You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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It's The Conquerors Who Write The History
As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.
Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.
It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.
You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.
And the workings of Nature they did understand
And they were the people who cared for the Land
And they were displaced and oppressed and down trod
By those who believed in a different God.
They once were great warriors, wise, noble and proud
And they gave us Chief Seattle and wise Chief White Cloud
And their profound words of wisdom still living today
And such things of great beauty will never decay.
The truth may seem bitter but the truth we must face
That a Country's first people should take pride of place
And around the World Indigenous people are not treated well
Though they have such marvellous stories to tell.
The conquerors write the history as conquerors do
But to the true history they never are true
And the conquered the history never will write
And we are conditioned to believe that might is always right.
The changes keep happening and nothing seem to last
And the great herds of bison a thing of the past
And those who once hunted them were locked away
And in reservations were forced for to stay.
Out on the lone prairie their ghosts still reside
At midnight the hunters their spotted horses ride
As they chase the wild bison across the great plain
The past in the moonlight comes to life again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Home Of The Irish
The Land where the famous stout Guinness is made
And that Imperialist Armies often did invade
And that has suffered in the political and religious divide
A problem that now seems to be Worldwide.
It's history seems complex and hard to understand
It's Patron Saint Patrick is of another Land
He did come from Scotia as we have been told
That's going back in time to a history that's old.
Myths and legends through the centuries about it have grown
By names such as Tir Na Nog and Hibernia it once has been known
Tribes such as the Laiginian, Milesians, Fir Bolg and De Danaan lived there before the Celts arrived
Though mostly only oral history of their existence 'twould seem has survived.
A Land in the North Atlantic that always looks green
Of legends such as Fionn MacCumaill, Kathleen Ni Houlihan and Dark Rosaleen
A Country that does have many claims to fame
The home of the Irish and Ireland it's name.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Am Apart Of History
I am apart of history
History lies deep down inside of me
I am like Martin Luther King
Just like him I'm going to let freedom ring
I am like Mary Bethune
Because like Maya Angelou I walk like I got oil wells pumping in my living room
I am apart of history
History is important to me
I am like Charles DREW
Like him I can be a scientist too
I am like Malcolm X
Come on my sisters and brothers we have to stop that
I am like Chainey, Schwenger and Moore
I will get people to vote I will go to every door
I am apart of history
I accept the rights my ancestors gave to me
I am like Jackie Robinson
Lokking in the sky at my home runs
I am like Harriet Tubman
Taking slaves to their freedom land
I am like Medgar Evers
Like him I too can be clever
I am like Barack Obama
Rising above to greatness despite the drama
I am apart of history
History is deep down inside of me
poem by Jeanette Matthews
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The History Of Tomorrow
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame
© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob
Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.
poem by Adegbenro Adekunle
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Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land with the biggest cemetery in the wolrd!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of desert;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of trees;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant teenagers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of timber;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hatred;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of love;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of care;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of peace;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of smokers!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of businesses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of harlots;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of wise people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of idiots!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of gold;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of cocoa;
Whose country is this?
It is a alnd full of crabs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of evil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of rainfalls;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ants;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of horses;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pigs;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of statues;
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of birds;
And so on, and so forth!
Because nature had made them so as we see them around us,
But the wise and fool live together on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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History why do we care
History
a famous person dies
History
a war rages
History
a new invention
History
a building opens
History
what happens if something happens to me
is that history?
no....
So why do we care.....
poem by Andrea Thepoet
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Nine Eleven Zero One (misplaced poem)
(09/13/11)
Two days before my birthday
The united states was attacked
By a band of terrorists
That threw this country back.
Never in our history did another
Country come into ours.
Bringing destruction and death
Like a thunderous shower.
They say they did it for ALLAH
Which I find it hard to believe
That GOD, no matter what he may
Be known as, would tell people
To kill one another - knowing that
there are so many who are sister and brother.
So many different religions, so many
Different beliefs, would not do this
To put a country in grief.
A war whether it be declared or not
Have soldiers meet on a battlefield.
There is no honor when you sneak
Up on another and thrust a knife in their back.
Maybe this is the reason it’s called a sneak attack.
They are convinced that martyrs they will be
And that they will LIVE - in their country’s history.
