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Best Dingo Poems | Poetry

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The Best Dingo Poems

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A Willow Tree

Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,

before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,

and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,

and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),

and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).

And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,

the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills 
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."


Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.

But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:

“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?” 


        ”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2015

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Victory to the Prey

Where a dingo, with crushed skull, lies, a stout round creature backs up from the entrance of his burrow. His sturdy rump has saved him, and his worst enemy has been rear-ended by a wombat! Written Jan. 17, 2015 by Andrea Dietrich for the Night Creatures Contest of nette onclaud Animal is #1: Wombat

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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Jen loves to go to bingo Knows all the caller’s ‘lingo’ Her numbers come out She gives a loud shout Lose - she howls like a dingo 25th February 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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Cattle Drive, Aussie style

Cattle Drive

Roll over a bit in me swag
Get some bones clear of the ground
Dew is on us swag cover is wet
Dingo is howling around

The cattle are camped in the corner 
The frogs are croaking, smile creeps
Old horse has the nose bag on
Oats n the chaff for his keep

Fox has his nose in the camp oven
Cattle dog  snarls n he freaks
Fox has blurted and gone now
Cattle dog goes back to sleep

At daylight we are catching the horses
Hobbles come off as they squeak
Saddle and mount a grumpy horse
be unloaded, you’re  bloody weak :)

Old horse drops his head again smartly
Pigroots around the flat
Stay with him mate it’s only
oats causing springing like that.

Cattle move on down the Stockroute
15 mile a day cross water n creeks
40 mile to the railhead Darby
The Shielas are waiting so sweet.

Don Johnson

Hey Babe 
I know the feeling Im a whiz at computers been using since 1990 .
My little laptop has inbuilt webcam i record from.
I was using a usb type video camera ...which worked well.
Do make an effort to put you on you tube ...
there is lots of crappity crap there so you will be welcomed there ..
i have 190 poems n talking too...just good fun its what i

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

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More Animal Footles-Just For Fun

These are just for fun...I am trying my hand at them!

 camel enamel

  stony pony

  dingo lingo

  drunk skunk

  pig gig

  peppered leopard

  cat hat

awesome possum

Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2013

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Dark Woods

Dark Woods dj Me bones will surely feed the hogs, An maybe even Dingo dogs, Me OP rum sucked on this log , Is fairly satisfying. It’s pretty dark here in the woods, Me sheep is hanging as it should, Lamb chops had brekki bloody good, (breakfast) Will make a dead hook of dying. Got the rope behind me old deaf ear, Arsenic tastes a little *****, Twelve guage to blow away me fear, Here goes a spirit flying :) can't blame a man for trying? dead hook is for dying, 3 ways of death applying, wait on i've changed me mind... Poet Destroyer ~ A ....3rd Contest Name DARK WOODS |

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

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Walking Through The Rainforest

Walking through the rainforest
Koala in a tree
Mr.Hungry Dingo
Staring at me

Living in Australia
Happy as can be
Sunburnt country is the best
I'm sure you will agree

Many native species
Australia is their home
Couldn't be anywhere else
As says this Aussie poem

Platypus in the river 
Echidna eating ants
Old man in a cork hat
Wearing cotton pants

Cooking up some damper
Cooking up some roast
Eating up a lamington
Spreading Vegemite on toast

Kangaroo and cocky
Kooka and wombat 
Fight to maintain freedom
Hand to hand combat 

I'm proud to be Australian
Sunburnt country is my home
Never want to leave this place
As says this Aussie poem

Copyright © Mikayla Borchard | Year Posted 2016

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The Prospector: 

He packs his tack in a great canvas sack 
And then drives away in his car.
Nobody cries as they wave their goodbyes; 
They will await his return from afar.
When he reaches the track he will find his way back
With his GPS tuned to a star. 

