Hohokams trod a river trail
In a desert’s middle ages;
The warriors hunted fox and quail
And learned what drouth presages.
The tined yellow sweet racemes
Of sprawling green mesquite
Turned into sheaves of dusky beans
Served condiment to meat.
They needed no compilate laws
With which to jail their brethren,
Enough to leave alone cat-claws
To make each member sovereign.
With clay and ribs of juniper
They built adobe dwellings;
With nuts from mesa conifer,
They drank from lava wellings.
The magic of the Hohokams
Was stronger than the Piutes’
Who worshipped in their white wigwams
The gods of lone pursuits.
But wind and sun have broken down
The power of their kivas,
And archaeologists expound
On what their ruins leave us.
(Norman MacLeod)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Power PoemsBased on Keywords: mesa, presages, wigwams, adobe, condiment, mesquite, tined, conifer, archaeologists