NELSON SMALL LEGS JR.

last nite I was lost in a film
a documentary
Nelson Small Legs Jr.
a martyr for his cause
residential schools
Mackenzie pipeline
abuse
native friends
dead drunk on cheap wine
shooting junk
staring at prison walls
searching for sunlight
new horizons

it is better to be sweating
in some sweat lodge
sauna near the creek
in the green forest
listening to the ravens
pow wow singing
chicken dancing
smoking peace pipes
with elders
carving better pictures
staring at cedar walls
beside the bouquet of love
with their horizons

LOOKING

napowrimo#4...using prompt inside out


LOOKING

when young I went out looking
for that elusive guitar
leaving but not knowing
of who I was
looking for the preacher outside
not seeing the spirit inside
just another suitcase
full of baggage
burning landslides
other points of view
when young looking to the outside
you belong to someone
now older looking inside
still looking for answers
belonging to me

FEAR AND HATING

napowrimo#3 for daily poem...prompt was fear or what scares you



FEAR AND HATING

a fear of travelling to some cemetery
in a long black limousine
with a group of assholes
who can't handle booze
Rush Limbaugh and the O'Reilly factor
crapping all over health care
as they nurse their rot gut
and broken souls
never confessisng to dirty hotel rooms
listening to Dr. Gonzo and Hunter Thompson
profoundly angry
arguing their shittrain of theories
about cue balls and circus people
suppressing their forest of fears
stress
violence
substance abuse
depression
insecurities of their minds
wondering what happened
to Oscar Acosta

RARE WITCH PROJECT

Using the acronym RWP


RARE WITCH PROJECT

she lived in a mysterious lair
in some spiraling mountain
frozen beyond time
her ugly face
always plastered in frown
never understanding
the laughter of Banjo and Kazooie
who lived in the flowers and meadows
with their beautiful sister Tooty
who she kidnapped because of jealousy
then she poisoned the water
cut down the flowers
turned the meadows into cemetries
tear up the gardens
Gruntilda was rotten to the core
jealous
who lied and cheated all her life
wanting the land and everyone
to be ugly as she

SHUFFLE DEMON

RWP napowrimo#1...using titles of 5 songs...at random....from my CD player
Title of songs are in CAPITALS

RIDE by Robert Earl Keen
BLUE UMBRELLA by John Prine
THE LAND OF PLENTY by Leonard Cohen
THAT DON'T MAKE IT JUNK by Leonard Cohen
TEN DAY POEM FOR SASKATCHEWAN by The Warped 45'S

SHUFFLE DEMON

dogs barked over the graveyard
everybody remaining silent
embracing the winds of change
lingering
unable to RIDE

watching the candles dim
burning in a new world
behind the door of lost chances
soaking
under some BLUE UMBRELLA

hearing the forces of yesterday
crying deep under the ground
beneath their swallowed burdens
digging
for THE LAND OF PLENTY

dumping dirt
on humpty and the dump trucks
driving down a prairie road
clunkin
but THAT DON'T MAKE IT JUNK

escaping the noisy mufflers
where the sounds of the shuffle demon
constantly change
writing
a TEN DAY POEM FOR SASKATCHEWAN

Magpies

RWP#120 using the image Gathering...credit Alice Popkorn



MAGPIES

Magpies
siting on the fence
bold
an early riser
stealing the light
always waking us up
ready to lecture
chew us out
tease our dog
then steal his food
magpies
sitting on the fence
having words
with some distant coyote
berating the gypsies
reprimanding
the cowbows
dressing down
the lost buffalo
that once roamed the hills
magpies
sitting on the fence
correcting
the mourning poets
with their dead words
castigating
the agnostice tabernacle choir
and their lost hymns
jawing
at the drunk umpire
who couldn't count
magpies
sitting on the fence
laughing
talking
waiting
you are me
I am you

TIME WITHOUT MEMORY

RWP#116...a draft Using this photo by H.Koppdelaney


TIME WITHOUT MEMORY

It has been a blink
of clock ticks
ticking away since conception
lost forgotten moments
never to be returned
progresssing towards a place
where memories are lost
moving on to some other time
with a declining body
without a fresh metabolism
no longer hung up
on high button shoes
and unrealistic dreams
to a place without heartache
or faked death below the watchtower
leaving the burning palace of conception
the distant temples of conquest
and the shadows of the past behind
now in a dark boat above a river
surrounded by advice never taken
blinded by the expressions
never spoken
with some ancient ferryman
guiding a lost soul
of some newly deceased
across the Styx
a river of no return
descending to the underworld
the last voyage into eternity
where nothing is real
where souls jitterbug to jazz
beating to the hearts of yesterday
lost in no sense of conquest
listening to Huxley's psychobabble
and his meaningless abstractions
that never rhyme
without lords or creatures of faith
clutching to their rusted boughs
drinking a sweet adrogynous liquid
celebrating the dead survivors
who once moaned in the graveyards
lonely and frozen in time
gazing at the bright searchlights
that shine on the nuns
playing tennis without rackets
invisible with no strings attached
beyond the light in the tunnel
without struggles or sober thoughts
moving towards time
that has no memory