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Sky Drum

by Oliver Loveday

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1.
Sky Drum 02:12
Sky Drum There is thunder here The wind smokes of rain There is a storm brewing in the mountains. The tension is released. Somewhere in the white sky the clouds are getting closer. These blues don't care no more. Somewhere in a pilgrim's pain the heart grows a little fuller. The Path was worth the shoe leather. Some days the fog hangs too close to the fire and the sun spends half the morning burning off the night mists. Those days are a little easier when a friend offers a hug and a smile and says, "It sure is good to have you around." Let's say a prayer for our pilgrims. May they find warm shelter from their storms. Let's sing a song for the Thunder. May the Sky Drum clear our thoughts once again. Ho! Oliver Loveday © 11/6/86/4pmEST
2.
Give me back my religion Look at these rocks They can tell you a story Look at those clouds There's a song I sing to them Look at the Deer over there They know what I'm thinking They come around to see how I'm doing These dreams I'm holding You can call them a painting These visions I've worked They're just pieces of wood There are all kinds of words to explain what this means But until I can dance This is the song that I sing Give me back my religion It’s the only way that I can be a warrior Give me back my religion It's as much a part of me as the air I breathe Give me back my religion It's not something you can buy or sell Give me back my religion It's the path I walk in this crazy world I walk to the mountain top and smoke some tobacco I sing a song and say a prayer I go down to the river and ask a question I come back home and sit for a while I work at my paintings, carve some wood I weld some metal and drum sometimes I keep a garden in the summer and have a wood fire for warmth in the winter This simple life doesn't cost a lot I drive an old pick-up truck I wear blue jeans most of the time No, I don't have a lot of money, but I got something money can't buy I got the hummingbird in the summer I got the crow in the autumn I got that ol' hoot owl in the winter I got a red tailed hawk in the spring They come and sing to me I hear their music every day That is something money can't buy This is my religion: I use feathers when I pray This is my religion: I offer smoke with my prayers This is my religion: I see the Great Mystery in everything This is my religion: I dance while I still can Ho! Oliver Loveday © 7/14/88/2amEDT
3.
A Circle of Wings At Sand Creek the women opened up their blouses to show The soldiers their breasts, to show they were women. They were killed anyway. There was a time we were happy. The people knew happiness. The children ran in the meadows amongst the flowers And butterflies. The women sang while they worked. The men prayed before they hunted. Then the darkness filled the air with fear. They cut off our wings. They cut out our throats of music. They broke the pots of clay that contained our cosmos. They burnt and trampled our baskets woven with the symbols Of the spirit world. They cut out our eyes of vision. They cut off our open hands that held no weapon of malice. They cut off our feet that ran and danced in freedom. They filled the skies with choking smoke. They cut down the trees. They filled the streams with poison. They killed the buffalo. They broke open the earth to remove the bones of our mother. They sucked the oil out of her breast. They killed the salmon and whale we sang to for life. They cut off our wings and caged us. At Sand Creek the women in a shallow gorge sent out a young girl Toward the soldiers with white cloth on a stick. The soldiers shot the child and then rode over her body as they Moved closer to kill the women. We are growing new wings. We are remembering our songs and prayers. We are seeking new visions for the people. We are dancing and running. Our baskets and pottery contain new dreams. Now we know when to show our hands empty and when to leave them unemptied. Our wings are in a circle. Hold the hands of those beside you. Join the circle and celebrate freedom. Raise up your voices and sing the songs the star nations have given us. Raise up your wings and embrace vision. Now is the time to stand strong together. We have survived. Tecumseh worked to keep the nations united. He traveled the country working to avoid the fragmentation of the People against the wave of fear. His work will continue until the people stand in a circle again. He was known to always wear a headband of red and blue cloth. The buffalo are returning. The star nations are removing the fear from the air. Our wings have new feathers. Ay-eee-yah! A circle is forming. Ho! Oliver Loveday © 12/11/92/3pmEST
4.
Down at the Compound The fire is down to embers The sun is already behind the ridge The hills are quiet with winter Hunters in their four-wheel drive trucks and high-powered rifles have all killed for sport and gone home. Leaving behind a trail of beer cans, wounded deer who went to die a quarter mile from where they were hit, the carcasses of deer thrown by the side of the road, (head missing, work for the taxidermist). Down at the compound the soldiers give the Cherokee flour and lard to live on Another hunting season has come and gone. Now it is time for Holly and Spice. Eggnog and drunk driving fatalities. These hills slumber in winter with memories of the sporting war. Come spring the honeysuckle will cover the beer cans. Doe will suckle new fawns. Down at the compound the soldiers give the young women whiskey if they will dance naked for them whiskey so they will fall down drunk so the soldiers can rape them Mountain mint is dried for tea Colt's foot is put up for cold remedies "Rat's vein" for kidney problems Sassafras root for arthritis The Medicine Plants the Earth provides for us while in Washington, D.C. Congress works on bills to make it illegal to sell these plants. Down at the compound The only thing you can make with flour and lard is fry bread After a few days everyone gets the runs. The Pow-Wow came to town. Everyone went to see the Indians dance and eat fry bread. Down at the compound there was no shelter and just a pit in the corner The soldiers laugh at us when we have to go. You say to me, "If you are an Indian "Where is your war bonnet and peace pipe? "If you are an Indian lets see you dance like they did in front of our hotel in Santa Fe." Down at the compound the women all make a circle and hold out their skirts so the soldiers can't see the women needing to go I was born in Knoxville, Tennessee in a hospital on the banks of the Tennessee River and I grew up on a small farm. My father provided for his family by working in a factory. I have lived all my life in these mountains. I know their ways. Down at the compound the women cut the hair of those that dance and drink with the soldiers to try and make them less attractive To some I am a White Indian Because I am Cherokee Because I don't live on a Reservation Because I refuse to apply for a B.I.A. card Down at the compound the babies and the elderly die first they are buried in one corner of the compound by men too weak to dig very deep Disillusioned by the city life Many descendants of European immigrants are seeking out the Native Ways. Buying drums and sacred pipes. Learning songs from cassette tapes. Learning medicine from books written by anthropologist written by lawyers with no apologies. Down at the compound the women are allowed out to go to the creek for water. The soldiers rape some of them while they are away from the men. I am a prisoner of war in my own homeland These mountains are held prisoner also Barbed wire and legal deeded papers Plants that grow on the other side of the fence can't be gathered to help the people Deer that come when I am hungry can't be shot out of season Down at the compound It is winter and supplies of flour and lard are low Time to walk the survivors to Oklahoma. Creator put me here for a reason gave me a vision and a song I live in a world that respects someone by the amount of money that they earn Creator gave me a song I may not be much in this world but I will go into the next one singing. Down at the compound Spirits wait for their people to come home. Ho! Oliver Loveday © 12/8/93/4pmEST
5.
Song of the Turquoise Woman Across this space she sits quiet naked in a blue air with forgotten skin Orange and yellow flare in the Electra. These blue shades that color the sea. windows and twos, threes. the rocks hold back the pounding sea Ocean not as peaceful as its naming days and I Lost from these ancient hills stand in the wind and frozen sun stare against the tears of eyeballs ripped by the closing wind. I sing against the rush of waves and lost calls of sea gulls clashing around me. From some childhood vision I sang out these words. Evening prayers. and finished I turn to leave some city park that closes at sun down. The rush of all those memories of all those dreams of all those lessons ten thousand realities crash upon the beach of my mental silence my breath thick and drawn against the rush of too much conscience. O Turquoise Woman The Sun enters your home to sleep for the night. Hold the Sun, most mighty of stars, in your secret chamber of rest and release the Light Warrior in the morrow full and strong to continue to chase the darkness Into the Night. Ho! Oliver Loveday © 5/7/88/12:30amEDT
6.
