Songs of valour, fought against the cur
all around the campfire seated
of what we were, and passion stir
not swept beneath the carpets reaches
Fight on for rights, brave, undeterred.
A day to short to be reversed.
Written by slipalong
Go To Page
This is a tough one. You all submitted excellent entries and I had to really contemplate all day on which order to select.
Jordon, this imagery was tough because I am currently a vegetarian and couldn't imagine eating an animal. However, I am certain it wasn't always that way, especially for plain natives where bison were present, and vegetation lacked. The observation was unique in nature, and I enjoyed reading it. As far as poetry goes, you not only have a very unique voice, but the ability to express it in unexpected ways. I like how your mind works. Congratulations on your third-place win.
Wally, the story you paint through poetry is so relatable and the imagery palpable. I could literally smell the beans and tortillas over the brick oven. That's not an aroma you forget once you've experienced it. Furthermore, you've highlighted the wisdom of an elder offset with the determination of a new generation determined to get back to their roots. I absolutely loved it, but there was just something about Slip's that I can't put into words. One line dug deep into me: [D]emocracy through death distilled.
I am not sure why that line hit me so hard in my solar plexus, that many pointed star of nerves, but it did. And it resonated there. For that reason he took first place. Congratulations on your second-place win.
Slip, congratulations on your win. As explained above, that one line was a dagger felt to the bone. I love the story of Hiawatha and also enjoyed the Wordsworth reference. This was very well constructed with the inclusion of historical figures down to the "Duke". Well done!
Jordon, this imagery was tough because I am currently a vegetarian and couldn't imagine eating an animal. However, I am certain it wasn't always that way, especially for plain natives where bison were present, and vegetation lacked. The observation was unique in nature, and I enjoyed reading it. As far as poetry goes, you not only have a very unique voice, but the ability to express it in unexpected ways. I like how your mind works. Congratulations on your third-place win.
Wally, the story you paint through poetry is so relatable and the imagery palpable. I could literally smell the beans and tortillas over the brick oven. That's not an aroma you forget once you've experienced it. Furthermore, you've highlighted the wisdom of an elder offset with the determination of a new generation determined to get back to their roots. I absolutely loved it, but there was just something about Slip's that I can't put into words. One line dug deep into me: [D]emocracy through death distilled.
I am not sure why that line hit me so hard in my solar plexus, that many pointed star of nerves, but it did. And it resonated there. For that reason he took first place. Congratulations on your second-place win.
Slip, congratulations on your win. As explained above, that one line was a dagger felt to the bone. I love the story of Hiawatha and also enjoyed the Wordsworth reference. This was very well constructed with the inclusion of historical figures down to the "Duke". Well done!
