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| Buffalo Soldier's Pride �--� By Troy D. Smith�--�Copyright 1998
Do you reckon they gonna remember What we done here today? And yesterday, and the day before Will they remember the feats of courage The honor and the discipline Or will the blackness of our skin make our faces fade away From the memory of the world? Will our spilt blood be forgotten Will our glory be ignored? It don't matter. We remember We are human men, our spirits fed by pride Do you reckon they gonna remember What we done here today? They gonna remember We done it that well
I Am Strong Bear -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1998 Do you know that I am Strong Bear? Do you know that I am not afraid? It is not good that a man should grow old like a cracked water-skin, empty except for memories. Better that he should die in his youth, His face to his enemies. Better he should stake himself out in the mouth of a canyon and meet death, shouting his defiance in its face. It is better to lie naked on a field of honor Than to rot on a pallet of sickness. The long-knives draw closer. The wind whistles through the canyon walls- It is the voice of Man-Above, granting his approval. The hawk does not live forever-it must fall from the sky. The rocks live forever, but they crumble. I am not a rock. I am Strong Bear. I am not afraid. Pioneer -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1998 I have kept my face toward the wind My feet pointed to the tangled trail My back to the hard-packed roads My ears attuned to the wild-bird's call My beard untrimmed, my clothing the color of earth And freedom locked in my gaze, just on the horizon-line Seasons passed by like the whitewater foam Brought houses and roads close upon my back The trails were not as tangled, the freedom not as clear The wild-birds just an echo tugging at my soul I cannot turn to endure the stares Of wondering fresh-faced strangers My path is set. My final step Must be into the brush Tatanka Iyotake -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1998 Gather closely, my children, And I shall tell you a tale from the long-ago time. I shall tell of the courage of one young boy, Tatanka Iyotake, Who in his boyhood was called Slow. In the days when our people went to war against the hated Crows Slow slipped quietly from his village and joined the warriors He carried only the blunt-tipped arrows for the hunting of birds The warriors laughed, but let him come. Slow�s father gave him the long coup stick and said Your horse is fast- it will take you swiftly to the battle. It will take you to the very front of the battle, my son- Make sure you do something brave when you get there. The boy was not slow that day �he counted the first coup Against the enemies who drew the bowstring toward him. He rode away unharmed, saying �I, Slow, have conquered!� The other Crows were killed by our people. But Slow was the hero of the battle. His father painted him with the black paint of victory And said �This day I name him Tatanka Iyotake. This day I name him Sitting Bull.� Nunna Daul Tsuny -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1999 It was Nunna Daul Tsuny It was the Trail Where We Cried Where our bloody tracks broke the snow Of a harsh land A land our fathers had not known What they do not understand they despise What we would not sell they took How could we sell our fathers� bones? How could we sell our mothers� blood? How could we trade away the wind, the soil The rains that have not yet come? And how can there be enough rain in this new land To wash away the blood, the tears? The wind whispers to us It carries the voices of the fallen Echoing from the hills of home It was Nunna Daul Tsuny It was the Trail Where We Cried Nate Champion's Goodbye -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1999 There is bullets coming in like hail, boys And I fear the end is near I have give it all I could I have give it all I could Poor old Nick, now, he has rattled his last His eyes rolled up to a better place I hope he makes it there It�s lonesome in this cabin now I still talk to him, though he�s dead And together we laugh at the bullets slapping these walls They don�t aim to let me out this time I thought I seen Canton with them, that greasy killer Waving a torch to light my way to hell Maybe I�ll have more company than they think The house is all afire �I have to go Goodbye, boys, if I never see you again Old Leather, Old Bones -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1999 My boots is soft, my feet is hard My legs is bent and bowed When I walk �I tell you pard � I swing a heavy load But when I grab that horn and swing my bones Up into that hurricane seat The whispers and the empty groans Fall down at my horse�s feet And I am young again at last (Sometimes I still hear the roaring crowds) And I glide across the prairie grass My head up in the clouds If the Good Lord should pluck me off this earth To count my virtues and my crimes I�d take it all for what it�s worth If I can be in the saddle � at the time � This Is the Lonesome -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1998 This is the Lonesome. This is the empty land that�s full If you bring enough inside Home of the lumbering buffalo Whose black and shaggy hide Once fed a people mostly gone (But their voices whisper on). This is the Lonesome. With a silence that is broken By the screeching of the hawks And the music of the rattlers That crawl among the rocks And ghosts just out of sight � Siringo and Goodnight. This is the Lonesome Where the cowboys still pass through High on pride and hard on luck Singing country music Herding from a pickup truck They know this is a holy place The winds of time cannot erase. This is the Lonesome. Where the echoes of the past Reverberate through all our souls And the cowboy that�s inside us Independent, lonely, whole. We all ride there in our dreams. It�s not as distant as it seems. This is the Lonesome. Vance McCoy -- By Troy D. Smith -- Copyright 1999 Vance McCoy was a lonely man And so nobody knowed What put the wildness in his hand And set him on his road His mother was a broken soul She was spurned and turned away By everyone in Potter�s Hole She was old before she was gray Young Vance heard all the words they said And the name that they implied But he still would say, �my pa is dead, I just don�t know how he died.� Vance McCoy was a mirthful man His laugh was an easy rain It fell upon your ears and began To wash away your pain The girls all loved his curly hair They loved his sea-blue eyes They loved the wildness living there Beneath his gentle guise But there was a burning rage Simmering in his heart And it was at an early age He got his troubled start Angry words were passed one night In a dusty dark saloon � Its name now lost, but the fight Won�t be forgotten soon When the smoke had cleared away A man was lying dead And Vance McCoy, from that day, Had a sword above his head Now Randall Brown was near the end Of a respectable career He�d worn a star, sworn to defend, And seemed to have no fear But his hand wavered when he drew near The murderous young boy And the whole town was surprised to hear What he said to Vance McCoy �Please don�t face me down this way I can�t let you kill again.� But Vance McCoy had made his play Flames leaped between the men Vance�s dying fingers dropped the gun The marshal�s voice he dimly heard: �Your daddy always loved you, son, He just never had the words.� Vance McCoy was a lonely man And so nobody knowed What put the wildness in his hand And set him on his road |
