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26-1-10: The poem presented here was written by one of our regular forum members. Our older Australians will fully remember the catastrophic events which happened at Maralinga (South Australia) during the time of atomic weapons testing by the British Government in 1956 and 1957. However, our younger Australians have been told very little about the years of shame. For those and for the sake of others who come after us, I have decided to publish this poem, which no doubt, was written with a very heavy heart and a lot of passion. I urge you read the words, then remember them and make sure that such events shall never ever be repeated on Australian soil............. webmaster
The Background: The last piece of tribal land was finally returned to the Tjarutja people in December 2009....................over 50 years from the time the Government under Bob Menzies took it from them to do their Atomic testing. The land will never be fit for human habitation for 250 million years and is still littered with Plutonium particles despite a supposed clean up by the British Government in 1964. Servicemen who were affected by the fall out and Aboriginal people are still battling to receive any worthwhile compensation form the Governments who caused this disaster. The land is highly radio active.............and every time the wind blows, she shares her fetid breath with us all............. The red dust storms that blanketed Australia at the end of last year inspired this.
THE THUNDER FIELDS OF MARALINGA
Cross the red sands of the desert where the silver spinifex grows,
winds are twisting, howling searching, all around they swirl and blow.
Little eddies curl and turn like Mamu* neath the blazing sun
dust devils from the plains spring up, each full of poison. Plutonium.
From the tribal lands were driven, Kokothar, and Tjuntjuntjare.
Reasons to them were not given,they were forced to travel far
from the waters of Ooldea*, from their tribal red dirt lands.
None took notice of their protests their 'future' in white mans hands.
Wire appeared across the tracks and places where Anangu* went.
Words were written on tin signs but they knew not what those words meant.
Warning signs saying there's "danger do not enter" here no more.
Anangu could not read English, so who were those signs put there for?
Black smoke appeared, brilliant white light, was this their Gods angry display?
Across the 'Thunder Fields' a deafening roar which caused them great dismay.
And soon they saw thousands of rabbits , all blinded by the light.
The rabbits stumbled, fell and died, truly a mystifying sight.
Then sickness came, and children died, with blisters raised on tender skin.
They suffered. Tiredness, aching joints, pains in the head and vomiting.
The Anangu did not know why. Had they their Gods somehow upset?
Dead animals were everywhere, and death now dogged their every step.
How could they know these simple folk, their Dreamtime had no tale to tell
of such a horror man unleashed. Of acid rains that on their country fell.
Of poison that for years untold would blight and curse this wretched land,
their dreaming paths forever cursed and all done by the white mans hand.
The Gods now took their great revenge, not just upon the native souls
but white men too withered and died. Still lies by Governments were told.
The land forever poisoned ground, each grain of earth, each rock and tree
No more a place of dreaming, or a place of quiet tranquility .
For evermore the poison stays, the soils still captured by the winds
are lifted in a cloud of red that travels far, like spirit things.
Dust blows to cities and to towns, far from these red and poisoned plains
and every drop of dust that falls, becomes the deadly acid rains.
And never will this story end, though Tjarutja people have reclaimed
their lands, they can no longer live or hunt the dusty red soil plains.
But tribal links are very strong and this place is their Dreaming
the souls of Ancestors are here, and they go on believing.
But truth to tell there still remains nineteen tons of plutonium
No man will live here safely now for years 250 million
It is the land of mamu* now a land of death and sorrow.
Lets learn from this insanity and not repeat tomorrow.
Maralinga you were once home to the the Tjarutja
The Kangaroo and Wallaby, the native budgerigah
The Eagle flew in majesty and grace above your plains
Maralinga you are now Australias' monument to shame.
(Mahalia mc ©)
* Anangu - Tjarutja people, mamu - spirits, Ooldea - sacred site.
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9-6-2010:
THE WISDOM OF THE WORLD IS IN HIS EYES
He had crossed the world’s big Oceans long before the birth of man .
Like his ancestors before him nearer when the world began .
He had seen his family murdered and had heard their final cries
Still the Wisdom of the World was in his eyes.
He had seen the whalers harpoon tear the flesh until it bled
From the sound of wooden whaleboats that pursued him he had fled
With his mighty flukes propelling him to ocean depths below,
until his lungs so close to bursting, made him surface, made him blow.
He has swum beneath the Arctic ice, in Polar Regions cold
Where the Right Whales and the Orcas, seek the ocean krill I’m told .
Across the world to warmer climes, his birthplace lay ahead
Past the shores of Fraser Island, where so many others bred.
He has witnessed mans indifference to rubbish dumped in the seas.
How the fish world wide are dying. Pristine reefs filled with debris
Now the coral polyps dying by pollution from the land.
From toxic wastes that are spoiling ocean waters, shoreline sand.
For years at Tangalooma whales were hunted to their death
their stories passed on to others by survivors that were left.
Many years had passed, no whales at all visited Moreton’s shore,
until the whaling ceased in sixty six, then they returned once more.
Now millions pay to see them as they breach in oceans blue
while the might of tourist dollars helps to raise awareness too .
But world wide they’re still depleted, by Nations we should despise.
Who seek to hunt the mammal with that wisdom in his eyes..
He is majestic, none his equal on the land or in the skies.
Yet he faces race extinction. Man must surely realize
that the pollution of the oceans, the poisoning of the seas
is killing off the plankton, and the krill on which he feeds.
He shares his memories and his songs with others of his race .
He swims the oceans regally with dignity and grace
In families, he guards the young with diligence each day.
He shepherds their migrations, through uncharted ocean ways.
Such gentleness and majesty should never be decried .
For these cetaceans of history for aeons have survived .
Who knows what they can teach us, can their knowledge be despised ?
If you look you'll see the wisdom of the world is in their eyes.
(Maureen Clifford © 2010)
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20-7-2010:
CROC WRESTLING
Michael wrestled with Fatso who he renamed Artisian.
Not sure who was the smarter, but suspect it was not him.
He'd spent his night down at the pub drinking the amber brew
then thought he'd try croc wrestling – just for something to do.
He just wanted to have a pat to see how a croc feels
I guess he has the picture now – the croc's weren't making deals.
He pondered should he sit upon it's back or give a pat
but it didn't really matter , Fatso wasn't having that.
He scaled the fence and took the croc in a boozy embrace,
the croc of course took umbrage at this fool right in his face -
with lightening quick response he whipped around and grabbed a leg
while Michael tried to scale the fence praying – 'let go I beg. '
Poor Michael lost his torch and he was fumbling in the dark
which didn't faze the croc at all - his bite's worse than his bark
If you believe this brain dead soul - in despair he did cry
'Artisian release my leg 'and the croc did comply.
Michael has only lived in Broome for two weeks so it's said.
If his stupidity continues he wont be there long – he'll be dead.
Not sure where Michael came from – perhaps Venus maybe Mars.
Beware they walk amongst us - they really are bizarre.
(Maureen Clifford © 07/10)
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This little poem is based on an actual event which happened in Broome / Western Australia during mid July 2010, when Michael climbed in to the crocodile's enclosure just because he wanted to "feel the croc's skin". He was lucky that he didn't become Fatso's midnight snack and escaped with just a few minor injuries!..........................It takes all kinds.
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