Guest Native Poet

I am very happy and proud to introduce a new and very talented Native American Poet to my site, Robyn Elaine Roberts. Her poetry is captivating as well as inspiring.

For all who honor and defend those people who still seek to live in the wisdom of the Indian way.

-Peter Matthiessen, 1980 -

Native Drumming.

By Robyn Elaine Roberts

Native drumming, lone wolf cries

Moonless night and blackened skies

Wind moving slowly as scents trail by

Smoke, fear, and tragedy carried up high.

Water ripples as horses pass through

Hoofbeats as heartbeats, a match to a shoe

Lightning flashes on distant dry plains

We wait for the rhythm of thundering rains.

Native drumming, more wolves will cry

Beyond this battlefield what is left of the sky

Ends in darkness while fading in light

The soldiers that lie here will no longer fight.

Shadows running on a shuddering wind

Just the ghosts of those who have sinned

Against the Spirit, against these Hills

Once Black and now painted with blood from the kills.

Native drumming, no wolves to reply.

All is gone but the echo of why.

Lost Soul at Wounded Knee.

By Robyn Elaine Roberts

In the beginning I would walk over the land

Tavibo prophet, Wovoka held my hand.

By all accounts I never tired

Steady marcher of the Ghost Dance.

Wading through the bloodied snow

Looking to the sky

No one descended from above

Or ascended from on high.

In mountains I find no shelter now

I have no food to eat.

Shaking cold and foundered feet

All buried in the deep.

Following the Last Buffalo across the Plain

In hopes She will lead me home

Searching for the souls of those who went beyond

On a good winter day alone.

To feel such fear and to know such pain

Beyond all dignity

The sun was shining the day I danced

Moving sideways through the rain.

Standing in the Breath of Horses.

By Robyn Elaine Roberts

Ribbons of steam flowing from nostrils

Muzzles glisten with quills of ice

Crystal on velvet.

To stand so still, to wait so reverently

In cold beyond compare

Trusting in the smell of morning air

Believing with faith in the gospel of time

To begin each day again.

Behind the clouds the sun is there

Lifting toward the grey veiled sky.

Near the bodies, beside the hooves

A dog idles and sighs

Standing, waiting, watching

In the Breath of Horses

In the latter days of winter

In this season of the Ides.

Six ears pointed toward the east.

Two lay flat beneath.

Upon the hill all eyes will stare

A horizon out of reach.

Standing in the breath of horses

Warm then cold then warm

The dog will turn to move along

To hunt for spring to bring the dawn.

All poems on this page are property of author Robyn Elaine Roberts, they cannot be used without her written consent. If you wish to comment or contact her you may reach her by e-mail:

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