ROAD DUST MEMORY Three fires in this dream and fire begets fire Riding in the soupy summer night. Cool air blowing freedom into the open window. Mind merges with machine and freedom sings up from wheels on the road. Teenaged and life beckons. Radio provides the sound track. An anthem. Some war, somewhere else, imposes itself on the drifting signal at the top of the hour as real as the draft blasting through the car window, an anxiety forgotten as quickly as it is felt. Another song, another smoke, an empty tank and the night grows old and tired. Tomorrow, dreams will mean nothing in the face of summer jobs and school boy desire. Suddenly, in Santa Fe, it all makes sense. Twenty years later, down by the Santa Fe River that only runs when the flood locks upstream spill the overflow. Thunder storms provide an excess of water and memory. The road isn't freedom, it is the path from one conflict to another. Going is the break that makes you. Getting there is the entire trip. Being there is some silence a road never gives. These four walls and a lover, somewhere else, some other time, and we all need love. Political songs about social change never make it on the radio anymore. Honey, that was just a phase we were all going through. Spiritual change is not very commercial. Best left to the ones in charge of St Peter, Paul and the Virgin Mary. We can't change the world so we may as well join it, buy a BMW or an Astro Van. Drink imports and wear a crystal. Forget the road and fly the threatened and threatening. Political change jingles to the tune of MegaBucks, MegaDeath, and a MegaWatt undercurrent hum. The ones in charge charge and if you can't pay then buy on time which is running out faster than you think, faster than you can dream. The road calls. Another town. Another coke machine at a gas station that closes at sundown. Fires Coil around the brain and burn all night. fires flicker like heat lightning fires that once burned along this river fires that remember this ancient song fires that remember ancient drums fires that danced through bitter tears The sun rises once more to send winds to scatter the ashes. Anger wells up like fires erupting from Earth. Old anger of wounds inflicted on young bodies that become invisible scars that cut deeper into the souls of the adults. Anger of unrequited love. Anger of love turned sour and worse. Legal maneuvers and false accusations that take the children away and take the youth out of the children. Anger that wakes us up in the morning and sings us to sleep each night until we awaken one day to a body of anger. Too cold and empty to feel anymore. and still the fires burn and the dancers honor the drum and history is passed on to those who still dream Each fire has its own song, its own breath. The fire keeper looks into it to find its current meaning. Fire leaves its mark as accurate as lightning. and seven sisters sing in the night The morning star completes the chorus. The last fire consumes its last piece of fuel. The turtle moves, as ancient as ice as ancient as fire. The chosen ones sing one last song and memory is satisfied. We know the ones who keep the spark for the next fire. We know the ones willing to die so the chosen ones may live. We know the ones killing those who serve the people. We know where we sit in this circle. The fire gives life to all in this circle. It sings a soft sweet song. It is telling me its song. Now I have written it down. Now the fire has told you who you are. Fires burn like distant thunder. HO! Oliver Loveday © 8/01/91/2pm EST Indianapolis, IN
7.
She walks in thunder amongst the cloaks of clouds Raindrops reveal the seeds she brings She smiles across the sky in radiant colors She sends messengers rolling through the valleys The clouds reflect the light of her music She dances with the wind The land is hard to touch People are pitted one against the other No one loves for the sake of honoring the heart It is hard to dream in this land New skyscrapers are ruins before they are built The children's bodies are a wasteland of drugs and violence Athlete's bodies are blown up with steroids The music is an abrasive mantra of destruction Video reality is an electronic bombardment against the screen Against the senses She smiles in radiant colors She walks across the land in harmony with the elements Flowers rise up to greet her Bees come out to eat her nectar Her music sings the children to sleep into dreams of living The guns are aimed at the children Guns bought with tax money paid to keep the land free Guns filled with electronic bullets to imprison the mind Guns filled with electronic sounds of fragmented addictions Guns filled with chemicals that fill the spirit with madness The guns come in many forms to destroy the children The guns are aimed at us We make the guns She walks with the thunder It drowns out the sound of guns She lifts up the flowers to drink of the rain Lightning crackles to block out the electronic blast Of radio signal She engulfs the wounded spirit of the children and leads them To the land of fertile dreams She kisses their tears with gentle rain The wasteland ponders the thunder Flowers grow in the dust made fertile with rain The wind plays a sweet song against the edge of naked steel The children sing while playing in the thistles The guns, needles, and televisions wilt into the rust of night Thunder The lightning flashes red beyond the buildings of madness She walks in beauty. HO! Oliver Loveday © July 17, 1992, 2:50pm EDT
8.
