Through the early 1990’s CoffeeHouse Poetry readings were in vogue. The major portion of my poetry was written at this time.

I know the hunter---The hunter Who?--The hunter that’s inside of you.

The hunter that can look behind---To see the images in his mind.

Do you know the hunter---The hunter too?—The Hunter that’s inside of you.

The hunter that can kill the beast – to provide the food of social feast?

I see the hunter –The hunter there.

The naked hunter without the hair.

There in the forest—run, run, run.

Naked skin in the sun.

Do you see the hunter? Your hunter within.

The naked hunter without the sin.

There awakening from the deep—Primordial hunter from the sleep.

When cities came evolution ceased.

Man changed no more from the beast.

The naked hunter still hides there—The running hunter without the hair.

Louder and louder comes a screaming voice—From the naked hunter of natures choice.

Give up! Give up you sin…Run! Run!—Run naked again.

The Blizzard, Dec. 29, 1890, Wounded Knee

The white children—Playing with their Christmas toys.

Four days after Jesus’ birthday—1890, Wounded Knee.

White flag flying – over the Indian camp.

350 Indians, only 120 of them men.

The Indians …the Ghost dance

Jesus told them to be good – don’t lie, don’t kill.

This fourth day after Jesus’ birthday.

500 U.S. Soldiers –circling the Indian Camp

Killing 200 Indian men, women, and children.

This fourth day after Jesus’ birthday.

White men killing…white flag flying…guns blazing.

For two miles the white soldiers chased the Indian women and children.

Shooting…crippling…killing…

That night a blizzard came.

The white Jesus could not hide in the blood red snow.