There are 

                                          very tiny things 

                                          we do not see. 

                                          These are 

                                          childrens eyes 

                                         when they sleep, 

                                         angels 

                                         when we 

                                         are awake, 

                                         and love when we are neither 

 

 

                                

                                             

 I am Apache, am known as

  Moqui Takoda 

and my totem is the bear

 

 ... listen, listen

 

                                  

                                

stop killing my baby birds

and the children you have stolen

this planet from

with your stupid wars 

 

your strengths ... guns and poisons and your cowardly, foolish brutality are transient and your time shall pass

 

 

 listen, listen you

while there is still time for forgiveness


 

 STOP KILLING MY BABY BIRDS

AND THE CHILDREN

YOU HAVE STOLEN THIS PLANET FROM 

WITH YOUR STUPID WARS

 

My name is Moqui Purple Bear, known as Moqui Takoda. 

 

                                    

 

I am Apache and these are my brothers and sisters ...

 

 

the North Wind, fearlessly brings the Seasons
their rotation and life

this is not acceptable to fear
which, once knowing its own foolishness, vanishes

and the Native heart blooms like the firmament

 

 

                                      

 

 my totem is the bear

                                       
 

my name is MOQUI TAKODA
 I was born white as snow

and my totem is the bear 

am Apache ...                            adopted into 'house of our footprint' clan of Bedankhoe Apache Tribe, southern plains,  by blood descendants of Geronimo, great Shaman warrior of that tribe, and of that clan, and whose  true name of Goyathlay (he who yawns) was most feared of all by yellow eyes, and whose great, great, great, great, great grandaughter, Spiritvision angel, Talking Stick of all Native American tribes has made me her native brother and one of her [Warrior guardians with approval of tribal elders and Chief of that Tribe, Flying Hawk.

 

 ..... I have studied Kung Fu street knife fighting techniques, am a practitioner of Jeet Kune Do , combat Chang style Tai Chi, kick boxing, and am a competition handgunner; I have been a professional drummer, and have played piano in dark, smokey bars ....

 

                                       

 


this is a friend of mine 

 

 

 

a poem by myrataal 

 Colombes de l'amour -- Doves of Love                                                                               

 oh my love you puzzle me
let us meet then in a coffee house
in a back street
in a dim lit little room


@>-->>-------

one cup of latte, please!

his eyes do not leave hers
hold her gaze
a soft burning cameo

now talk with smiling eyes
and silly philosophies of love
and the like
talk of general nothing
where the heart speaks more
than the moving lips in motion say

then tell me of the cutest little vase
you found in the market today ...

holding lotus flowers I suppose?

sssshhhh
no oriental cliches -
when a man meets in a coffee house
and sits across the table
he knows the talk will be of nothing
and the pauses between the speech
everything

she smiles

no she says I want to tell you
of the soft eyes
of the ancient birds
I want to tell you how I coo my love
through the windows in their eyes

tell me what you wish
and move me as I listen
he whispers tenderly

I want to tell you how I coo into their eyes
she pleadingly repeats
and stroke their feathers with my love

she crosses her feet
and lifts her chin from her palm
to talk about the birds

he listens, with a slightly tilted head -
past the wing span beating of the ancient birds
he listens to her heart

did you find one in the market place today my love?

I was nurturing them with my voice
she says, ignoring his question

I asked them:
did anyone ever touch you and speak to you;
a human with the voice of a bird?
they looked at me patiently with soft wide eyes
filled
with the Love of God

she drifts off into her secret memories
closing her intimate chambers
with transparent eyelids

and? he prompts, closing his eyes too

... and they answered me with syllabic silence
that flooded my eyes
with the salty showers of desert mountains

oh! she suddenly exclaims
how I longed to be filled with that love
so that I may rise and fly

his eyes open with interest
are you not filled with that love?
he asks

no, she answers
I am filled with sorrow
sometimes it showers joy
and the sweetness of the heart is exposed
briefly

why are you filled with sorrow
when I am here
he asks but she sadly looks at him
whilst caravans of centuries
travel over the desert of her mind

listen Love
he continues
sorrow too is a bird
it sometimes lumbers around on grey wings
blocking out the sun

