|
|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
OKLAHOMA, by DAISY LEMON COLDIRON First Line: A hungry kiowa Last Line: It is -- oklahoma! Subject(s): Native Americans; Oklahoma; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America | |||
A hungry Kiowa And one lone buffalo, Inseparably yoked together, Retreating over a jack-oak hill Into the sunset: Seas of tossing horns, Seething, milling feet, Crooning voices of cowboys Ridin' herd for the Bar L -- Fretting the Trail: Dark boomer figures creeping -- "This time we go to stay!" Converging of the Riders! Stars look down on bannered stakes Of Destiny. What is Oklahoma? Cities stacked against the sky? Or a lonely shack in the paseo of the winds? Cattle serenely grazing on a thousand hills, Or a tumble bug busily pushing his ball of dung In the dust of the trail? The redbuds' crimson scarf flung out along the wind Or a cracked pot of petunias abloom in the window Of the blackest of "God's chillun"? Is it these cities of steel derricks where men trade God for gold, Or the universal "pay sand" that lies deep In the eyes of love? Are these things Oklahoma? No, Oklahoma is the distilled essence Of the Red Men's glory and travail, The thunder of the buffalo And the mute tragedy of his bleaching bones; The concordant symphonies that rise out of the kinship of struggle, Orchestrated by the divine right to grow; The surge of the multitudinous voices that swell The dynamic heart of a young Commonwealth; The firmamental silences that bathe the Pleiades And flow mellifluously around the throne of God. It is the lonely howl of a grey-wolf Across the pensive prairie moon; The sudden pain of beating wings against the blackness Of the far horizon; It is a girl at the well curb as the dawn breaks over The primitive plains in the spring And the mysteries of another Dawn whisper In her crescent soul: It is a barefoot boy at the gates of Life Unshapen worlds in his hands And a question mark in his eyes. It is the music of unborn feet beating a pathway Down the years to meet the silence Of eternity. It is something invisible, Like the luminous wings of a dream, Something sweetly wild and lonely -- Though sometimes sad beyond compare! It is -- it is the Burning Bush Of the mystic Unknown -- It is -- Oklahoma! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT SCHOLARLY PROCEDURE by JOSEPHINE MILES ONE LAST DRAW OF THE PIPE by PAUL MULDOON THE INDIANS ON ALCATRAZ by PAUL MULDOON PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH THEY ACCUSE ME OF NOT TALKING by HAYDEN CARRUTH AMERICAN INDIAN ART: FORM AND TRADITION by DIANE DI PRIMA DUST-BOWL by DAISY LEMON COLDIRON |
| |