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Open Poetry #28
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Cherokee Trail of Tears
| Open Poetry #28 |
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Cherokee Trail of Tears |
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Abe Senior Member
since 2003-05-28
Posts 694Looks like Vero Beach, FL until the end! 
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The Never Ending Trail We whites honor the "Hermitage" And the man who once lived there - But, that leader of our Nation Was cruel, unjust, unfair - He ordered the removal Of the Cherokee from their land And forced them on a trek That the Devil must have planned - One thousand miles of misery - Of pain and suffering - Because greed of the white man Could not even wait till spring - We should bow our heads in shame Even unto this day About "The Trail Of Tears" And those who died along the way. It was October, eighteen thirty-eight When seven thousand troops in blue Began the story of the "Trail" Which, so sadly, is so true - Jackson ordered General Scott To rout the Indian from their home - The "Center Of The World" they loved - The only one they'd known - The Braves working in the fields Arrested, placed in a stockade - Women and children dragged from home In the bluecoats shameful raid - Some were prodded with bayonets When, they were deemed to move too slow To where the Sky was their blanket And the cold Earth, their pillow - In one home a Babe had died Sometime in the night before - And women mourning, planning burial Were cruelly herded out the door - In another, a frail Mother - Papoose on back and two in tow Was told she must leave her home Was told that she must go - She uttered a quiet prayer - Told the old family dog good-bye - Then, her broken heart gave out And she sank slowly down to die - Chief Junaluska witnessed this - Tears streaming down his face - Said if he could have known this It would have never taken place - For, at the battle of Horse Shoe With five hundred Warriors, his best - Helped Andrew Jackson win that battle And lay thirty-three Braves to rest - And the Chief drove his tomahawk Through a Creek Warrior's head Who was about to kill Jackson - But whose life was saved, instead - Chief John Ross knew this story And once sent Junaluska to plead - Thinking Jackson would listen to This Chief who did that deed - But, Jackson was cold, indifferent To the one he owed his life to Said, "The Cherokee's fate is sealed - There's nothing, I can do." Washington, D.C. had decreed They must be moved Westward - And all their pleas and protests To this day still go unheard. On November, the seventeenth Old Man Winter reared his head - And freezing cold, sleet and snow Littered that trail with the dead On one night, at least twenty-two Were released from their torment To join that Great Spirit in the Sky Where all good souls are sent - Many humane, heroic stories Were written 'long the way - A monument, for one of them - Still stands until this day - It seems one noble woman It was Chief Ross' wife - Gave her blanket to a sick child And in so doing, gave her life - She is buried in an unmarked grave - Dug shallow near the "Trail" - Just one more tragic ending In this tragic, shameful tale - Mother Nature showed no mercy Till they reached the end of the line When that fateful journey ended On March twenty-sixth, eighteen thirty-nine. Each mile of this infamous "Trail" Marks the graves of four who died - Four thousand poor souls in all Marks the shame we try to hide. You still can hear them crying Along "The Trail Of Tears" If you listen with your heart And not with just your ears. The preceding was partly inspired by a story told to children by John Burnett on the occasion of his eightieth birthday in 1890. It was printed in a book titled "Cherokee Legends And The Trail Of Tears", adapted by Thomas Bryan Underwood. My main inspiration, though is the shame and disgust I feel as I learn more about the atrocities perpetrated by our forefathers and the injustices which still occur to the true Native Americans. John Burnett was a Private in an infantry company which took part in the Cherokee Removal of 1838-1839. Near the end of his story he says, in part, "Future generations will read and condemn the act .....". Do we? In closing he says, "However, murder is murder whether committed by the villain skulking in the dark or by uniformed men stepping to the strains of martial music. Murder is murder and somebody must answer, somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country in the summer of 1838. Somebody must explain the four thousand silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile. I wish I could forget it all, but the picture of six hundred and forty-five wagons lumbering over the frozen ground with their Cargo of suffering humanity still lingers in my memory. Let the historian of a future day tell the sad story with its' sighs, its' tears and dying groans. Let the great Judge of all the earth weigh our actions and reward us according to our work." If only it worked that way! Del "Abe" Jones |
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| © Copyright 2003 Del - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Several years ago, when taking a paralegal class, we were instructed to write a brief on anything "of legal nature." As you might guess, most of the students dealt with the here and now problems of today. Rape, abortion, drugs. I wrote of Indian Law. I wrote of the Indian history, from where their lives were derived, and how they enacted their laws. What I didn't know, was that the professor had 1/4 blood Cherokee. You did an excellent job, on a subject that should still make us cringe at our forefathers behaviors. Sometimes I feel we haven't come so very far since then. A very good read, Abe. Thank you. |
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Mistletoe Angel 
since 2000-12-17
Posts 32816Portland, Oregon |
 (tears fall down my cheeks) I myself possess much Cherokee Indian blood, for much of my mothers families' ancestry is Cherokee, as my dad also has a little Cherokee blood as well as Welsh, Irish, British and French. (sad sigh) I never have denied my heritage and I still weep over the truth that my own mothers and fathers were forced into exile, and though I have the heart to forgive, I pity and contempt what such men did and can still do! (sad sigh) I don't care what they think, the Cherokee were original Americans, God Bless You for writing this, we all love you so much! You have such a beautiful heart, sweet Abe, thank you for sharing! May love and light always shine upon you! Love, Noah Eaton I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Nice informative writing...James |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
I can feel your heart in this well written, so very sad poem. Injustice still kills many people around the world. We shudder in remembering what terrible things have been perpetrated. So many trails of tears! The page you write of surely made also the Heavens cry! The question now is "Have the lessons be learned? Will they be learned?". Not yet I fear, but something is stirring within the heart of humanity .... hopefully such pages will never be written again. I think no one can deny now how much wisdom American Indian culture had to share. It's never late to admit how fortunate we are that the Natives' traditions and beliefs have survived and that their beauty is accessible to those who have eyes to see! Let us remember yes, but not to be overcome by guilt or shame, may the memory serve the purpose of inducing us to do our best to grow in wisdom and love. Thank you for this contribution. Love, Margherita |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Abe !!! My long-time friend ... it's SO GOOD to see you here ... took you long enough !! You already know how your writings touch me ... now all the poets gathered here will be able to share these wonderful writings you do~ I'm so very, very pleased to see you and thank you for coming~  Lots of great stuff here ... enjoy it all~ *Huglets* ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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