Indian | Old Timer Chronicle I

by rawclyde!

So in the poor Indian village in the middle of the pristine land

I opened the store, doffed my hat, bowed low n’ grand

beckoned Papago Gene’s kids up into Her quaint shrine

for a hunt thru the books for any free treasure they could find

Glory glory glory rang my cracked liberty bell

shattered the mutterings in my personal little hell

the tipsy Indian finally in my heart found a little bit of room

the sun grinned bright, cactus flowers, oh spring, done bloom

Glory glory glory in the lingering afternoon

spread across the land & sang a little tune

come on in, little birdie, you can read the books too

then fly up & disappear into ‘de spooky blue

…

photo: abby brothers photo shoot (2015) celebmafia.com

text: copyright clyde collins 1999

by rawclyde!

So I’m on my 2nd day of listening to the wind talk

out here in the bush, the cacti, lizard, bird & rock

a rare vehicle moans on the dirt road out yonder

I can’t see it, it can’t see me, out here is where I wonder

The message of the Indian is a tearful cry for our sweet Earth

it’s a frustrated message gagged by an ongoing technological birth

in a noisy society that consumes away & thinks God is dead

too late, you’ll learn to pray when the planet ceases to keep you fed

But you’ve heard this before, my talk is nothin’ new

the birds talk, the wind talks, ants prob’ly talk too

we’re all talkin’ to nitwit noisy boys just like You

but you’re plugged into TV, that’s quite a campfire you got fuckin’ you

Blow it all away, the planet will still be here

it’ll cleanse itself of your rot with one long drowning tear

so another civilization will bite the dust, no big deal

go ahead, make more money, work harder, ride the spinning wheel…

from a love song to the american lizard

by rawclyde!

Old Timer Chronicle I