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Soft Petals of Poetry by Ruthie
The Zuni Warrior Rides The train
The Zuni Warrior rides the train
Up to Albuquerque and back again
Gets on at the Gallup station
Teaches in the observation car about the Indian nations
He has a most beautiful Native American wooden flute, of haunting echoing sounds
A beautiful instrument that carries the notes all around
It speaks of a different time and day
Of the Indian beliefs and the Indian way
It plays a sad and woeful sounding
Then the notes return in joyful rebounding
He stands by the wall in Alburquerque station
Plays each note in reverent oblation
O Zuni Warrior you were born for a different time
To fight with music and enlighten the blind
To speak of the hope of the Indian Nations
As you play your music at the Albuquerque station
Oh Zuni warrior as you stand so straight and tall
Playing your music by station wall
Every note filters through the air
To equal your music there is none to compare
Poetry By Ruthie, July 2003, ©®
©® Poetry By Ruthie
The Zuni American Indians live in New Mexico
In May I took a trip to Kentucky to visit my sister.
the first part of the trip to Chicago.
We rode the Southwest Chief, I was so impressed with the music, of the Zuni Warrior as I call him
I was inspired to write this poem for him.
The Poem of the Cheyenne and Crow!
(A prophecy)
God is longing to bless the native Americans!
Just as a Mother chicken longs to gather,
her baby chicks under her wings.
God longs to gather you His precious ones.
My children I have seen the oppression of your people.
I have heard the cries of your longing souls,
I saw you when you were hungry.
I saw you when you were homeless, and driven across the land.
I am bringing my people the Indians,
into great places of glory and leadership,
No longer will you be called the tail,
for you are indeed the head.
I have seen your wounded broken lives and hearts.
By my Spirit I am pouring the Holy Oil,
of my Great Spirit out upon my people.
The American Indians of every tribe and tongue.
You have said in your heart that I am the white mans
God.
No! No!
My people I am your God also!
I love you with a true everlasting love.
It has not entered your hearts or minds,
the things I have prepared for you.
My beautiful people of every tribe and tongue!
Here nestled at the foot of the Big Horn Mountain
Is where I came to seek a quiet refuge
A place not far that once knew hatred, between the red man and white.
A place where Custer took his last stand, at the Battle of the Little Big Horn!
Seems I hear the souls of the dearly departed.
Calling to me from the wind blowing in the tops of the trees.
The Indian the White the innocent of the land.
Crying out!
Who will speak for us the innocent of the land?
The women the children and ancient of man?
Custer drove us further into the wilderness.
We are hungry and frightened and so far from home.
Our women our children, our ancient ones, we buried along the road.
Then you placed us on this God forsaken land.
Side by side with our enemies the crow.
Time has its way of healing each hurt.
But who can grow anything, in this godforsaken dirt?
Custer paid with his life when he took his last stand.
As did every man, women, and child who; fell under the curse of his command.
This beautiful peaceful serene valley to which I came.
Once was the battlefield of the innocent and slain.
Now these are gentler and kinder times don’t you know?
Cheyenne and Crow fighting in the courts; for what they do not control.
They say along the prairies, the valleys, the mountains too.
Where each drop of blood fell is; where the Indian paintbrush grew.
I don’t know if it is the exact legend, but I think it must be true.
A beautiful red flower, I used to pick for my Mother.
A prettier flower I have found no other.
Then when I was small the legend I never knew.
I called it the little peace flower, for the blood Jesus shed for me and
you. The Cheyenne, the Crow, and the white man too.
Yes! These are gentler and kinder times.
God rains down His blessings of His love on you.
The Cheyenne, the Crow, and the white man too.
Peace to you my brethren!
The Cheyenne and the Crow.
From one white woman God sent to honor you!
Poetry by Ruthie, 2000 ©®
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GENTLE HEART MINISTRIES