The stories are told how he travels the road 
With constant anticipation,
He ignores the snakes as he hammers in stakes, 
On the boundary of his location 
This man has gone bush, and he shows no rush 
To return to civilization.

This modern-gold seeker, with a stick and a beeper  
That creates echoes to his ears from the ground.
On his own, he unpacks his gear from his sacks,
He’s left family and friends in the town.
Now the bush replaces their loving embraces
With an encompassing sky and a peaceful surround.

The look on his face shows nary a trace
Of emotion as he unpacks his gear.
He sets up his camp, and primes his lamp, 
Lights fire, and watches a dingo draw near.
Staring into the embers, he starts to remember 
Other campsites like the one he has here.

He wakes in the morning, stretching and yawning
As he extracts his bones from the ground.
His muscles will strengthen as the days lengthen
While he walks the grid; listening to sounds.
Bright are his eyes, as he unearths the prize
His detector, signals it there to be found.

When his eyes behold the nugget of gold
As he digs in the earth for this prize
They sparkle and shine as he takes out his twine,
Knotted, for measurement of size. 
The tail of his shirt removes unwanted dirt
And hessian covers rock from prying eyes

As he looks to the ground; there is more to be found!
Shards that catch the bright setting sun. 
He puts some in a pot, then marks this fine spot,
So he can find it again when he’s done.
For the task of recording his find in the morning,
He must leave; he feels he should run.

From the past he has learned, he knows he’ll return
After the assayer sees what's in his sack.
There is quiet celebration, with this revelation
As he phones his partner to say she should pack.
They both go to sign on the dotted line,
Then together they travel the track back.


Copyright © J Eliza JAMES | Year Posted 2012

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Internet Dating

I find it hard to get on the internet, FB, and  the soup

Everytime I get at the computer

My puppy crawls into my lap

She's trying to find a date....

She has hooked up with a dingo in Australia but

I hated to tell her that it was a hungry crocodile incognito!!

Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010

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I raised an Australian dingo,
no name came to mind but Ringo;
he jumped on me,
ripped my clothes daily...
it costed me plenty of money!

Only once I left him alone;
good grief... my furniture was torn!
Oh, should I be mad...
or be kind instead?
I'll sleep over it for tonight!

All Ringo did was run, bark and howl,
mistaking a small cat for an owl;
They took him away
to the zoo today;
he'll whimper form his cage, not rest!

I'll take him back, lest he behaves;
his lesson he'll learn:  good manners!
Now, Ringo just stares
to earn forgiveness...
it's fun to play with him and laugh!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

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The Tree of Relief

In a land of endless saltbush stretching miles across the plains
Of western New South Wales where it rarely ever rains,
And the temperature is searing on a soil that's living hell,
Where bleaching bones remind you of the killer droughts as well.

In a land where boredom strikes you as you seek a 'cockies' shed,
Where you put up with the haze that always shimmers up ahead,
You have drove a hundred miles and there's a hundred more to go,
So you're looking for some difference to relieve the 'status quo'. 

Now you see I am a shearer who has worked upon these plains,
And from one shed to another I've put up with travel pains,  
So I'll tell you now a story that has always stuck with me,
About a time when in the vastness stood one single Wilga tree.

Now this Wilga is a haven from the sun and stifling heat,
And offers shade for resting sheep that found this quiet retreat,
But danger lurked in sandy forms with eyes as cold as steel,
As 'round and 'round with heads bent low, the fear of death is real. 

It was common in the outback when one heard the dingo howl,
To find the carcass of a slaughtered sheep where the dingo's prowl,
So every man who worked this land would take with them a gun,
To shoot the scourge of killer dogs until there is not one.	

Still 'round and 'round those dingo's slunk to get the sheep to run,
I think the time is nearly here for me to sight the gun,
For the sheep were getting restless and were tending now to bleat,
But only moved around in circles keeping shaded from the heat.

