Wonderin' Words

There are poems written by me and my family and friends. You have to remember that we were not writing them for any special reason - just because. Kay Bishoff may have had her poems to give out when some one bought a piece of jewelry in a small shop she and her husband had back in late 1940's and early 1950's in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

The poems done by me - Barbara Barnett Borror where usually done because I had to write a poem for a class in school. My mom - Kate Barnett, wrote several about times we lived at different places while my dad was in the Air Force.

I am putting them in this blog mainly so family and friends can read them if they want to. I figure they go along with the name of the blog, Wonderin' Words.

Random Rhymes

Mainly About Indians

Kay Bishoff

Eukabi Publishers

The Desert

Land of Mystery and Silence!

Here the gaunt saguaro stands,

Sentinel o’er hidden treasure

‘Gainst destructive, greedy hands.

Ocatillas flaunt their banners,

Butterflies of scarlet hue;

Distant mountains, grim, forbidding,

Notch the sky’s translucent blue.

In this land of lonely vastness,

Where the silence never ends,

Peace that pass’eth understanding

On the tortured soul descents.

Granite Dells

There lived a gentle giant,

say a million years ago,

And if the date you challenge,

well, just prove it isn’t so.

He roamed the country over,

the ideal home to find,

Till he found in Arizona

just the spot he had in mind.

‘Twas out in Arizona,

quite the perfect garden spot,

But when he started digging,

he decided it was not.

The land was full of boulders,

granite rocks in close array,

But he liked his pretty garden,

so decided that he’d stay.

He heaved those pesky boulders

with all his brawny might,

He threw them and he kicked them

all the day and half the night.

The place they came to rest in

quite a beauty spot became,

And from the giant’s playthings

Granite Dells obtained its name.

Indian Symbols

You may have your four-leaf clovers

And your horseshoe nails, and such,

But I prefer the Indian symbols,

For they mean so much.

The Thunderbird brings happiness,

Crossed arrows, friendship true;

One arrow pointing outward

Wards the evil ones from you;

One arrow pointing toward you

Will protect you from all harm.

And so for you I’ve chosen

This one as your lucky charm.

Hopi Heaven

Patiently the Hopi maiden

grinds her corn and weaves her basket,

Making ready for her marriage

to the lad whom she has chosen.

At his loom within the kiva,

underground retreat and sanctum,

With most loving care, the bridegroom,

aided by his friends and brothers,

Weaves a snow-white wedding garment

for his bride, so mild, so modest,

When the marriage rite is over,

robe and basket, precious tokens,

In a secret place of safety

tenderly are stored and hidden.

After death, their wise men tell them,

through the air their souls go floating,

His upon the robe he made her,

hers upon the sacred basket,

Floating till they reach the Canyon,

where they softly settle earthward,

Down between the walls of purple,

to the great “Below,” their Heaven.

Pueblos

Row on row the purple mountains

like protective giants, stand,

Keeping watch o’er Nature’s children

in her own far western land.

Blue the sky of Heaven o’er them,

bluer than the Virgin’s gown;

Clouds beyond all earthly beauty

watch the sunlight’s gold pour down,

Pile on pile the tan pueblos

ages long have gravely stood,

Cold in sunlight, mauve in shadow,

neath the sky’s protecting hood.

Children play about the plaza;

from the roof the crier calls;

Old men drowse upon the aldders,

shadows ‘gainst the sheltering walls.

Age on age they’ve stood unchanging,

sheltering life and birth and death;

Countless thousands left their secrets,

while the ages held their breath.

Gone the Indian that we dream of,

noble warrior of the plain’

He is changed, but all unaltered,

the pueblos still remain.

Zuni Silver

When the Zuni saw the silver

which the Navajo had wrought,

They admired it, they adored it,

and they bought and bought and bought.

Till at last they had the notion

they could make it just as well,

So they coaxed their ancient foe-men

the know-how to them to sell.

When they’d learned the art, they hastened

styles unique to fabricate,

Set with many a tiny turquoise,

or with jet and shell ornate.

To the Navajo the silver

is the most important thing,

But the Zuni love the color

which the shell and turquoise bring.

Kachinas

Far off in the desert

the mesa arise,

Huge tables of sandstone,

which reach for the skies.

And there dwells the Hopi,

so peaceful, so mild,

With the wisdom of serpents,

and the heart of a child.

On special occasions,

dispersed through the year,

Arrive the Kachinas,

to each Hopi dear.

The souls of their forbears,

in bright masks arrayed,

In each village plaza

cavort and parade.

Each mask has a meaning,

each color and line;

There’s rhythm and beauty

in each weird design.

Bad children they punish,

good children commend,

And to them the Kachina

is part god, part friend.

Navajo Silversmith

(Cast)

At his bench within the hogan

sits the patient Navajo,

Using tools which he has fashioned

as his sire did long ago.

Out of sandstone he has fashioned

molds for bracelet, buckle, rings;

These he fills with molten silver,

making many a precious thing,

When the silver cools and hardens,

with his hammer and his dies,

Fire designs he stamps upon it,

line and curve to emphasize.

Polished, set with precious turquoise,

finished, ‘tis a work of art,

For the silversmith has labored

with his hands and with his heart.

Navajo Silversmith

(Wrought)

When the art of working silver

to the Navajo was new,

Silver dollars, halves, and quarters

were the stock on which he drew.

