Poems Submitted by Our Readers

As the yellow moon rises slowly into the dark sky
And the campfires flicker bright in the cold night,
Stories of old and long ago slowly start to unfold,
Turtle carrying Mother earth on his back, to the light.

Stories of the lazy old coyote, the raven and fox,
Sky stories of stars, or how tipis got their names,
Stories of white buffalo, twice the size of an ox,
All told by the old ones, by the slowly fleeting fire.

As the cold cruel wind blew around the lodge
I lay snuggled warm in my fur bed, upon a elk hide.
I listen as the grandfathers, their voices soft and low, 
Telling tales of battles, counting coup, and some that died.

The smell of jerked meat and tobacco fill my nose.
The dream-catcher swung slowly over my sleepy head
As swirling, dancing smoke, flowed thickly as it rose.
And thoughts of sky people fill my head, as consciousness fled.


Bob Jackson