Yet 'round and 'round the dingo's slunk and still their numbers grew,
With the pack much closer now, and the sheep had noticed too,
Then in a charge of hoof and dust, where blended fur and wool,  
I had my finger on the trigger but I wasn't game to pull. 

For I noticed there was separation from the hunter and the prey,
Every sheep from near the tree had made a perfect get-away, 
It was the dingoes that had panicked, and it was fairly plain to see,
That their interest was not killing, they were busting for a pee. 

©Lindsay Laurie 2002

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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Dog Gone Languages

Dog Gone Languages

All dogs bark except the Dingo
Humans think they know the lingo
But truth be told – reality
It’s a different sound in each country
In Arabic – hau-hau, how-how
Armenian – haf-haf
In Cantonese – wow-wow, wong-wong
Bulgarian – jaff-jaff
In English it’s arf-arf, bow-wow
In Malay it’s gong-gong
The Germans hear wuff-wuff, vow-vow
The Thais just hear hong-hong
I’d give you more but that’s enough
You need to know this other stuff
Dog barking has one common vice
A dog will always speak it twice
No matter how we hear the bark
Between two dogs it hits the mark
They seem to understand all others
Better than we do our brothers

Mdailey	11/28/12

Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2012

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From an Eagle's Eye

Distant mountains, a purple haze,
Kangaroo stands up to gaze,
Station horses and sheep graze,
On an unforgiving plain.

Red gums line a bone-dry creek,
Pink galahs swirl and shriek,
Bones are bleaching from the weak,
On harsh and dry terrain.

Soaring high in the world you own,
With not a kingdom’s soul unknown,  
On the red soil plain beneath a clear blue sky,
So much seen in an Eagles eye.

Every movement, every sound,
On the saltbush covered ground,
Thinking safe and can’t be found,
Cannot slip by.

A dingo on the prowl… is in an Eagles eye,
A Whirly-whirly dance… is in an Eagles eye,
Seek the frail so the strong survive,
Keeping the outback so alive…
From an Eagles eye.

Soaring high in the world you own,
With not a kingdom’s soul unknown,  
On the red soil plain beneath a clear blue sky,
So much to see in an Eagles eye.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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If Shakespeare Chose the Outback

“Gotta’ ‘git’ ‘im!” Followed the howl of death.
His cigarette burnt brighter, when he sucked another breath.
“Will I get the gun and spotlight?” I asked rising from my chair.
“Nar’, no sense!” the ‘old man’ said. “He could be anywhere.”

“Tomorrer’ son I wan’cha, to shoot a ‘joey’ ‘roo.
I’ll lace ‘im up an’ spread ‘im ‘round. It’s all that I c’n do
to rid us of that murd’rin’ devil, ‘oos been hangin’ ‘round again.
Strychnine baits'll clean ‘im up. Just keep ‘Gypsy’ on the chain.” 

Kangaroos are vermin, worthless pests before me gun.
In me sights a little ‘flyer’, went tumbling on the run.
“A little beauty fit to eat!” That’s what the ‘old man’ said,
before he cut and laced the meat, inside our old tin shed.

I left Dad alone to do that job, ‘cause strychnine frightens me,
since the kid from just next door, got into some you see,
by the time the ‘doc’ arrived, the lot of us all knew,
the kid was dead and died in pain; his lips and face were blue.

Dad said he laid the baits all right. Tonight’s the killers last,
by morning we were celebrating, then I looked in aghast
through the window where I saw, a vision filled with pain,
there is no sign of ‘Gypsy’, just the remnants of her chain.

Through morning sun and mallee scrub, across the saltbush plain,
from on the back of my horse ‘Ned’, I’m calling out in vain.
Dad said while I was on the search, he’d retrieve the ‘roo,
when I got home at sunset, further anguish quickly grew.

“The news ain’t good” Dad said to me; he gave me hopes a jog.
“One o’ the baits is missin’, ‘n the prints look like a dog.
It shoulda’ killed ‘im instantly. I didn't find the howlin’ cur,
it might be ‘im ‘oo took the bait. We c’n only ‘ope it were.” 

