By Ivor
Once upon a time in a world,
Perfect for those who lived there,
And for those who didn’t,
They wanted, wanted badly, and went to genocide,
All those who lived there already.
This spells disaster,
Anyway you look,
And this?
This is the story of that conflict.
The conflict of Europeans and Taino.
I was wading through the water kissing the sand of the beach,
looking for shellfish,
When the wing ships came.
I hurried to get this tidbit of information to,
The Caquique,
The leader,
Of my humble people.
We went to greet these flying boats from the clouds,
With their fluffy white wings,
And many, many strange beings,
like us,
But not us.
We traded spears and shells,
And gained clothes that flopped over your head.
They showed us strips of metal with points,
They let us touch them,
And when we cut our hands on it?
They laughed,
And continued to let us touch it.
One thing was made clear that night,
And it was that the Not-Men,
Wanted for gold,
More gold than we have,
When we tried to tell this,
Their leader seemed enraged.
The Not-Men retreated to their wing ships,
And let us alone for some few days.
But those days of peace were waning,
When the creatures we had treated as humans,
They kidnapped 7 of our women and even 3 of our children.
in the baby canoes birthed by the wing ships,
They took them into the belly of those monstrous canoes with wings,
And flew into the sky at the horizon just as they disappeared from sight.
Much grief and heartbreak was abounding in my village,
So when the ships of the Not-Men appeared once more,
in far greater number, we extended our hands in friendship once more,
But this time,
They didn’t even acknowledge it.
They just took some 16 hundred of our friends and family,
To spirit them away too.
And for every other,
We were forced to find a cup of gold every month,
in gold poor lands and waters.
As the 100s of us,
Couldn't all find enough of the metal,
We learned of the punishment for disobeyment,
The dismemberment of our hands,
Hangings,
Bleeding to death from the stumps of our wrists.
Some tried to resist, and some won,
But we remained in a pitiful state,
Saved by Enrique,
Who stopped the system of our enslavement.
But of the few who weren’t spirited into the kingdom of the Not-Men,
Were weak and desperate.
For a people who just 10 winters past,
Numbered in the millions,
Now numbering in the hundreds,
My people… Our people…
All killed or enslaved by the man,
We know now was named,
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
Sestina
By Anonymous
As I walk, my footfalls echo on dry leaves
Fallen from the barren trees
The autumn sun
Shines in the sky
Nearly obscured by the fluffy clouds
As I take a walk this evening
The sunset illuminates the evening
Bright colors reflecting off of wet leaves
Pink streaks of beautiful clouds
Covered by the empty skeletons of barren trees
Colors filling the sky
Reflecting off the setting sun
A heavy orange sun
Suspended on the horizon on this autumn evening
The colors paint the sky
Behind falling leaves
Dangling from the trees
The sky fills with clouds
Covering the last of the sun
Light rain sparkling on the trees
Like jewels in the evening
Water coats the fallen leaves
Reflecting the darkening sky
Bright stars twinkle in the sky
Slightly obscured by wispy clouds
Reflecting off the shiny leaves
All light has faded from the sleeping sun
As the glow of the moon lights up the evening
Through the clawing branches of a tree
Tapping on my window are the branches of a tree
Clawing at the starry sky
As I look out my window into the evening
A beautiful picture, framed by clouds
Once turned orange by the sun
The same color as the fallen leaves.
As trees sway outside my window, trapping clouds
Covering the sky, empty of the sunken sun
The evening light long faded, with inky blackness reflecting off the leaves
By Auryn Voss
Peruse the walking lines of despairing
Gently tap at tear ducts overflowing
Voices croaked with despondent declaring
The pain of self aware mind and knowing
Words of she who promised me peaceful rest
Who whispered such falsehood upon my ears
And though I stomp upon my tearful test,
Still she may declare me her merry cheers
I know not of her all knowing weary
Whittled down to her glowing golden gem bone
My self aware mind despairing dreary
Born of lies seeded at the almighty throne
Yet still she cries my tears as if fresh blood
And soaks the throne in lies and winters flood
By Ted Rose
After coming up from a long rest I saw much snow.
However sparsely populated, there were still tracks,
Tracks of an animal of some sort, I’m not sure what.
There is still some snow yet to be trod on.
However, all this white would melt before you got a chance
To trod on it all. It comes and goes.
It’s all art.
The spots there are can be so far apart.
By Ted Rose
Night. It is all silent.
I am looking out my window
Where the whole of the other world seems asleep.
The only other soul awake is a cat.
I am aware of it as it is aware of me.
That grace, that skill,
All that power in something so small,
Probably a killer but I don’t care.
Still, it’s a rare experience
Looking out the window on a cozy winter night
A tint of black in all that snow.
A cat in the moonlight.
Haiku
By Ted Rose
I see the outside:
Snow falling through the window.
Warm by the fire.
Red Sky at Morning
(red sky at morning, sailors take warning, red sky at night, sailor’s delight) (This is a two-voice poem)
By Lucy Rogoway
I walk towards the dawn sky
I sit and watch the seagulls fly
Their cries a never-ending ring
Not knowing what the day will bring
My father is out at sea
On big canoes, don’t know what will be
Mother is waiting, waiting for news
I wish I knew, I didn’t choose
A canoe, so unlike our own
Sails alone, towards our home
Men are on it, sailing with grace
They come to this land, this home, this place
King and Queen speak today
Their faces grim, cold and gray
They have no word from Columbus yet
And in the towns, old men make bets
They talk to us, their faces cold
Wanting something, call it gold
Place a cross deep in the sand
Don’t forget it’s not their land
Twelve ships return this week
Their supply of gold is meek
Instead, they bring people here
A hundred or more, faces filled with fear
Hands as pale as seagull wings
Offer us caps, and useless things
Holding out a silver stick
Hands go red with blood, a trick
Now I just want Father back
But against us, the odds are stacked
Voyagers say that they’re cruel men
I wish I didn’t think that then
Tell me to go back with them
I say no, they aren’t good men
My mother cries
As my father dies
Why won’t they just leave?
When my final words are out
Pale men spear me, and they shout
Where did peace and bright skies go?
I wish you’d tell me, I do not know
Columbus returns, my father is dead
Killed in an uprising, Columbus said
He never completed his mission, no
I’m really glad he didn’t, though
Strangers walk towards the dawn sky
They sit and watch the seagulls fly
Their cries a never-ending ring
They decide what the day will bring