Poetry ~ Prose

Heartbreak by Larry P. Madden

All Girls Dance by Candice Truesdell Nokes

Earth by Camille Billie

Dry By Kathleen Tills-Storsberg

Friend by Rosemary Powless Malanik

Me by Rosemary Powless Malanik

Prayer by Kathleen Tills-Storsberg

Heartbreak

A Poem by Larry P. Madden

I wish our eyes had never met,
Our laughter never mixed.

Put together by fate’s cold hand,
Our friendship forever fixed.

Who knew that this forever feel could somehow be nixed?
Forever isn’t forever real and nothing’s ever fixed.

Your eyes so bright and smile right, with laughter on the air so light,
Now causes me distress at night…I anguish over you so cold and white.

“C’est la vie,” is what they say when things will be,
But c’est la vie is not for me.

My mind screams for blood revenge,
To count some coup, kick some ass, to feel you’ll be avenged.

But your killer is not of my world—to bleed, to skin, to hurt.
Instead my power reduced to be a deep and ugly hurt.

Heart broken, heart broke, heart busted.
Someday I’m sure I’ll heal.

Until I do, I’ll scream to you
Under Grandmother’s light so bright.

WAPANAKESIKUHKIW
(WAPON-NAA-CASE-A-COOKIE)

Larry P. Madden (Stockbridge-Munsee Band of Wisconsin) was born and raised in the Sturgeon Bay area. A recent graduate of CMN, he enjoys the Powwow trail and strives to maintain balance on the red road.

 

moon on foggy night

 


 

Prayer

By Kathleen Tills-Storsberg

Redwing Blackbird
That I call my life
Stay on that fence
Warbling
All summer afternoon

Wind along the grass
Comes towards me
Thin arms lifted
Like tails taking flight

Stay true in the air
Be swift
Be kind
Carry my words
To the Creator

red sunset
Kathleen Tills-Storsberg is a Haudensaunee poet whose previous work has been published in 491 Magazine.  

 


 

Dry

By Kathleen Tills-Storsberg

Not enough poems are
written about chickadees.
Their knitted black caps
pulled low over the eyes—
Little thieves of my heart.

Landing palms down
on my palm up,
cold wire feet become
warm on my fingers.
Black beak cleaving
black seeds.

In my second day
of grief I wish for wings.
It’s more difficult
than I imagined.

Warm fingers become cold wire feet,
black seed shells fall from beak,
palms down spring from palms up.
Picture brilliant yellow Tamarack
against a gray sky.

This is my survival.

bird on a branch

Kathleen Tills-Storsberg is a Haudensaunee poet whose previous work has been published in 491 Magazine.


 

ME

by Rosemary Powless Malanik

I am
tree sillhouette
I was
I will be
I am
I

My name is Rosemary Powless Malanik, also known as Teyuthahukwa (woman who picks up the path). I am an Oneida native, born in Chicago, Illinois. I now reside in northeast Wisconsin with my husband and two dogs.

 


FRIEND

By Rosemary Powless Malanik

I have a Native friend who knows how I feel,

what I believe in,
how I behave,

things I can do, cannot do, will not do, or simply don't do.

She knows what is possible or impossible.

She's there when I need her or not.

She knows my fears, real or imagined.

She know my successes, as well as my failures.

She helps bring my talents and dreams to fruition.

She's aware of my hurts, both physically and emotionally,
and she’s the chicken soup of my soul.

Sometimes it seems like she hates me
and badgers me when I'm wrong.

She knows my loves and my lovers, my likes and dislikes
and all my misgivings.

She communicates with me endlessly, keeps me in check.

She also treasures my Oneida heritage with respect and pride.

She cries with me and she laughs with me—
She knows me well.

I call her, “me.”

My name is Rosemary Powless Malanik, also known as Teyuthahukwa (woman who picks up the path). I am an Oneida Native, born in Chicago, Illinois. I now reside in northeast Wisconsin with my husband and two dogs.

empty mirror

 


Earth

by Camille Billie

 

Reflections in the water,
They're blurry.
The fact it's more intoxicated
Than the people around me
Is slowly starting to phase me.

A polluted breeze.
It's the air we breathe.
But the propaganda continues to decieve.
Because the cause brings in money.
They kill our life source in the name of Greed.

They've lost their morals,
They've lost their minds.
We need to wake up,
So we can be devine:
Who we were meant to be.
We need to break away,
So we can truly be free.

A pill for this,
Take this for
the side effects of that.
Modern day medicine is like
The equivalent of crack.
Because I don't feel healed,
I don't feel better.
I don't feel anything,
But the urge to protect our Mother.

Camille Billie as a young poet and Oneida tribal member

secluded lake

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


All Girls’ Dance

By Candice Truesdell Nokes

Jingle Butterflies fancy shawl dance
Girls float
Moccasin feet
  kiss
  the Downbeat

Hearts pulse. Wings dawn and spread, drenched
in colors so deep.
Eagle feathers fan. Sky salute with downward gaze. Solemn anticipation.

Dark heads bounce. Shawls shimmer and vibrate the electric colors of their creators’ souls.
Fuchsia and deep lake blue,

Fall birch leaf yellow,
new grass green,
woodpecker vermillion,
snowflake white.

Recognition breezes through me,
though this somehow feels new,
and creates tears.

The butterflies spin.
Vortices of Spirit.

Atoms spinning. Atoms spinning in song, around each
other, within each dancer. Each dancer spins. Unified, yet rare.

Hypnotic exhilaration.
Aligning my heart, our hearts,
with Beauty. With Being.

Language provides a curious and enthralling palette for Candice (Oneida) as she explores her artful expressions on earth. Her goal is to create a space that is compelling in beauty or truth.