When We Were Savages – V (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

V. Who Really Were the Savages?

By Maik Strosahl

At Circus World in Baraboo,

we played the freaks,
we were the baboons,
the ferocious feline

stalking the bars of a cart,

back and forth,
while mom laughed,
snapping pictures
of her captured monsters.

When We Were Savages – IV (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

IV. I Transform….

By Dick Dalton

Black
as moonless nights
without stars
I glisten
with diamonds of sweat.
Caged
in the land of the free
I transform…
coming soon
to the home of the hypocrite.

When We Were Savages – III (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

III. Minik Wallace
(c. 1890 – Oct. 29, 1918)

By Bob Boldt

I lie here, one in a sea
of cots and coughing bodies,
heaving our last.

I lie, Minik, the first and last,

Inuit son of a mighty hunter.

When We Were Savages – II (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

II. Ishi
(c. 1861 – March 25, 1916)

By Kurt Groner

I was a man of no name, from the Yahi people,

people who were brought to an end with the rush for gold

My people were no more, the last died at Three Knolls

I went to hide in the wilderness

When found by the white men,

my wrists were bound—

I just smiled and gave them no fight

When We Were Savages – I (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

I. Ota Benga
(c. 1883 – March 20, 1916)

By Michael H. Brownstein

I was the hunter of elephants—

I fed my village for weeks at a time—

but I made two mistakes:

I welcomed the men with no skin

and I did not die a warrior’s death

when they killed everyone in my clan.

I fought hard and took many of them
before they captured me whole.
Why did they not kill me?
They told about lessons to be learned,
but they underestimated a hunter of elephants.