If it is six months from now, or twenty years from now
Their names will never be remembered or put on a plaque
The cards are against them, its already been stacked.
We will find the origin from where they came
And their country s life will never be the same.
So to the supporters of this terrorist attack
We will search for you, there’ll be no turning back.
poem by Louis Rams
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That Which Plagues the History Bandits
The History Bandits swinging...
Swinging in History roll.
Up comes one leader,
Ousted or assassinated by another.
The complaints of many
Feeding the avarice of one,
Makes the humdrum into history.
An idealist Wilson, a vengeful Clemenceau or
A prudent Lloyd George...who wishes to know?
The inspiring evil Hitler or politically capitalistic Americans
Or the fearless bloody Communists...
Mould the mounds of history.
A guilty country pleading innocence,
A Rasputinian government brought down by Rasputin
Or a prince who fashioned the legends of the creatures that
Plague the human existence.
What makes History?
Of what use is History?
The questions that plague the History Bandits.
Take up the sword of ink,
Oil the wheels that turn in your head,
And ponder anew on the questions that
Makes you wonder.
Go forth the History Bandits...
Go forth, and claim your rightful path.
poem by Cheryl Jacob
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Nothing Much Happens in Sydney
Nothing much happens in Sydney
Nothing much happens at all
Unless you count all the cricket
And tennis and squash and football.
Nothing much happens in Sydney
No life on the streets or in town
That's unless you count all the tourists
But then they do stick around
The things they always call 'icons'
Like the bridge and the rocks and the beach
You see there's nothing much happens in Sydney
Not too much to do in the heat.
There's one special building in Sydney
Right on the water it stands
Its roof looks like sails made of concrete
No wonder it's stuck on dry land
They called it the Opera House somehow
Not sure why they did at the time
Its got concerts and shows does the Opera
But not that much singing in rhyme.
Nothing much happens in Sydney
We're too far away don't you see
That's unless you count all the cafes,
Restaurants and brasseries.
Nothing much happens in Sydney
Some say it’s the arse end of the world
It takes a whole day to get anywhere
Anywhere else on this earth.
So why has the number of people
Who live here quite gone through the roof?
There's close on four million in Sydney
That's if they're telling the truth.
Perhaps things do happen in Sydney
Perhaps it isn't that bad
Perhaps there is life here in Sydney
But we take it for granted and have
A view that our city is lacking
And I find that really quite sad.
It's time to wake up to Sydney
It's time to open our eyes
Where else in this world that we live in
Are signs saying 'Arancini and Pies'?
The truth is this land called Australia
Was first settled by the dour pommes
Now there's every race in Australia
Yet we still feel we don't quite belong.
We think that nothing much happened
From when we got here till today
Our history's stuck in a closet
Locked up with the key thrown away.
Now two hundred years is a long time
A long time in all history books
But there's something quite strange about Sydney
We miss things 'cause we don’t look
For the history that does surround us
In every part of this town
That history's living and breathing
If only we do look around.
There's the barracks and then there's the gaol house
Which for maximum impact were planned
To keep these new Australians
In line with the laws of the land.
The gaol house, it stands on a corner
On a higher part of the town
People looked up to the goal house
And the law on the people looked down.
There's clear sentiment in this story
A sentiment best not forgot
And that we won’t value our future
If we don't value what we have got
From the people that were here before us
Our ancestors here on this land
If we don't get to know our own history
Then our present we won't understand.
19 October 2004
David Keig
poem by David Keig
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Rabbit Proof Fence
There are two Australian fences I'd like to talk about
One runs from the north down to the south to keep the rabbits out
The other is invisible - it's in Australian's minds
It’s a blinkered view of what it is to be part of humankind.
When Australia was first was colonised some two hundred years ago
The colonists they formed a view so that they could go
And claim each piece of land they found and make it for their own
Paying no respect or honour to those who had in this country grown
They stole this land directly from the Aborigines
Regarding them as savages without any dignity
Their currency was alcohol, diseased blankets and the gun
And they cleared this whole damn country fast once this clearing had begun.
They called it Terra Nullis to justify their gains
And they then gave Aborigines European sounding names
They would take all of their children and put them into homes
Of good god fearing people who would take them as their own
The aim of this was clearly born of a harsh philosophy
You cannot steal from people who have no identity
This form of cultural cleansing was fundamental to this land
And these stolen generations are now trying to understand
What it was was taken from their culture in the past
And what can now be full regained in a way that will long last.
