Long Aborigine Poems
Long Aborigine Poems. Below are the most popular long Aborigine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aborigine poems by poem length and keyword.
Gold Fever
History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry
Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed
To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population
History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African *****,
Pray in silence to The Church
Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream
The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all
We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder
And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven
Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding
Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention
An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word
And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain
If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be
It was when I paused a moment from my workload’s pressing call
that I gazed upon the picture frames which lined my office wall
and I sensed a strange sensation and was soon to be beguiled
by the host of beaming faces as six generations smiled.
Though I laud the pioneering skills my grandfathers had showed,
my thoughts drifted to the women-folk who also walked that road
and it dawned that all our chronicles, our ballads, poems too
failed to sing the women’s praises in the way they ought to do.
From the dreamtime of our nation and the Aborigine,
long before the new white visitor arrived from ‘cross the sea,
the indigenous black mothers would seek out bush tucker food
in an effort to give sustenance to her nomadic brood.
And the wretched convict woman with her love-child by her side
forced to labour in the work house - and in vain as her child died –
how she struggled for existence in the infant colony
with the hope of serving out her time and one day being free.
Loyal wives of military men who too were forced to dwell
far away from native England and to live here quite a spell;
also women of free settlers proud to stand beside their men
in a land of sweat and sorrow and rebuild their lives again.
When the question of imbalance of the genders rose its head,
many women sought to emigrate and hoped that they would wed;
but the immigration policy developed many flaws
till the Chisolms of the century took up the women’s cause.
Once the mountains to the west were crossed the steadfast settler's wife
looked to find a piece of country where she might live out her life:
far from comforts of the cities to some isolated run
where she fought a running battle with the searing summer sun -
Where a slab hut was her castle - where a white ant bed the floor –
where she always had a handout for the traveller at the door.
Though she bore a swag of youngsters with the aid of her black friend,
sadly some would battle whooping cough: it won out in the end.
CONTINUED
Can you hear the distant echo of the
hauntingdidgeridoo,
as it pulses through the airwaves? Yes, my friend it’s calling you.
To this land beneath the Southern Cross, it welcomes one and all,
and its drone spells out a message. Can you hear its beckoning call?
So come share our hospitality and shake an Aussie hand.
Mate, enjoy a trip down under … share the culture of our land.
It abounds with nat’ral beauty from its coasts to Uluru
and you’ll share our nation’s freedom just like we have learnt to do.
You’re invited friends to join us on a wond’rous holiday,
where the sun, our surf and golden sands are yours in which to play.
We’ve the Opera House and Harbour Bridge, The Reef and Kakadu
and experience the magic of a Darwin sunset too.
Can you hear the distant echo of the
hauntingdidgeridoo,
as it pulses through the airwaves? Yes, my friend it’s calling you.
To this land beneath the Southern Cross, it welcomes one and all,
and its drone spells out a message. Can you hear its beckoning call?
Come and cuddle a Koala, feed our unique kangaroo,
see our Emu and our wombat and our talking cockatoo.
Boil a billy, bake a damper, share a campfire’s flick’ring light,
in our vast Australian outback on a glorious star filled night.
See the paintings and the craftwork of the aborigine
and experience the stories of their dreamtime history.
More than anything you do here or wherever you may roam
we’d just like to say you’re welcome and please make yourself at home.
Can you hear the distant echo of the haunting
didgeridoo,
as it pulses through the airwaves? Yes, my friend it’s calling you.
To this land we call Australia, it welcomes one and all,
and its drone spells out a message. Can you hear its beckoning call?
On a lower branch of a crooked mango tree ,
Flapping wings and shining tail , in charge
Perched the happy rooster steady and free,
Intending to view his surroundings at large ,
And announced sharp : cock- a- doodle - doo :
' Know that after all the world is mine too '.
