Coyotes claw at carrion
at the side of the road
tearing into the mush of meat
rotted in the sad day’s sun,
looping strings of sinew
over their noses.
Too greedy and gut-empty are they
that squint their eyes
and hate the horizon.
Belly and teeth run red
on a raw blood
spilled on the stones
and the opal bones
of other lost path seekers.
Domes and homes, doors open
welcome the wanderers
with feast and fast
after the long burn
Priests with spectacles
that do not help them see
and nuns with suns round
pinched so their ears are sealed
scan like vultures for new meat.
Mouths sealed with lye
can not nourish bone-dry barrows
but can hum, oh yes, hum “Hallelujah”.
Black call of the bird
at the end of their fill
warns us to race wild
to the woods and the forests
to tuck into the caves
until we know our new ways.
Dark shadows creep
on the fire’s scrawl
that does no more
than warm us and reflect
off the pin pricked skies
far down tunnels of time.
This is a trick,
to see if we dare return
this dried meat
to the light of day.
Author notes
Native American. Dry Meat is still raw.
Written April 17th, 2006
In a list
- Bronze poetry • next in list
- the Nature Of Things • next in list
- Native American Voice • next in list
A contest entry
- Raw by MuddyKing.
300 points, ended April 25, 2006, 5 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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A facinating poem, I followed the link from one of your contests(Gibran), and was so impressed with what you have achieved. There is so little time and so much poetry on this site, it is impossible to do you justice. but I have read this poem and enjoyed it immensly
thankyou
David
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Thank you so much, Muddy.
Ever the trickster, the coyote can be many things. I compare the trickster coyote to the early nuns and priests who tricked our people. the Raven is a predator of dear dead things, but also leads our hunters to moose, knowing there is a feast in it for them as well. I played with Plato's Cave with this one as well.
Dry meat is well-cured, naturally-cured...playing with healing and the ability to last longer. I realize there was a lot in this poem, but I love how it feels to me...the messages my soul tells me.
I do appreciate your belief in this poem.
Carol. -
I am surprised and pleased by your entry. You took me on a ride of the unknown. This is so very creative and still in the limits of the contest
Excellent
Peace Muddy -
You win duh prize...wait, what is dah prize..oh, I know....hugs!
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I'm hearing the tale of Native children under the rule of Ministers and Nuns in the early days of transitions.Forced religion of the whites upon Indian cultures.Hope I've interprated this right.Otherwise I must appear pretty foolish,and if so.I apologize.~~Suseann
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