Voice of the Eagle
Native Prose and Poetry
No More Yesterdays
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MAY GREATSPIRIT TOUCH YOU,
MAY PEACE BE ALWAYS IN YOUR HEART,
MAY THE MOUNTAIN YOU CLIMB TODAY BE A REFUGE
FOR YOU TOMORROW AND ALWAYS
LIL MO
[ Permission is given to post this blessing on your website.
Lil Mo April 23,2002 ]
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And Still the Cries of the Children go Unheard
By Sunbear
April 2002
somewhere out there a born again fanatical
egomaniac proclaims that the way to peace in the
world is to bomb the daylights out of all those
who do not share his view of the world
somewhere out there the same self-proclaimed
messiah vows to go to the ends of the earth
to find those who are spoiling his party
somewhere out there a child lies screaming
in the open fields after walking on a land mine
whilst searching for his parents
somewhere out there a maniac laces the waters of
the Mississippi with a newly formed bacteria
which he cultivated in his toolshed
somewhere out there another would-be assassin
decides it is time to do away with those whose
sexual orientation is not one he proscribes as
suitable
somewhere out there the hooded beast stalks the
streets hellbent on destroying all evidence
that anyone but white skinned people ever
inhabited this planet
and still the cries of the children go unheard
somewhere out there a disenfranchised woman
with no means of support is once again
pummelled with blows to her body which leave
her crippled
somewhere out there a man pleads it was self-
defence
somewhere out there the cathedral bells ring out
with the sighs of all those souls who have been
sacrificed on the cross of lies and deception
somewhere out there the pulpits still resound with
the words
"Father forgive them, they know not what they
have done"
somewhere out there many sodden footed civilians
pray to a god they have never met but believe will
save them from the marauding enemy with metal
birds in the sky
somewhere out there pre-programmed soldiers
search endlessly for someone to blame in order to
secure their pensions into eternity
somewhere out there a corrupt government
protects its friends and further lines its pockets
with the blood of the dying
somewhere out there a child fires bullets into the
heart of his father with a gun purchased to protect
the family
and still the cries of the children go unheard
somewhere out there a mind-controlled mass of
mediocrity massages the egos of the non elected
in a bid to secure their place in history
somewhere out there another child lies dying in
the street whilst men in jack boots stomp on his
head and pretend they did not see him
somewhere out there a herd of wild horses rushes
through the main street led by a man swathed in
a flag proclaiming that he has all the answers
somewhere out there a band of merry men singing
hymns to their version of the truth once more
assert their right to make decisions for the world
somewhere out there amidst the cries of "foul play"
another group is incarcerated and left to rot in
the prisons of hell made possible by our tax dollars
somewhere out there the chants for peace are
shouted down by one voice which says
"I am the way, the truth and the life"
but it is not Jesus speaking
and still the cries of the children go unheard
somewhere out there in the deep reaches of space
a chorus of angels sings but no-one hears
somewhere out there the souls who have died cry
for mercy and compassion
somewhere out there the wounded child says
"all you need is love"
somewhere out there the battered mother says
"love thy neighbour"
somewhere out there the bruised warrior says
"god bless me"
somewhere out there the heroic dissenter says
"love thy enemy"
somewhere out there the tired and pathetic
waif says "peace on earth"
and still the cries of the children go unheard
somewhere out there the rest of the world waits
and wonders what they did to deserve this misuse
of power and war-mongering to make a few rich
and the rest either poor or dead
somewhere out there another needle is given to
make another person of difference merge into the
scenery of the established white washed vision of
the world
somewhere out there the crippled hospital victim
remembers a time when he could walk and talk
and love and dream
somewhere out there the piercing screams of the
dying are accompanied by shouts of victory from
the mouths of those who issued the death warrant
and still the cries of the children go unheard
The right of Libbi Armati to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted by her in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act, 1988
[This is Sunbear aka Libbi Armati, the author of the poem
"And Still the Cries of the Children go Unheard" April 2002,
permission is given to post my poem on your website.
April, 19, 2002.]
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Why I Must Go Alone
I stand upon my homeland,
now lush and green
Yet - soft voices here call once more,
to my heart it would seem.
On the slope
a circle of soft eccentric brown lies
Once home to the Unami
Whose spirit stars now fill the night skies.
Spread across the slope
many more circles are found,
Old wall remnants - stone works
and mounds, Aho
At first I am happy - now I am sad
I know to well of this place no one may be told
For those with black hearts will come,
then the bones of my ancestors will be sold!
Desecration, Disrespect, and Greed!
Are these the things in today's world needed to succeed?
No!!!! - For me in this circle a different truth is revealed
It is the ways of the Old Ones I will heed.
Aho
written by ShyHawk(FM)
Spring 2002
The poems and stories are a gift from Creator
and as such they are to be shared. Thank you.
I am happy the words touched you.
tokata
greg Shyhawk
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'this day'.....
I felt the chill of icy rain this day,
Earth's ground freshly dewed.
