Tsa-la-gi-ti-a-ye-li

Trail of Tears

by Roubideaux

Amazing grace the sound that killed us all
left us w/ nothin waitin for God to call
and as we walked in the valley of death
we sacraficed life it self for self respect
and the man on a horse came by
just to check if ne1 else had died
and we lived 1 of americas greatest fears
as we walked down the Trail of Tears! Additional Info
Comments

Our People, Our Pride, Our Cherokee Nation

by Justin Elliott on Aug 27

Cherokee people,
Cherokee pride.
So proud to live,
So proud to die.

We Cherokee will never
Forget The Trail of Tears.
That trail runs through us all,
Runs through us till the day we die.

We pray to The Great Spirit
To watch over us all.
For he knows the trails we walk
And will guide our footsteps gently.

We pray The Great spirit will
Lead us back to our lands.
We pray that what was taken
From us will be returned once again.

We will build our nation stronger,
Stand tall and give our all.
For We are Cherokee,
The proudest nation of them all.

Cherokee people,
Cherokee pride.
So proud to live,
So proud to die.

If you would like to read more of Justin's poetry you can view it at www.allpoetry.com/dragon%20heart

Cherokee Tribe

by Tammy Knott on Jul 12

The Cherokee Nation it
is my tribe
once so grand now
we all cry.

The trail of tears it
was our fate
because of white man
all did they take.

But the Cherokee Nation
we are strong
We will rise again
One nation lives long.

We Cherokee will fight
and make our stand
to recover our heritage
and take back our land!

Blessings To You My Brother

by La Belle Rouge on Jul 13 (Contest-Poem)

This was an entry for the contest

Fields of Barley (CONTEST) [Contest] by Red Red Rose
Posted on Jul 12. Categories: Nature, Society, Spiritual.
400 points. Ending on Jul 24 (Open)

Honor to those of American Indian Descent!
(next in contest)

In loving honor of My Cherokee Ancestors
who loved and respected all of nature

Blessings To You My Brother
By La Belle Rouge

blessings to you brother deer
may your spirit find
a new forest of beauty to wander
blessings to you for the hide
that clothes my little ones
keeps us warm in winter storms
and covers us in our dream journeys

blessings to you brother deer
for the flesh that fills our bellies
and our hearts with gladness
blessings for the bones
we shape into tools and weapons
and antlers that make our heads fearsome
may your spirit rejoice among the trees

may he lift up his eyes and find
peace and safety for all time
you are not as others
who call themselves our brothers
who take from us and never give
who cruelly take our lives
and leave no blessing behind

(c) 7/13/2006 La Belle Rouge

I'm Not Indian, I Am Cherokee: by Sherry D. Honeycutt

by Eyes Of Rain on Jul 17
.

This was an entry for the contest

Fields of Barley (CONTEST) [Contest] by Red Red Rose
Posted on Jul 12. Categories: Nature, Society, Spiritual.
400 points. Ending 3 days from now (Open)

Honor to those of American Indian Descent!

I'm Not Indian, I Am Cherokee

Dark storm clouds come across my eyes,
when you address me that way.
I will be correcting that problem right now,
you will heed the words I say.

Once upon a time our tribal nation was strong,
back before the white man came.
White man told us many lies to gain our trust,
then took everything but our name.

White man almost killed off all the buffalo,
trying to starve us off our land.
After many moons we were forced to move,
just like your kind had planned.

Soon the white man had stolen all of our land,
my people left behind a trail of tears.
White man killed off my ancestors sacred ways,
we're living on reservations in fear.

White man, haven't you already taken enough?
I want back some of my dignity.
You will no longer address me as 'hey, indian',
'I'm not Indian, I am Cherokee.'

Author's Questions/Comments
I am registered with the Cherokee Nation, and am 1/4 Cherokee. Many of my ancestors walked the trail of tears, many of them died on that trail.

My great-grandmother was full-blooded Cherokee, I vauguely remember her, as I was only about 8 or 9 when she passed. What I do remember is that her name was White Dove, and that she was tall, slender, and even at over 100 years old, her hair was still waist long, and jet black.
She wore it in a long braid, then would pin the braid up on top of her head, I called her, 'Big granny, with a knot in her hair', when I was a child. She would sit in her rocking chair and read to me.
I only saw her mad once, and that was also the only time I recall her ever raising her voice too, and it was when someone in her complexes parking lot yelled at her saying, 'Hey, you. Hey, Indian.'
Her face got a cold, hard look I'd never seen before, and she turned and walked over to the man, got right in his face, looked him in the eye, and with a voice that sounded like thunder to me, she said, 'I'm not indian, I am Cherokee.' Then she walked back to me, took my hand, and led me away. She held her head high the entire time, and I even caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips, and in her eyes as we walked away, and I remember thinking how proud and brave and beautiful she was, and at that time, she was 103 or 104.
She passed away, at 110 years of age, just two months short of her 111th birthday.

This poem is dedicated to, and in rememberance of her.
My big granny with a knot in her hair, White Dove, Cherokee.
I love and miss you big granny.
~Eyes of Rain~

(Eyes of Rain, is my Cherokee name, and that is what my big granny always called me. I have changed my username here at AP to Eyes Of Rain too, so it will always be a reflection of my pride in my heritage. I'd like to thank my sister Linda (Red Red Rose)for suggesting the idea and it is at her prompt that I decided to change it. Thank you Linda )

The History of Native American Indians"

The History of Native American Indians

Long ago when the land was free and the buffalo could roam.

There were many tribes!

It was the Seven Nations.

The elders would sit by the roaring fires.

The Children’s would roam the Ground-playing Warriors that someday hope to be.

The squaws would do the chores of the daily routine.

Making Meals and tanning hides to soon Make clothes or shelter for the teepee.

The Boiling of water in the stomach of a buffalo.

The horn for drinking.

The brains of the buffalo make tasty meals.

The berries that were pick fresh that morning.

Pummice cakes and Mush.

The chiefs and elders smoking the peace pipe to mediate into the day.

The warriors playing on the horses showing all the tricks they learn.

The night come soon, It is time to build a fire in the middle of the campground.

Sitting in a large circle many will be there. Woman running everywhere to make sure the foods is plenty to feed the hungry crowd.

The praying and Chanting and most the dances.

All till partake the ceremonies.

The wolf howl in the back ground.

The buffalo snorts and running to let everyone know there are there.

With the piles of woods to make it roar loud. The hissing of the fire making it pops and pings into the night.

The circle of smoke flutter into a single line.

Then it goes up and up and then disappear.

The children fall asleep in the parent’s laps.

While the warriors and chief tell the story of the day.

The shaman will come out and tell the tribes of the vision he saw that day. And then many will go to the sweat lodge and mediate and keep the evil away.

Rock piles in a circle to burn the woods mix with sage, clover and sweet grass. Cedar chips and dung will burn to make the body pure and fresh.

Then they will run to the water of the river near by.

Plunge in and clean the sweat from the body.

They will glisten like diamond when the moon light their bodies still wet.

They will pray and chant and then go to theirs teepee and sleep for a bit.

For the first crack of dawn they will be gone.

To hunt foods and horses to take the old one and the young.

To the new camp ground for the winter.

Many will follow and some will die before the camp is settle.

For those they loose new born will follow.

The celebration of a new birth will begin.

For the father will be honor of his first born.

The Tribes of the seven nations.

Each one has special ceremonies they do.

For now it is time for us to teach again the way of life.

For Phoenix Rising has began.

The great bird will enter the land from the womb of Mother Earth.

Many white people will be doomed for life.

There will be many fires and flood everywhere.

But the Seven nations know where the safe place to hide while the Mother Earth makes room for the tribes to be safe.

Seven Nations will rise.

The land will be our again.

For the lands is freedom for the Indians to roam again.

The buffalo will roan and hunt.

The wolf will stay close to the camp,

To warn the camp of intruder that don’t belong there.

My Brothers and sisters.

For our lands will be ours again soon.

Written byMorningstar is Sparrowhawk speak Sunrise walk with Bear.

Also : Sondra Sue kelly -Stanford