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The Planets are Having a Powwow!
(Happy birthday to Awohali Agasga from Awohali Yanasi Tawodi!)
~ Dawn Karima & Son

Planets are dancing in a line.
Stars are having a round dance.
Moon and Sun are talking!
Clouds cover the conversation.
We cannot hear what they say.
Sun and Moon are happy.
The sky should always be this way.

A Love Letter for My Shells
~ Dr. Dawn Karima
(a birthday gift for Duane Brayboy)

Forever 1492.
In this new dark age, 
an array 
of turtle shells
and grace
Place prayers firmly in the heart of The Faithful Creator.
Shaking shells,
Left right left,
Moves Heaven and Earth
For hearts left bereft.
Stomp Dance,
The old paths,
My shells call a chorus of ancestors,
A cloud of witnesses,
Who intercede with groanings that cannot be uttered.
In the songs of my shells,
Creator promises He will come and save us
And He will.

The Mercy of Normal
~ Dawn Karima
 
 
Native Nations are made of covenants,     
                              water,
                              dances,
                              trances,
                           and visions
which come later,
                         after pumpkins                                    and potatoes.
                           
                             Weather drowns towns under the sun, 
yet healing begins and restoration is done,
as our prayers carry
                             stories,
                              songs,
                              scars,
                              stars
toward                 
                              stomp dances,
                               brush arbors,
                              churches,
                              yards.
Each mercy is a slice of light
                              and right,
repairing
the lives of our tribes.

In My Arms…
~ R.P. Leith

Jim Morrison died in my arms
He was smiling
Crazy ass
His cassette kept playing over and over

The Star-Spangled Banner

Nixon came to the funeral
Agnew was drunk
Bobby Krieger
Wept between each brandy

We had to carry Jennifer 
From the hall
She was staggering and falling against the coffin
Reciting verses from songs Jim never sang

Jim’s lawyer ran from room to room
Asking us to read his last will, and testament
Around 1:00 am, several black cats walked in
Their fur was wet and mangled

We had no milk

We found out later that Grace Slick
Was wearing Jim’s old black leather pants
Only in memory, she said
Her Jack Daniel’s was almost empty

Jim’s fans didn’t even know where we were
Hidden in the Hall of the Dead
Downtown Paris…somewhere
Between Place de la Bastille and Cimetière du Père Lachaise 

Eric Burdon sent his best wine
Mama Cass called and left a message
Carlos Santana sent flowers and a movie called The End
Jack White was 3 years old.

The Blind Demon
~ R.P. Leith

Tortured and punished
Sentenced for eternity
To scale the walls of Earth
To lay his scaly hands
On those who would worship
His gold and silver
He would touch the soul
And ask
Why you?
Of the millions of souls
Walking and breathing
Cheating and lying
Harming and killing
Why you?
Why are you the one?
Why this one?
Only to recall the edict, the command
His responsibility, his task.
To stop the breath 
To stop the life
As prophesied in Ezekiel
Words from the Son of Man
To stop the opening of graves
Of the dead coming to life
To stifle the declaration of the Lord
The Blind Demon
Works diligently
To defuse the truth
To deflect the words of the Lord.