"aboriginal" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea.
At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate.
This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land.
“Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment.
Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement.
Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused.
Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control.
The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed.
In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
As lovers we've learned
that you are the immovable object,
and I the irrepressible force,
though our ****** subduction truly terrifies the natives,
and has spun much aboriginal lore,
they credit us with Monsooning the weather,
but looking back, my dear, see the adorable mountains we've made.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships—an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d;
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers—the river-streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week;
The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the brown-faced sailors;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating;
A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves!
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
4.2k
Freedom and independence are not synonymous
We have many freedoms
But zero independence
Independence is freedom
Freedom is not independence
What we celebrate is a false holiday
It's a cheap *** excuse to drink
And set **** aflame
What we celebrate is a false holiday
Once meant to portray
Our braking away
What we celebrate is a false holiday
That makes life seem like a joke
Because we've conformed too much
I have the freedom to say whatever
I **** well feel like
But I am not independent from fear
Or tyranny
This is America
Land of the stupid
Home of hatred
Everywhere I turn I see
Persecution
Oppression
For religion, *** and race
For orientations and confusions
For thought and for ideas
This is America
Not some fluffy dreamland
Like so many of us make it out to be
Yes I will be ready to admit
We are certainly freer than most
And yes, I will be ready to defend
My country with my words
But I can't sit on the sidelines
And just watch as my land falls to ****
"Happy Independence Day"
It breaks my heart that we have to declare a day
To recognize independence
It's a false independence we celebrate
I love the fireworks and the lightheartedness of it all
But it's ********
We shouldn't have to label a day
On a calendar
For historical emphasis
Woohoo Declaration of Independence
And all that jazz
But it no longer seems that way
Equality has never existed
This America, not an Aboriginal society
Pursuit of happiness is impossible
Because one person's happiness destroys another's
Liberty and justice for all?
Yeah right
Happy Independence Day to all who believe
But as for me
Independence my ***
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
aboriginal
pre-literate
innocent and forever renewed
(as if flash flashing
back and forth to heaven)
one hundred trillion cells of me
notice i am noticing them
i send them
all my love
grounding
i am walking tree
with fibrous light as root
grounding
i am sitting stone
galaxy within galaxies
infinitum spinning
my body
the dance of the universe
do you tell me i am anything less?
do you tell yourself
you are anything less?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
THE ALLAN FAMILY STORY
YOU SEE MY FAMILY WERE A GOOD CAMPING FAMILY
AND WE HAD THIS BIG ORANJE TENT, WHERE THE
FAMILY BROUGHT TO CAMPING GROUNDS, TO
ENJOY WEEKEND CAMPING, I REMEMBER CAMPING
EVERY WHERE AROUND NSW AND THE ACT
AND AS A WAY OF EXCAPING THE NORMAL LIVES
ME AND MY BROTHER PUT THE TENT UP IN THE BACKYARD
AND HAD OUR OWN CAMPING GROUND, AND I HAVE
SO MANY GREAT MOMENTS, LIKE NEW YEARS EVE PARTIES WITH LYLE
AND YEAH, I WAS LIKE A NORMAL TEENAGER, WITH SLEEPOVERS IN THE TENT
AND HAVING AN ESKY OF DRINK AND SAUSAGES AND OTHER THINGS LIKE
CHIPS AND I GOT SOME GREAT PHOTOS ME AND LYLE ARE HAVING A GREAT
PARTY FOR NEW YEARS EVE, WE CELEBRATED WITH POISON AND DEF LEOPARD
AND LYLE BOUGHT AIR SUPPLY, OH MY GODFATHER, I HATE THAT BAND
I REMEMBER WHEN ME AND MY BROTHER WENT IN THE TENT, WE WATCHED TV