Spider Woman's Creation Process She casts her web across the abyss creating the atoms from energy Blocking together the molecules spinning them into the web information into the web across the network matter channels the wisdom of ages Spider Woman watches inside her hideout sensitive to every motion, every surge. She is telling me her story. a single strand blows freely in the wind. eighty feet long sunlight glints off its shiny surface. we are riding the cosmic winds into eternity. Hand me my spider mask. HO! Oliver Loveday 2/5/89/8pmEST
9.
Star Lightning Across these stars into the aeons of darkness dancing in the silence opening to the memories waking to the solar vision the star song sings against the stones singes and stews the silica alumna breath arises in waves magna and molten memories the frozen agate in sulfuric jazz Earth maps in the topography sheet music in the layers of sand The river runs here for a reason but I can't remember why the planets hang in the evening sky but don't point too quick the Eagle wants to look in silence wind against the skin star milk against the bones Radio waves blast the soul through ten thousand lives and next Tuesday, too. we use tea cups for telescopes poetry for star maps, me and my pen. shooting stars eclipses the dying embers Lightning never strikes the same nova twice. Ho! Oliver Loveday © 4/10/88/1amEDT
10.
These Angel Skies #3 These angel skies that wrap around me Dark rider amongst the turbulence Looking down on the twinkling lights of your sleepy prairie town, and I don't understand why you live that way. ::that dream of riding the thunder clouds from 15 years ago coming back in this wave of memories and I want to live live live These dreams that I travel on across the lengths of all my realities I sit around the fire and tell you dreams words cannot contain these words are thrown down along your path like hamburger wrappers from a fast food place I walk along the street strewn with litter Alienated by dreams and dignity from those I love Here, I have done a collage of found objects no, these are not my dreams, they are yours all that garbage along the Lost Highway isn't just mine I'm not the only one dreaming of Peace. Now I walk away now you walk behind me HO! Oliver Loveday © 6/12/88/3pmEDT
11.
The Freedom Fires We were the younger generation that revolted Hungry in the winds of war and racism Standing on the naked mountain devoid of trees Thirsty in the waters down stream from open pit mining wounds Now our children are the younger generation they study law they study accounting they study environmental science they go to Grateful Dead concerts they compose rap songs for social consciousnesses they embrace the freedom of choice for abortion and sexual orientation they learn the workings of a beast called HIV/AIDS The revolting wheels turn Our candles have turned into melted wax We are waiting for someone to hold a candle to their flame These freedom fires that burn deep into our souls Now a young man dies for freedom in Southern Mexico Now a young woman dies for freedom in Los Angeles What does it matter that we protested the killings at Kent State What does it matter that we protested the killings in Jackson What does it matter that we protested the killings at Wounded Knee What does it matter that we protested the killings in Tinamin Square Without a new generation to keep these Freedom Fires burning, it won't. We pass on this flame It is fueled by only one weapon one doesn't need guns one doesn't need bombs one doesn't need a tear-gas mask one only needs to speak the truth Ho! Oliver Loveday © 5/18/95/1:39pmEDT
12.
The Path to Beauty In silence we looked at the clear night sky seeking a view we could grasp In silence we looked into each other's eyes seeking a view we could grasp This unbearable lightness, descending we held tightly to that which we could touch This unbearable burden, rising within we released the walls from around our hearts This nefarious sense of knowing love and truth every flowing This transit existence of life how it quickens within Oliver Loveday © 12/15/99/1 am EST
13.
Bliss Dance 03:23
Bliss Dance There we were chanting Windows of paradox Outside numbers between lessons Shoes politely between music and fiber Muscle tone green We ate mangoes and sang O, see this in waves Mother lode of love Standing in the light Music in this minute night Blessings to the wings O, soundless spirit of time Yes We inch into our personal lives Shove the Sunday time zone Into careful mountain space Get up and walk Color the idea in groups of three Seven from eleven And dancing Teachers’ music in the clouds We stand on landscapes and dance Wonder in silence White Bird visions Full Moon Mud cries We stand between time and Holy Bliss Stand up and be saved Mountains across the eons Simple answer, the idea Smile Waves raise us up to further our wings Colors, centers, chakra We know 7 centers 144,000 outlets Dancing in the pale moonlight And we know Hey, aye Children dancing in the wind Blowing free and crazy Hair flowing in the wind Cells of exploding light fill the sky We chant O, Spirit. This energy Rising from my spine I bite deep Hold my memories Chakra karma digs We are three seven 144,000 and rising O Spirit, we bless you O Spirit, we praise you And chanting Yes, yes, yes, yes We are old Atlantis old Carnal age Forgetting to dance But dance, brother We are free Frenzy A-ho! Oliver Loveday © 1/12/81/12:30am EST
14.
