POETRY

here are this morning's three poems from me
alike to any in me
these will become published here in Australia
with copyright to a.c.n. 123212671 pty ltd
and within the creative commons copyrighting of north America
these can be shared if:
Not-For-Profit;
Attribution is to me;
and No Derivatives are made;


Strange Policing But Seen

The police
Who assert
That if we have our own intelligence
And fail to be using it
To extract a capitalist
Profit
That we then must be
Showing signs of insanity
Are policing us seriously
Into their own insanity
Show up in their belief
That Marxist theory
Be realistically
A good line of thought
With which to hold
The rest of the community
To fault
While we the accountability
For the police
Have counted their own money upon
What it is we notice might be going wrong
That they dare not openly accuse us
Unless to disprove that their own song


Mysterious Faces of Political Disgraces

What happens when
The right wing
Of politics sing
That our own song
Of social justice long
As though theirs the key
To justice by democracy
Might it be
My own socialism
Their will be
The left wing
Shrouded in mystery
Condoning
The right wing’s work ethic integrity
For sure as the bone
Only by our expenditure known
Quality in which we earn money’s access
And its quantity
Relative
To our own well honed bones
Might our real politics be known
But unto whose throne
All those Australians not so well known
Whose efforts have been thus sown


The Play Of Making the World Be What We The Aborigine

Is the one idea
The frog could not swallow
But instead made him laugh
All the way to tomorrow
That with a great giggle
All the waters rained upon
One single thread strong
In our every song
Never just one lonely frog’s
Singalong

But of all of any of us mob
It is that one idea was
Always to have been
In every individuals
Mind clean
Its own sovereign domain
Even when our minds invaded lame
For the sovereign rules of the brain
Be permanently in tune with Earthly graves
That our one idea
In its multitude of expressions clear
To subvert
The invading culture
Until Aboriginal way it shows to us
Is that one idea
Which in one expression
Might never be without fear
Since at the men’s initiations
This way is steered

So while we still
Have commiserations
Upon the cultural expenses
Of getting a white fellow’s
Education
Let us also believe in those relations
Who found their own way
Through the white game
Did disprove of the worth in
That already today
It is whites who feel shame
From sharing blood with relations
Who passed as white in most of life stations
Until whiteness became
Also a part of
Our own black game
So let who wants to
Return of our contributions
Made into
This white invader’s culture
With its language so full of dogma
Let those of our relations
Who have done that passed as white
Return to black through reciprocal obligations
The Aboriginal-isation
Of the white world
Ready to trade in equality with
Our real cultural tradition
Permanently yet unchanged
For its tradition is
That of the integrity
Of the management
Of purposeful positive
Change

This the cultural survival game
The one idea that binds us
That many water drops
A puddle made
And many puddles a lake became
The red centre’s deserts
While drought the rest of each state
That we know even the weather sings with us mate
For the cultural survival
Of our country
Is the real need we each take
And to celebrate
Tiddalik’s lake
Already today
Is in every Australian school child’s
Repertoire of play



Those were the three composed on the train
And now at the computer
Another might make me more plain

But if

But if I became accused with
Stealing of cultural tradition
Only because by identification
My own
I can in fact stand in my animal self known
Then whose worth is
That accusation
And who did
Defame our Aboriginal tradition
By promoting that the falsification
Is by the white skin folk
Whose belief has already long become
By intermarriages with us oriented
Into having our own animal self
When among the police
Is any old false rendition
Of what might have once had meaning
In our Aboriginal way
Being sponsored today
As the stay out of jail play
To become educated into
Their own perverse innuendo
About what our animist belief had meant to who
And why it is yet today in Islam
Of the great exorcism
That will protect all our children
For that the beast of the Earth might yet thus be just
Is that we Aborigines today
Are both white and black plain
So to let us contribute
Back into black tradition
Once when we’ve accomplished
Accessing white institutions within its
Blacker measure
Is that if
The efforts at
Are what is accused of
Then have we won yet and but whom was it that lost

Five Poems Telling as it is: with link to a neat and timely preface

These poems have another set of poems which prefaces the situation the words detail.
That earlier set is originally posted at http://www.myislamweb.com/forum/showthread.php?t=13613


An Answer

A language device
Had been used to splice
Hairs between that nice
And the fears
Of whom had no means to
Adapt Islam’s shoe
To the contemporary cultural requirement
That have muses never been quiet
Yet of amusements
In lack of grace
Take no delight
Will be your future’s face
At Allah’s willing pace
Music still your fate
Alike
Might this time and place


More Recover

More better
Than sugar
For the toilet will you
Was that we continued
Is her will
That still
And until
The teller gets better
Shall we this hill
Was never
What they believe in to show us
Of their own guilt’s bill
Of sugar
My toilet show
Will nobody’s fill
But in your Dream time find
Our truth seeking mind
Is that eternally
Earth bound pill
Of Seeking the Truth)
Never deny
The skill
Has no husky sound
But of husks this round
Upon my grill have found
Is recovery eternal
Still

Ayurvedic use of
What chemical
Plant grown fruit borne
Neat
Real
More
Will
This teller’s hill
Blessing that love forever will
Ensure justice no thrill
More better was the teller’s till


The More Puzzling Facts

What neat substance at
My blackest fact
Of decoy
Have even the policeman’s bureaucrat’s
Resources become drained at
As alike to me feigning
But what was it they weren’t showing
Naught will likely be taming
In attempting define me
As though hysterically
Insane at
Belief in reality’s facts
Did they even
Support of
Taking my children
Away from me
To the cause of
Proving a lie about me
By assuming their evidence
Without their own witness
Belonged to time gone
While the real worth they sought to extract
Of the evidence they hoped to prove in fact
Permanently thus did they curtain their own minds at
By refuting real life’s providence that
By a poetry act
Yet who was it that
They yet flounder at
But bless their pounce
Eternal at
The feral English biker that
Lied to enable these facts
While in terror his flight a cat
Bank robber’s cancer plight
Be that
The terror of any criminal act
Needs no anti-terrorism legislative act


Will

Will who what but
That hardest to
Commit is your own
Work to know through
Is the way of
Evolution
As though out of the blue
The gift of love true
May yet just find you
What is you
Most despairing life experience
To recover through
For will be ever to
And love’s certain flow in you
Is that the conditions
We have already lived through
Be exactly what we’ll require of
To find survival is
That salvation this
Will is through
A fact of science
The mind’s blackest will too


Children Love Reality But

It was a set up
One I never once fell to
But that I’ll ever take unto
My own death’s certain curfew
Upon all we well live into
That they branded me
And my name unto
What only those blamed
As the paedophile did do
A girl set up
Because they could
Get away with
What none ever should
Of the extreme of fact
Never realized at
Blaming child’s fate by
A child rapist’s hate
As that causal to
So let me thus inform you
In my hate will purity re-new
Allah’s eternal will to
Unpick the seams of
Time’s dreams
Of what
No child’s lover
Might ever again
By word abuse legitimized
Excuse
Deed accomplished
Will need
That this believe you
As child yet in mind
Had need unto
Was the path alright
I heard my wedding bell through
Blessing whose du’a
Enables this true
The truth was
A money launderer’s
Excuse to
Deny Islam’s worth to who
Will Imam this through

Until Will

Until

To her
They do
To do
Of her
But unable
Do her
Yet fear
Through her
They might
Have wanted
Their failure
Be that
Which do
Her
Is of her
To want her
For her will be
To have knew
How to do through
Her
Death be
The party
To Allah’s will
In her thus still
Yet one day
One man will
Do naught but
That
She is his own
In Allah’s
Will
As any rhyme’s hill
Might these lines fill
Yet that do I
This my guilt
Until



That is my self introduction for now, in this new web log which I am beginning as a way of centralising all my self identifications in the internet.

I plan that this will link with most of my other web logs and sites I frequent or leave comments at regularly. Though I can not be certain just for the minute as to that being the real eventual outcome. However, this will be the face of my internet use for now. Take note that this w-e-b-log is for now, only that sort available through the freely available software, like all my others, and in that knowledge, if you find yourself wanting to aid my calling, then perhaps you might like to purchase one of the editions of a variety of versions of the book called The Christmas Which Never Came, available through lulu.com most of the time, (though my proof is a bit raw there), and perhaps also soon through e-bay, but also by writing to PO Box 6113, Fairfield, QLD 4103.

The Christmas Which Never Came is an odd collection of work I have been writing, now between March 2003, and November 2007. Much of it is non-fiction essays which are strictly self referential, and belonging within a teaching mode of Aboriginal culture, in which the self-referential style is an equivalent of the modern academic world's external referencing systems. There is an assumption that I am either able to be tracked down to validate my story, or, my self referential quality will be ample evidence of my own belief in my words, with is then its own evidence. Much other of my work during this period has been writing poetry. I will let the poems speak for themself, and hope that you all will be tolerant of me using this here w-e-b-log as my homepage for a while.

an additional apology for the world of Arab speaking Muslims, that I have had no way to date of attaining certain knowledge of the spelling sequences which I ought to be accessing, but am just copying whatever I have most recently sighted in the internet, which seems appropriate enough for that mode of dialect of Qur'anic Arabic which suits my own self in Allah best. The reason for my delay in acquiring the necessary information is fully only the extent to which I have been experiencing being policed, and in which I am not want to drawn unnecessary police attention upon any teacher.