My forest brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell What mighty ills befall our little band, Or what you'll suffer from the white man's hand? Here is your knife! I thought 'twas sheathed for aye. No roaming bison calls for it to-day; No hide of prairie cattle will it maim; The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game: 'Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host.
Long Poem A cry from an indian wife Lyrics — arthenia.info
Prev Poem. Next Poem. That is so amazing. It really touched me because I nearly killed myself because I used to self-harm I don't do it anymore, but sometimes I'm tempted, but I get through it and you will too! Read complete story.
'I've Never Thanked My Parents for Anything'
Next Poem. This poem describes what I am going through now. I thought I was the only one. Now I know that I am not. Bring me down to the ground if not verbally then physically Yes it's me I know it's me You wouldn't hurt me if I didn't speak Yesterday I didn't put it away so you made me understand you wouldn't be a man if you didn't raise your hand to put me in my place I talk too much and I shouldn't say what made me hurt so bad today cause if I do that's when I'm screwed I just made you bring me down.
Back in October, our assignment was to write a poem exploring our identity, using a framework Ed Bok Lee gave us. For a refresher, you can click here. Scott, Ken, and I worked on the prompt too, of course, and we wanted to share those drafts with you here. I think each of us found something unexpected in the process, and we hope you will too. You bring out the funky black-eyed peas in me with bacon and a splash of vinegar The fried chicken on Sunday after church as only my father could cook it The fried okra dusted with cornmeal the grits, the sweet corn and sweet potatoes Oh, Vardaman, the sweet potato capital of the world!