Hundreds of their languages are now only spoken by a few
Traditions and communities need to begin anew
If the lie of Terra Nullis is to be rightfully exposed
And Australia's real history is to be more fully clothed
It's time to say we're sorry not just to say it's not our fault
If we don't understand this history then we're selling ourselves short
Of a magic in this country that sets it full apart
Of a land that has all peoples beating strongly in its heart.
The rabbits they were introduced to make Australia seem
More like the England left behind and part of that vain dream
Was to make this sunburnt country something that it never could
Be or even slow become and it's now clear that no good
Will ever come if fences stay - for Australia shall find
That as a fence cannot be rabbit proof nor can a state of mind.
poem by David Keig
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Of course, nobody would deny the importance of human beings for theological thinking, but the time span of history that theologians think about is a few thousand years of human culture rather than the fifteen billion years of the history of the universe.
quote by John Polkinghorne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Right around the end of the fifties, college students and young people in general, began to realize that this music was almost like a history of our country - this music contained the real history of the people of this country.
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From History We've Not Learned
Men crucified the one millions now worship more than two thousand years ago
Yet many men they are as cruel today and any compassion towards others they never seem to show
And the gifts of compassion and empathy to the special few belong
And many far too many seemingly cannot tell right from wrong
Two thousand and seven years ago Jesus Christ was crucified
And nailed to a timber cross on Calvary slowly and painfully he died
Yet we have not learned from human history and it does seem sad to say
That nowadays many decent people die in the foulest way,
The war supposed to end all wars did not live up to it's tag
Young people dying in war zones every day for God and Land and Flag
Before we learn the lesson of history how many more must die
War men mock the sacredness of human life and many wars based on a lie
It has been more than two thousand years since Christ died on Calvary
And from history we've not learned a thing that's how 'twould seem to be.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The History Teacher
Woman!
Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?
Am I History?
Or a part of it?
And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?
Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?
Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.
Are you making me
An emperor?
Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?
And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Down South In South Australia
Down south in South Australia in old Port Adelaide
A place of Indigenous history where history has often been made
Home of renowned Australian Rules Footballers men who are known Worldwide
They wore the magpie colours with a certain sense of pride.
In the beautiful Port River the dolphins sport and play
In fancy I can see them in the sunlight of the day
From the pier at Port Adelaide one them often does see
Marvellous memories of such beauty keep on coming back to me.
Those grand old Towns of South Australia by the far southern shore
Port Adelaide and West Lakes, Largs Bay and Semaphore
Fond memories of such beauty one always does retain
And in my flights of fancy I visit there again.
One can only imagine in the warm sunshine and breeze
The very first Australians had their corroborees
Long before the coming of the Europeans many centuries ago
Though little of their history or their ways we do know.
Down south in South Australia in old Port Adelaide
Of there I have great memories and great memories never fade
Of an old place that's full of history and the friendly people who live there
It's famous Football Club and renowned Australian Rules Players are well known everywhere.
poem by Francis Duggan
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15th August to Bengali people
Mourn
It's a command I demmand you
mourn, fool and so ignorant
you must mourn
History is clear, amazingly open
and you still say you don't know that
a pity, I must say you should mourn,
you deserve no sympathy, you lost all
In this caged race, they will dominate, a few
and you so enormous don't understand
what you lost, your root
you must mourn, you want deception, prefer ambiguity
afraid! I have no sympathy
my poor fellow, beloved countrymen
you must mourn.
Note: Bengali people still today say they don't know the real history of their liberation war. What a shame! Actually everybody knows the history because there is no two story. we faught and liberate our country. And then some collabratore killed the Father of the nation Sheikh Mujibur Rahman in 15th August 1975. To confuse all they say we do not know the real history of liberation war. but actually there is no real history, as history is one. And it is, Sheikh Mujib was the mastermind of our leberation. A handfull of Biheris and west pakistany settlers and their sympathesizers run the country after 1975 and still conspiring against Bengali people. they speak in Bengali, but they hate Bengali. and Bengali people do not still understand this and do not realize what they lost. Alas!
poem by Humayun Nasir
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Leonardo
The one on portrait hanging on the wall
Perhaps the best that history can recall
He lived and worked five hundred years ago
And still the legend of Leonardo grow.
