BLUE CLOUD.

Blue Cloud climbed upon his buffalo runner,
Painted for all the world to see,
Setting out to kill a white buffalo,
So he could set its spirit free.  

Riding swiftly like the wind,
Blue Cloud rode across the plains,
Searching for the sacred animal,
It’s powerful medicine for him to gain.  

The buffalo runner carried Blue Cloud,
Ever nearer to the herds,
Where their hooves sounded like thunder,
Drowning out his sacred words.  

With a dash as fast as lightening,
Blue Cloud rode into the herd,
Where he spied the sacred buffalo,
As he fought to hold his nerve.  

Bow and arrow pulled in one motion,
Then taking aim and letting go,
Eyes wide open with elation,
As the arrow thundered home.  

Blue Cloud knelt before the body,
Giving thanks for all he’d gained,
Then carefully cut off the hide,
So it’s whiteness would not be stained.  

When he rode back into the village,
The people came to see the sight,
Excited chatter filled the air,
Women marveled at his might.  

During the days that followed,
The hide was cured with loving care,
And Blue Cloud walked with added purpose,
With a white buffalo robe to wear.  

Stories told around the fires,
Late at night when the light had gone,
A medicine man took the story,
And replaced it with a song.  

So now they sing of Blue Cloud,
And his white buffalo robe,
Though his youth is far behind him,
And his bones have grown so old.  

From one generation into the next,
Blue Cloud still lives on through our songs,
And we Lakota will keep on singing,
For that’s what keeps our culture strong.  

THE DAY.

The rising of the morning sun,
Gives light and warmth to everyone,
I can clearly see the morning dew,
And all the great things sent by you.  

A thunderbird singing high in the sky
Snow upon the mountains that never dies,
The sweet tasting water from beneath the earth,
The golden scented plains that gave us birth.  

The sweet sound of laughter as our children play,
And the cooling winds that carries the sound away,
A clear blue sky in the early afternoon,
The sound of a drummer playing a tune.  

The sudden darkening of the evening sky,
The distant sound of thunder as a storm rolls by,
I can see the light ripping through the air,
To behold such power is more than I would dare.  

The deep glow of red from brother Sun,
Letting us know the day is done,
So we will sit in the darkness of the night,
Waiting once again for the first morning light.  

Shunkepi Nunpi
October 2003