From the cloudy grey sky , like an alien
Descended a peacock in all blue and green ,
Jiggling crest and dangling super-tail in wont mien
And in proud stance began afresh to preen ,
Intimidating the little aborigine with a scream
Aloud to defy all and claim to be supreme
Minutes lapsed before the ice was broken
As the intruder in a half- friendly way said ,
Poising : '' Of what entity are you a token..
'' Your feathers are but greenish black and red ;
'' Yet is there pride in quarrels and crowing vanity ,
'' To end up as a delicacy for the humanity '' .
The other lost his temper and did thus retort :
' Perhaps you know not how they relish
' Even their drinks , naming my tail smart ;
'And more , their menu we do, forever replenish ;
'For sporting too ,each kills the other with spur ,
' Truly a cringing thing to shame and abhor ' .
Amused , the artiste with the left foot
Straightened the talons and popped down in style
And as the clouds became heavy and acute ,
With feathers blue, green and brown, the while ,
Shining in full bloom and span, danced: a spell !
Rhythm, quiver and numerous eyes - a marvel !
Thus went the rival feats of the fowls twain
While from behind the thick foliage unseen ,
A cuckoo began its sweet song in pitched strain
To match the mood and melody - abstract and keen ;
Somewhere in the distance the grey clouds began
To jump down in drizzles and droplets to scan .
The aborigine boy, his poor young heart was yearning
For the young raven haired girl, a passion was quickly burning
He was to carve his first boomerang to prove he was a man
If it returned back to him, he would carry out his plan.
He took the mulga branch and checked it was just so
The angle was correct, he couldn’t wait for his first throw
He split the branch and picked the piece that he knew would work
He had learnt from his ancestors, his walkabouts he never did shirk.
The branch he split, he took a stone and carved his mulga with care
He wanted it to fly and return, then win his maiden with raven hair
He inscribed it with his love and painted it with ochre of red
He took it to the outback and threw his first throw with a dread.
The boomerang did spin, it twisted and then dropped
The young aborigine felt his love and life, had suddenly stopped
He tried again he flicked his wrist it spun up heavenward
It spun it’s last spin and once again it was then floored.
His love was slipping away, a man he was not to be
His raven haired love, his bursting heart would never see
He tried and tried and then with a long last flick of his wrist
He had learnt the way he saw; he pounded the air with his fist.
His boomerang started to turn; it started on its first return
He danced as he watched it, and he felt his loins begin to burn
He jumped up and down waiting; he saw a glint of red
He knew he had done it, when it smacked him in the head
He had learnt to make his weapon
But his plan did not quite hatch
In learning to make the boomerang,
He forgot to learn how it to catch…
© 21/01/2013~GG~
Contest entry:
Inspiration came from Seren Roberts Poem 'Always To Return'
Is there danger in the glow of the campfire?
In the strangers words not understood in the night?
Watch the drover move the mob before the morning light.
What's the thinking behind the yellow dog’s eyes?
How long is it since the tongue first licked the hand?
How many years did he follow the Aborigine around?
Who built the fences? Who offered the easy prey at night?
That's the thinking behind the yellow dog’s eyes!
Who learnt to take a backward step with the paling of the skin.
Taking out some early battles - the stranger would not give in.
Now see the broad hat miles away - it's best to run than fight.
That's the thinking behind the yellow dog’s eyes!
Is there danger in the glow of the campfire?
In the strangers words not understood in the night?
Watch the drover move the mob before the morning light.
What's the thinking behind the yellow dog’s eyes?
Yellow dog - how long did it take you to be the colour of the sand?
Yellow dog - there's no trust in you when another lamb goes down!
Howls of protest draw the light.
Death is on the march tonight
right between the yellow dog’s eyes.
Is there danger in the glow of the campfire?
In the strangers words not understood in the night?
Watch the drover move the mob before the morning light.
What's the thinking behind the yellow dog’s eyes?