AND WE TALKED FOR HOURS LIKE ME AND LYLE, WE HAD A HEAP OF ****** FUN
YA SEE I REMEMBER LYLE SAID HE WASN’T SCARED OF THE OLD BOOGIE WOMAN
AND I AM NOT SCARED OF THE OLD BOOGIE WOMAN EITHER
AND MY BROTHER LOVED TO JOKE AROUND WITH US
YA SEE, LYLE WAS ENJOYING PUTTING THE TENT UP
AND WE BOTH HAD OUR STEREOS, AND WE PLAYED GREAT TOP 49 HITS OF THAT ERA
YOU SEE, MY DAD WAS A GREAT CAMPER AND BUSHWALKER, AND BUDDHA’S SPIRIT
MADE ME INHERIT DAD’S ADVENTURE BLOOD, BECAUSE, OF MY LAST 2 HUMAN LIVES
BEING GREAME THORNE, AND PATRICK DUNBAR, BOTH KILLED AT 8
AND BUDDHA MADE ME AN ALLAN, TO KEEP ME SAFE
BUT I WAS A KEEN BACKYARD CAMPER, COOKING ON GAS BBQS
AND EATING CHIPS, AND HEAPS OF CHOCOLATES, AND ME AND LYLE BOTH WATCHED THE CRICKET
ON THE TELEVISION IN THE TENT AND NEW YEARS EVE, WE WATCHED THE GREAT
BICENTENNIAL NEW YEARS EVE CONCERT IN 1987, ME AND LYLE HAD FUN DOING THIS AS
WELL AS WATCH GREAT MOVIES ON THE VHS RECORDER,
BUT THAT ALL ENDED, WE RAGED A BIG PARTY IN THE TENT, WITH MUSIC AND GREAT FOOD
I CAN’T REALLY HAVE *** I AM NOT THE *** TYPE, I TALK ABOUT ***** DONORS
BUT ONE THING I WAS GOOD AT, WAS TALKING, WITH LYLE, PATRICK MY BROTHER, SCOTT,
AND MANY MORE, AND THE BIG ORANGE TENT WAS FINALLY BOUGHT BY A FAMILY
I THOUGHT I SAW IT AT THE ABORIGINAL TENT EMBASSY, IT COULD’VE BEEN
IT LOOKED LIKE IT, AND IT’S GOOD THAT, IF IT IS, THAT POOR PEOPLE WITHOUT A HOME
ARE ENJOYING THIS TENT AS A HOME
GREAT ALLAN FAMILY CAMPING OVER
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
Dre and the chronic came out like how'd I want it;
The g funk gangster now hollywood Prankster with a little of that, you know B funk wankster probably jests was safer
claiming when everything hinted in song was stealth cuz it all was health, like if i moved to compton to expose the stealth
my friends like my friend Toney too aboriginal to expose himself
nuff said
and Peter getting **** from all innocence to all claimed are really enemies before the stealth cuz now he's stand
bred aboriginal relate like his gained was stand claiming he's green eggs and ham when all i fed him was the green eggs and spam
I'll knock first before I was wack as strength to knock confusion the **** out like you in **** dirt; the patience actually was the equal in lengths,
**** it all, like i ever needed was precision-aim-range like they all needed me to prove each women given to birth precision like it was deranged strength
when i hid from the aim range, all gained in gay haste, to what i as game take: i'll expose the ************ like actual gained raise to ever touch, that how fast it was that when the game takes at *** grabs at tag match when at back when at me..... Strength Triumph Pain
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC
sticks and bones
remnants of an ancient
peoples
their song's spirit
traces over the land
indigenous man
your culture inlaid
in hand painting on caves
and dot paintings
painted on bark
tools of stone
fire stick
by creek waters
the midden mounds
bear testament
to your occupation
of these grounds
sing em
sing em
aboriginal
your heritage
stored perpetually
in this place
your foot treading
its vast expanse
generation
on generation
celebrating the corroboree dance
in the enveloping wings
of kookaburras
and in the bounding
of the ochre kangaroo
this land is the realm
of the original man
sing em
sing em
the history
of aboriginal clan
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
The Creator
The original
Aboriginal
Indigenous
Australians
In their Dreaming
Uncreated Baiame
The Sky Father
Creator of everything
But who created
This creator God
Mythological
Theological
Like everyones
Too similar and
Geographically
Universally spread
To be explained by
One Big Bang
But still I ask
Who created
The uncreated
Creator
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
there is a sit down place
where all have sat before
a choice to stay or go
some have sat here
since first times
there is a sit down place
where all is all
see sit down place
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
an animal never commits an injustice
-a dog
-a cat
they are true to their nature, and that is quite a lot
what of Man?
the slaver?
the one with all the modern ideas?
the one with the white skin?
