A little rat-a-tat-tap

Group-think tanks
splashing ink like
ASCII with hyperlinks
I’m done with identity
Political expediency
Eugenic entitlement to
Hegemonic enlightenment
I’m losing the need
To plead my reality
Or what I might need
What I will or won’t be
In the service of greed
I leave it all to you
Sisters and brothers
From a billion other mothers
Cos I’m hopeful and hopeless
And no part of me believes
We can group-think our dreams…


In colony

the dream is eons long
we have been entwined
you and I
since forever

on certain days
I ache to withhold my truth
to show you how it feels
to listen to endless lies

on other days
I tumble to the floor and bounce
to show you how it looks
to act from the real and present

no bargains can be struck
in the market for shadows

that mind’s light is so full
it throws it’s own shade
to all that might detract
from it’s righteous narrative

your hand-me-down economy
avoids all mention of entropy

the dream is eons long
you know
the one where I play
the swiss-army-knife version
of a scapegoat
and you deny everything

on certain days
we see you hurling platitudes
while dismantling ecosystems
and poking holes in rainbows

on other days
we see you acting out our own shadow-selves
and then we fall about laughing
at your feeble attempts
to direct the wind


My earth

I sprang from the earth in a world filled with strife
He crossed the great water and brought me to life
I’m rife with these genes born of long suff’ring souls
She crossed the Bass Strait with a sail full of holes

“There’ll be no black offspring” yet still she bore four
Three hail from the dreamtime; one’s kept from kin’s door
A history was stolen so some could save face
Baba yangu mpendwa, no child for his race

I fell to the earth in a late sixties town
With folks who knew nothing about skin so brown
I’m raised with the knowledge that this ain’t my home
By folks who would fear me for hair I can’t comb

“Go back to your country” and “where are you from?”
“You don’t belong here” is an endless old song
It’s not just the Anglo’s; they’ve all had a go
The migrants and students, indigenous and so

I don’t need her pity for I have grown strong
There’s fire in my eyes that transmutes every wrong
My father’s revenge and my mother’s to rue
White Australia’s failure to lighten the hue

Still this is my country, the earth called me here
The laws of all nature will challenge our fear
With what moves our hearts since before we had time
With what makes me human and lends me to rhyme

I stand in two worlds, across every divide
From colour to gender to casting aside
These over-drive lies that keep us from friends
From ism to schism, we’ll mend these old trends

We can’t speak of hope, such requires belief
When it turns from the truth it brings no-one relief
From bully to hater to lovely fine souls
It’s time we surrendered and stopped scoring own goals

I sing from the earth to a man who’s grown cold
We write a new future that cannot be sold
I’m older and bolder; I’ve lived so much pain
That I can see clearer when clouds threaten rain

Let all who have known me and seen me for swine
Divine such a view maps their own thin red line
And should you delight in a spirit that’s free
In peace shall you roam across earth, land and sea

I hum with my earth as I’m tossed through the waves
Tones roaring through auras with worlds as the staves
The rhythm is time and my pitch is free will
Tunes are the humans spirit’s notes shall fulfil

© Robyn Murray

Walk with me

Treading these multi-hued lands
The history of this place unfolds.
It’s a song with a unique melody
Humming, low, sweet, melancholy
Whispered without words
Beneath clouds and trees.

Make my back your place to rest.
When you walk with me we both exist.
Abuse and ignore me, I become less than grey.
Come home again so I can flourish,
Vivid and diverse,
Walk with me not on me.


The inspiration for this poem is this post over here Reflecting on Rituals – An indigenous perspective on process as transformation. I’m indigenous but I can’t lay claim to any passed down knowledge from the ancestors. What occurs to me though, is that over time I’ve learned similar types of ideas as the author presents – from walking and listening to the earth of this wonderful country. It’s obvious to me – we regularly and repeatedly miss the point of what indigenous people and cultures, in fact, everyone that has arrived or will arrive on these shores, truly has to offer…  hmm… except perhaps Tony Abbott and that crazy Sydney hostage bloke… ignorance and assertion is not only ugly, it frequently ends in violence.


“I hate it when you do that. I can’t read you.”

“What does it matter? I had nothing to contribute.”

“But it always happens and I don’t like it,” she said. “It shuts me out.”

“Out of where?  If it helps, I’m not doing anything in particular but I feel kind of weird.”  The fleeting image of a football flies through my mind towards invisible goalposts. “I suppose it’s a response to what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.”  Continue reading