The ancient ones visited his dreams
showed him what was to come
Their way of life would soon end
silence the buffalo hunters drums

The great herds no longer free
to thunder through the plains
White men would come and fence them in
and plow the ground for their grains

Their people would be rounded up
and placed on reservations
The buffalo slaughtered by the millions
with out the least hesitation

Gray Wolfs vision was told to me
when I was just a boy
Everything we hold sacred
they will try to destroy

But there is a secret
only the red man knows
When his time comes to leave this world
there is a special place he goes

The Great Spirit revealed it to him
the happy hunting ground
Gray Wolf smiled as he looked around
not one white man was to be found
Riverrun_7©

The celebration of the big hunt
would proceed without him,
for the wounds of battle
had become too much.

The brave lay down his skins
and placed his body upon them,
chanting to the beat of the drums
he prepared himself to die.

By his side was the mighty buffalo
arrows sunk deep into his flesh,
the will to survive still evident
in the fierceness of his eyes.

Drums and chanting becoming faint
drifting along with the wind
his life was slipping away
and the buffalo would join him soon.

As his spirit rose to the sky
he gazed over the land for signs
that all would continue to be well
for the family he was leaving behind.

Drums pounded loud once again
fellow tribesmen whooping in sadness
and the death of the mighty hunter
echoed across the land.

As the buffalo succumbed to death
the tribal women approached
preservation of the meat and hide
prevailed over mourning for the brave.

The buffalo had fought long and hard
unknowing the value that his death provided
for the family and tribe of the mighty hunter
would have food and warmth for many moons.

The brave took his place in the sky
forever to watch over the land
nodding in respect to the great buffalo
whose spirits have become, the victor.
Daisy©

darkest blackness
arms thrashing
twisting falling
tornadic vortex
tumbling screaming
howling crying
gasping heaving
nooooooooooo

o my o my o my
where am I
falling
help me please
what did I do
tumbling
my God in Heaven
maaaaamaaaaaaaa

ummmmmphhh
ohhh my back
laying here
eyes closed
hurting
sighing
blinding light
clearing now

WHAT'S THAT
black hulk
rushing thundering
towards me
head down
earth shaking
he's here
oh nooooooooooo

6 am news
heart pounding
going to be sunny
panting sweating
traffic piling up
trembling shaking
ford country
snooze alarm
b.eniii©

survival calls for
savage days
a savage life
of savage ways
when man and beast
confront the cost
of living savagely
each lost
when both struck true
to end their days
of savage living
still the praise
of widowed squaw
and papoose, too
shall thank the
savage Spirit who
in Bull and Warrior
was found
who rules their
Happy Hunting Ground
MiNN (w help)©

Alone he stands in blood soaked sands
his foe lies at his feet
in death lies cold the warrior bold
his Maker soon to meet

The bull remains on wind swept plains
his bloodshot vision blurred
in barbed shaft pain he sees again
that still he owns the herd

The massive hulk of ponderous bulk
unsteady sway and nod
in thunder roll the warrior's soul
rises to meet his God

The mighty bull whose life was full
with blood soaked vision red
emits a sigh, a lone good bye
falls o’re the warrior......... dead
Sir_Sun©

His wool matted with fresh blood,
flow from his arrow pierced skin,
drenching the thickness of the wool,
when the hunt first did begin.

The buffalo ran from being made prey,
In spite of the arrows that flew.
Striking again and again into the thick hide,
Running for its life yet no where to run too.

Death was eminent and would transpire,
Not with out a fight and all its worth.
Yet here he stands victorious over his foe,
As his foe lies dying in the blood soaked earth.
Queen.Amethyst©

Love was torn and heart broken,
I soared through the sky as a free bird.
freed from pain as that of a dove,
I flew free with no more love set forth to me.
Then as a bright shining star shone above me,
love once again showed a clear path towards me.
twinkling my eyes as the heavens above.
Never to let love die from my heart.
I-SilverWolf-I©

Death came quickly
For this warrior
But not before
He inflicted one last rage
Before his last breath

The buffalo stands for life
Provider of food and clothing
Warmth in the winter
Nourishment all year round

Life is never given
Without a cost
We trade what is precious
For what is necessary

The warriors most precious possession
Was his life
He submitted it to the tribe
He submitted it to the tribe

The Bulls damage was also done at a cost
Though he stands in trump
His wounds are mortal
He won't live to see another sunrise
night writer©

You have heard it sung high and low
Stories of killing the great buffalo
Yet here we see the opposite of it all
A man is slain, the buffalo stands tall

Could it be that within all reality
Here lies truth as seen in this duality
Look closely and think with your Soul
To clearly see they are both one with the whole

Opposite sides of the situation created
Yet this side or that side is not separated
Seen as varying energies conceived
Only the energy of each is perceived

As Soul we live beyond duality
Yet no one gives up individual reality
We are here in the world to experience life
Develop personality, sometimes learn from strife

And as we create a new state of consciousness
Viewpoints of life become enriched by wholeness
Holding onto hope, coming to the conclusion
That dualities existence is merely an illusion

The ways of the old ones have not been lost
Only distorted, though it be at great cost
So in the mind of the Indian slain
He and the buffalo are one and the same
Kat_Alina©

Out on the mighty wind swept plains,
In time now gone away.
Life was simpler, basic than
Man knew he was not master.
Caretaker of the earth he walked,
Keeping harmony between him and nature.
Predator and prey, no thinner line was drawn;
Battles raged most everyday.
Survival of the fittest.
Circular the path of life,
This concept held so true.
So that one can live, survive;
Something else must also die.
Rutile©

"ripples of life and death, constantly intersect."
accompanied by the crackle, roar of fire;
stories old as voice in hushed tones have been handed down,
always a David for each mighty Goliath.

"predator and prey,
the secret to nature's survival,
a balance carefully wrought.
death for protection, food is sought
such is the path of all creatures."

so begins the storyteller
weaving his magic song
to those of us gathered here
listening wide eyed to his tale
"ancient are the old ways
many have forsaken and forgotten
the struggles of keeping in the balance
not striving to cause it;
the hunt for providing, proving one a man
the tribal celebrations that used to fill this land"
a small tear sparkles slipping from his eyes.
as all goes quiet, except the snapping of the wood sap.

"the white man had come moving ever westward.
leaving behind the shiny silver tracks laid by men in grueling conditions.
the scouting parties killed the herds of anything which was grazing,
simply to get them out of the way.
they moved the native people,
who had long tended to this patch of earth.
starving us through the herds mass extinction's.
so my tribe followed the survivors up into a hidden plain,
where the last remnants of the herds had gathered and did remain."

"there was one among the herd, mighty was this bison!
standing strong and proud, no finer example of his race.
he'd would often dare the lower plains ...
and sometimes the steel horse he'd pace.
the white man called him Goliath! a tribute to his build.
all would try and capture him, yet none could win the chase."

"even among our tribe, his story grew and grew.
each young hunter would pray to be the one to bring him down
a warrior's dream come true.
my greatest of grandfathers would often follow the beast,
tracking him on lower plains as well as home on high.
the bison never seemed to mind, it was simply biding it's time.
till one day.. the final chase began."

"all across the open plains, under bluer skies gone gray
raced this mighty hunter keeping pace with his prey.
"look!" said the white man, "its Goliath on the run!"
hoping that the native David's sling shot would never get the
chance to be slung.
hide and seek the oldest game 'tween predator and prey
continued on through out that fateful day."

"close calls on either side no real injuries occurred,
until the bull decided twas time to stand his ground.
pawing up the dusty earth great clods went flying fierce!
lowering his head,
he charged the relentless hunter atop his prancing beast.
greatest grandfather did try to move the palomino;
who stood still in shock and fear.
jumping off and rolling away,
he heard the impact as his faithful steed did die.

raising up from behind all his arrows he let fly!
stinging the mighty bison in his sides.
his spear was next and truly hit the mark!
but slowed down this mighty bison not.
turning and giving this enemy full glare ...
the mighty bison roared and forward charged again.
another strike greatest grandfather made, 
while standing his ground
spear broke in his grip, as did his spirit,
when the bison hit him in the ribs.
dying on the plains, laying in the purple shadows,
David said to his Goliath, "and so we keep the balance."

quiet is the audience, a few tears fall here and there.
heard told such bravery is beyond compare.
but, as the word smith points it out
"the end is always near! it's how we face the time before
that creates our own live's tale."
der_girlo©

In the distance.. the drumbeats can be heard
as they play out the wait of the hunt
and the return of the hunters laiden
down with the gifts the Great Spirit gives

