NATIVE PRIDE
Medicine Bags
Now or Never
By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee
A turtle flies through the universe.
We ride on the back of the turtle.
The Undergods dwell in Canandaigua,
The Overgods look down from clouds.
Even if we're 300 moons away from
When this mattered, most of our lives
Are touched by one holy inspiration: nature.
Cosmic coincidence should not amaze here.
You are in the middle of the new awareness.
Black rocks spin and dive in deep water.
A four-year-old runs then swims.
Relaxed willow provides humid shelter.
You peek under the giant grass skirt
And see four tangled feet. You don't peek further.
Gray locusts send twirling twigs to hair.
You swim out to a cooler spot of deep water.
The white snake, awake again,
Leaves Bare Hill, not reeking havoc
But cutting new creeks to hike along,
Full of crawdads and water spiders.
You retrace ancient steps. You sneak
Through the old neighborhood, now trespassing.
Four tangled feet, a few skipping stones
And the spirit within you:
Now awareness reigns. Corn presents
A raw treat for passing minstrels. Nothing
Talked about or noticed matters.
Corkscrew Swamp
By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee
Blue Heron walks on Lettuce Lake.
Lily pads support light birds long enough
For them to bill crawdads. Appetizing
Photograph: Squirming crustacean crunched.
Boards, cleverly cut, fan out around corners
That bring new cypress vistas into view.
One tree grows around another, wet but
Not waterlogged. Raccoon poop, which has
Red dots throughout, brightens the walk
As rain clouds defy winter and roll
Through desolate Florida. Where are all
These cars going? Immokolee? Must be
A growing town to support such traffic.
Back at the swamp a frog succumbs to a
Banded owl. Anhingas stretch wet wings.
White flowers waver, waiting to be painted.
Labor
By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee
Loud rumbling bikes. Smothering solder guns.
Rusting sculptures. The toil of women willing
To bake their skin to keep their children safe.
Three sides of a square cluttered with papers
Strewn accidentally. Not enough to hold life
Together for one nomad. He moves again.
Dread locks us. Prisoners still dream. Cracked
Paint reminds pigeons to fly. Hot bricks scorch
The feet of toiling women. Can we keep children safe?
The operation fails. Feet hurt just for standing.
Time. No one has the time. Even our souls rebel,
Not enjoying this new supposed form. Life?
Smoke diffuses. Today's medicine is not
Quick enough to slow us down to past paces.
Toiling women. Smiling children. Non-time.
Take A.I.M.
Several times within the week
My heart begins to ache,
To the Onodowaga I speak,
No need here to fake.
Skaneatles, Canandaigua,
Wine surrounds the lakes.
Seneca and Keuka
Are missing native wakes.
No more red-skinned swimmers,
No more birch canoes.
Bare Hill is getting dimmer,
Haudenosaunee are few.
Ganundua is still quite red,
But only once a year.
At other times the nation's dead,
It always brings a tear.
Iroquois nation will return,
Just look into my eye.
The rage inside our nation burns
We will never die.
The Creek
By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee
Harvesting future sauerkraut,
Paddling the lake.
Spearing for a rainbow trout
Baking cornbread cake.
Smoothing down an arrowhead,
Digging trilobites.
Walking where our brothers bled,
Singing funeral rites.
Hiking back along the creek,
Past the cherry trees.
Raspberries, they seem so meek,
But bloody up the knees.
Creekbed slowly running dry,
But then a waterfall.
A pause to sit and wonder why,
To hear the bluejay call.
Water drops into the pool
Like a giant tear.
Elders preach a peaceful rule,
We pray for a plentiful year.
Nine Slapper
By Doug Stuber -Haudenosaunee
Blue bird in the air,
Golden boy delights.
Skipping stones without a care,
Singing in the night.
Seagull pierces silence,
The dawn is on the rise.
Fishermen are busy
Watching for red skies.
River wanders, digging earth
Fertilizing soil.
Weekend mongers slobber
Spilling pints of oil.
Red-skinned native stands,
A reminder of the past.
Spearing fish and digging clams,
Hoping they will last.
Blue-eyed boy walks on,
Determined to have fun.
Lonely lovers cry,
Searching for the sun.