A week of search went quickly by; our hearts were heavy when,
hopes were dashed and tears returned. We heard the howls again.
“Well it ain’t ‘im ‘oo got the bait, Dad’s resigned now to fate,
then in the darkness there’s a bark. ‘Gypsy’s bounding through the gate.

And weren't she pleased to see us; a miracle comes true.
With formalities all over, Dad grimaced ‘cause he knew,
the reason for her leaving, and the nightly howling treat,
a tale akin to Romeo and Juliet, for ‘Gypsy’ was on heat.

‘Gypsy’ never roamed again. She lazed around the yard.
“Deep in pup,” Dad said she was, she’s happy just to guard
the back door to the homestead gate … then chose the caravan,
to whelp her kelpie crossbreeds, ‘Gypsy’ blue and dingo tan.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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3 letters

Wimpy Butt Dimples,
Wimbledon Bimbos,
Damp Blimp Dingo,
Wicked Wick Dip,
Dick Whipped,
Dim Brick Women,
Demon Brine Bathing,
Whimsy Wine Breathing,
Debatable Win,
Beatable Defeat,
Weak Bees,
Wax Beak,
Deem Weekend Bleak,
Dizzy Bard Waning,
Dumb Bar Baron,
Doomsday Warning,
Deluxe Wave,
Bare Babes,
Wiley Dare Devil,
Brazen Bronze Brave,
Dozen Wants,
Bilked Wage,
Bank Wizard,
Duckets Baby,
Whole Bucks Derby,
Balmy Barbeque,
Wacky Burger Dripping,
Dixie Burning,
Burly Burp,

Copyright © Ethan LeFaive | Year Posted 2015

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Dandy Don Johnson

Here's to you, Dandy Don, ol' mate!

   We in Soup jes' think you're great!

Ye who dwell in the land of the dingo,

   'ave learned us to speak native Aussie lingo!

Our kindest regards to yer dog Bungeye Jack.

   'e does a kindness in warmin' yer back!

Don't tipple too much good ol' Foster Brew,

   For like a boomerang, 'twill come back to nettle you!

Keep on crankin' out them ballads fer our delight,'

   And ol' Bob Hopeless'll see what he can write.

It's gittin' late so I'm gonna knock off and hit the hay.

   Take care of yerself and Bungeye Jack and fer now, G'Day!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011

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They were gathered round the billabong
to try to work things out
but all that was being emitted was
a right Caxton of sounds

All were jabber, jabber
and some pushing going on
jostling each other for space
none wanting to be left out

At last the wallaby said
whoa, stop I say STOP 
and quiet finally fell
Lets give the chair to cockatoo

He can perch up high 
from where he can 
keep things moving
so watch for his signal

Cockatoo opened the meeting
and first called on Dingo
you get everywhere Dingo
what have you heard?

Dingo says I heard the humans
they are going to cut down
the blue ridge forest
and build many houses there

That can not happen
it is our home
we will have to work together
if we band we can delay their work

So the animals agreed on a plan
the big animals would sit in the roads
slowing the trucks down
While the monkeys would hide their tools

Snakes would wrap their bodies
around the marked trees 
while the birds and parrots 
the workers they would bomb

All this drove the foreman to despair
the work fell further and further behind
We could build netted fences
but that only stops the large animals

The Wet will be on us 
in less than a month
if the land is still un-cleared
all work will come to a stop   

I think we need to reconsider
and turn the Blue Ridge mountains
into a reserve for them all
there are plenty of other places

Where we can build
that do not have many animals
lets leave them the ridges
then we and our children

Will have a sanctuary
to come and watch these fighters
they have shown us the errors
not all land should be built on

At the next meeting
Dingo told them you are safe
your homes will be left untouched
all we all have to do is show our faces