A popular person when he was a lad
All those who met him were kinda glad
Until one day it all changed for the worst
He stopped seeing anyone seemingly his bubble burst
He took to the hills to the Outback
And wouldn’t mix with people as a matter of fact
He lived off the land in a shack his grandfather made
With a delivery of flour sugar and salt for the escapade
He was a mate we had grown up together
I’d go to see him once a month no matter the weather
I asked him one day why he had left us
And he’d shake is head saying don’t make a fuss
One day when I visited he was sick in bed
And he said don’t worry not a tear was shed
He spoke about his father who was an aborigine
Who passed on his dreaming stories that were meant to be
His father had passed on a ceremony
Of singing the land renewing it wild and free
Because he didn’t have a son
The land and all people would come undone
Finally he said he was the last of his line
That when he was gone it would end the earth’s time
And he died that night in his sleep
Saying his prophecy would be complete
So I put him in the ground as he wanted it to be
Smoking his body and singing what he had given me
Today I am driving back to the city
When a news flash told of a disease spreading without pity.
© Paul Warren Poetry
“We’ll need to get him good and drunk,
So then we can have our way.
As a Sheila he’ll go in the trunk,
Then we’ll put him on display.”
Sam had his sister’s evening gown,
And a pair of high heeled shoes,
A stunning rhinestone tiara crown,
And a pocket book of Sue’s.
We’ll need to find a place somewhere,
Where we can trick him into drinkin’.
Then we’ll strip him of his underwear,
And teach him a thing fair dinkum.
Just then my truck hit a rut,
And the crate flew in the air.
My left wheel lost a single nut
But it only started with a pair.
We drove on for a little way
Until the axle snapped in two.
We watched our cargo hop away
What a lucky kangaroo.
Under the truck I went just to get a peek,
To see if we were even in the game.
That’s when I spotted the petrol leak
And the whole thing went up in flame.
Sam pulled me out and stripped me bare,
‘Cause my clothes were all on fire.
My **** was barbied medium rare
By my smoldering attire.
Sam wrapped his hand with his own shirt,
Then he opened up the door.
He bravely made a grab for the skirt,
Because that’s what friends are for.
We were lost out in the outback
Stuck up the proverbial gum tree.
The sun gave us a blistering attack,
Because we were dressed like Aborigine.
Mr. White Man you are my brother
I am a Black man from Africa
Give me your friendly hands
And I will feel at home in this world
Mr. White Woman you are my sister
I am a Black Woman from Africa
Give me your that family closeness
And I will feel so loved and happy
Mr. White Man I am your brother
I am a Black Man from Congo
Give me your compassionate heart
And all the conflicts will end here
Mr. White Man you are my brother
I am an Arab from the Middle East
Give me your brotherly affection
And refugee problems will be history
Mr. White Man I am your brother
I am an Aborigine from Australia
Give me brotherly regards so sweet
And all of us shall be color-blind
White Man, Black Man, Coloreds
In this temporal existence on earth
Humanity is above everything else
Let us sit down and laugh together
We sing trade union hymn of solidarity
For one life, one humanity, one earth
Abominable Aborigine
Boycotted Baltimore’s Bakery
Canady Canola’s Cannery
Decoded deceitful debauchery
Endless energetic energy
Forwarded farmyard frolicking for a fee
Geographically greeting in Germany
Hardcopy happiness hee hee hee
Ignoring ignorance illegally
Juicy juggling juggernauts
Kettledrums, Kenya and Kentucky
Livening up our literacy
Maniac madness in a manatee
Nightingale nips so nervously
October’s ocelot obviously….
Paralyzes Petunia Parkway’s parenthesis
Quaking quail quickly qualifies me
Relaying relative radioactivity
Scapegoats and scarecrows so scantily
Treat Tajikistan twice tactfully
Undermining Ukraine’s utter ukulele
Vaporizing various vanities
Wicked Washington warrants wisely
X-rays xylophones ‘xtra-instantly
Yellow jackets yield young yearly
Zippy Zeus’s zesty zoology zings with zeal between you and me.