Adam Goodes

Indigenous is great

Love you or hate you

It depends

 

When your mob role drunk in the streets

Steal

Menace

Lie

Thieve and cheat

You must berate them for that choice

They have refused opportunity

 

You have an image problem Adam

 

You are a privileged person

Crying wolf

Thinking

Everyone is against you

Are you sure you are a victim

 

Your mob needs you to rise for them

You are out of step with reality

 

You are never spotted in Kalgoorlie

Collecting aboriginals out of the gutter

 

You are never seen in South Hedland

Saving drugged and drunken blacks

 

You are never observed in Alice renovating derelict housing

 

In fact we have only ever seen you play football

And

So have most of your mob

 

You are hogging all of the publicity

That could save a drunk

Save a diseased child

Save a glue addict

Save a petrol sniffing teenager

Save a comfortable home

 

Your mob surely are not amused

Whilst one of their greatest lights shines only on you

 

 

Mulyawongk

Where are you my friend?
Our Spirit of the river
Save us from Whiteman’s poison

Mulyawongk

Bring back the footprints and stand
Black Shoulder to White Shoulder at the Coorong
Bank to bank at the middens

For its length

Mulyawongk show your face

Take your place your dreamtime power
The river dies
The river cries
For you

White man has not seen you yet
Mulyawongk

Save the River
Mulyawongk

Save the River
The invaders have failed

Aboriginal Death

My love for the land means little
When
Concrete and bitumen burn my feet
It will do little for my tribal name
I’m living and drinking the devils brew
On a Whiteman’s street
I cannot hunt in car parks or reserves
The bush tucker has gone
I cannot show stealth or throw spears
I am lost forever ‘
As
A fringe Dweller

Aboriginal Break Dancer

He once danced around the camp fire
Emu like
Kangaroo rhythm
Spectacular
With
Dingo cunning showing in his eyes
Snake like waving eucalypt
Powerful trails in the sand
Fire ash in a skyward spiral
Left foot thumping warm sand
Right foot supporting historic events
Elder stories a much older world
An aboriginal heart lost
In a white city he could no longer see
Or hear the stories
Anymore
He saw only the white man’s dance
And
Was broken
Revealing little
Ignorant of his culture
Locked in a Whiteman bottle

Aboriginal Death

My love for the land means little

When

Concrete and bitumen burn my feet

My presence does nought for my tribal name

I’m living and drinking the devils brew

On a Whiteman’s street

I cannot hunt in car parks or reserves

The bush tucker has gone

I cannot show stealth or throw spears

I am lost forever ‘

As

A Fringe Dweller

Kalgoorlie Aboriginal

Sad days
Nothing changes in the dust and heat
The winter cold
The dirty clothes on street side camps
Blackman at a loss
A coke bottle disguised as a thirst quencher
Laced
The staggering gives the game away
Why can he not find the gold that built this town?
And
Knocked his favour down

Aboriginal Fringe Dweller

Fringe dweller no Christmas or New Year
That’s white fella stuff
So
Where do I go now
I still enjoy the filth and grog
The welfare
The challenge of a failed life
It’s a Merry Christmas for me
Under a tree somewhere
Ill drink til dawn
And well into tomorrow
Theres nothing else to do in my stupor
No white god can save me now
And
Could not save me then
But truthfully
I cannot save myself

White Attack

What did you think we were capable of?
Against your guns
Against your madness
Your alcohol
Your desire to steal land
Unarmed blacks watching ships sail in
Back then
We just stared at the horizon watching
Our
Terror was free
It came from the survival gene
A raider was on our shores
Without permission
We should have killed you all
When we had the chance when we outnumbered
You white bastards
And still owned this land