"There are many rooms..."

He turns to me and says, "There are many rooms in this house and you are in one of them."

It was then that I knew the student had become the teacher and I had become the student. I suddenly felt small but cozy. Safe. I think I will tarry here a while. This is every writing teacher's dream, to be invited in to sit at the student's own "kitchen table," and there we write--sitting next to each other.

Musings

Here is a small selection of Dan's poetry dealing with different unique intersections, i.e. hopeful glimpses of the narrative of us

Nahullo

Our ancestors spoke of them
Beings, large and bright
Hardened
Strong

Supernatural
Other-worldly
To be feared
Nahullo

The haunts of yesteryear
Everywhere –on this
Continent of ours
Or theirs?
Broken
Sad, empty

Even among the earth’s giants
They shifted, to and fro’
In their largeness
Their whiteness
Out of sight
Vanished
Chahta lore
Secrets
Kept
Secrets
Lost
The old ones knew them
So they said

In the shadows
In the forest
On the plain
Glimpses
In the dirt
Under it
Alone
Faint memories burn

To speak of them out loud
Is to curse another
Wishing one ill
A threat
A hex
A kill

These creatures stir
No good shall come
They are not
Well-wishers
Yet takers
Hungry
Thirsty
Insatiable
Nahullo

All had quieted
No Nahullo
Years had passed
Silence and peace
Food and dance
River walls protecting us
Thistled thickets crowning
Our heads
Safe from harm

Then a change
The wind switches
Landscape swallowed whole
The sky’s clouds amass
The sun hidden on its borders
The waters paused, stilled
The thicket dried, brittle now
Our heads naked, bare, flaking
Exposed
Aged
Ill
Weak
We fall to our knees

Weeping in pain
Our villages burn
Emerging from shadowed streams
Nahullo breaks the water’s surface
Ripples crash
Onto the big deer’s legs
Nahullo ride them, poised for pain
Tall, arrogant
Metal clothes clanking
Shiny skin shimmering
White as cotton bulbs
Pale as stars
Insatiable
Appetites for gold
Appetites for pain
Appetites for power
Appetites for our women

Nahullo brings destruction
From ancient Chahta memories
And our old magical dreams
From secret holes in trees and
Children’s nightmares
Sunk into the Mississippi’s silty soil
And now a colonizer’s sword
A magical ball from its barrel
Hot as fire tearing through
Our flesh
Our bone
Our soul

Nahullo
No angel
No savior
Only beastly
Ravenous
Suffering
Oppressive
Affliction

Nahullo
The word
We once only whispered
In the dark of night
For the magical creatures
From dimensions afar
Angels and demons
Coming and going
Mischievous

Cunning

But now
We met them
Face to face
The Nahullo
White men
Now also whispered
In fear
In the dead of night
Secretly
In fear they might hear
Angels or demons
Coming and going
Mischevious
Cunning
Insatiable
Consuming us
Consuming all we have
Nahullo

Our beginning
Our end

Divine Buffalo and Dancing Deer

Just before the Prairie Dog Village
You know
On the right side
Before the new one was built
When it was just a field of holes
Off the main road at the Refuge
There, dry red dirt packed itself between dry white grasses
And the small prairie dogs ran from hole to hole
Then popping up, standing upright
Like guardians
Protecting their homes
Standing watch at the edge
Barking annoyingly
Alarmingly

It was there that I saw it
The buffalo pelts come alive
Animated by flesh and blood
Real skin, bone, muscled sinew
Tons of it rippling underneath
Like ancient automatons
Walking on the grassland
Like gods
Uninhibited
Organic
Beings

My childish eyes taking in the incomprehensible
Wonders from story books
Fables, legends
History books, even
The giant buffalo walking across the road
Fur not clean
Messy, frizzy, flaking, peppered with grasses
Falling
Shedding onto the asphalt below

Our car stops
And bends the knee
In reverence
Someone whispers, don’t look them in the eye
I look away
The gods walk on
Paying little attention to us
We mortals

Beyond, in the field
Unlike their buffalo brothers
The nimble antelope-like creatures dart and jump
Above the grass gliding
Skating on hoof and adrenaline
Floating, flying, hovering
The Earth its home
The ground its launch pad
The dirt and grass its bed
But not wanting to sleep
Reindeer games occupy
Fun is in the air

While the gods walk on
Contemplative
Heavy
Silent
Slow
Uninterested
The deer play
The deer live
They dance
And hope

I want harmony

Crisp air wakes me up
Like Grandpa’s coffee can’t do
Nature’s rain falling

Heavy on my skin
A blanket of leaves and mist
Calling me inward

And outward also
To be a part of the field
No enemies here

Grayish hues subdued
Majestic antlers rising
Slender frame hiding

Black eyes opened wide
Now head turning watchfully
Alarmed. Afraid. Gone.

I am not your foe
Please don’t run away from me!
Enemy… I’m not

But it is too late
The buck invisible now
Alone, I collapse

I’m not a hunter
I whisper with frozen breath
Hoping he returns

But he doesn’t come
He knows my words to be false
Even ‘fore I do

I’m undone, broken
Designed to be too human
But what about peace?

I’m just a boy, torn
I swear with all that I am
I want harmony

Deer Lake

Glimmering reflections, a lake’s surface slows
Ripples smoothing into stasis
And the glossy liquid finding stillness
While suspended algae and tree debris freeze
A wet leaf turning slow somersaults beneath
Happy, carefree

A mother deer and baby drinking at water’s edge
My canoe too far to see clearly
To watch them see themselves in the watery glass
Pink tongues submerged just beyond the bank
Dipped low for refreshment
They see me now
And dart back to the tree line
Into the shadows
Doe teaching fawn to hide
To protect their sacred lives
Be still, she whispers
Wait, patiently, she tells him
For the humans to sleep so we can eat
At ease, protected by Mother Night herself

Campers on the opposite side
Wild boys yelping and hollering
Wanting to scare the deer away, forever
Hate runs deep
Indian boys even in Oklahoma forget the Choctaw issi
The deer of our ancestors
Who fed and clothed us with their skins and meat

But there’s no respect, not like before
Just suspended lostness
Beneath the surface
Of lake and skin
Filled with the debris of pain
Left over from our own struggles
Vestiges of disappointment
Anger, even
Surfacing
Bubbling up
Day and night

I like wild berries more than wild meat, though
Why kill at all?
Why scare the meekest of our planet?
Why not find harmony instead?
The boys are still laughing at the shore
Hoping to scare more deer
Daring them to return
Co-exist, I whisper
Eco-exist
Just let ‘em be
Free
Like we once were too

Deer Rising: Life Lessons from our Most Gentle Neighbors

This is an inspiring collection of poems (some of which are previewed above) that tells the story of Dan's own journey to passivism and vegetarianism through the presence of deer in his life. The poems trace his life from his very first memories to  well into adulthood, offering glances at transformative milestones that would inform his eventually making peace with this world, both with its pain and its beauty.

"Our Hawks Do Actually Fly!"

In this first place prize-winning poem published in First Nations Poetry Magazine, January 2026, Dan playfully critiques Rodgers and Hammerstein's world famous musical "Oklahoma" with a re-casting of the "the hawk makin' lazy circles in the sky" as a more accurately portrayed bloodthirsty predator stalking its prey on the plains of his native homeland.