Black Woman


Black woman ope'd the back door
and found that she was done,
last night's fire had come to embers
but the blaze had just begun,

On the verandah, all around 'er
bottles, bongs and butts,
calm and still her outside,
but chaos in her guts,

Resolve was mounting in her bones
and soon it'd take her heart,
so on purpose for the last time
she let it break apart,

Then as the morning sun rose
and her tears evaporated,
her soul had closed, her heart had froze,
her love annihilated.

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The Snake

They once were little tears,
but now their minds are ticking,
behind those angry eyes,
the serpent's tongue is flicking,

tasting if the time is ripe;
hints of hurt an' hate,
a body of fraternity,
resolve in after taste,

the streets are streams that team with schools of innovative brains,
parents, crims, professionals, all head towards the same,

Each day they form a tributary,
Each day another sliver
joins the song of; victory!,
that flows toward the river,

Rushing down the streets,
gushing through the bush,
despite their small defeats,
still they come to push,

Collecting all the drops and puddles,
swamps, ponds, dams and lakes,
singing river songs,
so as to wake the snake,

At the river they arrived,
coiled in each and other,
a stranger now a friend,
a friend is now a brother,

And when the celebration ceased,
they came to call the serpent,
in such a chorus that it shook
all the earth and firmament,

but his answer never came,
so an elder at the head had said,
"he died his people's pain,
the Wogel now is dead",

it parched the people's love and hope,
'til song succumbed to silent doubt,
the armour's scales on those who pushed,
the people came to flout,

And then they bent in misery,
'cause for all that they had fought,
through such a trying history
had finally come to nought,

but then it came, so far away,
a voice still high and soft with joy,
and one by one the multitude,
had turned about to face the boy,

"I can see the serpent!",
said a boy in such a voice,
that all the people turned around
to praise, hail, and rejoice,

But there only stood an elder
not knowing what to say,
so again he said "the Wogel's dead,
he died the people's pain",

And in soul ache hate, they turned again,
faces stern, to go,
but the boy was hard, resilient,
and so he told them "No",

"I can see the serpent,
rising for the sun,
and I'm prepared to strike with him,
with all of us or none,

we live today and so he does,
the Wogel's us together,
with certain sight and will to fight,
the Wogel lives forever",

So what's to come?
We're here together.
Will this meet an end?
Will the Wogel live forever?
That's up to us my friend.


(The Wogel is a name for the Rainbow Serpent. The most significant creator being in Aboriginal Australian beliefs)

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The Nation

Damn the Black Cunt nation and all it's souls.
Why do we wither in the wake of war?
Why feel pride for a life so base?
Why to fold so lowly on the earth,
To wind in weakness like a serpent in the winter,
lamenting a yesterday this earth has never known.

We dream so high, yet live so low,
we cannot walk with the burden of yesterday in our heart,
bound down in chains of complacency.
It is too heavy a load. There is no rising with it.

We are a slave to it. Imprisoned by it, and impoverished of all else.
In time gone by blue skies rained riches,
but today dark clouds rain black for blacks.

The black story holds facts and those are these,
once free, then chained, now free again.
Nothing more or less.

Yet we remain disenfranchised by volition.
Who done what, for why and when is of no consequence.
We are the same.

The world over forever, as we did before, as it did to us,
and as we will again, has conquered it's self time and again,
to make victors victims, and victims destitute,

Violence, clash of cultures, ideals, the very fabrics of a society's morals,
smashed to oblivion, then some how pieced together, changed and
yet the same.

So if we must remember yesterdays, then these are the ones to remember,
these histories, they tell us that it all culminates at one moment,
this moment.

And this moment holds our one and only right,
the one we've exercised since Adam. Choice.
Our choice. To do or to die.

Insanities seed settled when we did,
and has bloomed to fruit in the minds of our children.
I will not choose to let it bloom again.

I am as we are, fermented and bent with it,
catatonic in my hate and loss,
but I will not remain,

I'm not a man to lead with love,
but I'll clear the way for the one who does.

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Brothers killing Brothers,

Mothers stabbing sons,

Babies die from withdrawrals,

Fathers on the run,


Sister girl died from AIDS,

Little cuz sells dope for fun,

His mother would o' gave a shit,

But she died from his daddies gun,


Drugs have killed my people

as fast as petrol burns,

As I sit with my drink

I'm waiting for my turn,


I hope that we all don't

die in this invasion,

The only way to win the war

is with an eduacation,

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Black Backs

Love and respect for the bended black backs,
who boiled in the heat and took the attack,
who quietly tended their scabs and their wounds,
while their children were dreaming sound safe in their rooms,

who cried in their passion and toiled in their pain,
who managed to laugh though all that remained
was the fear of tomorrow, and the fate that awaits
when their kids would be chained and then taken away,

who conspired a plan by the light of a wick,
in the dead of the night while beaten and sick,
with a clarity only despair can afford,
to rescue their children, where children were hoard,

Who died in the dirt while making the trip,
who died in the dirt by the gun and the whip,
who died in the dirt while kids watched and they cried,
though were happy to die because they had tried,

Love and respect for the tall and straight backs,
who remember the fight and what it is to be black.

The Cure

Brothers and cousin brothers,
cousin cousins and cousin friends
found boredoms cure in bottle's bottom,
whole families downing medicine,

and then we sought another cure,
and found it in the hydro trees,
or going into town
and stealing cars to tease police,

or, torment a passer by,
they ran, or cried, some flexed,
felt like a teranisaurus rex
in a cage of kids and lambs,

eat them until we're full,
then beat them because we could,
that cure was just as good
as the other medicines,

on sunday noon I woke,
heard a screaming out the window,
saw my brother was the cure
for my other brother's ills,

then my sight cast down the road,
the street was blood and spirits torn,
the cure had made us crazy,
into fucken cannibals.

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Crinkly Black Man

The crinkly black man loped along,
while whistling weezy sixties songs,
he leaned the right and looked the left
and raised his boney, hairy head,

his words were honest, clear and clean,
and rolled live leaves upon a stream,
"A buck and ten I beg my boy,
I'm patchin for a bottl-a-beer",

his old eyes smiled a cheeky love,
a soft love for the world's soft souls,
and in a blink I think I fell,
forever down those endless holes,

and when I landed I remembered
all his life from birth to now,
and not an unjust word was uttered,
not an unjust thought was found,

I would have cried for all his peace,
I nearly died a happy man,
the earth could offer no increase
to what I found within that man,

but all that world was shifted quickly,
a blink and on the street I stood,
a buck and ten was all he asked,
a buck and ten was all I could,

he bowed his head and gave his grace
away he whistled sixties songs,
and no one's love would ev' replace
the crinkly black man who loped along.

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