Momo blended in well with the trees
moved fast considering he was walking in brush
we followed this big-foot-like-creature down the Missouri River
It was 1971, we knew he was an anomaly.
Tried to tell people.
They thought we had been smoking pot.
I have never smoked pot
But I have seen Momo, so I know he is real
He appeared taller than other men,
his coverings were made of leaves
he blended in with the trees
we think we found his camp
it was a horrible smelling place
My Valley
Tucked away in the north-central part of the state, about ten miles or so from where the clear and slow-moving water of the Grand River mixes with the quickly rolling mud of the Missouri River. Was my isolated valley. A tiny insignificant place dotted with small farms and rolling pastureland of bluestem, switch, and Indian grass. Somewhere just off the beaten path and a little left of “where the hell am I anyway”. From high up in the hills where the Crabapple and Cottonwood creeks merge just outside Log Cabin Station, there is a small creek that begins to snake its way south for thirty miles or so along the northern boundary of that rich Sugar Maple bottom land. For seventy centuries the Sioux Indians fished, hunted, and thrived there. They were the first to speak its name. The abundance of wildlife in the area led them to believe that that small waterway was the ‘River of the Great Spirit’, and they called it…Wakenda.
Life moves in circles,
Like the oceans ebb and flow,
There are no shortcuts.
Oh! Omaha what with your Woodman Tower
Not covered what it's higher First National Bank
As the mighty Mo!
Missouri River separates Nebraska and Iowa
Two strong mighty buildings that towers
That touch just below the clouds floor
Oh! Nebraska's biggest metropolitan City
12/13/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
October hums the chilly tune of a lyric,
November croons to cold winds from the north,
When winter will sweep suddenly eastward
Blanketing the Black Hills with a coat of white--
Icy snow lingering until the Missouri River
Valleys have had a hard frost before moving
Into the Mississippi River valley and the cities
Minneapolis-St. Paul, Chicago, St. Louis—
Her target, one after another, until winter
Spreads across land, and memories of August,
Heat waves, and western fires have faded, and
Folks are whistling the tunes of summertime.
written September 5, 2021
Missouri River with a briskness that raises my hair
Sprinkling of snow, but nothing frozen yet
I take a deep whiff of woodsy gladness,
Feeling more in touch with God than ever
The earth world has never been this lovely
Angels and faeries are not far behind; I sense them
Hear a leaf crunch, a twig snap
Look up to see a deer, a doe
She stands and stares at me
Gives that famous deer cough
I briefly see her white tail as she hops over a fallen log
Silence now. Not even a bird noise.
An ethereal quiet.
I stand still, waiting for a miracle
The air tells me it is already here
Sometimes you need to wander
Without a cause
Without purpose
Without a means
Without a reason for knowing why
Sometimes you need to wander
With lust
With purposeful lust
With a need to move from a stationary position
With no thoughts of a home
With no white picket fence
Sometimes you need to wander
Like down the Missouri River
Like a snowflake
Like a bouncing ball
Like a child with an imagination
To wander and wonder
What is on the other side of the moon
To wander to the moon because it might be pink
Maybe we spend our time wondering
Why we don't wander
Because we are afraid of the big wonder
If we were to wander
Maybe we spend our time wondering
Why we don't wander
Because we are afraid of facing loss
If we were to wander
Sometimes we need to wander
Because of a broken heart
Because time changes in small moments
But the Earth wanders around the Sun
And the stars wanders through the empty Milky Way
And the bumble bee wanders away from the hive
And our hearts wanders with lust for a better home
And our hearts wanders with every humming beat of our
souls for a better moment
Born the daughter of a Lemhi Shoshone chief
she was captured by the Hidatsa in her teens.
And sold to the Mandan Missouri River tribe
where she met and married Toussaint Charbonneau.
A French Canadian trapper and a trail guide
Charbonneau was familiar with the region.
Meriwether Lewis and William Clark spent a
winter with the Mandan waiting for the spring thaw.
Toussaint and Sacagawea were hired as their guides
and in 1805 they set out to explore the wilderness.
While on the trail she gave birth to her son Pompey
and strapping him to a cradle-board they trudged on.
A strong woman and a gifted interpreter
known for her perseverance and resourcefulness.
Bird Woman helped to persuade many native tribes
of the peaceful intent of the expedition.
Once a canoe capsized jeopardizing all of
their valuable possessions and journal entries.
Yet she saved the logbooks of this epic journey
including the navigational charts and maps.
A legendary figure in history she
was indispensable to Lewis and Clark’s trek.
And today She’s honored on a golden dollar
a rare coin issued by the United States Mint.
-The Diamonds of My Mind-
Even if you call my name
this is not me you see
looking back.
I see the reflection of the someone
who needs convincing.
The diamonds of my mind
remember me from before
Everything about me is bespoke
I’m the one who stole last place.
It’s not me anymore
I don’t want my lovers back
They know now like me
there’s only one secret left
Hidden in the mystery,
the changing memories
life leaves behind.
But, is it me this morning
walking like an old man
while no one is looking.
I’m the one who jumped out of airplanes,
I hiked the Tetons,
I dove into a raging Missouri River,
and had a Yellowstone Grizzly
stand up in front of my convertible
flex his nails, then lumber off.
Ask Virginia Smart or Jeanie.
Now these aches
are the last real connection,
to a voluble past
Each has a story to tell.
I frown into the mirror.
What happened?
Yesterday, we were newlyweds.”
"Fifty years ago," he says.
“You lost half a century.”
There's my husband, slouching
in the recliner, thinning hair,
frayed collar, expanding stomach.
A slow smile spreads across my face.
I sidle over, plop into his lap,
and sling my arm around his neck.
"Remember Great Falls, fishing
in the Missouri River until sunset,
A & W root beer in frozen mugs?
“How about that May snowstorm
in Yellowstone, or camping in Canada,
our sleeping bags zipped together as one?
Or Holder Lake, Bird Woman Falls,
and fishing in a stream no wider
than this chair we’re sitting in?
“Remember our two parakeets,
perched above everything we owned
in that forty-nine Chevy coupe
on the trip home to Missouri?
Or the car, stop-dead in Roundup,
Montana, leaving us stranded
for three days, waiting for parts?
“”I remember that sexy redhead,”
he says. “What happened to her?”
“Not sure, but I think she ran off
with a pot-bellied old man.”
My history beckons like the Prairies
Dry towns. Cute and fierce,
Fearless and enslavement,
As the likeness on the Platte,
The Powder, the Niobrara,
the Tongue, the Snake,
The Yellowstone, who, as an American buffalo,
Strange moonlight, explode
With gigantic waves!
My history beckons like a halfway
Body of Missouri River and the Rockies,
Like the Paha-Sapa, the Black Hills of Sioux!
The delighted night of long dance and tales!
My history beckons, oh powerless!
As the magic, mightily sport beyond
The thunderbird
Of the clean range of souls and heats
As the unimaginable size of American bison!
Santee Sioux now all stuck ~ Casino, road
under water !~ Missouri River, talkin' big
it needed water, the River valley dried up
Governor's howling, blaming Corps!
Our nation always at odds
Monica brought her silverware ~ Mom & Dad's
on Sunday ~ Spring to now ~ eating - talking - laughing
3 languages ~ Italian opera director!
Organizer ~ Secretary for Military Academy
Father ~ German military ~ stood up to Hitler,
wouldn't salute ~ up his ~ Father demoted to Norway
he had his pride ~ after War ~ selling on road!
With Monica & Mother ~ sleeping in car
then their own RV ~ all over Germany, Italy ~ finally free!
The "long fork" is in my belongings ~ part of family set
Monica's long fork found a home, with me!
She wanted back ~ Her trails and trials in America
her longest fork
in the road ~ you see ~ Indian looking homeword
left to perish all Winter ~ no water, diabetic!
While her cousins played, reaped & sowed
gambling just up 300 yards
Sitting Bull's rodeo days in Germany
& Monica ~ a longest fork ~ of returning home!
was it a dream
or did we climb with giddy
anticipation
to the widows walk of the ancient house
and look out upon the Missouri River
silently rolling by?
Ghosts of steamers drift under the fog on the
river top
music drifting in the windows
horses clopping on cobblestones
down to the waters edge
Years ago I snuck under the fence around
this runined home
drawn in by invisible hands
stepping carefully I skirted holes in the floor
and walked through rooms once grand
where a woman waited for her husband
who sailed the mighty river.
twenty years after restoration
its a fine restaurant serving great American food
of the region
and a few words of our story to the owner
and we're up the stairs
holding hands
your eyes shining
you know what this means to me to stand where she
stood
woman of my reincarnation