Not All is Taken
by J. W. Murphy
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Recent poems by J. W. Murphy
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At Coffee Break (Corner of 10th/Geary, San Francisco)
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*April 6, 2003--This is a little experimental for me so please let me know if I'm off the mark.
In the clouds rests an old warrior
looking down on his native country,
the land named for the interior,
tribal nation, that of the Utes--
the Ute Reservation before, over a century
ago. Now, the Valley of the Roaring Fork River
and the small town of Glenwood Springs.
The old warrior continues to gaze
full of emotion, beginning to quiver
with memory's darness and joy.
The old meadow where the horses would graze
is now a parking lot for a hotel;
the realization served only to annoy.
To the right, where an entrance used to lay
a building stood so that he could not tell
where he used to step into that cool bay
letting the natural steam sooth and sway,
refreshing his body from its aches and pain.
He could not believe that people had to pay
now, to enter this magical, natural cave.
With tears in his eyes, he peered away
at the rocky mountain behind and over
to the red faced one, washed like waves
and to all the mountains, all around
remembering that some things are almost eternal.
Not all is taken, the mountains remain.
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|Reviewed by A PAX
I feel this.
|Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader)
|The Utes actually 'moved in' on other tribes territorial rights. They would barter anything and everything, including people [slaves] and were held in low esteem by other tribes.
Good poem on the loss and abuse of the land.
|Reviewed by Jim Smith
|I liked the thoughts. I'd like to see more of it drawn together by some meter. What do you think?|
|Reviewed by La Belle Rouge (Reader)
|This made me cry. Exceptional and so heart touching, esp. if you are of Native American heritage.|