The Flying Basket:
Paint me as the corn to dance
The red, white, and blue corn, the black corn.
Paint me as the mixed-color corn,
The laughing corn, the crazy corn.
Make music for me on the rasping sticks and on the basket drums.
Sing me a song for making arrows with the feathers of the eagle,
for he is brave.
Shake your gourd rattles that it may dance for a healing.
Sing all night before the battle and
Have the War Chief utter a magic speech to remove the enemy’s power.
It was the summer season of the stinging creatures
When it is unlucky to sit and tell stories.
The time when the washes flow,
The time when we recite a magic poem to the red Saguaro fruit wine
And dance skipping, carrying rainbows, all in white.
There appeared to me a large storage basket floating
The kind of basket that the women weave from the inside,
Standing tall to reach the top.
The flying basket sent down a beam and carried me away.
Here I fly in the realm of the ancient condor
Perhaps a passing eagle will give me a power song.
Below I see the Rez Boyz heading out to KOHN at Gu-achi
Soon they’ll be kicking out the jams.
We hit them with a ray in their rear-view mirror
Causing them to pray that we’re only a black helicopter patrolling the border.
Switching gears now, we’re flying over the hills and
back in time to when our power songs were everything.
We’re going back to when the young men raced
for miles to get a vision and a song
Hoping to see a hawk or a Mt. Lion in their exhaustion.
“Be good so an animal will talk to you,” their Mother’s told them.
By singing, men brought rain and accomplished all good things.
The animals gave them their songs.
Hovering above the Earth we re-enter the present time.
We must be getting close to home, we’re picking up
Rez Radio in the stratosphere:
“A shout-out to the Fry-Bread Crew and to the Yeast-Bread Crew,
and a big shout-out to Girl.
We have a letter from Jimmy who sends his love to his
Beautiful Tohono O’odham women “Never fear, Jimmy’s here!”
“The other stations might as well take down their power towers,
KXCI and Rez Radio Rule!”
“10 minutes until Poet’s Moment, Ron Cipriani is just pulling up in his limo.”
Out the craft’s portal I see a passing Trans-Atlantic jet
Look! It’s Al Perry carrying the Waila jams to France.
His Cisco Band and Native Creed CD’s will show
The French what accordion music is all about!
“We’ll see you on the flip-side Al,” if they ever bring me back!
Waking up here, I am alone in the Tecalote fields
Where the corn is growing green and the tassels are waving in the breeze.
There goes my flying silver storage basket.
Peeling out in hyper-drive back to it’s own dimension.
Send in the painted clowns with their shining stones,
Brush me with feathers, dream me a power name,
For I have seen the Earth from space.
The Flying Basket:
Paint me as the corn to dance
The red, white, and blue corn, the black corn.
Paint me as the mixed-color corn,
The laughing corn, the crazy corn.
Make music for me on the rasping sticks and on the basket drums.
Sing me a song for making arrows with the feathers of the eagle,
for he is brave.
Shake your gourd rattles that it may dance for a healing.
Sing all night before the battle and
Have the War Chief utter a magic speech to remove the enemy’s power.
It was the summer season of the stinging creatures
When it is unlucky to sit and tell stories.
The time when the washes flow,
The time when we recite a magic poem to the red Saguaro fruit wine
And dance skipping, carrying rainbows, all in white.
There appeared to me a large storage basket floating
The kind of basket that the women weave from the inside,
Standing tall to reach the top.
The flying basket sent down a beam and carried me away.
Here I fly in the realm of the ancient condor
Perhaps a passing eagle will give me a power song.
Below I see the Rez Boyz heading out to KOHN at Gu-achi
Soon they’ll be kicking out the jams.
We hit them with a ray in their rear-view mirror
Causing them to pray that we’re only a black helicopter patrolling the border.
Switching gears now, we’re flying over the hills and
back in time to when our power songs were everything.
We’re going back to when the young men raced
for miles to get a vision and a song
Hoping to see a hawk or a Mt. Lion in their exhaustion.
“Be good so an animal will talk to you,” their Mother’s told them.
By singing, men brought rain and accomplished all good things.
The animals gave them their songs.
Hovering above the Earth we re-enter the present time.
We must be getting close to home, we’re picking up
Rez Radio in the stratosphere:
“A shout-out to the Fry-Bread Crew and to the Yeast-Bread Crew,
and a big shout-out to Girl.
We have a letter from Jimmy who sends his love to his
Beautiful Tohono O’odham women “Never fear, Jimmy’s here!”
“The other stations might as well take down their power towers,
KXCI and Rez Radio Rule!”
“10 minutes until Poet’s Moment, Ron Cipriani is just pulling up in his limo.”
Out the craft’s portal I see a passing Trans-Atlantic jet
Look! It’s Al Perry carrying the Waila jams to France.
His Cisco Band and Native Creed CD’s will show
The French what accordion music is all about!
“We’ll see you on the flip-side Al,” if they ever bring me back!
Waking up here, I am alone in the Tecalote fields
Where the corn is growing green and the tassels are waving in the breeze.
There goes my flying silver storage basket.
Peeling out in hyper-drive back to it’s own dimension.
Send in the painted clowns with their shining stones,
Brush me with feathers, dream me a power name,
For I have seen the Earth from space.
