NATIVE RIGHTS SLIDE SHOW NATIONAL DAY OF ACTION
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=Ur5er6uOq1o
For Freedom
By Bobby Gene Garcia
Great Spirit, I chant for your help
once again
The strength of the four winds braced,
my mind.
My song set me free for I have
dared to dream
before of life-giving
freedom.
I'm free as an Eagle flying
over
spacious prairies
that stilled the soul.
Unconstrained,
life-giving freedom
soaring under the
aspect of eternity.
Mountains and seas are no match
for my wings.
What matters if I fly alone?
Where freedom lies
there I find
home.
Source:
http://www.geocities.com/standingdeer1/standingdeer4d.htm
Philip Freneau
The Indian Burying Ground
In spite of all the learn'd have said;
I still my old opinion keep,
The posture, that we give the dead,
Points out the soul's eternal sleep.
Not so the ancients of these lands --
The Indian, when from life releas'd
Again is seated with his friends,
And shares gain the joyous feast.
His imag'd birds, and painted bowl,
And ven'son, for a journey dress'd,
Bespeak the nature of the soul,
Activity, that knows no rest.
His bow, for action ready bent,
And arrows, with a head of stone,
Can only mean that life is spent,
And not the finer essence gone.
Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way.
No fraud upon the dead commit --
Observe the swelling turf, and say
They do not lie, but here they sit.
Here still lofty rock remains,
On which the curious eye may trace,
(Now wasted, half, by wearing rains)
The fancies of a older race.
Here still an aged elm aspires,
Beneath whose far -- projecting shade
(And which the shepherd still admires
The children of the forest play'd!
There oft a restless Indian queen
(Pale Shebah, with her braided hair)
And many a barbarous form is seen
To chide the man that lingers there.
By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews,
In habit for the chase array'd,
The hunter still the deer pursues,
The hunter and the deer, a shade!
And long shall timorous fancy see
The painted chief, and pointed spear,
And reason's self shall bow the knee
To shadows and delusions here.
I AM YOUR MOTHER
by Wazi Nagi, 'Pine Tree Soul'
I am your Mother, do you not hear my heart beat,
Can you not feel the love I send;
Was not the air you breathed, my scent so sweet,
Is my pain hard for you to comprehend.
Upon my body snow lays soft and white,
Beneath my skin the future sleeps;
My blood flows to nurture and delight,
Into the ground it deeply seeps.
Mountains tall, clouds wreath my crests,
Rolling hills once wooded thick;
Gentle prairies too were once lush with grass,
Where did my bounty go so quick.
Sandy beaches and rock girded shore,
Where ocean waters sweep and crash;
A land of beauty, once so pure,
Marred by man's actions heedless and rash.
All this beauty was yours to behold,
Your duty was to love, cherish and protect;
Feel my anguish, the pain in my soul,
All I asked was your respect.
I am your Mother.
§«?»¥«?» The Journey «?»¥«?»§
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As the dry and dusty trail stretched before me,
I thought of what had
been, exsisting now in memory.
The plains of summer grasses, the stream of pure mountain waters,
the colors of the rainbow scattered in a mosaic of
unbelievable complexity.
In the distance a thunderhead is building,
the rumbling of it's internal
construction can almost be heard, more likely imagined.
Once again I turn my
attention to the path,
it seems to lead to the sun, resting now on the
far > horizon.
The clouds and sky, reflect the heart of the sun and all
that it is,
with the purple, pink, shades of blue, orange and crimson. These
colors
blending with the earthened tones of land as it reaches to the light
of
creation.
I relax and know that my path is before me, the purpose is remembering
There is a breeze that comes from behind me,
as if to push me forward and I sense the presence of one I cannot see.
Seeing without sight the winds embrace me, and whisper softly.
"You are never alone,
for I am always
with you".
My steps though tentative, begin again. The earth guides me, the wind
embraces me, the waters nourish me, and the fires warm me. These
things I will remember and know I will never be, as I have never been,
"alone"
the
Journey begins anew
«?»¥«?»§«?»¥«?»§«?»¥«?»§«?»¥«?»§«?»¥«?»«?»¥«?»§«?»¥«?»§«?
na
maste' Tarah
"Celticlane's" daughter
