Endless Shore

A Broad Sky


Wandering white wisps

meander above

Horizon due west

Line unbroken

between peripheries

Sea of mysteries

cloaked in harmony

with gravity

Playing it cool:


Blue, gray, green –


emotional hues,

thoughts and dreams

Transition peaceful

gentle lapping sounds


parade of pups


Lap, lap, lap:


salty foam,

sand, shells, and pebbles

To shore

for sure

they return once more

Circle of life

A solitary witness


Loves me, loves me not

No one to see

if she chose not to be

cloaked in black wool

strolling towards the sea

(*note: inspired by photographic image from Carrie Mae Weems entitled “A broad an Expansive Sky – Ancient Rome from Roaming, 2006)


© JW Thomas


Grandfather’s lesson

sad indian2



            no like talk

            with exception

            one only

            inquisitive child


            like to teach

            oral tradition




            cultural cues




Depth of reason


            one with Earth Mother

            Sky Father

            four seasons







            vision quest

            cannot hide

            Spirit Guide


Warrior Way


            at a loss

            out of time

            out of prey

The World




            so they say




            before eyes

            enough to appease

Era of “please”

            still compete

            against thyself

            and thine own

We still call

            reservations “home”

Have we not learned – anything?

Raping Mother Earth

Mother Earth did not need Freud to come along with words like Oedipus Complex.

She has known, intimately, many men born of Earth with inner desires to wed and bed their mother.

The immaturity of such fantasies foolishly mistake lust for love.

And when rebuffed they respond in infantile manners for that which Mother Earth knows will lead them down a destructive path.

Some go no farther, but many team with likeminded siblings and violently rape Mother Earth.

Greedy, lustful, spoiled children addicted to their deranged desires based on selfish motivation and the misinterpretations of what constitutes treasure, wealth, and the real riches of Mother Earth.

Mother Earth’s daughters are not innocent; they share responsibility for the ongoing rape.

Much of what is ripped from beneath the skirts of Mother Earth – in every orifice and deep within her bowels – is used to tickle the fancy and fashion of women worldwide.

And if they encourage the rape of Mother Earth in order to enjoy the pleasure bought through greed, should they really be surprised when the same childish men rape them?


© JW Thomas

So I am Told

proud shadow1

I am a byproduct of civilization

Blood from two of the five

civilized tribes flows in me

So I am told

Tribes of the Southeast

Why is the Southeast not my home?

Because of the Trail of Tears

So I am told



New roots for ancestral kin

So I am told

Why is Oklahoma not my home?

Because of the “New Deal”

So I am told

Placate the politician

Vacate the reservation

Paddy-cake a new direction

Earn more money

Have jingle-jangle jeans

Forget your language

Homicide your Spirit Guide

Be a “real” American

So I am told

A few went to Texas

A few to Southern Cal

Indian maiden finds white-eyed Prince

Indian brave finds white-eyed gal

Broken water sets me free

Born in Long Beach


As far away from my ancestral home

as I can get

without getting wet

So I am told

Separated geographically

Separated culturally

So I am told

But I have lived




and laughed

But never with a true connection to kin

My inspiration to begin again

A byproduct of civilization

So I am told

More often than not – civilization sucks

© JW Thomas

The Empty Room


I’m standing in the doorway

to the empty room,

viewing what remains,

hardly anything at all.

There’s a vase on the mantel

just above the fireplace,

and a set of velvet curtains

left hanging on the wall.

It seems so empty now,

compared to how it use to be.

Though appearance is deceiving,

it’s full of memories.

If these old walls could talk

I think of what they’d say

of all that has transpired

since we moved in that day.

An empty room is never empty,

it always has something inside.

It’s sometimes hard to see

in the times when it can hide.

The furniture is gone,

and walls are standing bare.

Yet eyes opened or closed,

I still see something there.

Like that old threshold

I carried you through,

to start a brand new life

that lasted many years.

There’s the window pane

that pains me to see it now.

‘Cause you stood there staring

when you couldn’t hold the tears.

There’s the winding banister

that we’d both slide down.

I’d catch you in my arms,

and we’d pause to embrace.

Nope… this room isn’t empty,

and it’ll never be,

for everywhere I turn

I still can see your face.

I turn to see you leaving

out the door that brought you in.

Heading down the walkway,

walking hand-in-hand with him.

I smelled your sweet perfume

when you slowly passed me by.

Did you feel me too,

for once again you start to cry?

Sadly, my time is up,

‘cause I know you’ll be alright.

You started life anew,

time has healed you from that night.

The night Toby told you

I was lost and could not be found.

Somewhere by the fallen bridge,

they say I must’ve drowned.

© JW Thomas

Way of the Warrior


The way of the warrior is only honorable

in defense of oneself or others

Not for the theft of nations –

the rape of neighbors –

the acquisition of slaves –

the burning of babes

To follow a fool into battle

is to be a fool

To be led by those with greed

against lesser foes with need

you must sacrifice your soul

as fodder

Tell me, my people

when to the Great Spirit

your voices call

Does He answer?

Or does He turn in shame?

© JW Thomas

Realistic perspective

Jerry GI #1

I awaited the arrival of a good man bearing my personal effects and a fond farewell as I am about to go help my Uncle Sam. From my lofty perch I had a bird’s eye perspective of the downtown street beside the Conestoga.

A conversation by concerned citizens – concerned for what I have no clue – was beginning to boil over as the ground heat mingled with humidity as the bright June day morphed into a muggy night.

The simple scene shifted surrealistically to suggest a somewhat satisfactory slant to my present predicament and perspective.

Below my third floor window the party of the first part pulled a pistol and took a pot-shot at the party of the second part. And the party of the second part, now understandably pissed, pulled his piece and popped away at the party of the first part.

A mere five rotations of Mother Earth since turning seventeen and I found a peculiar pleasure in the cordite perfume and pop-and-pow performance. It was the Spirit Guide confirming my decision to leave.

It was not an abundance of patriotism that initially prodded me to answer Uncle Sam’s call. I figured if I have to live where there’s shooting… I might as well get paid for it.

Fly the friendly skies0001


© JW Thomas