The Girl Who Brought Sage To The Uncelebration~

Columbus, can you hear me over white noise of your television set? Can you hear ghosts of drums approaching? ~ Sherman Alexie

My face does not reflect my mind

I pull it out

at the sundance

where I am wearing leather for skin

and Lame Deer in my black eyes

doing a heyoka shuffle

with eagle claws through the muscles of my back

remembering the feel of a horse

ripping grass upward

across Mongol plains

as the histories collide

culture intersects

Japan cerulean around my waist

a sash for weapons and ink

Eagle’s father singing to the onyx butterfly

on my shoulder;

he knew my mind

did not reflect my face

 

My body does not reflect my spirit

I pour it out through my pores

and give it rebel lead

through the streets

covering a hard worn woman no one will touch

in an alley on a cold night

dancing with ghosts on Chinook Trail

while the youth smoke dreams under the moon by the dam

working my mist between the locked doors

locked interludes through the halls

of the eurocentric senate

in chambers where justice is a joke

as I lay my covering in air

across the body of another innocent man behind glass

dying before an audience

of deadwood people

 

I am an old bitter man who left his bones in a tree

a warrior from the plains of the Huns

yakuza blood at my wrists

making hollows out of celebrations

justice out of the smoke

of the sage plant

leaving my curves

my face

as offerings

at this

yet another uncelebration

for the victims

of another nation’s victory

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

one nation's celebration is another nation's tears~
http://bibliosity.blogspot.com/2008/11/postcards-to-columbus.html
Postcards To Columbus~ Sherman Alexie

Reviews

[Scytheriax]

Loved the diction in this poem and the emotion was wonderful.
Favorite lines:
"I am an old bitter man who left his bones in a tree

a warrior from the plains of the Huns

yakuza blood at my wrists

making hollows out of celebrations

and justice out of the smoke

of sage

leaving my curves

and my face"
Beautifully written piece.

[Crow]

Beautifully put piece of a dark and emotionally touching truth in life.

My hat's off to you!

[Antonio Valentino]

yes indeed, it was on his way to your eastern shores where he, where "progress" bumped into.. a, new world. new to greed and souless agendas, yes, to a people now, not without reservations, of big sky tears that reigned on their, way.

so much of this in the search of the, spice of life..

too bad they never really did understand the whole concept of fusion humanity.

oh by the way, our chosen one, i more then luv this.
Antonio xx

[OT]

love this one!! the tales - history - as Kerry noted the issues behind it! brilliant opening lines - "My face does not reflect my mind
I pull it out" - and the rest just ripples on - gaining momentum - flashes of anger, hurt, power - lots going on - my favourite has to be the last stanza -
"I am an old bitter man who left his bones in a tree
a warrior from the plains of the Huns
yakuza blood at my wrists
making hollows out of celebrations
justice out of the smoke
of the sage plant
leaving my curves
my face
as offerings
at this
yet another uncelebration
for the victims
of another nation’s victory" - nice!

[Kerry O'Connor]

The issue behind this poem is so vast: the march of history demanded colonization, but what was lost can never be replaced. The beauty of your lines, and thoughts shines in this piece.

as the histories collide

culture intersects

Japan cerulean around my waist

a sash for weapons and ink

As histories collide, and cultures intersect, better bring your swords and ink!

[Robin]

the Hungarians say their History is written by their enemies and I believe this concept can be applied to much of the history of mankind in their lust for possession of land upon this blue orb . how Victors will justify murder upon foreign soil , replacing a culture with their self-righteousness , drawing lines on parchment that can never contain a spirit . we carry our history in our bloodlines , conquered and conquerors , blood spilled that should never be celebrated ...

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Your pieces are always superior in quality. The beauty in the formation of thoughts is what keeps me dining at your feet. But the message. My goodness, the message stings my throat and my eyes cleanse themselves of the dirt packed in by the ignorance of others. This is so strong for me that I cannot gather my thoughts. If only people knew the truths behind the things in which they celebrate.

...then I began to ask myself: "Would they care?" .... "Do they care?"

[.]

well you did it again..I feel as if the sadness hides a defiant glint..brilliant as usual..

[Larry Dyson]

Knowing the life long research and memories that gild your prose , and then the weaving of the story itself, I am truly amazed at that which you produce with a swish of her wings and the grasp of the talons...Heyoka shuffle indeed...Laury

[FireWoman]

Ah, the passing of time; one generation passing on the history to either be tucked away in a lost pocket or sewn into our collective memory. Your reflection is that of the humans of the past that were many times burned at the stake or chastised as madmen until many years after their deaths. Your innovative talent mixed with the retrospective knowledge of those that have come before us shines so brightly.

[Poeticpiers]

No winners in reality only losers The conquerors lose more than they gain
The losers are not allowed to tell their story.History is written by the most successful killers