"aborigine" poems
the extermination of the straight white male
soon we will be gone and the remainder carried over into zoos for
“safekeeping,” our DNA and ***** harvested for science purposes
you will be pitched advertisements
send $ to San Diego Zoo so they can save the few remaining
white rhinos (which they neglect to mention are in preserves in Kenya and the Sudan, but send $$ a way)
and the last three straight white guys
(surfer, techie, and an aborigine)
to preserve the species so the world can modify their cells
to stop sexism, racism and other male diseases
gonna maybe mate them with the rhinos,
which will be expensive cause of all the rhinoplasty,
so send me some
money, money, money
yup
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy
Overlooked and simplified
Like a growing urge, a salivating need
That is entrancing and glorified.
Everlasting for moments we call meals
Forgotten in time, lingering above
But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside
Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again
The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight
And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips
Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center
Halved and topped with mascarpone crème
The man with a skin of caramel glaze
Caressing and savoring
With a fragrance and scent
Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin
In the pursuit of a brief love affair
What oral sensation did my taste buds want?
My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await
Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff
Generous portions and humble pies
Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die
Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté
Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce
A robust aroma and savory appeal
Basil leaves with garlic strips
Olive oil to top the surreal
Hubristic meatball aborigine
Elysian cuisine or many dreams
Teasing the senses, warming the pit
Of flowing pleasures
And tingling fingertips
Without moral measures
And succulent wines
Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone
Seasoned with Sicilian herbs
And paired with broiled asparagus
Drizzled with lemon juice
And a glass of Merlot
Spices I hardly know
Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows
With love there is pain, passion endured through the names
Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums
Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass
Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami
Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami
Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor
Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin
red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread
devilish rounds of crumbling rum-swirl bread
Smells and wonders, tastes so ...
oh god
Divine and sublime.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
I've never seen someone like you,
Who are you, an aborigine from perfect land...
You crush me down,
You tear me apart,
You break my confidence,
The more I try, the ruder you get.
The stronger you tear me down.
To err is human, but not so for you.
You think your perfect, well I'm sorry to prove you wrong.
Believe in perfection, try your hand at it first,
Then, and only then try your hand at others.
* Personalised and Improvised *
* Evolves to ones likeness *
* Reflects who you are *
* Father of practice *
* Efficient when a true friend *
* Creative and rewarding *
* Time consuming *
* Institution of creative minds *
* Openness to change and *
* Never devastating. *
Faith is mine, and uncertainty is yours.
Trust is from humans, disbelief for aborigines.
Love for the heart, hatred for the mind.
Completeness in all its goodness is mine,
Perfection with all its imperfection is for none but you.
We try and you wreck us down,
You try and we break apart.
Let nature take its own time and heal the wounds,
Caused by the imperfect perfectionist.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
When we connected he was in Peru
He was there to get an Aborigine tongue tattoo
It was his mission in life and dream to make come true
Instead he spent 10 days in a prison and took 10 days to come down a mountain by mule.
When he came down the first message on his phone was from me.
The one he had followed secretly
For me to speak directly to him by name
Blew his mind because hiding his name was part of his game
I knew his name and that he was coming.
It came in a vision days before I felt his humming.
Our connection I told him was seen in a keen sweat lodge night vision
He did not question what I said to be true.
I knew his name, as did very few
Now he calls me often and has lessons to teach
And I listen, take it in and with it I REACH
The news and understanding spreads
The relationships with our young gets fed
The mission and higher goals are seen
Because the man with the blue swan on his neck is very keen
I love your pep talks and everything you say is true
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Digeridoos are back in stock
Said the notice in the bric-a-brac shop
Are the West of Scotland Numpties
On their own Dreamtime quest?
Are they contemplating their navels
Through the holes in their stringvest?
Could they realize their chip-papers
Hold the answer to their havers
And the Buckfast in the Hand gripped
Tight is causing calluses in the brain.
Corks dangling from their hats
Swinging like disorientated bats
In ryhthm to the dance of delirious tremor
The adrenaline is pumping.
Mossies no, but midgies, aye,
A stark contrast to the Kappa motifs;
Are the natives going walkabout,
In the local run-down mall?
Calling everyone mate,
In an accent you love to hate
Walkabout, lost in the wilderness
Wandering through the bush.
Outback here there ain’t no
Crocodiles, only quilted, padded cells.
Hand to wall a red imprint,
Not paint, my boy, but blood.
This lot would embarrass any Aborigine
Because they havnae got
An original thought.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
A sacrilegious act of gross desecration
akin to genital exposure in a Christian
Church, is walking into a Mosque with
boots and guns during Ramadan prayer.
Not an act associated with the oppressed.
Take Maori, Aborigine or Native Americans,
observe their composure, but you, the Jew,
you have no such serenity of spirit, why?
Why do you force feed your holocaust?
Why do you need to insist that we believe?
Why are you making denial a crime?
We all know why, that’s what bothers you.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 7:46 AM UTC
Whereas last night the full moon made the night resemble a cold day
Today clouds give the night its old shrouded, crowding demeanor.
Ghosts stalk the forest gleaming (at me) from just beyond the circle
of light thrown by the fire.
You, old night, I wish to make my peace with.
Eventually I know even I (I think, I'm told) must enter naked, a cold
north wind in winter or a gentle September breeze instructing my
sole spirit . . . .
There exist powers overwhelming for the human body and mind.
The aborigine's untold night of meditation on the mountain, coming
away with his life-long totem and power.
The mountains tonight are alive with benevolence that could (for one
lacking humility and respect or the hunter's perspicacity) flame up
into insane malevolence.
You, old complete night, I wish to make my peace with
Being utterly a creature of the water and the light.
Night on the mountain, the human animal alone, without cohorts,
speech and music inane without other ears to listen
Yet blasting, blasting against the night
Even after fire dies, its skin still the halo beacon to nothing in nothing,
Mind pouring on the electricity, outward to friends back in the cities
Receiving in return only strange sounds.
The ear must differentiate and protect.
Just as fluids within keep the body balanced so must the ear when
the eyes are blinded by night
Balance the mind. Eyes, heroes of the day, enjoying orgiastically
autumnal delights
Are now slaves to every primeval passion of the mind.
But the ears: it is a sound they have heard before and can identify.
Night, old strange night (were we once acquainted?), I wish to be at
peace with you by becoming knowledgeable.
Fear like fire clings to its fuel.
I wish to dampen passionate fears by attuning the five senses to all
that is normal dark and day.
To know the habits and cycles of everything I live beside
And my inner spirit become a silent tide attuned to nature's lunacy.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Galaxy. late 14c., from Old French galaxie, from Late Latin galaxias "Milky Way," from Greek galaxias (adj.), in galaxias kyklos, literally "milky circle," from gala (genitive galaktos) "milk" (see lactation). The technical astronomical sense emerged 1848.
The Red column is the ***** symphysis of the galaxy (or Latin: symphysis ***** galaxias) an enormous cartilaginous joint that sits between and joins left and right the superior rami of the archaic fossilized ***** bones located in front of and below the center of the earth's magnetic core. (In males, the suspensory ligament of the ***** attaches to the ***** symphysis.) In females, the ***** symphysis is intimately close to the ******** In normal adults it can be moved roughly 2 mm and with 1 degree rotation. This increases for women at the time of childbirth. The symphasis connects the South Pole to the Southern Cross in a direct line...the all knowing Oracle comprehending all things along that line & beyond.
The name comes from the Greek word "symphysis", meaning "growing together".
Like the aborigine in Australia, the grandfather tells what his grandfather learned from his grandfather word for word back to creation & embedded in the creation myth itself is the creation of creation w/ hints of creation's parents shadowing over the proceedings & whose grandparents hover over those born of a chaos that is a giant female beast who is their mother, the wife of a divine original king who is the son of Night who is the wife of Day who is the son of Darkness who is the wife of Space &c.
So the Oracle tells me.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC