Culture Poems
The Dream Of Wearing Shorts Forever
by Les Murray
To go home and wear shorts forever
in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate,
adding a sweater when winter soaks the grass,
to camp out along the river bends
for good, wearing shorts, with a pocketknife,
a fishing line and matches,
or there where the hills are all down, below the plain,
to sit around in shorts at evening
......
Discrimination
by Adelaide Rhead
Why do you think you're better
If your culture is not the same?
Yes, maybe you seem different
But deep inside all are the same.
Why do they think they're better?
If one is black and one is white,
If one is man and one is woman.
They are the same, that is their right.
......
Mad Waters
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Mad waters come our way.
Seasons are gleaned from lean stems
beneath bloodless rocks;
thresholds, scorched, reprint footsteps
of dark ages replete with foul breath.
Alas, mad days are here.
And with clouds mourning near
disconsolate skies,
the heavens themselves lay siege on
......
The Swagman's Rest
by Banjo Paterson
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
At the foot of the Eaglehawk;
We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave
For fear that his ghost might walk;
We carved his name on a bloodwood tree
With the date of his sad decease
And in place of "Died from effects of spree"
We wrote "May he rest in peace".
For Bob was known on the Overland,
A regular old bush wag,
......
Sunday Paper
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Sunday rises gallantly from behind
Distant clouds, orange, on the wall
Of low, chintzy, tepid skies.
Bells sound with tamed decibels
Through tiny holes on top cupolas of
Rounded, gilded cathedrals to welcome
A yellow day that reclines on the edge
Of the week. Sunday salutes the spunk
......
Drummers Return
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Like the comet —far gone —
they return,
accompanied by wavelengths of torture
and secreted grief;
on their tired shoulders
weak and pale faces of drums, slung
with the sombreness of traded pride,
and, rested, their countenances dimly poor;
and also pale among them.
the fast-setting sun.
......
Chants
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
The bowel of the earth deepens with
Saturated blessings of the soil, and
Down, down, the forces burrow in its
Caverns —creviced
Between day and night, I cannot decipher,
Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the
Arcane values, where the eyes, though
Blind, see through the darkest chasm
......
Words of My Ancestors
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
By moonlight when the moon shone with all her majesty,
My ancestors told us the story of the Tiger,
Which crouched at every rumble of the jungle-thunder,
Either out of fright or from bravery;
Tiger, male and ferocious,
With wicked fangs,
Tiger which breathed fire upon the foliage that shielded
Our village from the rage of the sun,
Which raped lady antelopes with utter contempt,
Which dined lavishly on forest flesh
......
The Venue
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Terrains long dawdled on —
Long abandoned —
Among clammy and breeze-spiralling clusters of
Alien foliage —the Venue—
Dreaded and hidden in a moonless precinct,
Waking thoughts and compassion of domestic
Instruments and feeble-minded reptiles.
The Venue —gathering maisonettes of our sires —
The stonebox of jewellery of costly counsels,
Kernel eyes etched into its moss-ridden walls.
......
One-Minute Fool
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
At this road of congruity, has he frowned
At flagellation.
Abnegation has long ceased to be his watchword,
And conforming his values, has he arranged
His worth in sterling grace.
He's a sybarite, this philistine
In every sixty second has he guarded
His loincloth to blink at the
Naked day, but has prepared the ground
......