Patiently he hammered each one

to the thiness he desired,

Shaped them to the form he wanted,

wore them all to be admired.

Now, besides his own adornment,

these he makes for you and me,

Hoping that we’ll buy the trinkets,

wear them for the world to see.

Conchas, bracelets, pins, and earrings,

though from coins no longer made,

Miles into the town he carries,

for necessities to trade.

Navajo Mother-in-Law

‘Tis said that on the desert,

in the days of long ago,

Divorce became a problems

‘mongst the roving Navajo.

And so they held a council

of the wise men most profound,

Who discussed it from all angles

Till they thought the cure they’d found

The one thing they agreed on

was that in-laws shouldn’t mix,

And so they made this gadget

which they thought the case would fix.

Then, when a gal got married,

her mama was told to wear

A silver bell whose tinkle

would announce that she was there.

When son-in-law would hear it,

he would look the other way,

Or else the curse of blindness

would descend on him, they say.

This replica I’m sending you

has quite a dif’rent twist;

It says that, far as we go,

in-law problems don’t exist.

Red Men

Long before the conquering white man

with his guns and charger came,

Red men, armed with bows and arrows,

fought their battles, killed their game.

Savages, the white man called them,

since their ways were not his own;

Heathen, since they did not worship

in his man made church of stone.

After years of bloody battles,

the invader ruled the land;

Indians penned in reservations,

made to move at his command.

Still the red man carries proudly

even when he seems most meek,

Dignity and self-possession,

qualities we well might seek.

Poor, content perforce with little,

asking but the right to live,

Asking that we keep our pledges,

work and education give.

Must we try to make him over

in our image? Tell me why?

Would that we were but as steadfast,

patient, as they years roll by.

Spider and Fly

“Please come up and see by etching,”

Said the spider to the fly;

“There’s none can spin a silver web

More deftly ‘gainst the sky.

“I’ll wine you and I’ll dine you

And I’ll treat you like a queen.

Just come a little closer

And I’ll show you what I mean.”

The silly fly was flattered

And walked straight into his web.

He neither wined nor dined her,

But he dined on her instead.

Lonesome Bug

A lonesome little silver bug

In search of fun, am I;

I’d love to soar and see the world,

But metal wings won’t fly.

So won’t you put me on your dress,

While you go walking down the street,

So winsome and so fair?

I’ll never make the slightest sound,

But luck to you I’ll bring,

And when you take me for a ride

You’ll hear the bluebirds sing.

Bug Family

Said Papa Bug to Mama Bug,

“Let’s hitch ourselves a ride;

We’ll pick ourselves a lady fair

And walk up side by side,

And ask her if she wouldn’t like

To wear us on her dress

And show us all around the town’

I’m sure that she’ll say yes.

Said Mamma But to Papa Bug,

“I think that will be fun,

And she’ll agree that two such bugs

Are smarter far than one.”

Then up spoke little Baby Bug,

“You’d batter make it three,

For I don’t want to stay at home,

So please make room for me.”

So here they are, three silver bugs,

To travel quite inclined’

Fat Papa Bug, sweet Mamma Bug,

With Baby Bug behind.

Morpho

Far away amid the jungles

Of romantic, hot Brazil,

Butterflies in hues exotic

Vie with birds more brilliant still.

Loveliest of all in color,

Bluer than the bluest sky,

Flits the iridescent Morpho,

Doomed within a day to die.

Armed with nets to seize their beauty,

Boots to guard ‘gainst reptiles too,

Brave men face the jungle’s perils,

Chasing butterflies for you.

Now, preserved like precious jewels

Which man cannot simulate,

For my lady’s gay adornment,

Morpho’s wings will simulate.

By Kay Bishoff

_________________________________

Never Try Again (My First Creation)

Away down deep inside,

I’ll always love you dear,

So sweet to always know,

I can depend on you.

And when I’m dead

And gone,

You will be so very glad

To know that you will

Be Free.

And I won’t depend

On you.

And since my words

don’t rhyme, I’ll bring

This to an end,

And just forget it all

And never try again.

By Alma Williams

Alma Williams was my grandma on my mom’s side of the family. We called her Gram. She wrote this when I was in high school and was trying to write a poem for my Southwestern Literature Class.

These are poems written by my mom, Catherine Green Barnett. I have done them according to when I thought she wrote them, but it may not be correct.

‘A Red eyed Monster

A red eyed monster I did see,

He sat up in a big tall tree,

He fliped his tail and shook his head,

And said he wished that (name someone or something) was dead.

Nellis (August 28, 1959)

I was going to send you a card

Didn’t have one that would do,

So this plain sheat of paper will have to say

How much I love you.

I love you very, very much

I can tell you true,

And, also, I can add to this, I’ll be

Glad when this Air Forse school is through.

We’er getting by without you, Dear,

Tho not the best I day,

And we’er looking forward to the time

When you return one day.

Well, enough going on like this,

You know it anyway.

So – I love you, Sweetheart, I love you

What more need I to say.

Kate Barnett

She wrote this to my dad. He was stationed at Nellis Air Force Base near Las Vegas, Nevada from about 1957 to 1060. Several times while we were there he sent off to some sort of training and we had to stay. I don’t think any of those times was for that long. Maybe four to six weeks or so. II

Three Little Girls

(This can be sung to the old song “I’m an Old Cowhand”

Three little girls came to the West

To live the life that they liked best,