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Mysteria
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0 posted 2001-11-23 03:26 PM



             

*~I found a story in a journal of my Grandmother's yesterday morning.  I am not sure if it a true story or not, but it was about the Algonquin Indians of Canada in the Prairies, of which she was a member.  I have taken her writing, re-worded it, and reduced it into a poem for you to read about of a tribe obviously eliminated by small pox *~


~ They Say The Grass Never Grows ~

To this day they say the grass never grows.
Warriors wearing the paint of sorrow,
rode, walked and were carried
towards the hills, into the Sun of Fire.

There was no water for their journey,
only tainted water, with the fire of the white man,
which savagely killed them, in body and spirit
forcing them to leave the home of their forefathers.

The air was so thick with elders's sorrow,
and echoes of children speaking the white man’s word.
Their women cried tears of grief,
while chanting to spirits above for a blessing.

What was left of a once proud tribe
journeyed into the Sun of Fire
with only some pride and a few possessions,
to save what was left of their forefathers.

Each inhaled breath brought familiar
scents of pine and pungent sage,
but no recollections could ease the pain
or stifle their pent up bitter outrage.

Through piles and piles of buffalo skulls,
the sage hens, and prairie dogs scrambled
shrieking at the blood chilling changes,
that no medicine man could ever cure.

They passed miles of skeletons of what
once provided their food, clothing,
and shelter from the wind
in days when their life held honor.

Their way of life was done.
They would hunt no more.
Left behind was their fight with soldiers,
and the bullets they used to kill their spirit.

They wore the war paint of the defeated.
Their skill could not fight the pox-fire
that ravaged their village with its death,
killing more than half their people.

Death now had seeped into their soil
where pine and sagebrush grew;
and their blood had stained the memory
of every lodge they had ever known.

Blood flowed over their prairies,
into the rivers, sun and moon.
So many tears were shed in their hearts,
but they knew now their trip was done.

As night fell warriors held council,
sacrificing their animals over a cliff to
He Who Cares to save their people
in this trip across the prairie.

In the distance, the wolves cried in sorrow,
as history was about to made around them.
Women cried to the spirits in vain,
as thirst strangled their hearts and souls.

They say to this day the grass never grows,
but sweats tears of remembrance at this site,
for the tribe who died of small pox.
The proud Algonquin who died in The Sun Of Fire.


Art: Denton Lund
Music: Zuni


~*~  Carpe' Diem  ~*~


[This message has been edited by Mysteria (edited 11-23-2001).]

© Copyright 2001 Mysteria 1997 - All Rights Reserved
Sunshine
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Listening to every heart
1 posted 2001-11-23 03:43 PM



I have seen the small pox grow
upon my son and daughter so
I have seen the weak grow pale
I have seen them slip the vale

No green grass shall grow again
though the tears will fall like rain
the mark of pox still shows I fear
on this face I'm forced to wear

[This, from me, to you...]

Mysteria
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2 posted 2001-11-23 03:49 PM


On Sunny One if only I could sing your words to do it justice, thank you!

~*~  Carpe' Diem  ~*~

bslicker
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state of mind
3 posted 2001-11-23 04:33 PM


Wow what a story that was told here.
Great job, i am sure the complete story
was well wrote for you to read.

Bernie

A smile a day keeps the world in smile's.
Bernie Slicker

Balladeer
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4 posted 2001-11-23 05:51 PM


Such an incredibly sad tale of the erasure of an entire nationality. You do it justice, Sharon....
Mysteria
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5 posted 2001-11-23 05:55 PM


bslicker and Balladeer ~ Thank you so much for reading this rather long tale.

To anyone else reading, if I don't thank you right away - I am getting a new computer system set up today, so might be offline for a bit - but will certainly appreciate your time in reading and will get my "thank you note" done when I can.  Thank you for understanding.

~*~  Carpe' Diem  ~*~

Nan
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Cape Cod Massachusetts USA
6 posted 2001-11-23 09:48 PM


My ancestry isn't native American - My grandparents were immigrants - yet I empathize with every word you speak, my friend... Your words - spoken to you from your grandmother - hold a wisdom that is ageless...   
Enchantress
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since 2001-08-14
Posts 35113
Canada eh.
7 posted 2001-11-23 10:52 PM


Beautifully done Sharon! Hauntingly sad. ~hugs, Nancy~

~Life may not be the song you requested,
But as long as you're here you might as well dance~

Flutterwings
Member
since 2001-07-10
Posts 288
Maine
8 posted 2001-11-23 11:05 PM


A solemn, plaintif read. How you can go to the core of someone's feelings and poetically display vivid imagery always amazes me. Altho, wistful, I enjoyed the melancholy, lyrical flow. Kudos! Love and peace Maggie ((~.~))


AJ MacNeil
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since 2001-05-02
Posts 40

9 posted 2001-11-24 01:14 AM


This certainly was haunting, and very moving to read Sharon .. Thankyou, Andy

Mysteria
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10 posted 2001-11-24 01:38 AM


I am so glad you liked this story, as I found it hand-written by my Gramma on sheets of paper (rather a long story) and tried to condense it for easier reading into a poetic style.  Thanks so much to all of you.

~*~  Carpe' Diem  ~*~

Martha Cowan
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since 2001-03-08
Posts 240
Groves, Texas
11 posted 2001-11-24 04:07 PM


A chilling and most powerful message, Sharon.  And coming from the ancestory I am born of...this particullary spoke to my heart and my spirit.  This left me with goose bumps all over...thank you for sharing such an aweseome and incredible account of the Native American history.
Hugs and much love to you, always, ~*~dawn~*~


Mysteria
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12 posted 2001-11-24 04:12 PM


Thanks for reading it Dawn, wanted to get it put on the net for safe keeping.  Wow, you should see the stuff I found in an old box belonging to my gramma, too cool~

~*~  Carpe' Diem  ~*~

Titia Geertman
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since 2001-05-07
Posts 5182
Netherlands
13 posted 2001-11-26 06:28 PM


This is really a treasure you found in this box of your gramma Sharon.

Thank you so much for sharing

Titia

A rose is a rose is a rose...I guess...
Want to use the pics on my website? Just let me know. http://communities.msn.com/Titiasplace/http://comm

Midnitesun
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Gaia
14 posted 2001-11-26 07:09 PM


It is easy to see how your gramma's spirit lives in you. What a wonderful Treasure Box you have found. Thank you for sharing!I spent some time this morning reading through some First Nations prayers, searching for a special poem for a friend. A Choctaw prayer  entitled 'Sun Tracks' http://www.homestead.com/spirithorse/pg4.html
Mysteria
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15 posted 2001-11-26 10:10 PM


Thank you both ladies, and I have found enough inspiration to last a lifetime in this wooden box, if I ever get the time to sit here and attack it LOL    Thank you.

~*~  Carpe' Diem  ~*~

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