The Pale Indian

“My Indian skin is pale / My Indian spirit broken.” With this verse the author sets the tone for the whole book. It is not a book of Native American poems, but rather the author’s attempt to make sense of an increasingly disconnected world. The Pale Indian represents the culmination of about four years of writing between 2004 and 2008. The author has laid bare his heart in this collection of poems. Themes in this book range from life, death, love, loneliness; to the mysticism of Native Americans and political satire. Wrapped with imagery these poems evoke a stark world of inner turmoil and self-realization. Sometimes it’s dark, sometimes it’s escapist, but it’s always genuine.

THE PALE INDIAN My Indian skin is pale My Indian spirit broken My white ancestors win My Abenaki spirit Floats within a dream of what once was My Abenaki spirit Lies like ashes in the fire pit Of what once was Where a wigwam once stood But now my mother and her kin Stand where wind and shadows meet And burn within the fire pit The totem of the Abenaki A warrior proud and strong Carved in golden wood The wood will not burn It will never burn But my mother and her brothers And her sisters stand Around where the wigwam once stood And cry into the ashes Of the cold fire pit HAVE MERCY Bow your head; my little angel, and pray for me Ask Him to forgive and to forget As we forget those who trespass into and out of our lives Forgive me if I forget the lessons of the past And help me to remember the good times and lessons taught Forgive those who take me for granted Let them see what they have missed Let them see how I would have loved them Let them see that what they know is the tip of the iceberg Ask Him for me; my little angel, ask him to melt me There is no opening without first being closed There is no look without eyes first being shut Light shines through shut eyelid Through skin and blood shows red The door stands ajar with gray knowledge behind Smokey and soft the mannequin beckons

M.C. Laney is from southern California. He believes that his writing speaks for itself and that he is neither important enough, nor self centered enough to have an author biography. He is content to live out his life in relative simplicity and obscurity, (but not poverty, please buy the book!). His writing must therefore serve as a biography of sorts.