This feral land
born of fury and lightening flash
untamed by gusty prairie winds
in some chronological strata
near the still earth
you can hear the thundering hooves
great herds of buffalo
ghosts of the rolling red plains
driven to the depths of extinction
their hides and bones
heaped in mountains of dismay
through the strands of prairie grass
a steady gaze
colored in vivid vermilion paint
stares back
red warriors strong and stoic
humming chants of the Sun Dance
the echoes reach through
and rattle this place
this land carved from
mad dreams and wild plains
with the blade of an obsidian knife
rugged railroad ties
borne on the backs of beasts
ever pushing, raging forward
white shirt men
winning a mythical town
in a crooked poker game
with a washed away waterfall
and gaining all those broken spirits
of the ones that lost everything.
Photos courtesy of a recent trip I took to the museum.
nice post. now I miss living on the high plains of western South Dakota
Thanks so much. There is a lot of beauty in the plains.
Powerful poem and such terrible loss in the name of conquest.
Thanks Diana. Yes there was a great deal lost in the process of “civilization.”
Beautiful piece! Paints a very vivid picture.
Thanks Marissa!
Love this lots! And the photos are wonderful.
Thank you so much! I am glad to see you are back and am looking forward to reading your outstanding poetry 🙂
Our ancestors were a brave and strong lot, weren’t they? Can you imagine crossing an entire country in a rickety wagon…with no roads, no electricity, and all sorts of potential dangers (both animal and human)??
Those were dangerous times for sure. I wish some family members would have written things down, kept journals, etc., I have a few letters my grandmother wrote in the 1920s, but that was way after coming to Texas.