I am filled with sorrow because my heart
is pulsating outside my body
unfeathered and cold
like a dying wet bird
the vultures will peck my soul from my eyes
if I do not cover their shimmerings
with the shadows of sadness

ssshhh
he comforts
tenderly draping his velvet voice
around her vulnerability

oh Love
she moans softly, leaning towards him
touching his fiery eyes with the fever of her own
I need the cover of your Love
to protect me from the claws of vultures

he smiles ruefully

I am but a slight quivering in your hands
an invisible transparency radiating warmth
diffusing into your being

please seal my soul
within the loft of your Love!
she begs

he lifts her face to his and barely kisses her
her lips move under his
softly
the room fades to black
as if they were standing in another place
but inside themselves
outside of time and space
he kisses her on the tender corner of her mouth
which lifts first whenever she smiles
her head so slightly turned
as if aside
their mouths not parting
moving timelessly
in a barely perceptible motion

her eyes close

the kiss is a soft one
as if a kiss placed upon newborn flesh
stringing thousands of kisses
within one sequenced Kiss:
white doves descending on them
motionlessly and soundlessly
enfolding them both
within an intense vibration

a kiss across a table
unaware of being observed

they slide apart
the broken formation of birds
their eyes meet and share ecstatically
she makes no sound
but a slight seraphic smile
rings its glass bell
when she moves to the resuming of the kiss
thunderous within his eyes

I will write this into poetic prose she whispers
I will make this into a song he dreams
I will write us into Eternity
she promises hastily

her eyes a sorrowful farewell
stroking his face gently
until he fades away

@>-->>-------

one cup of latte remains
cold and untouched
when she leaves

 

                                            

and these are my Brothers and Sisters                                

 

                      and i was born white as snow

 

                                   

 

new Spring, ardent March
do you not hear the song you have made

am summer
its billions
 

                                   

                                  

                   

                                      

 

 

                                
 


I am Apache called Moqui Purple Bear
 

  
  also known as Moqui Takoda
 

 

                                     when they ask you 

                                     to vote

                                     for the liar 

                                     of your choice

 beware of

 

slick production values 

                                    remember, it is

                                    a good thing not to

                                    play hide and seek with a

                                    dead log
 

my poetry 

 

 


 

Remember, your enemy may not be a fool, so speak of him well, and treat him with respect and humility so that, if a fool, he will overestimate himelf even more, and if he is not a fool, perhaps he will come to underestimate you, for even a wise man is prone to do these things well, whereas a true enemy has already killed you.

BEWARE OF  

 

 production value slicks

 

 

http://moquitakoda.blogspot.com/

kama sutra butterfly

I want
to watch
you sleep

as a butterfly’s
slow, slow flap
upon your cheek

remains, trembles
basks to my love
 
 

mae laveoie mai, mae laveole mai

 

 

 

...  MY TOTEM IS THE BEAR 

 

THERE IS A REVERENCE...it is 7 rules

 

 

my friends know these rules

 

my enemies do not

 

                                        

                   these are the reverence

 

                           

 

 

ANIMALS HAVE SOULS .. THEY ARE WORTH DYING FOR

they are not things, you must be worthy of them 

you need them, they don't need you

if you kill one, eat it, and give thanks to it 

 

 

 

 

 

TO BE LOVED LIKE THAT, LOVE LIKE THAT




FINAL WHISPERS LAST FOREVER







WORDS OF LOVE NEVER SPOKEN HAUNT FOREVER








DREAMS UNTRIED ALWAYS RETURN TOO LATE







TENDERNESS IS THE ONLY KINGDOM








GET YOUR FOOT OFF YOUR BROTHERS' AND SISTERS' NECK

or someone will do it for you




                

  THAT IS THE END OF THE SEVEN RULES 

                          

 

                            

 

                           

 

                       





My name is Moqui Takoda. I am APACHE.
My totem name ...PURPLE BEAR

I am a WARRIOR GUARDIAN of Princes Spririvision angel, she... designated Talking Stick of all Native American Tribes by Chief Whispering Winds, Chief of Chiefs of all Tribes Worldwide ... may he and she walk in sunshine.

