One river with different streams,

occasionally writing with a broken faucet,

waving your hand but the sensor

not responding, knowing the water is there.

Thinking and praying about inspiration,

What was his heart saying?

Wilderness, nature with colors,

Native Americans coming alive,

the beauty of culture,

loving the people. Horses.

Culture always speaking with gold,

from around the world. Asia, Africa.

And love. His wife the librarian,

an endless resource, a river

herself, sparkling with diamonds.

Faith is important to him, but that’s not why he writes,

too many crusaders, outside with banners waving,

he did not want that,

no preaching, but painting,

something beautiful. Colors.


   Edouard Manet 1882
Edouard Manet 1882




Writing © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree


A Human Being

Fall in the Forest


This office building oppresses me,

it tries to tell me I have no identity,

filing papers, and pushing buttons,

like everyone else,

I need the wholeness of the earth,

the wisdom of the sky,

and the restoration of the water,

so I can be free,

and creative,

not a number, a place

where the Creator can speak to me,

and I can listen from the heart,

hearing peaceful strength,

and I truly can become,

a human being, once again.


Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Return

Native Americans



When he arrived back at the village there was a lot of whooping and hollering coming from the children. They were running and jumping around, as if they had never seen a person return from a hunt before. Hawk in the Sky had three horses (including the spotted one) full of provisions, and he had walked them all back to the camp. Old women smiled, and men slapped his back with congratulations.

It wasn’t until later, as he was sitting around the fire with his wife, that he remembered the terrible dream he had had the night before, about the demon. Staring into the fire he realized the origins of that awful thing was fear. Ever since his father had died he had been afraid. His father had been a strong leader, a war chief, and everyone looked to him, for everything. They trusted his father like no one else.

Hawk in the Sky realized he could never be that type of leader. He knew that, and the people knew that, and so they were all nervous. They did not have a strong leader anymore. Their jubilation over his return was partly due to relief. He was after all, the oldest son of Standing Bear.

His wife stared at him with concern on her face. He had not eaten. He shook everything else off, and smiled at her, which caused her to relax. Tomorrow he would meet with the counsel and talk, right now it was time to be with his beautiful Red Wing. He loved her softness. The children were asleep, and the two of them would soon be as well, underneath the buffalo blankets.

At Night

Writing © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Dances with Wolves – The Raiding Party

This is a beautiful piece of film. I love the way the wolf and the horse let the main character know something is wrong. Then there is the photography of the charging horses! Tremendous. Notice the Native American clothing and the war paint, on both the men and horses. They do steal Lt. Dunbar’s horse but it gets away!

I love when a Lakota warrior charges at the main character, and yells at him! In this clip there are no subtitles, so the warrior is yelling some like this: “My name is Wind in His Hair, and I am not afraid of you! Do you hear me?” He then repeats the same phrase. At the end there is a messenger telling the warriors some bad news Enjoy!

Writing © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Autumn in the Woods


I love the smell of autumn


the colors, the fresh air

tasting the cold.

Hiking with you,

on the trails, pretending

that we are the only people left,

earth reborn.

Adam and Eve?

a new beginning, in gold and red,

looking at the veins of a leaf,

you can see the Creator.

Hours of talking, and walking,

sensing the earth,

and where we fit,

then hiding, snuggled warm,

in the cabin,

next to the fire,

eating a bowl of baked apples,

with cinnamon.


Log Cabin



Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Horses of the Plains

Beautiful Paint

Controlled fury, pounding, sweeping,

over the plains, coming up from the south,

nostrils flaring, breathing in the power,

heart racing, legs a blur,

chest and lungs heaving, muscles

out pacing the deer,

over running the buffalo,

swerving, turning, in and out

of the herd, dodging the horns,

watching the lance fly,

the arrows falling like rain, on the target,

stopping on a dime, given the command.

And when the hunt is over,

still barely tame, yet a friend

controlled fury helping

the people to be free.

Warrior and Painted Horse



Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree