WyoPoets
The People of WyoPoets
WyoPoets contains a diverse, talented membership that cannot be contained by mere geographical borders. Poets range from young to old, fledgling poet to grizzled veteran, small town to big city - well, as big as it gets in Wyoming. We all share one thing in common, the love of poetry and the love of the wide open spaces of the West.
New Member Profile: Sue Dewey
My name is Sue Dewey, and I am English. I was born in 1953 in Portsmouth, Hampshire, England and live in nearby Gosport with my husband Chris. I have two sons and three grandchildren. Since a child I have studied the history of the West, in particular Native American tribal histories. Throughout my years of study I was fortunate enough to meet Native people from different tribes, some of whom remain good friends today. From 2002 to 2007, Chris and I traveled throughout Western South Dakota, Montana and Wyoming. During this time I became interested in Pioneer history and also the origins of rodeo. Jim Thompson, from Spearfish radio was a great help to me and it was through him that I got a love of Western poetry. I write from an historical view, as obviously I haven’t lived in the Midwest.
My interests are: writing, reading and working as a speaker here in England on Native American tribal histories (Northern Plains). I feel very fortunate to be a member of the WyoPoets, and be amongst such talented writers. There is nowhere more inspiring to me than the prairies, plains and mountains of the Midwest.
Poetry by Sue Dewey:
THE SOLDIER’S SONG
By Sue Dewey
Oh carry me home boys to my own dear sweet wife
And take me away from this cold army life
I’ve ridden with Custer and don’t want no more
We’re tired, sore and hungry and the food here is poor
Dried biscuits and bacon is all that we’ve had
The water is brackish and the coffee real bad
And bony old ponies make us saddle sore
As we stumble towards another Indian war
Oh carry me home boys to my own dear sweet Jane
And take me away from the dry dusty Plain
Where flies buzz around and mosquitoes bite
And dark brings the cold in the long dreary night
Oh hush yon coyote!
Be still biting things!
I pray for some sleep and the peace that it brings
Oh carry me home boys to my own dear sweet one
I hear Crow scouts singing
Their death songs are sung
And there in the distance I see Custer ride
He’s dressed like a Plainsman in smoky deer hide
I hate Gary Owen
The bugler’s call
My stomach is churning I fear we will fall
Oh carry me home boys to my own dear sweetheart
My body’s torn and bleeding from this life I’ll soon part
And horses dead beat all sweating and thin
Stumble into the distance through battle and din
Hookah hey shout the warriors!
It’s a good day to die!
Kicking up dust, their paint horses fly
And I clinging onto my dying pal’s arm
Place his loved one’s gold locket
Into cold, outstretched palm
And the cool Bighorn river does not seem to care
As around we all stumble in the June sun’s hot glare
Oh carry him home boys to his own dear sweet wife
This soldier’s for burying
What a waste of young life!
CIRCLE OF HONOUR - BIGHORN BATTLEFIELD
by Sue Dewey
It is a strange and lonely place
A circular structure full of grace
Built to honor the Indian dead
Whose bodies on this battlefield bled
And all around those cobbled walls
The words of elders gone before
Inscriptions from a time long past
Etched in stone - their words will last
And poised before this wisdom old
Are iron warriors on horses bold
Doomed to ride for evermore
Above the battlefield they soar
So within this circle I now stand
And think of Custer’s soldier band
No glory here for his sad boys
Who breathed their last on sun baked soil
But here inside this sacred round
Where fall winds make their keening sound
The spirits rest in harmony
The elders prayers have set them free
And in honor place on steel horse frame
An eagle feather on tail and mane
So swift the battle and victory sweet
It seems that this circle is now complete
For true Native spirit runs deep through the veins
Of the steep Bighorn valley on the far northern Plains
Where young men and old fought to be free
Such a high price to pay sighs the wind eerily
No battle cry sounds
No horses hoof pounds
Just silence from iron warriors who bear
Sacred bundles of sage in their cold steely hair
Quote
"Wyoming is the friendliest state I have ever been in, even friendlier than Texas or Nevada. Almost everybody, one point among many, has a nickname." -- Inside U.S.A.
John Gunther
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