Apache Princess Spiritvision angel


 

 














Stillness ...
soaking into the rocks,
the cicada's cry

BASHO



I AM APACHE ... my totem name, PURPLE BEAR
I am a WARRIOR GUARDIAN of Princess Spritivision angel, direct blood descendant of Geronimo and Talking Stick of all Native American Tribes

PURPLE BEAR



LIFE ITSELF IS WISDOM. IT IS VERY LARGE, VERY SMALL.



RESPECT AND SING INTO ALL THINGS



YOU ARE ONLY ONE POINT IN TIME AT A TIME ...

listen, listen



I am Apache. My name is Moqui Takoda, given to me by Chief Flying Hawk of the Bedonkohe Apache Tribe, and Talking Stick of Native Americans, Spiritvision angel.

APACHE PRINCESS Spiritvision angel



Spiritvision angel
TALKING STICK OF NATIVE AMERICANS



Direct blood descendant of Geronimo










RESPECT AND SING INTO ALL THINGS ...

taste, taste



do not be afraid




http://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/index.asp



do not be afraid



ALL THINGS ARE A SONG, SING INTO THEM AND THEY SHALL PERHAPS SING BACK A BETTER SONG THAN THE ONE THEY SANG BEFORE, PERHAPS NOT, PERHAPS YOU SHALL.



http://www.wvchip.org/images/alinelig.jpg


THE NEXT TIME YOU THINK TO VOTE, REMEMBER IT IS BETTER NOT TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK WITH A DEAD LOG



My totem is the bear. My totem name is Purple Bear



I AM A WARRIOR GUARDIAN OF Princess Spiritvision angel



Purple Bear

...my totem dream:

I stood within a field without end upon an endless sea of dry white leaves. These rustled in the air with a million notes, each in its own way brave yet submissive to another will. As I turned, these swirled upon me. There were no years, nor heights, only endless white leaves and their music. Then I saw a dot appear far away upon the horizon. This grew and a distant pounding began as the dot enlarged. I closed my eyes. I opened them. A huge purple bear thundered, shoulders rolling, directly toward me, its eyes fixed intently upon me as my heart shuddered, yet I did not look away nor turn, nor run. Beneath the purple bear, leaves did not stir. Its shoulders rolled. When it struck me the force was indescribable and blackness became my world. Then I saw the horizon which had been behind me become a sea of darkest, green trees. The leaves blew beneath me, the ground beneath them a blur. My shoulders rolled. I had become the bear.


Respect and sing into all things.

http://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/index.asp





DO YOU KNOW WHY NATIVE CHILDREN DO NOT SHOW THEIR HANDS TO THE WHITE SOLDIER PHOTOGRAPHER IN MANY PICTURES? ... Native hand is an offer of friendship and trust. The Native Spirit is very patient...is the flight of the hawk.









Stillness —
soaking into the rocks,
the cicada's cry.

BASHO




SING INTO ALL THINGS





WHAT SONG HAVE YOU SUNG?

 

                                         

                                             

                                              

 

                                        

 


 

1 - 4 of 7   Show all
  • apocalyptica on November 9
    I really liked your profile, and your writing is definately good!
  • lunarlunacy on November 6
    speechless..
  • Burning.Soul.Hisana on September 16
    Cool... I wanted to learn about Native Americans, but my school doesn't teach it at all. But cool. Hmm... I wonder what my totem is...
  • nextandykaufman : yo on August 19
    i enjoyed your profile page, and tried looking for a story of yours to read, but unfortunatly could not find any. if you want a comment, i would be glad to read some of your writing because you seem like a very interesting person, but i am actually trying to get comments for my piece 'clap-tastic'. maybe we could help eachother out? see ya.