Brent Blount - Jazz & Native American Music

   There are multitudes of ways an ethnicity may want to express its culture, none of which deserve to be victimized. Rather, they ought to be respected. People of all ages dress to express who they are; therefore, when a white supremacist inflicts a crime of hate, they are also sucking the soul of their victim. 

   They rip off the scarf, force a noose around the neckgrab and yank pony tails of American Indians, and encourage violence. Doing absolutely nothing in the face of evil is traitorous, yet one must know what the monster does so as to not become one. Thus, these poems are posted below, which are aimed at religious hypocrisy of white supremacists and anyone actively trying to make this country a theocracy.

Thirteenth Moon of the Lamb


"Blood from your limbs, 
Sap of my trunk. 
Crown taken from my cousin, 
Tis yours as well.

Near your last hour, 
Burning leaves now words - 
Storm my breath.

Sit in my fork, O Lamb - 
Thy coil hung by men's fear... 
Peer into centuries and cry blood."

"A girl stares at a square. 

Voices come from below the people, 
My eyes are hers.

Only plagues aren't prejudiced - 
Mirrors are invisible to bigotry 
Fascists rape children of choice, 
Quoting the traitor Paul over me.

Ghosts of dead churches 
Whisper scripture to sucklings 
Moaning lies about my sacrifice, 
Teaching the sword ---- 
Not the cheek.

Fundamentalists are as fossils, 
Unable to alter... 
Except by erosion or destruction.

How much more life will perish 
Before those fossils erode? 
Who breaks their mold by the Word --- 
Not the sword?

My apostles failed, 
Popes and Kings destroyed my teachings and deny them.

War beats in their hearts which loves the root of evil 

-- This do in remembrance of me

-- This do in remembrance of me."

Blood poured from the eyes of the lamb.

Fork to flesh, 
The ghost of The Lamb crawled --- 
Grief grasped his spirit, 
Going from the arm of the tree 
To the wet chest of the cross...

I Do Not Want Your God

I do not want your god. 
You say the devil is in the wilderness, 
But the greatest peace I have ever known is with the sun shining bright, 
The wind blowing on my burned face, 
Or the moon shining like the sun on a solstice.

I do not want your god. 
You believe the annihilation of my ancestors is divinely authorized. Even your religious coercions today are still cultural genocide, as you make darkness bow its head in Shame for the choices you make.

I do not want your god. 
Every time you say your Devil’s name he comes and dances   
Though you say he’s "under your feet." 
It’s your Devil, you keep him.

I do not want your god. 
And while your Religious Fascism killed my clan, 
Who knows not who they are – 
I forgive you, the white man, 
But I’ll never forget.

I do not want your god. 
I may not know where the bones of my ancestors are, 
Whose culture your Religious Fascism murdered - 
But they breath through me, 
I know who I am.

I do not need your god to be free. 
I am free of hate, 
I am free of fear, 
And all I see with your god is hate and fear.

I do not want your god.

I Will Not Hate the White Man

I will not hate the White Man,
Though he encroaches on the land.
He has not yet realized my people are his,
And his is mine this time again.

I will not hate the White Man,
Though he’s made languages fade away.
His lands are lost from him,
He needs someone to pay.

I will not hate the White Man,
Though he glorifies genocide.
He cannot stop fighting his crusades and wars,
His heart from himself he hides.

I will not hate the White Man,
The One Direction won’t let it be.
We both go through chaos and change,
Throughout eternity.

I will not hate the White Man,
But I will not be like him.
I forgive him for Christianizing my clan,
That I’ll never see again.

I forgive the White Man,
And though my land is long lost.
I’ll keep that medicine deep,
Deep within my heart.

I’ll never be the White Man.

The Meaning of Power and Corruption

An eon past, 
A blink for God's eye 
I drowned in the Sea of Dead Souls.

Swarmed they in the blood of my ancestors - 
Neither in Heaven nor in the Abyss resting. 

But like Shadows in the night - 
Danced they o'er my soul.

My bodies pried open - 
Only a little evil entering at a time 
Until the Apocalypse, 
So it appeared - 
Like a misty reflection upon water.

An eon past, 
A blink for God's eye 
The Devil unlocked my soul - 
With the key I had lost possession of.

The Sun was dim - 
I was beside myself in soul. 
My senses belonged not to me, 
But to the Prince of Darkness.

An eon past in suffering, torment and Anguish, but what about the key which Unlocked my soul - from whence I looked Upon Pestilence and said it was good?

The key
Yes, the key to my soul.

In that Dark Night I demanded 
An explanation from my Lord. 
"I walk and am weary; I seek but do not find. My wings are made of iron - 

Why hast thou forsaken me? 
Thy rivers run deep as the 
Land of Milk and Honey. 
Why, my Lord - 
Do I suffer so Night and Day?"

I remembered the key used by evil to unlock my soul. "I can see thy Holy Angels of the Quarters. I can commune with them and serve them, thus serve thee - 

My Lord."

The Lord of Heaven answered

"Why do you think I allowed Beelezebub to use the key? The meaning is the suffering."