I am a Storyteller, first and foremost. This is my blog for poetry, prose, stories, excerpts of my novels and videos. Been writing since the age of 7. Can't stop or I'll die. Life poetry, prophetic poetry, poetry for all genres. I think you'll find yourself here if you read long enough. Warning: I am a very funny girl with many layers.....
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Monday, March 20, 2017
ELK MEAT PIZZA AND PEYOTE BEER
Traditional Native American Music
Elk Meat Pizza and Peyote Beer
So me and the boys Were sittin’ around the camp fire talkin’
Talkin’ bout women (of course)
And how good a cold drink would taste right then
And something hot and fillin’ to go with it
So we all piled up in our one-eyed pony
With the eagle feathers on the antenna
And headed off down to this new joint we'd heard about Called GRANDFATHER DOUGHBOY'S
To see what we could find.
“Grandfather!” we greeted him
When we fell into his establishment
Loud and obnoxious as only young men
Half growed and half crazy can do
“We’re hungry and thirsty and we got money
Burnin’ holes in our pockets!
What can you do for us and our great needs
And how much will it cost?”
And Grandfather DoughBoy pushed back his big black hat
And looked at us hard and said, “Hmm, well, can you Fancy Dancing Dudesdance for your supper?”
And we reckoned we could,'cause we all loved to dance
And it was Saturday night And who the heck knew what a brave ole boy could get into On a Saturday night in an Arizona desert?
So, they pushed back the tables and chairs
And brought out the drums
And somebody got out a flute and a rattle
And started clearing their throats to chant
Then ole Mean Joe, who always wore raccoon
And had a face only a walk-in could love,
Started waving sweet-grass around
To clear out the spirits of rock-and-roll and Jimi Hendrix
Who had been haunting the place till we walked in
Me and my brother, Falling Leaf, warmed up a bit
By screaming like banshees
And a couple of sweet sisters in the back smiled and applauded
And we blushed like new born calves
And ducked our heads and coughed
And started gettin’ serious and indigenous
‘Cause Grandfathers don’t play that, y’know?
Plus, we were powerful hungry and our throats were dry
As winter trees after a drought filled summer on a high Sierra
After a while, we all got ourselves into serious fancy-dancing mode
Even though most of us were in jeans and tie-dyed T-shirts
Still, you would have thought we were dressed
In the best custom made regalia in the world
‘Cause we tore the roof off that little tin-roofed joint!
As the night wore on people started crowdin’ in out of nowhere,
Everybody started celebratin’ and carryin’ on
And Grandfather had a happy look on his grizzled face
That could have lit up Arizona.
It sure started smellin’ good in the back 'round bout midnight
And we were all dancin’ and whoopin’
And enjoyin’ being young and native
And then Grandfather holds up his hand and says, “Alright, boys, you’ve earned your supper!”
And we all stop, soaked with sweat
And half in and half out of the spirit world
Then he sets us down and has his good looking grand-daughters
Bring out these big ole Elk Meat pizzas
And the biggest pitchers of beer you ever saw
Made with peyote syrup and golden liquids.
If you’ve never had an Elk Meat pizza,
You don’t know what you’re missin’
It’s a Native-American thing, y’know?
No white man knows how to bake elk in a pie
And nobody knows how to brew up Peyote Beer, either
(Heck, I don’t even know
If there is such a thing as Peyote Beer!)
But, Grandfather said it was Peyote Beer
So we drank it and we believed him
And we all got up and danced again
Until Sunday mornin’ showed up Underneath a velvet painted sky.
Me and the boys walked out to the truck
Feeling ten feet tall, in silence
And sat there in the ethereal dawn
Feeling surrealistic and satisfied
Like a bridegroom after his weddin’ night
Or like warriors countin’ coup
“Man! What just happened?” One of us said in awe after a time
And the rest of us said, “Hell if I know!
But wasn’t that beer good!?”
And we all agreed and turned and looked back Staring with twelve big eyes
And I swear on Geronimo’s hat, if I live to be a hundred....
But that tin-roofed, tar-papered......... GRANDFATHER DOUGHBOY'S
PEYOTE BEER AND ELK MEAT PIZZA HUT Was gone......…………!!