Homage to Artaud I would not mess with your horizon. I would not eat your only landscape. The birds are listing in a vision. The whales are moving through a gulf. Dogs are penned up in my memory. Flames are marring my frantic signal. I would not crack beneath your awe. I would not explode beneath your awning. Oliver Loveday © 11/04/81
15.
The midnight chant This is the midnight chant, the midnight chant Dancing in the Full Moon Heat In the midnight heat We are chanting in the midnight light Chanting in the ethereal dream In the midnight, in the midnight We shall live again In the midnight This is the Saturday Night Hope Longing for some silence Longing for that freedom Running in the crazy light Chanting at some opening We are living in some dream Running with a vision Searching through a paradox In the midnight The midnight fire The heat of hope This is the running on the Earth In the skin, in the light Running with a vision Running with the animals Flying with the night birds Dreaming of some freedom Chanting in the Earth Music And flying with a nighthawk This is a dream of the past Chanting toward the future Lying in the sand Running through the portal With the midnight Because the night Because the night The night holds us in her freedom Chanting in the wind Blowing out our madness Stretching out our vision Living in our wings Going for the future In the midnight, in a quiet light This is the white light Our vision of some freedom Chanting with all the animals Running on the Earth Circling the midnight Circling the freedom of the night We chant A-ho! Oliver Loveday © 07/09/81/12:30pm EDT
16.
The Unbearable Lightness of Vision She was standing in the rain Crying and singing songs against this pain She was dancing in this terrible wind Like a butterfly that just took the form of a woman With thunder in her voice and lightning in her eyes She was giving this world all her love. (She said, "All your poems are sad." She never wrote a poem. She never tried to survive as an artist. Against the storms the vision comes in and lends beauty to this life. Sadness is part of all this. Some of us are privileged in life and some by death. The moment arrives when the dancer lays down her body in the storm and makes way for the next dancer. Beauty isn't just in the work but in the working.) Inside this pebble of rain I see her dancing on the mountain. She stands as an anthem of beauty and sorrow. Her hair is a portrait of the wind. Her spirit is a song that has been let out of its cultural prison. She stands inside this wind and dreams a world beyond all the sadness left behind her. The rain embraces her body and leaves her pure before the sky. Milk is the fruit of birth. Beauty is the fruit of seeing beyond all this suffering. Her skies are filled with clouds, sunshine, moon glow, star milk, and wings. Ho! Oliver Loveday © 4/12/93/1pmEST
17.
This Invisible Air That We Carry Sometimes there are too many feelings to feel all at once Put the hard ones aside for now and let the past fade Like a photograph we won't remember soon enough Keep functional and keep smiling like we're okay We were never okay but that's better left unsaid It's best to use language that the audience understands It would help if there was an audience to talk to Erasure happens when honesty humanizes reality Keeping up the goody goody two shoes appearance Is more important than the truth for some I just work here I have feelings like everyone else This might be a bad time to mention that The truth stands when the world falls But if you don't have a leg to stand on Maggie and I opened up one of those boxes last night Going through the quilts that had been handed down This one box had some other items handed down Looks like it's finally safe to go through a few things A few pings of pain but mostly it doesn't hurt anymore I'm not invited to the family reunion It's not like I ever did anything other than the next right thing But that's not good enough in a world of “pass for white” As a child I wasn't allowed to let my hair grow out I didn't understand why that was at the time Now I understand that it would signal that we weren't white Excuse me for being real in a reality where I'll never be good enough My great-grandfather was an enrolled member of the Western Band So much for hiding our true identity Better to erase me from the family than admit that I was right I'll be okay At least I've been honest about who I am That takes courage in a pretend reality Some days it still hurts like hell I've made peace with the fact that I've got feelings Love Oliver Loveday © September 4, 2023, 12:17 pm EDT

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Spoken word poetry, indigenous

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released October 10, 2023

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Oliver Loveday Morristown, Tennessee

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