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About this poet

Alexander Posey, born August 3, 1873, was a Muskogee Creek poet, journalist, and humorist known for his poems and Fus Fixico letters, a series of satirical letters written from his fictional persona, Fus Fixico, that commented on local and national politics of the time. He served as the editor for the Eufaula Indian Journal before passing away on May 27, 1908. The posthumous The Poems of Alexander Lawrence Posey (Crane Printers), which was collected and arranged by Posey's wife, was published in 1910.

To Yahola, On His First Birthday

The sky has put her bluest garment on,
    And gently brushed the snowy clouds away;
The robin trills a sweeter melody,
    Because you are just one year old today.

The wind remembers, in his sweet refrains,
    Away, away up in the tossing trees,
That you came in the world a year ago,
    And earth is filled with pleasant harmonies,

            And all things seem to say,
            “Just one year old today.”

From The Poems of Alexander Lawrence Posey (Crane & Co., 1910). This poem is in the public domain.

From The Poems of Alexander Lawrence Posey (Crane & Co., 1910). This poem is in the public domain.

Alexander Posey

Alexander Posey

Alexander Posey, born August 3, 1873, was a Muskogee Creek poet, journalist, and humorist known for his poems and Fus Fixico letters.

by this poet

poem
    Some day this quest
       Shall cease;
          Some day,
          For aye,
    This heart shall rest
      In peace.
Sometimes—ofttimes—I almost feel
The calm upon my senses steal,
So soft, and all but hear
The dead leaves rustle near
And sign to be
At rest with me.
Though I behold
  The ashen branches
poem

Down with him! chain him! bind him fast!
    Slam to the iron door and turn the key!
The one true Creek, perhaps the last
    To dare declare, “You have wronged me!”
Defiant, stoical, silent,
    Suffers imprisonment!

Such coarse black hair! such eagle eye!
    Such stately mien

poem

    Tired at length of crying,
    Laughing, cooing, sighing,
The baby lies so qui’t and still,
    Scarce breathing in his sleep;
The mother watches, half-inclined
    To hide her face and weep.