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 School Kid

Schools out early that’s a shame
The streets will teach me to find fame
No parents no blame
On the grog on the game
Lost at school lost at home its all the same
I’m just a black kid they cant tame

Copyright Paolo 2014

Blackman sad man

A Blackman spat at me
A Fringe dweller drunk as
I asked the typical question of him
Why bro
Why would you do such a dumb thing
You be white trash he slobbered
Can you gib me a job whitefella
Sure I said
Clean up the spit please

 

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

The Stolen Generation (Later On)

We are older now
Wiser
We hurt privately much more
In ways inexplicable to white fellas
We were close as little kids to our tribal glue
We were learning of the land the gathering
Hunting
The dance the Corroboree
Not of religion
Not of white education
Or books
We read the seasons and the wind the fire and the rain
We wanted our brother and sisters
Our mothers and fathers our birth trees
Our hunting rights and our black land
Our brown footprints still own this land forever
But we were stolen
And
Scarred forever
We lost our mum and dad
Our brother and sister
Worst of all we lost our black soul
But
Never our fight