Aboriginal poems and poetry
Contemporary Aboriginal poetry is an important part of Aboriginal art. Many poems express how Aboriginal people feel today and their poems are about the challenges that they share with non-Indigenous people but also about Indigenous-specific problems.
The Aboriginal-owned Koori Mail newspaper regularly publishes poems written by Aboriginal people.
Aboriginal poems
Here are a few poems by Aboriginal writers. I've also added links to articles about the topics their poems refer to.
No Disgrace Coralie Cassady, QLD
There is no disgrace, So proudly show your Aboriginal face. Once upon a time, We Aborigines were regarded as small-time. But positive happenings for Aborigines, Are beginning to brilliantly shine. Aborigines, you are doing it just fine. We have been constantly put down, Messed around, But our Aboriginal culture still strongly abounds. Who is now having the last laugh? One thing's for sure, Aborigines don't do things by half. Internationally recognized Aboriginal band, Yothu Yindi, Sing to the world, About our heritage, misery and loss of land. Aboriginal paintings adorn many walls. We have picked ourselves up, Since our two hundred years ago fall. We are definitely making our own tracks, We are no longer considered as 'myall blacks'.
Coralie has published many more poems in her two booklets Poetic Perspective and Proper Deadly Poetry. Her poems cover all aspects of Aboriginal life and offer a rare insight into her culture.
Buy some poetry: You can purchase Poetic Perspective (84 pages) for A$15 and Proper Deadly Poetry (88 pages) for A$20 plus packaging and postage. Drop me an email and I forward it to Coralie.
Proud Murri Daniel Davis, QLD
I'm proud to be a Murri, proud to be a true Australian. I'm proud of my culture, my heritage, that's what makes me who I am. My father, he Kukuyalanji, my mother Baradah woman. But all we are family, we are all one of many men. I'm proud to be a Murri, I'm not ashamed of who I am. I'm not one of those gammon Murris who think they're only half. When I hear people talk like that, I just look at them an laugh. Did I tell you I'm living as a proud Murri, I'll die as one too. All the way from Bluff, real Murri through and through. But ashamed I don't know my culture as well as I would like. I guess that's my regret, not knowing my language and ways of living, that's my right. But still, I'll stand ten feet tall when someone says 'who here belong to this country?' I'll jump up and say 'that's me mate,' I'm proud to be a Murri. [1]
Read more about Aboriginal people and Aboriginal identity.
Untitled poem Sharon Livermore, NSW
I am an old wooden house with old wooden floors. My windows are ancient and so are the doors. I've seen better days, but I'm comfortably warm. And there's a fire in the hearth when outside is a storm. I'll lull you and woo you until you're asleep, and you can stay in my arms, for as long as it takes. For your heart that is aching to comfortably mend so you're not scared of strangers and welcome new friends. I'm the saltwater woman, and the ancient of days I'm the son of the Father, I'll teach you his ways. I'm a friend to all people, the lover of souls It is I who first made you and will remake you whole. I'm proud of your dark skin, you're a child of his care You're my warrior race and my sweet maidens fair. You're the reflection of my love, not greedy for gain And though they don't know it, my heart is full of pain. For I put out my hand in peace, in love And they missed it and shunned it with musket and glove. And they said 'we have our god' with teeth and a book And you just have nothing, we're here for a look. If we see anything of value and gain We'll declare this our land, and to save you the shame Of having nowhere to go we'll save you a bit, Oh you might have to do with a swamp or a tip. Consider yourselves naked and outcast and poor, 'Cos that's what we saw when we knocked at your door. And I looked at them kindly with eyes soft and black And thought the mother will teach them if they come back. But they rejected her teachers, and rejected her law, Shunned her food and her language, her songs and her lore. They starved in the garden, they ate dusty old bread, While sweet bush tucker waited at the table instead. They tried to grow corn cobs, breed cattle and sheep And mother grew weary and just fell asleep. But the young men are rising with songs and with lore They'll sing you back home to your foreign shore. They'll take you and break you till your heart's full of pain For the sacrificed love and you ill gotten gain. They'll wake up the mother with a shout and a roar And she'll rise up with weeping for all that she saw. For her jewelry now gone and her wounds and her pain And she'll shatter your dreaming and begin again. Her greenness she'll gather and cloak at her feet And she'll look for her governors, the mild and the meek. She'll chase away anger and chase away pain And rebuild her fortress so you'll not come again! [5]
Exercises
- Notice how many verses of this poem rhyme on 'pain'. Why do you think this is so?
- Who is the 'mother'? What is her jewelry and why is it gone?
All Walks Of Life Sharon Roebourne, Western Australia
Our families are well respected We are easily accepted We have a drink or two Even make our own home brew We like to hunt on land Bare feet on the hot sand We hunt in the sea It makes us feel wild and free We come near and far All bare feet without a car We are proud We sing out loud We walk hand in hand We are apart of the great Australian Land
Life of Sharon Roebourne Sharon Roebourne, Western Australia
I am an aboriginal Simple and original I like to keep tradition I always love my fishin I am a northwester Where I like to fester Under the hot sun Where I can have fun I like to get a tan Whenever I can I love the great outdoors Someday I'll see the waterfalls I'd like to see a croc if not I'll stand on the top of Ayres Rock I love the Pilbara land Always dry and never bland I have a little girl She puts me in a whirl Her name is Shae She was born in May So now you know about me So young and so free And that's the way I like to be!
Thank you Sharon for contacting me and sharing this poetry of yours.
Tribal Birth Margaret Armstrong, Ipswich, Queensland
You came to our land and took it Devastation to our people you knew it You thought that by putting us away We should be here to obey Your every command and demand You had the right to disband You didn't once try to see That we are a special race put here By our almighty one and Mother Earth Who gave each of us our tribal birth Aboriginal Australia has a myth of its own Our Land Our Culture Our Mother Home Let us once more be in peace Do not let this discrimination increase Each one of us put on this earth All have Our Rights Our Land Our Tribal Birth.
Exercises
- Which issues of Aboriginal culture does this poem refer to?
- Who is the 'almighty one'?
A Song of Hope Oodgeroo (Kath Walker)
Look up, my people, The dawn is breaking The world is waking To a bright new day When none defame us No restriction tame us Nor colour shame us Nor sneer dismay. Now brood no more On the years behind you The hope assigned you Shall the past replace When a juster justice Grown wise and stronger Points the bone no longer At a darker race. So long we waited Bound and frustrated Till hat e be hated And caste deposed Now light shall guide us No goal denied us And all doors open That long were closed. See plain the promise Dark freedom-lover! Night's nearly over And though long the climb New rights will greet us New mateship meet us And joy complete us In our new Dream Time. To our fathers' fathers The paid, the sorrow; To our children's children the glad tomorrow. [3]
My Want Then and Today B Robertson, Oolong House, Nowra, NSW
My Want Then
Here I sit
Alone in the park
I'm bored to the hilt
15 hours til dark
A drink I'm thinking
To have some fun
And forget about the pain
In this morning sun
It's 8 o'clock now
The doors open wide
To invite the drink one's
To mosey inside
Got the first cask
Tucked under me arm
Feeling good now
I'll soon be calm
Thoughts of feedom
Soon touch my lips
As grog hits my guts
Back in the habit's grip
No sooner I start
I start rollin' around
I know I'm cosy
On this clover ground
Soon I'm asleep
Blowin' zzzz's galore
A few hours' sleep
Wake up to some more
Funny this ride
I can't get off
Goes 'round and 'round
It's surely my boss.
My Want Today Here I am today Some new ways learned To try and stay calm And not crash and burn Still ways to go To improve my life And not pick up a beer It'll surely lead to strife Sit back, take a breath Something I've never done Learning not to stress A new life has begun I'll go and throw a line It's a beautiful day The breeze in my face Bad memories fade away It's comin' on dark I didn't know the time Home to cook a feed And settle for the night My want for the day Is embedded in my heart Don't stuff up the day Tomorrow's a new start. [4]
Learn more about Aboriginal alcohol consuption.
Kinchela (The Stolen Kids) Paul Buttigieg
The years have gone now Not sure what sorry can do For Us boys Abused Lonely Not just black Black and blue So who loved us? Then Who watched the watcher? As he made love to me And Lusted over my young body We climbed through windows We ran away Criminals Just For being black and stolen
Exercises
- What happened at Kinchela?
- Why is the boy 'black and blue'?
- Put this poem into the context of the Stolen Generations.
Wisdom J E Doyle
I sat and spoke to the Elders today It is not so wrong in what they say The times have changed as they well know, But isn't it time we had a fair go So let us all band together and clear the air The Kooris know that things are not fair Their knowledge is known for thousands of years Through hunting, healing, also tears They have also survived hatred and fear So let us all live together before it's too late And make this land a wonderful place. [6]
Aboriginal poetry resources
Aboriginal poetry: Smoke Encrypted Whispers by award-winning poet Samuel Wagan Watson, are poems which 'pulse with the language and images of a mangrove-lined river city' and 'restless ancestors'.
Poems for children: Anna The Goanna written by Jill McDougall not only covers the fun parts of Aboriginal life (such as camping and playing footy) but also more serious issues like petrol sniffing.
Out of respect for Aboriginal culture I use Indigenous sources as much as possible.
[1] 'Proud Murri', Koori Mail 431 p.24
[2] untitled, , Koori Mail 431 p.24
[3] Koori Mail 445 p.25
[4] Koori Mail 448 p.23
[5] Koori Mail 452 p.23
[6] Koori Mail 463 p.25