Rolling thunder thru the valley
breaking up the frozen air.
I stand strong with wonder,
as great clouds formed visions of
warriors past and present.
My eyes feel the tears of rain,
falling to comfort those of our
Earth Mother.
My knees falter, I fall to the ground and pray
to the nurturer to forgive me for all that I have not
seeked, to fulfill the original instructions....(hiddencryz)
permission to post...d.lilienthal 4/23/2002
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Nim,
Here is my latest poem and permission to use it!
Permission also for Canyon song.
yootva, thanks
Judi Brannan Armbruster
World Renewal Ceremony
It is made this way
Each year
Year after year
It is done for the people.
This is the Way of Renewal
The Circle of Life
Brought into Balance
The World made new.
with smoke and prayers
with Fasting and Sweating
with chanting and dancing
the World will be made right.
Once a year
Each and every year
Our People gather
To make the world new again.
Come with a good heart
Come ready to let go of grudges
Come with friends and enemies
Come with love.
In the chant
In the song
In the stamping feet
All is set right.
Stamping feet
Shake the earth
Shake out the evil,
Realign the energy.
This is how it is done.
When the world is made new
The world Renewal Ceremony
When the World is made right once again.
JArmbruster2002
Canyon Song
I live deep within
Steep canyons,
That cradle sparkling creeks,
Where trees and bushes
Garment the hillsides
In a million shades of green.
When I walk the ridge
Early in the day
I keep company
With squirrel, fox and deer.
Osprey call down the canyon
As the morning sun
Turns the treetops silver.
As I stand high above Elk Creek
A song teases itself
Into my awareness.
I wait.
Far down the canyon
It begins.
A sound like rushing water.
From miles away
It begins to build.
It starts at the mouth
Of Elk Creek,
Where it joins the Klamath River.
The sound holds me.
Far in the distance
The trees begin to dance.
Wind!
That’s the sound,
The song I hear.
Here it comes
Up the canyon.
Sweeping along ,
Swaying the trees,
Sight and sound merging.
Crescendo.
A
Forest
Orchestra
Plays just for me.
Loud the song of wind and trees
Swirling around and through me,
Coming up the canyon.
I am in awe.
For long moments
I am the chorale,
And then it’s past
Moving up the Canyon.
Fading into the distance.
Diminuendo.
I stand alone
Humbled by the gift
Of these precious moments;
To be awake and aware,
To catch
The Canyon’s Song.
Ha’a
Native and Natural
ULC Ministry Archives
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The Warning
He seeks a vision
His black heart cannot see.
In the process he destroys
This dream for you and me!
A long summer slowly yields to the quickening
changes of fall. The blistering heat and endless
days of drought now soften into cooler days and
crisp nights. The dusty stale air of endless sun now
carries a sweet smell of damp earth and a promise
of new life once again. The barren burnt fields of
brown have been revived by fall rains into a
vision of soft green hair flowing on the winds
of change.
My own heart is renewed with the new energy carried
on the crisp fresh winds of change. Yes, fall is truly
here. The year of struggle has been mirrored in the
struggle for life over a summer that has covered
most of the calendar. Finally the air is cool to the
skin and refreshing to the spirit. A gentle feeling of
glee covers the land now. One of an easier time.
Water is once again available for all -- the plants,
the animals, and the people. Something so essential
to life -- yet so taken for granted by most.
Finally Ina s tears cleansed the land once more.
Along with her tears comes a new chance --
one more time for this land.
Fall is a time of gathering. My family is no different.
For all time we have come together to renew old ties
and prepare for winter. I look forward to these
gatherings. Ancestors are remembered and new
life enjoyed. Today is to be one of these times. The day
is cool with a strong north wind. The skies are
clear. The air is fresh. My spirit is happy and content.
My sister comes to spend the day.
Today we escape the world of civilization and return
to the home of our ancestors. This is the place I am
the happiest. The place true life can be experienced --
simple and beautiful. The mountain sings to our
hearts a warm welcome. The dry leaves rattle a
timeless tune that our hearts remember. The sweet
smells of damp earth are more then welcome this
year! True colors begin to show as the green
chlorophyl fades away. The bright red of Virginia
Creeper wraps up the dark brown trunks of the
hardwoods.
We slowly twist our way up the steep trail to a
place sacred to the people for thousands of years.
The tree line opens up onto a granite outcropping
that drops away suddenly into a valley a mile wide.
The opening is surrounded on three sides by
mountain rims heavily forested with hardwoods
and pine. The valley floor drops and opens out
onto the fields below. Two peaks rise sharply
before us - Little Round Top and White Mountain.
The rim dips between these two peaks. In this gap the
wind funnels into this valley. The migrating hawks
and eagles ride these currents into this valley.
These large messengers travel the width of the valley
in the blink of an eye without one flap of a wing --
such grace and beauty! White Mountain has a
broad band of granite that spirals up her side --
from her base to her peak. Clearly visible and
bordered by trees this band glistens and
sparkles in the sunlight.
We settle on the jagged out flow of granite at the
pulpit. The view is unlimited on this clear day.
The haze of summer is now forgotten. The leaves
in the valley have only begun to be painted by
Creators brush. Soft yellows and golds, oranges
and reds, rich bronze, and soft greens gently
clothe the slopes of this small valley time has forgot
and man has passed by.
Here again the unmistakable feeling of belonging
fills my heart. I look out over a land that was cared
for and loved by the oyate(people). I am reminded
of things told to me by my Grandmother. To be ndn
is to belong to the land -- to feel an energy that is
hard to explain when we return to our homes.
Today is no exception. My sister and I both have this
feeling once again! It is good to come home. It is
good to visit this old place so important to our
ancestors, and just as important to the people today.
From our high perch two old village sites can be
seen. The Old Ones feel close, and a sense of pride
fills our hearts. This is still Unami Land -
the earth is our Ancestors. Here my feet seem to flow
into the earth -- our spirit is one. At the peak of
White Mountain small dark specks are seen. They
circle and dip on the thermals. Then the little dots
funnel through the gap and drop below us into
the valley. Silent and motionless the specks grow
increasingly larger. Then they sweep up over the
rim on which we sit -- directly over our heads!
Wings stretched, tails fanned wide, and finger
feathers rippling as they sweep overhead. As the sun
reflects off their feathers their colors seem to
change from browns and blacks to almost white.
Their silent dance is given music by the never
ending wind stirred by the fall leaves rustling
on the branches and swirling on the forest floor.
Drum sounds are added by the sounds of acorns
dropping to the earth with rhythmic thuds. The
raptors drop into the valley from over our heads just
above the tree line and swirl below us on the
thermals. The grace and maneuverability cannot
be described. They need to be experienced. It is the
same with the feeling for our homelands --
no words can describe this bond!
Suddenly a large brown shape comes sweeping
across before us. It is so close we can almost touch it.
As it turns to follow the curve of the mountain slope
the tail twists and fully fans. The pure white leaves
no doubt of this visitor. My beloved eagle has come
to visit us this day. I give a soft thankyou for the gift
of beauty and hope shared by this majestic
messenger.
Black vultures sweep to and fro. At a distance they
are hard to tell from the eagles. As they grow closer
the wing shape and narrow tail give their identity
away. With wing spans of five feet they glide
effortlessly this day covering miles in minutes.
They circle in groups of seven and more. Oh how
I wish my spirit could be released to travel the
winds with them. Pale blue sky unbroken except
for these brown and black specks racing across
our vista.
I retell old stories and our history to my sister.
They always seem more at home when spoken in
this place. I was once told that our blood calls us
home. It is true for here today we sit once more.
I pray that for thousands of years to come the next
generations will be able to enjoy the history and
unspoiled beauty of our Ancestors Homes.
The happy mood of the day is broken when a serious
look over takes the soft brow of my sister. She is
troubled over a dream she was given. She tells me
in her journey many gather near her. They are
beautiful people in appearance. They are well
known to her. They work together on struggles.
They are her friends. She is happy. She invites them
to her home. Here friendship and good food are
enjoyed seemingly by all. Then one by one her
guests remove their false faces -- pulling them
off before her. The once beautiful appearances
are replaced by darkness. The good feelings my sister
had towards these people are replaced by a feeling
of unknowing and fear.
I thought the dream was only for her.
Then I too was given a warning. I am a dreamer.
I tend to see the good in all things. I think all
others hearts are true and their word is their bond.
It is my weakness!
The warning I was given is as follows:
I am involved in a struggle to protect an Old Site.
Over time many people have gathered around me.
Drawn by the stories and the struggle.
I believe their reasons are good and their hearts true.
It seems the struggle goes well and my heart is
happy to have so many friends close to me. It is
revealed to me that many have their own
agenda s. They seek to destroy the people and
the land. Those who pretend to be my friend twist
things in a bad way. They set up a very slippery
trap and I walk into it with blind trust. The struggle
is lost and I am destroyed.
It is as the scene at the pulpit. From afar the specks
circle the peak of White Mountain. We each see in
these specks what we wish and hope to see. Some seek
an eagle, some seek a hawk, and some seek a
buzzard. Only when the specks fly overhead do we
truly know. Now the image that was hid behind
a facade of distance and hope is clearly revealed.
Color, shape, and size tell me now that the eagle I
sought is truly the buzzard come to pick my bones.
Many I respect and love walk a path of fighting
the peoples struggles. These warnings are for you
as well as my sister. Be careful and look past the
faces of those around you. It is a time of rebirth for
our people. This scares many! All has been done
to the people to make them disappear. We are
still here! As the dreamer, we are a fear to those
in power. Our culture stands opposite the dominant
culture -- it survives!
Walk straight my friends, walk enlightened,
walk deliberate!
Together We Bargain,
Divided We Beg
Written by ShyHawk(FM)
early fall 2002
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