Nacoma joined the spirit world on 3-29-2001 at the age of 105.
These are the only known pictures of him and I
was lucky to have found them amoung my fathers things.

The Day I Really Died

I was young, a scarce five winters,
when I lost my life and began my death
I still see my father, standing proud,
strong and hale.
He smiles at me,
granting a conspiratorial wink.
I remember the battle cry echoing
throughout the forest deep.

"Crux mihi grata quiess!!"
resounding, returned.
Thunder roared and down they rode,
black as death upon wild beasts,
drumming, trampling down the village watch.
Those of us who dared to arm
faced the penalty of their sin:
not death, but a crippling blow.
I bore witness, by my mother's side,
of our judgement from above.
I felt the air throbbing,
ringing to the drums outside the ring

Doom Doom Doom Doom
slow but steady,
ominously striking as horsemen withdrew to higher ground.
I saw the wolves.

I saw wolves.
Screams mingled with the drumming
as the wolves were sent to feed.
My mother snatched me off the floor
and holding me, ran out the back,
running for safety,
running,
running,
falling,
crushing me into the cold, white snow,
feeling my mother above me,
hearing her scream.

I hear screams drums wolves.
I feel my mother shifting, moving.
The snow turns pink.
I hear the sound of gnashing, rending,
babies screaming, silenced by snapping.
Laughter.
I hear the laughter,
I hear the crackling,
I smell something burning.

My mother's touch is no longer warm.
Trapped, I dig my way free with numb fingers.
I see the pale sun shimmering,
hiding behind black clouds boiling,
rolling into the sky.
The wolves and horsemen have vanished.
I look at my mother and stumble,
stifling the scream in my throat.
I don't want them to return for me.

Slowly, I walk to what was once my village,
my home.
Amid the ruins of our hut
I see a shawl.
A baby's shawl.
My brother's shawl.
Crimson and steaming on the earthen floor,
the last thing I see,
drums echoing in my heart,
my mind.

That day I lost my life,
watched it bleed and burn
to the earth from which it sprang.
I left that day,
taking only what I could carry,
the shawl tucked in my belt,
leaning on my father's spear,
his sword and shield upon my back,
slowly walking south
into the lonesome wood.

But that was three and twenty years ago,
letting the drifting snow bury my dead.
Now I ride,
father's shield on arm,
sword at side,
spear in hand.
The head and pelt of timber wolf
I wear over hauberk, dearly bought,
watching as the wolves descend
upon the crippled warriors
mothers
babes
watching
remembering....

© Chief Nacoma 02/21/1998

The Spirit Of Yeaterday

I've walked the lands of the ancient ones..
Long since gone Generations
I can still feel their laughter..
their pain
I can still hear their songs...
Hear their drums beating against a darken sky..
I can see them dancing..
I can still see horses painted up for war
Still see Mothers and Wifes with Tears in their eyes
But Pride in their hearts...
I can hear their Chants...
their prayers
Still the memories and pride run deep in my
own heart and soul as it did
the People...
Medicine and holy men...
and the Chiefs..
This is my heritage...
the American Indians
Spirit of Yesterday...
Is the Spirit of Tomarrow.

© Chief Nacoma 03/28/2001
This poem was told to me the day before Chief Nacoma's death.

I Love You Nacoma!

If I had my life to do over,
I'd have chosen you to be my dad once more.
Even if it meant losing you again,
It's worth all the tears in the world.

You were my sunshine when skies were gray.
I loved you and honored you;
You took all my tears away.
I was happy to be with you,
Proud to be your daughter.

Sometimes we would argue,
But to me you meant the world.
Your love was always pure;
You treated me as your own.
Your time seemed all too short and
I feel so alone.

What can I take from this?
My heart is completely crushed.
But nothing loved is ever lost -
And you are loved so much.

© Tiger Eyes 04/05/2001