THE
MOCCASINS OF AN OLD MAN
I hung you there,
moccasins of worn buckskin.
I hung you
there and there you are still.
I took you
from the hot flesh of a swift buck.
I took you
to my woman.
She tanned you
with buck brains.
She cut and
sewed and beaded.
I wore you
with pride.
I wore you
with leaping steps over many
grounds.
Now, I sit here
and my bones are stiff
with many winters.
You hang there
and I shal sit.
We shall watch
the night approach.
--Romona Carden
(Colville)
THE
ROCK
The rock lays
near
While light
comes and goes
The rock only
exists
Said to have
no soul
The rock cannot
be sad
It knows not
the time
It has no life
to hold
It can't feel
love
As we admire
it
It remains
in stillness
Yet in it's
own way
May watch!
--Lloyd Carl
Owle
(Cherokee)
A
PRAYER OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN
Oh Great Spirit
Let your voice
whisper righteousness in our ear through
the West Wind
in the late of the day.
Let us be comforted
with love for our brothers and sisters
with no war.
Let us hold
good health mentally and physically to
solve our problems
and accomplish something for
future generations
of life.
Let us be sincere
to ourselves and our youth
and make the
world a better place to live.
--Lloyd Carl
Owle
(Cherokee)
BLACK
ELK'S PRAYER
Hey-a-a-hay!
Lean to hear my feeble voice.
At the center
of the sacred hoop
You have said
that I should make the tree to
bloom.
With tears
running, O Great Spirit, my
Grandfather,
With running
eyes I must say
The tree has
never bloomed.
Here I stand,
and the tree is withered.
Again, I recall
the great vision you gave me.
It may be that
some little root of the sacred tree
still lives.
Nourish it
then
That it may
leaf
And bloom
And fill with
singing birds!
Hear me, that
the people may once again go back
To the Sacred
Hoop
Find the good
road
And the shielding
tree.
--Black Elk