Clemency (for Leonard Peltier)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN JUSTICE

Clemency (for Leonard Peltier)

 

Half a century behind bars

For crimes he did not commit

Fifty years proclaiming injustice

Five decades of taking the hit

For the crime of not being sorry

That the FBI agents were dead

For surviving the deadly shootout

That the FBI agents led

 

Way back in the year of seventy-three

On the Pine Ridge Reservation

At a place called Wounded Knee

In the heart of the Oglala nation

The American Indian Movement

Planted a staff and laid their claim

To justice the Indian way

 

For seventy* days they held their ground

Seventy days to the nation’s shame

Two warriors of AIM lost their lives

Though few can remember their names**

They remember the name of Leonard Peltier

For he alone took the blame

For the shooting of agents Coler and Williams

For the killing of both the same

 

Peltier was not at Wounded Knee

But he was chosen to pay the price

A person of native bloodline

Had to make that sacrifice

 

There is no justice in America

As long as Leonard Peltier is held

For the crimes of someone unknown

Half a century spent in hell

 

* seventy-one

** Frank Clearwater & Buddy Lamont

Death Songs

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

 

Death Songs

 

The Lakota, Cheyenne and Navajo

All sing their songs of death

At the hour of the reckoning

To welcome eternal rest

 

Big Foot sang at Wounded Knee

Frozen on the barren land

Black Kettle sang at Sand Creek

Where he made his final stand

 

As the sun sets on our varied lives

We seek a vision that will please

As basic as the call to prayer

That bends us to our knees

 

Dickinson sang her song of death

Praising nature and painting dreams

Freud sang his song of death

Its final notes neither heard nor seen

Mozart sang his requiem

Until it placed him in his grave

All the earthly saints sang prayers

One last soul to save

Whitman at the appointed hour

Sang of self and lovely flowers

Yeats sang of lovers lost

A lament of such a woeful cost

 

We sing our songs of soulful sorrow

Uncertain what will be tomorrow

But on the hour of our last day

We yield to bow our heads and pray

We sing of things we might have done

Battles lost and battles won

We dive into the deep unknown

Not knowing whether we have grown

Enough to make it right

We sing so long, farewell, goodnight

 

LAKOTA MEMORIAL DAY: Remember Wounded Knee!

RANDOM JACK: WOUNDED KNEE MEMORIAL

LAKOTA MEMORIAL DAY

The 129^th Anniversary of Wounded Knee

December 29, 1890

One hundred and twenty nine years ago today, the Seventh Calvary of the United States Army opened fire on an encampment of disarmed Lakota men, women and children.  Employing the infamous Hotchkiss guns – guns that fire many bullets – they killed over 250 Lakota.  Their crime was daring to dance the forbidden Ghost Dance. 

For a hundred years the massacre was christened by the American government:  The Battle of Wounded Knee. 

Twenty-five soldiers died in the massacre and twenty were awarded the Medal of Honor.  No man and no woman of honor should ever again accept that medal until those awarded to the Wounded Knee soldiers are rescinded.  Further, the government should declare December 29^th Wounded Knee Memorial Day. 

In honor of the Ghost Dancers buried at Wounded Knee: 

NOT AT WOUNDED KNEE

In the land of the Lakota long ago

Deep in the winter of the frozen earth

The people gathered in circles

Hand in hand line after line

To dance the dance of the ancestors

I was not in the lines of dancers

I did not sing the sacred words

My spirit did not rise above the land

To look down upon this scene

I did not see the soldiers circle the camp

I did not hear the order to disarm

I did not see them mount their guns

That shower bullets

I did not hear the cry of mothers

I did not hear the thunder

I did not smell the cloud of smoke

I did not see them fall

I was not there to give my blood

My heart did not explode

My body was not pounded by bullets

Nor pierced by bayonets

I did not die at Wounded Knee

I was not buried in a common grave

But I have walked those hallowed grounds

I have mourned and shed my tears

And I have said my prayer aloud

And I have heard the buried dead

And I am sworn to heed their plea

Remember Wounded Knee

From Wasichu: The Killing Spirit: 

Wo Lakota!

How can I explain the sorrow of Wounded Knee? 

My heart has been pierced by a thousand arrows

My spirit is broken and my soul is in flames

The sorrow runs through me like a mother’s pain

And my tears flow like rivers

But it is not for the right reason

Here lies Big Foot in his dance of death

Here lie the Ghost Dancers

The followers of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull

The keepers of the faith

Here on this sacred hill

I should have no thoughts but this:

The Ghost Dance survives!

Instead the thought that will not leave me

Is this:  It should not be this way

Here on Memorial Hill at the head of the table

Where the father should be

There is a place of worship bearing the sign: 

Sacred Heart Church

So the church of the Black Robes

Lays claim to this most sacred ground

Wo Lakota!  It should not be this way!

[Sacred Lands to Native Peoples!  Free Leonard Peltier!]

Jazz.