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
Open face of demonstration, demanding a new declaration
by excreting exclamations to explain to them
that there is no place for them to lay their head.
You want to erase them, and just replace them again
with a new generation that will provide the revelation
that will spark the alleviation of the victims of trade that had been played by those trained
to wrap chains around them, no longer locked to the ground but running in place nonetheless,
circling around at whatever pace has been set.
Playing house in the devil’s play-set.
Always alluding to what you wanna play next.
It’s time to resign from the contract you signed, pay all of the cancellation fines,
so you can start your own design.
The one that makes you inclined to put time into that
which will impact the things that you blame for losing your mind.
The things, you complain, are a waste of your time,
While you sit around and just hate and drink up a glass of whine.
Open innovation can transform into inspirational collaboration,
which will then send out invitations to the world
to take their own aboriginal exploration which would in turn destroy all awol nations,
thus, breaking the boundaries of potential imagination.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
Seems they all know your name.
But I can't say the same.
The lack of reciprocity could drive me insane!
*I've been reading your mind.
Set your brain to rewind.*
I've a billion different faces, each and every divine.
*Some which can't be defined,
And if I need remind,
Some could snap and peel your skin off like an orange's rind.*
Aboriginal gene,
Selfish as can be seen,
Of Narcissus and a sickness, you'd be found in between.
*Pagan faithful, a corpse.
Uninhibit remorse.*
Take a look inside your mouth, and you look just like a horse!
*I've been watching you walk,
And I've heard how you talk.
I've observed you as your face learned how to tick like a clock.*
I'm unable to fear,
But now as you draw near,
I realize that I don't know what happens when you get here.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be;
a rep that’s scarred and scratched,
for sure his name’s mismatched
as darker skin ya’ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.
A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
Poor boy had no farda
he was stolen in a generation;
trouble, his one destination
for any of his wild-sown seed.
Never had a chance, Billy McGee.
May 15, 2022
May 15, 2022 at 7:55 AM UTC
Alkira was an Aboriginal girl
with perfect oceanic
blue eyes.
Cast out and picked up
by an even more savage and unforgiving world.
The world
of modelling.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Oh the outback what you've shown me
Uluru is but one piece discovered
This is raw and the real Australia
Beauty here is vast and wide
And wildlife is richer than the people
Culture is purely in abundance
Knowledge of aboriginal tradition is shared
Landscaped variety of same stretched desert
Once changed the view is most dramatic
Visions of geological change in earths' history
Each day makes me want more
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
i.
A black vested barbarian
From the land of Corinth;
Garbed in snowy himation
Travelling the Filipino drench.
ii.
Twas, I was not use to this land
There's only a dry and wet season;
Mine black snake Boot's
Protected me from venomous poison.
iii.
This ground as mine own
Untamed primal eye's;
They Pierce through the wilderness
Phantom's passeth through thy body, it's their energy as a high.
iv.
Tis I was greeted
By an aboriginal watcher;
I met her mother, who wanted me for her daughter
I Gaveth mineself to this young queen, mind full of wonder.
v.
As tis I hath joined, this clan of beautiful native's
I consecrated mine Reyna's amour', as we became related;
Whilst we danced, around the fire her mother hath built
The Filipino bead's around mine neck read " Jane", meaning self.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
My eyes are too light;
My skin is too white;
My legs are too long;
My accents too strong.
And for all these reasons plus more I do not belong.
Their words echo in my head,
You cannot identify,
You're poorly bred,
You do not belong,
You are not accepted.