A Poet, a Scientist and an Engineer
An Inventor and an Artist without peer
From near poverty to fame at a time
When to be poor was looked on as a crime.
Leonardo the greatest son of Italy
Opened the gate to modern technology
No stranger to the book of history
In five hundred years no greater one than he.
Five centuries back he said that man would fly
And the legend live his fame will never die
His dusty portrait in old frame hang on wall
Perhaps the best that history can recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Black History
Boom, boom, boom!
That was in 1530 to the Slave Trade;
My Mama told me so,
My Papa told me so,
In the name of our ancestors gone by;
Slaves for arms,
Slaves for powder,
Slaves for hardware,
Slaves for spirits;
Boom, boom, boom! !
All over the West Coast of Africa!
Today, i am a Blackman to tell you a story.
Black History, the Black African, the Black Race;
Of my ancestors gone by,
Boom, boom, boom!
Black head, black sugar, black coffee;
Where are the true identities of the Blacks?
That was in 1530 to the Slave trade.
Black History, black love;
A Black Race to a call.
Tap your fingers and do think about it,
My Mama told me so;
Bllack shoes, black phones;
With the Black History gone too soon,
My Papa told me so.
Black hair, black eyes;
The black coal to steam up the engines!
In the name of my ancestors gone by;
But, where are the black pens of love to share?
Do think about this and learn from it,
Boom, boom, boom!
A Blackman in the house to tell us a story;
Where is William Wilberforce?
Where is Thomas Buxton?
Where is Granville Sharp?
What about the Slaves? !
These men need to tell us more;
They killed my ancestors softly without compensations!
Black love, black stream, a black home to live in;
Like 'Naughty By Nature',
I've got 'Queen Latifah' to tell us more.
Of the Black Songs,
Of the Black race,
With a Black-Limo to keep us going;
This Slave Trade was a Black History to us all.
Boom, boom, boom!
Do contact Africa to learn more from this;
Like a black bird, a black cat and the black fingers! !
Do contact Africa to see things for yourselves.
Oh Blackman,
When are they going to admit to what they did?
Like a Black Ninja in the house,
Do know your history before you destroy yourselves.
Boom, boom, boom!
The very sound of the Slaves marching on;
This is our colour and, we have to respect it.
Black Cop, Black Soldier;
A Black Marine to a call,
We still have more to learn from each other.
Black wine, Black Doctor, Black People;
Know all about your history.
About where you came from and,
Where you are today;
Black seed, black marble, Black Prophets!
We still have more to learn.
Slaves for arms,
Slaves for hardware,
Slavces for powder,
Slaves for spirits;
Boom, boom, boom! ! !
Black beauty, black sea, black pot;
Black Nurse, black melody, black stamp;
Know your history always.
Of the freed Slaves from England to Sierra Leone,
With those from America to Liberia! ! ! !
Today the Black Panther is here to stay like,
The Black Writer.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Prologue
Chronicle of The House of Maltus
In the corner of history you were there
watching the broken shadow of the air
cast by the light- from the uncertain future
of the recorded fate clothe of horror
In the corner of history- they
people of strange tongue and of ancient way
pale skinned creatures: silent in the day,
at night they with sharp and penetrating eye
In the corner of history- was a sight
the undying old between day and night
-he was un-earthed master of the tomb- the knight
and, -she was, in the womb of the lord's might
In the corner of history- still is
the great ancestors buried to the chest of bliss
lords and ladies- the royal blood of the fathers
warriors and servants- the welcomed guests
In the corner of history- I am
-the last of them, wise and valiant half man
-hundred years and more; I am the to and the from
-their birth, their death in my heart precious so warm
In the corner of history- the face and the name
of the creature cursed by them
man they are all the same
consumed by their malice they named us villain
In the corner of history- I, vanished
left the cruel world created by mans' heart
doomed by their own malice, their hatred
to my own kind- the sons and daughters of god
In the corner of history- I found
at last the heaven for us, above the sand
were memories from the past un-harmed
by the filthy beast: man, and their kind
Note:
Book the first, The Prologue
From the tradition of the “vamperas”- the story of Maltus.
(vamperas- equivalent to vampire; Maltus- character
appeared in the author's dream)
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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