what are you becoming brown warrior
is it another ride you seek
taking you away from past sins
you think but the days stretch into another ride
to where
what are you becoming brown warrior
after you lost the trail
on city streets and back alleys
full of shadows and blues
oh how they tempted you with that back
alley song and neon lights
did you see this vision as a child
through spruce boughs and shadows
brown warrior
you can have your fake beads and furs
you can dance to a broken drum for tourists
you can talk about peace and understanding
cleansing yourself with sweetgrass
and crawling into the womb of a sweatlodge
seeking visions and salvations
while at the same time you dream of ways to exploit
this gift
but not me
i hang out with traditional smoke
people with nothing but tobacco to offer
so you cross the street to avoid eye contact
might get infected and you brag of your children’s blood
and the strength they get from this blood that flows in them
and you forget about traditional smoke
it won’t make you rich
traditional smoke people don’t lie to me
offering as a gift the last of what they may have
expecting nothing in return but friendship
they will not dance to a discordant drum
or enter the sweatlodge womb
while they conspire against another
they do not wash with sweetgrass smoke
and pray to the directions
while plotting inside their minds to use their gifts
to gain favor inside the white god’s house
traditional smoke people don’t dance to the thunder eagle’s song
for themselves
i miss working with men
with their beliefs hanging over their belts
sun booze scarred faces and nicotine stained
bodies stretched into clothes
smelling of yesterday
eyes red rimmed
nervously looking inward
trying to see back to last night
after the lights went out
glimpsing flashing lights
passed around in the dark
head hanging retching echoes
bruised skins and scarred elbows
tattooed arms in the latest rug burn
insane laughter
driving without lights
on some northern road
acting like we were in the wild west
strutting in
stumbling out
yelling obscenities at the woman
laying you down with one backhand
someone laughing picking us up
two hours before daybreak
was that just yesterday
i knew these men
who looked at me and wondered
we crossed each others’ lives
but we never stayed
i miss working with these men
oh bent naked mis-shapen spokesman of god
with nothing to cover your shame
but half built circles to hide you from the cold
faced away from the river that gave your kookum life
now discarded by your descendants
with some ill-conceived notion of greatness
oh bastard child of the prairies
whipped and beaten by time and myth
placed on a pedestal made of leather and bones
bleached white by the prairie wind and sun
gaunt body holding grotesque head
writhing in pain
forever and ever
in mind’s eye we see lies that were told
revealed now in your anguish
staring in vain at the doors in front of you
they remain closed
but one of you sits in the queen’s house
shoulder to shoulder
with one like them that draped the noose around your neck
a brother of the wind
rejecting the past
as though you were pre-ordained to serve your enemies
oh discarded child of the prairies
the wind carries your message
but no one hears the agony of defeat
the weight of years lost standing naked
ridicule heavy on your twisted shoulders
insane he spoke to spirits
but we understood
oh abused man of god
the tears have not stopped
your sons have discarded the leather and tobacco
trading them for a bible and collar
that binds you to a vengeful god
leaving your children to wander for a century
still seeking their place
while hiding a part of themselves
savages
you too lived inside leather houses
you slept on buffalo robes
now the pain of rejection by two nations
is etched in your body
mis-shapen man of the prairies
you hold your head high
on a false pedestal
your circle is incomplete
what was your dream
slipping into the river in my dreams
when it would wake in the spring
ignoring the chill of spring
i would dive into its depth
to cleanse myself of winter’s grip
bursting out of its embrace
renewal
after the stories were put away
laid to rest in my heart and mind
i would wander the river
searching for signs of life
waiting for the return of music
that would travel the wind
from the south
rebirth
it’s always a trip back
looking north
city sky fading behind me
taking a glance at my youth
the scent of hide and cedar
peat moss stuffed logs
white washed sun faded
houses lining the river
stumbling on the path i had taken
still tripping
on seen and unseen deadfalls
scraping the same memories
of pain and joy
etched on a faded cross
unable to face the promises
i made and broke
a thousand times
to too many strangers
now faceless
i can’t remember your name
though you enter my dreams
when i glance back
i glimpse your smile
city
eagle woman sky flyer
dancing on summer breezes
drawing invisible patterns against the sky
do you dream
as you soar above me
silent as the northern lights
that brightened my northern sky
do you sing
where i lay as a child
watching you fly above me
i was a man/child when you first appeared
do you remember
eagle woman sky flyer
i begged you to take me
but you couldn’t hear me
do you mourn
the death of a young one
burned by the wires that hum between us
strung between metal trees
do you weep
as my song comes to an end
and my voice has changed
now i hum the melody
for the words are now only a memory
eagle woman sky flyer
take me
my path is unclear
full of hidden traps
temptations
easy to lose oneself in the night
eagle woman sky flyer
they offer me nothing
only promises
like before
still
they circle the wagons in their minds
and the church stands guard
protecting the sinners
eagle woman sky flyer
the child only plays at night
coming out from the last door
around the last corner of my heart
eagle woman sky flyer
i want to see the sun
where dreams begin
inside a mother’s womb
listening to the drum beat of her heart
and the gentle sounds of water
life giver
the rustle of leaves outside the window
a block from city traffic
children’s voices drifting in
skipping along on music that i hear
on a summer night
dozing
trying to catch my dreams
kookum rocking in her chair
rattle of dishes
aroma of fresh bannock
mothers calling children inside
and the singing river in the background
where dreams begin
a memory awakens
the barking of the dogs
the slap of waves against the boat
rocking gently on the lake
sounds of sirens
wake me
and i can feel the baby inside you
struggling to see the place
where dreams begin