I am not English,
nor Irish,
nor Scottish,
nor Chinese,
nor Aboriginal.
I cannot identify as Australian because ninety percent of Australia is from European decent and I. Do not. Belong.
Who am I? Who are you?
These words, these truths, they rattle and roll in my head as I lay atop my bed.
This is my heritage, my family, my blood. Yet I do not belong, I do not fit, I cannot identify without another part of me contradicting it.
Please... Pull me apart at the seams and tell me what my inside most gleams like.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
Manifest your destiny
Make a wish, I'll take your memory
There is no law, I'm just your genie
Planting twisted seeds, to your head from my beak
I gave you mirrors, you made the ripples
I gave you pillows, you shunned the simple
And if you rip the feathers out, and shed your skin like I did
I'd bet you seven rainbows, I'd still get in your head
If you want me, you know where to find me
Crowing by the weathervane, or oozing down the chimney
Old man tree, here's a cigar for your tragedy
If you need me, I'll be in the clear, busy counting
Six for a second, *** for a minute
Six for a minute, *** for an hour
Six for an hour, *** for the weekend
Twenty-four carat-gold stars
My original idea
Became your original sin
Became your aboriginal idea
I laugh at the mess you're in
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
Hardly Hidden
*for Helen,
the High Definition brunette momma among us*
there are tracks in your arm
ready visible
to all those
with a personal microscope
if one
optically
examines the empty spaces
tween your poem-words....
the exterior all smiles,
whooping it up,
children, all smiles,
tumbling, breaking things,
ceilings collapsing, winters arriving,
as is the way of the kids
and nature,
inexorable,
occasionally
breaking you to
smile too
Abut to all this
is the contentiousness,
the aboriginal sense of loss
for what once was,
plain out in
in the secret messages sent
and
you know
you own
my all
unuttered utter devotion
we need no qualification
of what we are
we are friends,
not drinking buddies,
the straight out
semi-secret fans
of each other
thousands of miles apart
of simple purity borne,
you warm me
with endless jokes
and familial tales
and I thank you
for sharing, for trusting,
me with that troubling notion
that I am missing
a sorrowful deepening
that is
after a wellness examination
hardly hidden
but t'is heard around the world,
gunshot to my heart,
come to me when
ever
is understood that this
paean ~ pain ~ poem
is a simple wayfarer's way
of declaring
forever
I know you are sleeping now,
but when the fall sun breaks,
here is hoping me that you
break into private tears
in private places
like the ones decorating me,
celebrating
the best of what
humans
can be
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Manifest your destiny
Make a wish, I'll take your memory
There is no law, I'm just your genie
Planting twisted seeds, to your head from my beak
I gave you mirrors, you made the ripples
I gave you pillows, you shunned the simple
And if you rip the feathers out, and shed your skin like I did
I'd bet you seven rainbows, I'd still get in your head
If you want me, you know where to find me
Crowing by the weathervane, or oozing down the chimney
Old man tree, here's a cigar for your tragedy
If you need me, I'll be in the clear, busy counting
Six for a second, *** for a minute
Six for a minute, *** for an hour
Six for an hour, *** for the weekend
Twenty-four carat-gold stars
My original idea
Became your original sin
Became your aboriginal idea
I laugh at the mess you're in
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 7:16 PM UTC
I had a lover in Calgary
who used to paint the mountains.
She was all words
and no *** and so I was bound
to hurt her eventually.
I had a lover in Monteverde.
We would take the sky walk to the clouds
and lighten heads with wine.
I could never stand out from the beauty
that surrounded us.
I had a lover in Chernobyl
who used to collect children's shoes.
She was all memory
and no life, living in the fallout
of love and love's decay.
I had a lover in Alice Springs.
We would **** and drink in her shanty house
and argue through till morn.
I could never stand the sight of sorrow
and aboriginal rust.
I had a lover in every country.
They kept me from the sports news with gifts
of poets and good music.
For all the kindness they had offered,
I never had a speck to give in return.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC