Skip to main content

Blackfoot Dreams

November is Native American Heritage Month


The lake dream moved through Blackfoot like a spear tipped in truth, the wind rattled his tongue as the water stood up to greet him.

The animals came down to the green edge; deer, coyote, buffalo and elk, to drink with eagerness, Blackfoot observing from his mask of sand.

He recalled in his dream, a cleft of voices, four times to catch the beasts or never see them more.

Elk dogs, these wondrous creatures, valiant and beautiful, knew he was there for them, for their youngest, his rope around them was expected, as if known to them by their own dreams.

Po-no-kah-mita.

Packs thrown onto their backs to be carriers of man’s weight; elk dogs, delivered in a dream, strong backs, enough to lift him.

The lake dream will come again, only this time, it will not be horses that enter to lift man up, but human flesh and bone that return his spear… and his hope.

© 2010 by mark prime



Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
Post a Comment
read the poem

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem