All material on this page is copyrighted by the artist or poet and part of a sacred circle. Do not reproduce or use in any fashion without permission.

Phil Goldvarg
Hgold42734@aol.com

1975 Wounded Knee To Peltier Now

In year 481 of resistance,
the wound was reopened
so the FBI thought,
but it was always open,
481 years open,
like a deep canyon,
echoes of ancient voices
singing survival,
as the sons and grandson-pigs of Hoover
reenacted the Columbus and sons
exploration-penetration
and attempted rapes
of Paha Sapa
and the People of the earth,
Leonard Peltier embraced
the circle of resistance,
clenched hands tight,
held on to sacred time,
way of respect,
path of the warrior,
put his body-heart-spirit
as barrier to colonization
and its greedy horde,
the true savages.

AIM and Pine Ridge relations
set up camp
on mother earth,
this was the call to all generations,
ancestors, future children,
to embrace birth and rebirth,
tradition
and the handing down of survival,
FBI - goons - army - police,
would have none of this survival talk
and old ways that spread like the wind,
their disrespectful intrusion
caused them great misfortune
that was turned into vicious cause
and declaration of war.

Leonard was charged,
convicted and executed twice
bsfore they caught him,
no evidence of truth was revealed,
ghost stories were constructed
to haunt the courtroom,
lies were pulled from minds
and spirits
that had lost their balance,
the great anti-justice system
moved its cogs and belts,
greased them with lies,
wrapping our brother Leonard
in two death coffins,
hoping the lid
would remain closed
beyond two lifetimes,
but Leonard's heart was an eagle
that recognized no barrier,
no border,
no prison
that could keep
his soul from flying,
he waits for us
on cold gravestone
that seals the earth,
sings to our ceremonial call
for his release,
dances with us
thru the moon night,
dances with us
the continued movement
of resistance.

A HO
By Phil Goldvarg 1995
Zapatista Solidarity Coalition
Hgold42734@aol.com

---

Song of Truth

Blood is on the ground,
red on red,
there can be no denial,
death has been delivered
by a white hand,
elders and children with eyes closed,
future generations murdered in rage,
dream for their voice on the survivor's tongue,
would anyone wipe this from memory,
erase the pain of loss,
smile on the killers,
bow in thanks,
be silent to this slaughter
and others to come,
there will be no silence,
no drinking of genocide,
the speaker must cry a truth,
that knife will be met with knife,
that the generations will be protected
with the sharpness of love.

By Phil Goldvarg
Hgold42734@aol.com

---

            

Drums For Peltier

Drums for Peltier,
    conga drums,
        water drums,
            bata drums,
Ponca drums,
    Lakota drums,
        Otoe drums,
Cheyenne drums,
    First Nation drums,
skin tight,
    hands slap the skins,
new skin
    over old skin,
heart beat,
    breath beat,
        dream beat,
the drumming of feet
    on mother earth,
she drums back in contentment,
    deep voice of love,
drumming for Peltier
    across the night,
        sunrise and sunset,
drumming ocean waves of hope,
    crashing the rocks of injustice,
put them hands on the skin,
    new skin over old skin,
ancestor skin,
    seven generation skin,
        regeneration skin,
we go on beating,
    never retreating,
we are skin
    caressing skin,
drum echoes dance Paha Sapa,
    dance Leonard,
        repair the circles,
spirit drums,
    eagle drums,
        wolf drums,
all relation drums,
    hand in hand,
        arm in arm,
wall of voice
    calling for freedom,
        for Leonard,
handing him the drum,
    the skin of our soul,
beating the drum
    for us and Peltier,
for generations of breath
    that sing in the drum.

By Phil Goldvarg © 2000
Hgold42734@aol.com

---

            

500 Years of Resistance revised as 505 Years of Resistance
                         Now 508 Years and Still Counting

Broken treaties lay along the ground,
    they rest beside small skeletons
        of slaughtered children
and fleshless arms of mothers
    held up in eternal protection,
the signed names of presidents
    have faded in the sun,
        too fragile to stand the test of truth,
treaties were dark winds
    that moved fist nations to strangeness,
        burial grounds to glass cages,
where there was no sky,
    no earth,
        only broken circles of dead rivers,
the treaties died by their own hand,
    others were born to portray innocence,
        a mask of deceit,
until they disintegrated
    and the earth was filled with bones
        more numerous than the blades of grass.

For 505 years the flesheaters came
    with silver plated skin,
        without soul, without heart,
they came with hunger for gold,
    power, oppression,
        rape, murder,
they presented themselves with the land
    that was not theirs,
the paid the price with first nation blood,
    a harvest of death
        in tribute to the mislabeled new world
by Columbus
    and his savage followers
who burned and sliced
    Boriken breath
        y los ninos who were never born.

They came,
    split the skin of drums
        that would talk to the People,
expose the beast
    and its terror,
they cut the feet from the dancers,
    tongues from the singers,
        hands from the drummers,
attempting to shatter the link
    with mother earth,
hide the beat of revolution,
    extinguish the flame of resistance,
no merenque,
    no ghost dance,
        no sun dance,
were the edicts that hit dead
    against the great spirits,
the People would dance,
    sing,
        drum,
in mountains,
    deep forest,
places invisible
    to the invaders weak eyes.

505 years of trails and tears,
    forced moves,
        offer of pebbles for mountains,
the promise,
    a white feather seduced by the wind,
leaving wingless spirit
    in the fenced mind of the flesheater
        who pushed the march thru ice and snow,
hoping for avalanche,
    a blanket of white death,
forced move,
    ridge children wander,
trail tears cover sisters and brothers,
    old words that Unaka will come
        with rivers of misery,
fill the sky,
    darken sun,
Cherokee feels the great water
    washing his/her mind,
the trail end
    a long tear,
they cry here,
    tears that never dry,
        hard on the earth like ice,
flowing river of despair,
    come from massacred ancestors
        to join the children of this new dawn,
seven generations from now
    is a flood washed sand,
        crying devastation that reaches for ancient arms,
the flesheaters,
    grave robbers,
        are confused by the spirits,
unable to recognize
    that metal edges
        can cut the heart,
they empower themselves
    with false masks
        and cracking voices to hide fear,
there is no recognition
    of the unbroken circle
        that embraces all the relations,
flesheaters look into dark earth
    with blind eyes,
        self made illusions,
songs of the People
    wind around their breath,
        unmask the real fear of their shattered soul,
let them know
    that they and we cry here,
        the water that falls like crystal dreams.

505 years,
    return to place of grandfathers, grandmothers,
        on disappeared road
to home of youth
    where child voices are covered by cement,
the river of life
    filled with poison saliva of false tongues,
we return to the place
    where child of the sun
        was ripped from the earth,
roots torn and bleeding,
    spirit losing form in the strange shallow land
        that held no nourishment
for this bronze child,
    for this red child,
        for this fire child of the earth.

Flesheaters - Headhunters,
    1872 -1873,
        150 - Modocs 150,
Captain Jack - Kintpuash,
    refuse reservations
        at the reservation,
1000 - soldiers - 1000
    held off,
Siskiyou County,
    150 - Modocs - 150
        murdered to 0,
heads of Modoc leaders
    sent to Smithsonian,
        "scientific analysis:,
sent to carnival for display,
    for disrespect,
Modoc heads visited the Smithsonian,
    a forced, bodiless march
after almost defeating 1000 soldiers
    in the 72/73 Siskiyou war,
Captain Jack laid his heart
    along mother earth,
        claiming it for generations
with blood and resistance,
    until Modoc bodies
        lay down their arms
to search for the lost faces
    of their relations
who floated disconnected
    in the dead hands
        of ghost anthropologists
and fearful
    round-eye carnival savages.

The flesheaters are seduced
    by the promise of inhabited space,
claims that the dwellers are savage,
    that they don't fit into the family of god,
whatever god the flesheaters proclaim,
    whatever word they attribute to him,
their need is measured as greater,
    their rights labeled primary,
they feast on the bones
    of stolen land,
they are the system of destruction
    and selective redemption,
they are the myth makers,
    the evaporaters of legend,
space is their great seducer,
    mistress of hunger,
her arms hold the blades of death,
    sharp drinkers of blood,
director of flesheater desire,
    speaker of shadowed promises
and transfer of deeds
    to space already inhabited.

500 years,
    year 407,
        1899,
Colonel Sherwood
    with Royal Canadian Mounted Police,
gave false invitation to Akwesasne,
    Chief Jake Fire in handcuffs,
        demands release of his people,
death answered Mohawk eyes,
    betrayed blood
        on the council floor.

505 years,
    the BIA - FBI - CIA
        must have sailed with Columbus and Cortez,
honed their skills
    during the massacres,
learned deceit
    during the destruction,
how to steal the land
    with crooked smiles
and paper
    heavy with the weight of the us Calvary,
learned how to tear children
    from their land,
        from their people,
place them in sterile boxes,
    memory erasers
intent on breaking
    the connection of generations.

505 years
    the flesheaters came,
brought our Afrikkan brothers and sisters
    to this land,
you would think they had enough Indians
    to oppress - murder - rape - steal from,
without adding another layer
    of strip-mining to the pain,
we saw our sisters and brothers
    hanging in the trees
        like some forbidden fruit,
their soft skin
    a half step from ours,
their ancestors crying
    somewhere in the night.

The border patrol
    enters inhabited space
with empty eyes,
    empty heart,
sin respeto
    para La Gente Bronce,
this border patrol
    is an illegal alien,
crossing the wrong border
    sin papeles,
        pero, with hateful lust,
he does not hear
    la voz of our hermana
o las palabras de ella
    that say,

        I inhabit this body,
        this is my place,
        you cannot enter
        without my permission,
        I feel you push beyond my borders,
        shattering the circle of faith
        I once lived in,
        I inhabit this space
        within this skin,
        your lust does not belong
        in the rush de mi sangre,
        you are a missile of hate
        that will not accept
        that I inhabit this space,
        me, soy yo

the border patrol has entered
    inhabited space,
a 508 year crossing and raping
    de La Gente Bronce.

Across 505 years
    they copied the Iroquois Confederacy,
copied their structure,
    their words,
gave no credit to their faith,
    their heart song,
used the model of equality
    and concern for the people,
        for the earth
to fill long scrolls of parchment paper
    signed in self-important script,
copied it,
    framed it,
but never used it with the people
    of the great Iroquois Nation
        or any other first nation.

The flesheaters came,
    called the list for termination,
        Arawak - Taino,
clawed La Isla Hermosa,
    wild with hunger,
        feasted day and night,
            a continued rape,
when Spain was done
    the U.S. shoved its metal tongue
        into the sweet brown body de Boricua.

505 years,
    Batista carrying on tradition
        with his US partner,
ripped the 28 year old eyes
    from Abel Santamaria
for their vision of the revolution,
    for their loyalty to Fidel.

505 years,
    Chile - Argentina - Guatemala y mas,
are full of the disappeared ones,
    uncounted columns
        within the census count,
where they are hidden
    in the copper walls of Anaconda,
the picture cans
    of the United Fruit Company,
their bones supporting
    the rotted house of Pinochet,
        Samoza,
US presidents
    and their CIA aids.

First Nation women
    were raped by masked ghosts,
no child cried
    in these years of forced sterilization,
they didn't want no more Indians,
    didn't want to be called killer,
so they did the murder
    on clinic tables,
reset them for another meal,
    and another,
        and another,
then wiped the tables clean
    of evidence
        and knife prints,
turning the garden of birth
    into a man made desert,
they said it was no felony,
    no execution,
we said it was a massacre
    without noise,
another predawn raid
    while the men were gone.

The Nina - Pinta - Santa Maria
    still sail today,
skeleton captains
    plunge their flag spears
into the heart of mother earth,
    their pens into journals of false tongues,
this is the history,
    discovery of America,
which was not America or India
    and was already discovered
and the Indians were not Indians
    and already knew who they were,
you cannot discover
    an inhabited land,
that is history,
    that is the history.

Aho

By Phil Goldvarg
Hgold42734@aol.com

505 years first published in The Crossroads - Jan. 1998
First read at La Raza/Galeria Posada - Sacramento, Ca
Dec. 1991 - "La Noche de 500 Years of Resistance"

from BlueT
BlueT5@aol.com

from BlueT
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from BlueT
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from BlueT
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from BlueT
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from BlueT
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from BlueT
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from BlueT
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from BlueT
BlueT5@aol.com

Leonard's Birthday Bash/ the Phone's Ringin'!

---------------------------------------------------------------Special
dedication to Leonard Peltier and Kola....Esther ..she inspired this.

We all callin' and they all stallin'
given' them a buzz
yea..to the Leavenworth fuzz
asking for Leonard...he can't speak
'cause of the prickly heat
buzzin' with the calls
to the fuzz in the halls
can't take the heat
of the buzzin' beat
they goin' for a smoke
and perhaps a poke (er)
game
can't handle the
guilt and blame
just the same
we buzzin' that ringer
and they cut off the dinger!
ya see..it's a party
but a guilty party
the warden's
warden Booker
done booked
out of there
didn't care
couldn't handle the slam
and our ringa ding bing bam!

Happy Birthday Leonard!
I know you hear us all!
Cante,
In the Spirit of Crazy Horse! (Trudi)
BlueT © copyright 9/1999.

 

from: Dale Allen Pfeiffer

Song of the Exploited

(from The Song of the Fruit--a work in progress)

Twenty-five years gone, and yet
no one has asked why over sixty
Lakota were murdered in the state
of South Dakota, murdered for greed.

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
for two murders he did not commit.

Five hundred years of genocide, all
for the sake of greed. "The only good
Indian..." And still we finance
the murder and displacement
of the indigenous for material
wealth. On our hands their blood
does lie. "...is a dead Indian."

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
to hide the avarice of a nation.

From the Kelts to the many vanished
or nearly vanished tribes of North America,
to the tribespeople of Latin America,
Africa, the Far East, Polynesia, Australia
and New Zealand; thousands are murdered
yearly because of our thirst.

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
for defending his people.

African blood pressed into slavery
to conquer this free land and replace
the Indians murdered here. African
blood exploited still and oppressed.
Addicted to drugs to finance the genocide
of the indigenous, and then imprisoned
for expressing their dissatisfaction and
for the crime of their addiction, the crime
of their ancestry and the color of their skin.

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
for seeking to end the oppression.

Most sincere apologies to the women,
the lovers, the daughters, the mothers
and grandmothers. Deepest apologies
to the female, reviled and abused, debased
and dehumanized. The woman giving birth
only to watch each generation laid waste
by the greed for material wealth, herself
degraded to chattel or an empty, gilded
receptacle for the passion of the male.

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
for protecting the grandmothers, mothers and daughters.

Toilers who must sell away their lives
for the wherewithal to live, worn
to submission, bedeviled by the few coins
for which they trade their freedom, their
energy and their will. Trod underfoot
by the slavers and murderers who reap
the profits of their sweat, betrayed
by greed for material wealth.

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
for denying his service to wealth.

Material wealth, ripped from the heart
of the planet from which all living
things are born. The planet, now poisoned
and depleted, exhausted by this never-ending greed,
stands ready to crush these aberrant
spawn under the weight of their own filth.

And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still
for daring to sound a warning.

What crime is his to sacrifice his freedom?
And what right is yours to rob him of his life?
And Leonard Peltier rots in prison still

Dale Allen Pfeiffer © Copyright 1999

from BlueT
BlueT5@aol.com

Someone's Soul Is Cookin' In Kansas

Hot humid day...with foul wind blowin' this way
sittin' on a bench
smellin' the stench
of the injustice from a leavenworth cell
blockade boomerang bell
Ain't no liberty bell.....hell
hell carried by diseased rats
flying moonlit bats
political prisoner choking
choking on promises always broken
ckoking on food on a jaw locked up
forever promised attention
forever promised hearing
court hearing I say....
what hearing?
there ain't nobody listening
the people that should could would
don't
won't
hear
what they fear
the truth
nobody listening
I guess I have to turn up the volume
on this sound
make sure it gets around
right down in that ear drum
hear the drum
pounding
pounding the heartbeat
of a prison cell
Leonard Peltier's
It's still hot and humid day
but I do believe some new winds
on the way
sitting on a bench
still smelling the stench
of injustice in a D.C. hall
time to make a call
and written from the
blood of an Eagle Feather
resting on a desk
in an Oval Office.....
rests a piece of paper
accompanied by a mass
of red tape and cobwebs
THE FEATHER
whisps
the
words with wind.......CLEMENCY GRANTED FOR LEONARD PELTIER!
Above the White House
a Bald Eagle is soaring
wings extended waiting to embrace Leoanrd's dream of freedom.

BlueT © copyright 1999.

from BlueT
BlueT5@aol.com

Bop Happy Hour Delight (words for the Bop)

(special Dedication to Leonard Peltier and Waabs, a dear
friend)

Mornin' coffee gone / done
martini pretend to eat
petite salad lunch
felt the punch gone / done
no dental floss to wrap around
the fangs of evil that chew
and digest the hypocricy
of morning done deals
you're spinning wheels.....
but the wrong direction
detection of
false judgement.....a rap
the tap
still stained on your paper file
and a US Justice computer
composed sputter of an utter
to pacify.....an update to the people
to hush hush the rush rush
of the real wheel
you got the jack on
black label....black list
but the red one exists
in your pushed away denial mind
your happy hour scotch
puttin' the butcher block botch
on the blot
of your ms. vamp stamp
of blow this off
mode on paper
email shaper
and a blind fold sight
designer sunglass hut
with a 18 (w)hole life sentence putt
puttzin' on home in top down ride
you gonna go hide with a
tipsy tip
of happy delight
thinking ...don't have to deal
with Peltier tonight
the devastation of this delight is......
the same exact words are said each night!
and topped ...corked with a night cap
of dandy brandy
a word of advice,
keep up this drinking of injustice....
you are sure to encounter
a hangover.....
you know what the cure is...
start the treatment!
It's time Leonard Peltier had a happy hour
(but not your kind )
His drink is called the Spirit of Crazy Horse!

Blue T5 © copyright 6/1999

from BlueT
BlueT5@aol.com

Gettin' a Taste of the Waste
_________________________
Nuclear waste........
Ward's gettin' a taste
of the water flow
that's gotta go
the new panel table
you all should know
is being able
to swirl their whirl
of toxic
wind
water
earth poison
polluted destruction
from panel contruction
site
(sight for sore eyes)
on land
belonging to Mojave band
please understand
your devastating drop
DUMP
is the push button pump
of annihilation
of a Native Nation!
It's like this...
YOU are like an IV to DARKNESS
and your panel the doctors
Your diagnosis is deadly
So I cry out.......
PRESCRIBE THE PROPER MEDICATION
SAVE WARD VALLEY!!!!!
By the way, THIS IS A CODE BLUE FOR YOU!

( This poem is dedicated to WARD VALLEY ...the Majove...and all SWV
supporters)
( This message is for Gov. Davis and his knights of the round table....living
in the dark ages)

Blue T5 © copyright 1999

from BlueT
BlueT5@aol.com

A few lil' rants
to get ya off the
seat of your pants
do not fear
put on your freedom gear
gear in on what I'm sayin'
let's quit this playin'
around with a mans' soul
open up the door of his sky
let his soul fly
with a flag
of freedom
take a stand in your shoes
just a lil' rant
from the blues
stand and sing it loud
lift the shroud
let the sun shine no tear
FREEDOM FOR LEAONARD PELTIER!
BlueT © copyright 5/99

from BlueT:

Blue Boogie Bop Boom
Nobody gonna boogie da Bop
like da Boogie Blue do
Here's ya
boogie Bop boom..........
Pop da Bop Boom
makin' your chilly mind
do da flip flop
it around
your pen pat paper
I Boogie Blue shaper
ya better shape it up
make it hip Bop
Blue give you tip Bop
here's my tip
while ya have a tea sip
sip on this
tippy on tippy toes
your Joes
on over to the Jailhouse rock
kindly unkey the lock
locked up in your badmad brain
ya ain't gonna be sane
until ya do
do dat deed
cause Peoples and Boogie Blue
planted a seed
freeeeeeeeeeed
Peltiers' soul spirit sage
soarin' in cage
let's boogie Bop boom
flip the page
in that white house room
ya Free Peltier
an' you'll hear no more
Blue Boogie Pop
but til then
Blue gonna be boogie poppin'
the bop boom
in this room
your caged in
I got the key
want it unlocked?
unlocked it shall be
only, if PELTIER'S FREE!

BlueT copyright © 4/99

Here's a poem I wrote.

Through swollen eyes
I see the bruised blue sky...beautifully iridescent
with bright raw streaks of red and golden scars
scratched out across the dawning day.
The Ancient Ones floating with open wounds,
a circle of hollow voices...as they begin
the ghost dance.
I watch them, frozen on the warm earth
with their hands raised high,
beckoning to the Nations to listen to our
brother Crow.
My brother human is drowning
in the ignorance of oppression.
This peaceful warrior lies alone
tormented and twisted in pain.
Does no one care...
Are those in power without hearts that beat the same?
I stumble on useless tears, feeling this can not be truth.
In the depth of their dark soul,
they must feel this man's great pain.
Helpless, I will fast, I will pray, I will give
to help him return to freedom.
Why are we born into chain just because we are Indians
 and once very trusting, and forgiving ?
Sitting alone, your are cast in your own shadow
I beg you, come, drop your shame
and stand with me into the light of Earth.
My people are screaming, you must listen
how can you sleep or eat in the presence of yourself?
I beckon you, like a bitter cold wind,
a mist of wounded lost souls,
and with
the voices of thousand Native hearts,
both living and passed on...please
Let my people go!

 
In dreams sometimes I fight with one hand, and love with the other,
In dreams sometimes I love with both hands and the fighting is over.
In the spirit of Crazy Horse,
Quwahia Whisperingfire
quwahia.whisperingfire@cwix.com

from anthony chaveZ:

A Prayer for Those Making the Sacrifice of Hunger

Creator-

it is me, the man who can eat when he is hungry, who has all that he needs to live and to keep his children alive, who has been blessed with bountiful harvests year in and year out, who has all of his needs met, and who has stumbled many times on this Road while in distraction by his wants.

it is me standing here now before you in hopes that you will recognize me as one of your own; for i must tell you of your other children who are selflessly doing your Work. they are standing up for our brother Leonard, denying themselves food and sustenance, comfort and security, so that the world will know of his suffering, what he has endured because he too does Creator's work. now they are moved to put themselves at risk; some will even choose death rather than allow our brother to remain in chains a moment longer.

please hear this prayer of mine, an expression of my belief in your Way of All Things, and that it be pleasing to You that they do for their Brother now in the same Spirit as they have for all of the other Brothers and Sisters in captivity throughout the ages; please watch over them and allow them to walk with clarity, with strength, and with openess to your Voice all along the Way.

nothing we do outside of your Way leads to much. we can become lost and confused, tangled up in our smallness. please watch over us always as we struggle together. may you bless us with the patience, endurance, and calmness of mind and heart to find the right things to do in this struggle ahead, that we find the correct ways to support each and every one of those who are willing to take on the sacrifice of hunger.

i especially ask of You to bless the hearts of those who are willing to perish for the sake of their Brother. may there be peace for them, ultimately, no matter how things go. and if we are to be saddened by their passing over, that we will be strengthened in our resolve to continue doing your work.

standing with them, mindful of all the blessings you have shared with us that have brought us to this place today, i am your son.

anthony chaveZ

From: BlueT5@aol.com:

Feb. Freedom Fast
Dedicated to Leonard Peltier
------------------------------------------------
Drums, horns accompany
a marchin' beat
march on the street/
                                  headlines
                                  fine lines to the edge
                                  caught in the wedge
of symbols in tough time
political prisoners/
                                  hell cages
                                  voice rages
horn blowin' rape beatin' cell abuse
drown gags in uniform noose/
                                  clemency calls
                                  from bloody within walls
piano tune in the colors
music of all peoples praying/
                                  forgotten feathers
                                  slaughtered leathers
memories............
NOW the sound pipes got it goin' on
NOW the pipes of sacred ground comin' 'round
NOW rising/
                                 the Grandfather speaks
                                 above Eagle mountain peaks
sending soul full of spirit smoke
prayer tie tobacco toke/
                                 in the Pipestone
                                 here's the tone
NOW smoke's a risin' ....a risin'
with the Crazy Horse Wing
and all the Peoples march/
                                 freedom our sing
                                 liberty bell ring
healing of the Sacred Hoop
on the Red Road loop
ending endless battles
bringing hand shake rattles
freedom flags fly 4/
                                Brothers
                                Sisters
                                Children of the Earth
Elder Seattle feather man said,
"We belong to the Earth....
Earth does not belong to us"
drummin', horns accompany a marchin beat
of fast freedom in the streets
while Seattle Jimi on Eagles' mountain
sings
FREEDOM!

CLEMENCY FOR LEONARD PELTIER!
Blue T 5 e-mail: BlueT5@aol.com
copyright © 1/99

from Rachel Carey-Harper:

from Quwahia Whisperingfire:

We were born
beneath the rain of darkness.
Before that time
Father Sun dwelled in every single blade of grass.
Before that time
we knew no illness like we know today
we knew no suicides like we know today
we knew no evil like we know today.
Before the time that the strangers came.
Now we are like whispering fire.
Invisible people with invisible voices
From ten million stars,
we weep tears that fall like snow flakes and warm rain
bathing the earth with our love and our blood.
The Dream Eagle will lift our prayers
into the waiting arms of the Great Mystery.
No more will we teach our little ones who watch us
how to die a little death each day...for
Today is a good day to live!
We must not be afraid to travel
where there are no roads.
Nor give fear into the darkness
when the light we can not see.
We must not be afraid to grow the wings of an eagle
when we become too tired of walking the Red Road.
We are the children born of warriors.
We are the generation born out of slaughter.
We will be the ones who build the path to liberation.
And we will dance with feet of stone.
And sing with voices of forever.
This land is soaked with the blood of our ancestors
and also, our new born infants dying...this very moment.
Little native babies that will never hear the lovely sound
of their grandmother's voices, telling rich stories of life
and beautiful tales on becoming human.
No, I will never give up this fight for justice.
And I do not walk alone.

 
In peace, for peace always,
 
Quwahia Whisperingfire
 
Day 12th of the Hunger Strike for
Leonard Peltier urgently needs medical treatment at Mayo Clinic

Uhenh onhwa' Awayaton (We are One Spirit)
 
 'First Nations People'

from Cathie Dever:

The first letter is from my 6 year old daughter.I will write it just
like she did.

   Get Leonard out of jail.
   He needs to be free so he can get his jau fixed so he can cheu better.
   Leonard needs to be free so he can stay with his family.
   We love Leonard so please let him go.
    Please oh please let him go
                                     From
                                      Haleigh Dever

This one is from my 7 and 1/2 year old daughter. It really surprised
me.
  
 L one eagle in a jail cell
 E veryone he loves is far away
 O nce he was free but
 N ow he only knows barred windows
 A nd cells
 R eady to fly again he can only
 D epend on others to free him

 P eople from around the world are not
 E ating to make others aware that
 L eonard cannot eat without pain
 T ogether, we can make a difference
 I pray that soon Leonard will not
 E at in pain.
 R elease him,let him fly again...
                                        Kayla Dever

Pretty powerful I thought.Enough Said
                            Strength and prayers to all
                               United we stand
                                   Cathie

from Quwahia Whisperingfire:

Fasters...during this quest for Leonard Peltier...It feels so good to hear from everyone and anyone...please remember to share your journey with others. When the going gets tough, we are here for each other!

Thank all of you who keep in touch with me, I apologize if I do not response quickly...sometimes my PC gets crazy.

 

We are the song of the wind.
Our voices are heard...loud and clear!
We are the flame of ancient blazes.
We walk in beauty
for our quest is pure and just.
In nature, we were made whole.
In nature, we are loved beyond reality.
In nature, we are filled with eternity.
We are the womb of the 'first breath.'
All things connected to all times and all places.
The tears of our Ancestors watered the great trees.
The hearts of our ancestors lit the stars on fire.
So fragile is our Mother Earth,
feel her tighten and tense
feel her body curl into a ball of pain, our despair...
The Creator is watching all.
We stand as naked warriors
stripped of our guilt and shame.
Spiritual garments we now wear for our souls.
Eagle feathers for our hair.
When this battle is over,
and Leonard Pelltier is healthy and free,
We will dance, like children in the Autumn leaves.
We will sing again, a little more joyous.
Again there be our sounds of laughter,
like flowers blowing their seeds in the wind.
And one day, my sisters and my brothers,
We will sleep without the threat
of violence and violations.
Our people will bloom in the rain fall
and shower the pain away, far away.

Our longing for peace will be satisfied.

“A Ripple in still waters”
Quwahia Whisperingfire

Please allow immediate medical treatment for Leonard Peltier
In the Spirit of Crazy Horse
In the Spirit of Humanity
...Don't allow Leonard Peltier to Die !
'First Nations People...Our voice shall be heard!'

from Blue T.--

Eagle wings flying..........
feel our blizzard blitzin' your way
carried by the 4 winds
winds our voices
blizzard rush sending
pellets purify
your WHITE HOUSE
before the skies
turn a fire red
the icey pellet
melt down to snowflake star
only if............
feel our heal of The HOOP
our MEDICINE voice
it's your choice
red skies burn
               churn
pickin' your brain
feel the quiet of
soft rain
only if..............
you stop the pain
hear our healing echoes of soul
spiritriders we are
carried with the wind
the sky a Blue
can shine you
towards the light
only if.........
you unlock the chain
of Leonards day..night
darkness....light the flame
of his candlelight
pick up the KEY
it's in your pocket
stuck to red tape..pen paper
in your pocket.....
only if......
UNLOCK IT!
REWARD......
purity of heart and soul
freedom..riding in the light
of the spiritriders.....
are you encountering the blizzards
or feeling the quiet of soft snow...
you know
what to do
DO IT!
UNLOCK THE DOOR
FOR LEONARD PELTIER!

----Blue T. e-mail: BlueT5@aol.com copyright ©2/99.

from Blue T.--

BLIND FOLDED BOP
YOU FEELIN' THE POP
OF THE NOOSE
CUT IT LOOSE
OUR HUNGER & THIRST
WE KEEP WALKIN'
OUR TALKIN'
BRINGIN' IT ON
THE POP.........
TO THE BLIND FOLD BOP
YOU FEELIN' THE RATTLE RING
OF OUR DRUM SONG SING
BEATIN' OUR DRUM
DRUMMIN' WILL BE BEATIN'
YOUR HEAD TONIGHT
NOTHIN' CAN HELP YOU TONIGHT
NOT EVEN YOUR NITE LIGHT
UNDO THE FOLD...BOP
GONNA LIVE BLIND FOREVER?
YOU FEELIN' LEONARDS' DARKNESS?
AND OUR DRUMMIN' SHALL BE HEARD
FREE PELTIER NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BlueT © copyright 2/99

from Ries:

Anpetu waste,

May this following prayer in the old and the oppressor's language give
you all strength and hope. I it offered by through my Lakota older sister
(Tanke) as it was translated by her, I'm not yet fluent in the old
Language.

Chantema waste (Have a good heart),

Ries

O' Tunkasila Wakantanka
Ho naho tuwa mis tate el kin,
Niya tuwa ku wiconi makaowacaga kilyuha kin,
Naho mis. Mis cistila na hokesni. Mis cin nita
wasake na woksape.

Ayusta mis mani el hopa, na kagemita ista
Iho kin luta wimaheliyaya.

Kagemita nape younihan kin wa uskekiya mis yuha
Kage na nugemita pestola naho honita.

Kagamis pksape he ugnasmis okahnige
takunlnis ospe kiyemita oyate.

Ayusta ospewakiyemis wouspenis inahme el
iyohile canwape na iya.

Nita ola wasake el un isom taka isammita
ciyawayasni, tka kize isomtakamita toka-misnala.

Kagamis ohinni winiyela el hi el nita kici
sapesni hapena owotala ista.

Ca conj wiconi oiyokpaza, el oiyokpaza wimcheliyaya,
woniya wakamita ugnas hi el nis cola istelya.

O, Great Spirit
Whose voice I hear in the winds,
And whose breath gives life to all the world,
Hear me.
I am small and weak.
I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.

Make my hands respect the things I have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.

Make me wise so that I may understand the
things you have taught my people.

Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every rock and leaf.

I seek strength, not to be greater than my
brother, but to fight my greatest enemy-myself.

Make me always ready it come to you with
clean hands and straight eyes.

So when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit may come to you without shame.

Ries richards@euristix.ie

from Aileen Terra:

Two Eagles Flew

Long ago and far away

There was a peace, there was a day

When all the village people knew

That all was right, two eagles flew:

The fierce , proud eagle Peltier...

The soft, strong eagle, Anna Mae...

And while they flew no curse was heard

For each was such a sacred bird.

And then one day the thunder rang

No bird would call and no bird sang

For hunters came with arrows dark

No hoot of owl, no song of lark.

The hunter's arrows swiftly flew

Her beak went up, her heart pierced through

She fell in spirals to the ground

And feathers scattered all around...

The people felt this death and said

O no! Can Anna Mae be dead?

They looked for her but where was she?

O where, o where can this bird be?

And so the hunter sought her brother,

And would not settle for another.

They netted him in the eagle's aerie

Though his heart was sad and he was wary.

They chained him, put him in a cage,

They bound his beak, but not his rage

For his was the sky and the people too...

He missed the days when Anna Mae flew...

And so he sits until this day,

As time and life both slip away.

The people know, they found her feathers:

That all the people belong together.

They laid her gently in the ground

With sacred smoke and sacred sound

They call together night and day

For the freedom now of Peltier.

Aileen Terra aterra@mindspring.com

From Shelli Allen:

Sorry my Brothers and Sisters, I just couldn't help myself! :) Keep the
pressure on! My love, thoughts and prayers are with you all! Ride with the
Winds!!

                                

Ballad of the BOP

                   

(To the tune of "The Beverly Hillbillys")

Come and listen to the story of the BOP,
  Some Bureaucratic JERKS
That wouldn't set our Leonard Free!
  So then one day, we started a campaign.
They got so many letters,
  That they thought they'd go insane!!

 Crazy that is! Off their rockers! Full-goose bozo!!!

Well, the next thing you know,
  A statement they did make.
About medical treatment they say
  Leonard refused to take!
We said, "We don't believe you!
  At the Mayo he MUST be!!"
He needs to be sent there,
  Then he needs to be set Free!!!!

An the Eagle, that is! Free to live! Free to Soar!!

  Ya'll set Leonard free now! Ya hear??

Brite37@aol.com

From Waabnongkwe:

Ballad of the Bop (continued):

    So we keep on writin' letters
    and supportin' those who fast;
    'cuz they cannot take the heat
    and we know they will not last;
    and we started inta votin'
    so's to show 'em who he is;
    gotta shake them sleepy buggers
    from their bureaucratic bliss....

    Comatose, that is; Missin' the whole point; Outa this world!

- Yakima

Waabnongkwe kogogaupigun@attcanada.net

"In some of my dreams, I love with one hand and I fight with the other. In
some of my other dreams, I love with both hands, and the fighting is over."

http://www.geocities.com/Wellesley/6647/
ICQ me! 22400332

From Rachel Carey-Harper:

Where's the Love?

Where's the love K.H.Sawyer?
I'd really like to know
I can't understand how you
Can bring so much woe

Do you love at work?
Do you love at play?
Do you love when you go home
at the end of the day?

Do you love people?
Do you love God?
It doesn't seem so
From here on Cape Cod.

From your treatment of Leonard
I can only conclude
In you there is no love
for any of God's brood.

I pity you Hawk Sawyer
Even though your my foe
You think you are damned
but it might not be so

The sun shines on both of us
The Spirit is strong
Please don't delay your redemption
don't wait too long

Allow Leonard the Med. treatment
Its more then a cough
You must act most quickly before
God does write you off.

rch@capecod.net

from Barbara Fortier:

Hi Everyone,
I would like to share w/ all of you my art. Saturday March 27th I'll be dancing twice the ballet solo called The Dying Swan. Also, 5 performances in May & 2 in June. I dance this for Leonard because it is so beautiful & open for interpretation. She may be dying but can we not hear the heartbeat of the people continuing? Below is what will be appearing on the program for Dallas Dance Company (Dallas, GA) Which is, the solo synopsis & some of the excerpt of Leonard's new book.

The Dying Swan

I dedicate all of my performances to our beloved Leonard Peltier, American Indian Movement Activist, Political Prisoner, Humanitarian.

Performed by Barbara Fortier, Coached by Natalia Shevchenko, Music by Camille Saint Saens, Choreographed by Michael Fokine for Anna Pavlova, St Petersburg, Russia 1905.

The Dying Swan shows the last clinging moments of a swan's life. The solo stands by itself w/ no plot or explanation as to the reason of her dying. Musically, this piece was composed w/ the cello representing the swan as she is enduring, w/ dignity, her last & greatest suffering of her precious life. The piano, in accompaniment, represents the water in which has been her life. More than 90 years later, The Dying Swan still holds a message for us today. The trembling of a dying swan's fragile wings moving to a hauntingly beautiful piece of music is an exquisite example of true artistry which inspires us to reflect upon the humanitarian questions which we pose to ourselves, each day.

Prison Writings, My Life is My Sundance (excerpt)

By Leonard Peltier and co-authored by Harvey Arden 1999

The time has come for me to set forth in words my personal testament, not because I'm planning to die but, because I'm planning to live. This is the 23rd year of my imprisonment for a crime I didn't commit. I'm now 54 years old. I've been in here since I was 31. I've been told I have to live out 2 life sentences plus 7 years before I get out of prison in the year 2041. By then I'll be 97. I don't think that I'll make it.

My life is an extended agony. I feel like I've lived 100 lifetimes in prison, already. But I'm prepared to live 1000 more on behalf of my people. If my imprisonment does nothing more than educate an unknowing & uncaring public about the terrible conditions Indian people continue to endure, then my suffering has had, & continues to have, a purpose. (More of the excerpt continues on the program which I did not include here. Then is added:) Leonard continues to be tortured in prison because he speaks out about the injustices of his people & the prison system.

For more info...

Barbara Fortier

Standing Deer is in the texas prison system doing work for both Leonard
Peltier & Mumia Abu-Jamal from his cell. In the Spirit of Political Prisoner
Solidarity, I am including his latest message and the following poem:

"The State of Pennsylvania is warming up to Murder Mumia."

If they were going to kill my brother... by Standing Deer

"If we are to vent our riotous anger, let it be BEFORE they try to murder
Mumia Abu-Jamal, not after." --Michael Parenti, MLK High
School, Berkeley, June 25, 1995

"We are at a point beyond candle vigils that reflect little besides moral
indignation." --Ray Luc Levasseur

"Think of Sister Assata. We don't need another martyr. We need our brother
Mumia breathing, smiling, laughing, alive and well among us, talking that
talk and writing those words as only he can do it." --Standing Deer

If they were going to kill my brother I would raise him...rescue him steal
him away from the murderous thugs of the state. They don't need his life no
how! They can't sell it for twice what it's worth 'cause there ain't that
much money in the world. So what for do they want it!? He don't mean nothin'
no way 'cept to those who love him and need him and can't do without him. I
always wonder why we let freedom fighters rot their lives away in some jail
or go down in a murder for hire plot rigged by the state. Folks be marching
and hollering and carrying signs crying his name demanding his freedom, but
if signs and words could free him he would been free a long time ago. This is
not about revolution and we don't need the masses to rise up and wrest away
the means of production from the criminal class. This is about our brother's
life. His LIFE! and it only takes a few of us WHO DON'T WANT HIM DEAD. There
is no magic in a uniform and badge even if the State, Nation and World Rulers
are behind those symbols. So if somebody wants him free, there he is
over there in that dungeon guarded by folks who bleed when they're hurt just
like you and me. Jonathan the man/child had the idea and the brains and the
courage. He just didn't have the understanding that the state will throw away
functionaries within their apparatus as if they were dirty toilet tissue and
never look back. Frederick Douglass said: "Power concedes nothing without a
demand. It never has and it never will." Carlos said: "You do things with
bullets because bullets are real." It has to start somewhere and sometime,
what better place than here? What better time than now? FREE MUMIA
ABU-JAMAL!!!

>From the Bowels of the Monster April 1999
Short of a miracle, the State of Pennsylvania will murder Mumia in 1999. What
can we do to stop it? --Standing Deer

From: Ron Dunning
[wlbear@northnet.org]