Thump.. thump thump.. the drumbeat beats
songs are sung and the dances are danced
Thump.. thump thump.. the Holy Man blesses
and the two legged warrior dances and leaps

Masked dancers and warriors mimic the hunt
and the incense is burned and the smoke....
is offered up to the Great Spirit in gratitude
mysterious, powerful and reverent

Thump... thump thump... the prayer is said
Spiritually... the buffalo is sacred
Thump... thump thump... no part is wasted
its sinew becomes the two leggeds strength

A way of life... walked on four legs
and to those of the plains... survival existed
for all that were killed were all that were needed
and the others were left to thrive for another day

Thump... thump thump... the drumbeat increases
the circle is drawn and the hunt is on
at first, a low drone begins across the plains
just as quick... the drumbeat is lost to the thunder

Surrounded with no way out.. disoriented they run
this way.. then that,  in groups... lost and in circles
and the dust that lifts off the plains in a distance
resembles a storm of tornado proportions

One by one they fall, those are the chosen
and a prayer will be offered once more
but not yet... wounded the buffalo spirit limps
and the two legged warrior gives chase

Out of the circle.. face to face thinking
the buffalo spirit mortally wounded
and eye to eye they stop.... knowing
the fear and the standoff is here...

Now Thump... thump thump.. this familiar beat
not of the drums but that of the warriors hearts
both hearts beating in thunderous unison
laiden with blood, sweat and fear

With a snort and a whoop of a warriors cry
the charge is on... and the lance pierces the hide
and a warrior falls.. broken, mangled and gasping
for air as his four legged victor tramples his spirit

Thump... thump thump.. Thump... thump thump
Thump........ One heart is silenced
the other weakened by the lance, continues
softer, weaker, tired.... but alive
He kicks at the dirt and looks down at his victory
he snorts blood mixed with dust and relief
a survivor this time the

Warrior of the Plains...
in the distance the drumbeat drones on

Thump... thump thump
Reina©

Tales of victory once were told,
of battles lost and battles won,
by the elders in the days of old.
Memories came as drops of rain,
one after another into the night,
but visions seen of a time insane.
A time when men cease to care,
about heart, spirit, courage and soul,
no longer seen an earth to share.
A wisdom present, an ancient way,
of living, loving in a native land,
lost for now in clouds of gray.
We are the last of our breed,
longing for an end to have our say,
then again, our land, the bison feed.
Bisonam©

Pictures in the books of youth
Tales told of times long passed by,
Seldom reflecting the sorrow of truth;
Black and white stories under a clear blue sky.

White-wash the blood from hands of red;
Make martyrs of all who died.
Forget both victor and victim bled,
And death consecrated by those who cried.

Life seemed so much simpler then,
A struggle between nature and man.
How different would the story have been
If nature had kept its hallowed land?
Mystery139©

Many a warrior has fought and died
Out of their veins flowed their pride
Wounded and dying in the battlefield
Their bison spirit had now been killed

Why were these battles fought
I think I know.... but sure I'm not
They were fought for dollars and cents
To enclose these warriors inside a fence

After this was "The Trail of Tears"
Descendants still fought for many years
This all done in the name of 'peace'
Battlefield now.... in an oil company lease

If only then we did know
Promised utopia was not so
Warrior's descendants still got screwed
All for the price of barrels of crude
mwm-44(now 45)©

It may seem to some
That I am sticking out my tongue
At the fallen warrior by my feet
Making fun of his defeat
That is not true, as you shall see
Here there is no victory
His arrows, into my flesh, sank deep
From the wounds my blood does seep
But what you see on my hide
Is nothing compared to what's inside
The internal bleeding and damaged lung
Is the cause of my visible tongue
I must breathe through my mouth to get my breath
To close it would surely mean my death
As it is, I will die soon enough
My condition is far too rough
My legs will weaken and when I can no longer stand
My body will rest itself upon this land
The warrior and myself on equal ground
A victory for neither to be found
Shadow Whysper©

Two spirits...
the hunter and the hunted.
Confronted...
their wills collide.
A fierce battle...
victory claimed by only one.