Pose for the odd photo
amuse with a few tricks
and in return
we can live in peace

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014

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Across Dingo Tracks

my heart
weeps of this lifetime
we shared, and as 
no repetition or Déjà vu
can follow

I watch 
each memory pass
and my chest aches,
with all the smiling faces
whose love, 
is lifting you on your way 

my soul is forever 
sealed in the blood 
that reared and pressed me
against the breast
of the Canis lupus dingo

I now walk alone 
a white speck,
on red dust 

and my howl
rises to echo, 
the night 

Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2010

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A Dingo ate my baby

A dingo ate my baby 
It came into the tent
Gobbled up my kiddie
Farted, then it went

The dingo ate my baby
It’s a terrible disgrace
It swallowed up my nipper
And it didn’t leave a trace

Copyright © John W Fenn | Year Posted 2010

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Rocky is a Cattle dog

Rocky he’s a Cattle Dog
 he’s coloured black and blue
He always lays around asleep 
till work he has to do..
Two Preachers came walking up our path
to speak their line of spiel
They told me of their one true God 
and did it with some zeal
At last they left just one sheep short 
And headed for the gate
Then one turned to look around
Cos Rocky bit his mate
I thought to drive old Rocky off
With whip and curses rare…………."Stock whip good on cattle better on burglars in house"..
I cracked the whip and yelled a lot
But terrified the pair
They thought the Devil on their tail 
This dog and madman too
They leapt in a Ford and did set sail
In a cloud of smoke so blue….
Don Johnson

Blue heel biting Cattle dog "heeler" or Australian Shepherd
great Aussie brown snake killers, some Dingo in em.....very economical watch Dog...

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2010

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Villanelle: Teach not a dog how not to bark

Villanelle : Teach not a dog how not to bark
   (This dog the mawkish villanelle baulks)

Teach not a dog how not to bark
   Dogs bark for a lark in the dark
When Masters mawkish dreams embark

Do dogs bark to ape human talk
   Or wake Masters to take side-walk
Teach not a dog how not to bark

Each dog howls up some Jack’s Bean Stalk
   For the wolf in the dog must stalk
When Masters mawkish dreams embark 

Do dogs bark to make the dingo baulk
   At some sick Master’s leash-end talk
Teach not a dog how not to bark

Each dog lifts its leg at some bark
   Don’t preachers too leak after dark
When Masters mawkish dreams embark 

Every dog knows it must bark
Every dog knows its own bark
Teach not a dog how not to bark
When Masters mawkish dreams embark 
   © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2015

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Fly blown soul

Fly blown soul Seven levels to attain, It aint what the preachers’ saying, Different spheres and worlds in void, Different times, some get destroyed , Fly blown soul it travels on, {meanwhile psychic downloading} No-nettete known as treacle draws, Often downloads two by fours, {4x2} Builds a mental laughing sock, Keeps a battery in her frock, Cos sometimes are enjoyed, Drifting through the nether void, Seeing places I’m employed, The child of a nasty Jock, Killed my cat, got bashed a lot, But spirit caint be destroyed! Soul entangled here and there, Different ages colours rare, Doing time, gills sucking air, It’s all a Linga-lung-fish, got? Seven levels to attain, Getting home can test the brain, Don’t rob the poor, is understood, Greed does drag you down, it should, Back In the lower ranks again, Going black 2 Nigeria for the pain, 2 Slide Up a level, please abstain? twisted virus maker serves, ironic twists he gets, deserves, a frozen puter is his lot, {sue hickey bit} down with frozen Dingo Dot. Plug-in sheep 4 wireless server? Or bloody not:} Don Johnson

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2014

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The Doctor and the Dingo Donger by Don and Tony

Tony Lane’s Part

Said the proper Doctor Perkins to the Aussie from down under,
The phraseology of your utterances leave me in wide wonder.

How am I to understand the meaning of what you say?
Unless you teach Australian colloquialisms to me right away.

The Aussie looked the Doctor in the eye and here was his reply,

Then Don Added

Just dehydrate a dead dingo's donger, till it isn't any longer, 
grind it down till he is feeling speyed, 
Porkupine is great on the Aboriginal plate, 
op rum is stronger without battery acid is stronger, 
Old Croc will come by to draw me pay... 

ps heard Traces contest wants 5 lines about friendship???

Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011

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Searching For The Outhouse

Travelling through the outback with a tour group, my stomach started rumblin' I had to go poop. I ran underneath a eucalyptus tree, but a dang dingo kept following me. I had to go really darn bad, this is the worst feeling I have ever had. I kept running around was feeling rather daft, I seen a kookaburra it stood there and laughed. I was running wildly around the open bush, farts were comin' out of me gassy tush. Me knickers were being real nasty buggars, they kept ridin' they were extremely tight huggers. After all the runnin' around I met up with my tour group, never did find the dang outhouse and I still gotta go poop. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Sept.1/2004 This is one of the writes in my poetry book titled, "Who Says Poetry and Humour Don't Mix?"

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

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Le vieil identique probleme - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Same Old Problem by T Wignesan

Le vieil identique problème – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Same Old Problem » by T. Wignesan

(For Kevin Gilbert – cf. the introduction to Inside Black Australia (1988) – as quite obviously for Oodgeroo, too – aboriginal poetry refused to adopt the « 100th monkey imitation style that was so prevalent in Australia during the 70s. » Aboriginal poets « identified with the freedom poets of the lately decolonised countries ( …) demanding a new perception of life around us, a new relation with the sanctity, the spiritual entity and living Presence within th earth and all life forms throughout the universe.’  Aborignals strove to preserve their culture by vigorously opposing assimilation and by the need to protect themselves against abuses, such as, the sport of « ‘Lobbing the Distance’ which entailed the burying of live Aboriginal children up to their necks in sand and seeing who of them could kick off the heads of the Black children to the farthest distance from the body. » Another sport involved the slitting of Black women and men’s throats and « let(ting) them run in terrified flapping circles » before throwing them and Black children alive « into the flames. ») T. Wignesan, Paris, December 11, 2016.  

Souvenez-vous de l’haine
le taux de mortalité
le taudis et la pluie
les enfants qu’on enterre
la douleur que vous dissimulez
le désespoir et la dénégation vous subissez à l’intérieur du pays
vous êtes désemparés, vous êtes battus
il y reste quand même de l’ombre de l’espoir
le passage du vent emmenant du soupir
que vous ne pouvez pas vous expliquer
de nouveau vous êtes  leur problème
dû à votre refus de mourir par votre obstination 
votre sac d’eau est vide
les travailleurs mineurs vous moquent
la poussière remuée par leur Toyota vous brûle la gorge
aux Elections du Novembre
les contestations abordent toujours les Noires
il y a du fer là où votre Saint- cœur refuse de céder
souvenez-vous des rivières d’eau
vos chansons
s’arrête point l’instant que les cavaliers apparaissent
vous devez ‘smell off’ ( ?) le bétail
‘vous ne devez pas boire ici
les hommes de votre tribu ne doivent pas boire cette nuit
les hommes de votre tribu seront assoiffés de vengeance cette nuit

Vous voyez les Pléiades
les sœurs et le serpent, le sacré dingo à la poursuite
les esprits éternels qu’illuminent les cieux
et presto ! – une ligne brillante s’entache leurs visages 
une satellite tourbillonne là où les dieux promènent
un autre endroit pour être sondé
vous essayez d’être sages et retenez l’haine
en pleurant des rivières pour les aveuglés
vous penchez sur la pelle sachant par cœur ce que se passe
un mec au gouvernement soupira
‘encore un mort, effacez son nom de la liste
ces jours-ci ils crèvent comme des mouches.’

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016