Two spirits...
those of life and death.
Freedom's banner...
drapes the blood-stained victor.
Quiet stillness...
surrounds the warrior now silent.
blushin©

A summer storm marked his coming into life
Loud the thunder as shaman severed cord with knife
From shaman to child a breath was shared as one
Then from midwife to father was passed a son
Held high over head for the whole tribe to see
His father called on the four winds to hear his plea
"From the heavens I do listen and give him name"
"Let all know my son shall be called Sky's Aflame"
Ten summers came and went as boy grew into man
Ten summers for him to learn the ways of his clan
With his totem the buffalo and his guide the bear
He had learned to hunt small game with bow and snare
Soon it would be buffalo he would be aiming his bow
For the tribe needed meat to survive the coming snow
But much too young was he in the ways of the hunt
Too young to know wooden tipped arrows were to blunt
So his fate he met to a thunder of a different kind
Under a thunder of hooves he left this world behind
Bear1Mage©

We drape ourselves in hunter's clothing
And leave our tribe during early morning
Our spears and arrows are well honed
Into the prairies we will roam.

In search of those who provide life by flesh
Now's the time to put our skills to the test
For if we are to ultimately succeed
Many empty mouths of our people it will feed.

Crashing hooves creating thundering sounds
Dust clouds billowing up from the ground
The herd approaches in an infinite dark mass
Singling one out before they pass.

With great precision I aim my arrow
Releasing it to fly as a golden sparrow
Finding its mark it penetrates thickened hide
A bleeding wound appears on its side.

Turning towards me with a look of rage
Nostrils flared and eyes ablaze
You descend upon me, a sharp-felt horn
Entering my body I feel myself torn.

Numbness flows as life slips away
Thoughts that one of us would end this way
The sense of survival, a continuity of it all
Prepares for one of us to be the victor, the other to fall.
Genevieve01©

The fetid stench of painful death
Hangs heavy from the bison's breath
Whilst all around the air is still
In honor of the dreadful kill.

The Glint of Death in maddened eye
Is seen flash up towards the sky
Where ancient spirits watch upon this scene
Of gore, and guts and noble dream.

The hunter, chilled, unmoving on the ground
Dark carrion birds call out their sound
Of end of life for man not beast
And bide their time to start their feast.

Turning with one final look
Down on the victim where he lies struck
The pity is there for all to feel
As the once hunted turns upon its heel.
Barnacle Bill©

Buffalo herds range across the plain
Pursued by Sioux across rough terrain

This staff of life that feeds a nation
Is stalked by braves with expectation

Two foes that meet fighting for life
Both torn and beaten in this primal strife

The strong survive the weak expire
This ancient battle with blood afire

One body lies upon the land
The victor defiant takes his stand

One gives his life so the other may live
But not today does the victor give

He lives
Rcm©

Horned death, the smell of blood
is everywhere, assassinated bowman
afar to the past, in the valleys of west.
Taken down, he left not a sound
fate is known, before the ground.
Beaten hard, he's staring at the sun
with eyes, so empty and lifeless, his body
soulless, here lies... the result of the hunt.
Now the buffalo stands tall
wounded by an arrow, or a tack?
There's no pain for him to feel
he's the victor, a killing machine.
Hunting is a dare, but one wins
it's often hard to tell, who's the victim
who's the hunter, the Indian slept
and buffalo sublimely, rides free.
__Forbidden_©

Death has come to seize them
Upon these open plains
They no longer enemies
Now their spirits remain.

Drums and hooves beating
Heard within the winds
Shadows in the distance
Each spirit starts to blend.

Chanting out claims
Of their given births
Man and beast both leaping
Into the cloud's black hearse.

Thunderstorm rumbles
Black clouds pour tears
Brave and beast now slumber
Releasing all their fears.
gigi©

Two magnificent creatures
One, already still, in the deep last sleep,
The other, still fighting, breathing deep,
Complete the unbroken circle.

From what is called death,
There is life,
From what is called life,
There is death,
The unbroken circle.

Never ending,
Never pausing,
Never verving right or left,
Steadily onward,
The unbroken circle.
AShadowDancer©

There once stood a Bull upon the hill
His horns were sharp
His soul was still

He was at peace
protecting his ladies
He was at ease

He did not know
from where the arrow came
The pain struck his shoulder below

Again and again he fought a senseless war
Aware of the enemy surrounding
He acquired scar after scar

The mighty beast
Majestic and gentle
Was soon to be the least

The battle was won, but not the war
DiamondBack©
.....................................................................................................................