tonight
on noongar land
there is a sweet noise
rolling in at the horizon
just under the raw clouds
it’s a thin sound
and we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
PREACH
we’re building walls
with words
to stop the hate
picking locks
utter stanzas
unhinging the gates
we’re carpet bombing villages
with poems of peace
pieces of poems
creating treaties
they’re shouting in ink
on tabloid stands
we’re rapid writing
poetry, without blood
on our hands
yeah this rhymes
sometimes
i’ll add another syllable
to kill the pain
that capital is god
and our words are revolutions
a circle of lives
twisting, resisting
listening to the birds
in this suburb of wardong
chiddy chiddy, koolbardie
calling to a mate
my pencil is a pistol
my document a gun
an M16 firing ideas
at the wars
and we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
PREACH
we are poems for Malala
we are words for girls, boys
women, men
the unborn
the dead
because those without words
cannot speak
and the sweet rolling noise
gets louder
close at the horizon
at oceans edge
and these boats
will never be stopped
never be finished
will drown children
women and men
their final breaths…
that heartbeat…
we are all boat people
eventually
and we tell their stories
to the phablet swipers
we snipe the government
with our sentences
enjamb their slavery to the business
of making dollars for the one-percenters
the never ever dissenters
we are poets
awake at the edge of the battle
and art is a hammer
not a mirror
and we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
PREACH
at school in the sunburnt country
history is a jigsaw
of missing pieces
of forgotten warriors
within these girted shores
not even a tent embassy
mention
or a yagan
or a jandamarra
in our yarns
never told
see, educators
need to tell truths
even if they hurt
and these poets here tonight
need to bleed
to witness
to feed their lines
and we listen, heed
and wait for sirens
and guns
riot cops
the security
of conserving
the status quo
and nothing will
change without our words
our speech patterns against their batons
under the army boot
we scream their freedom
from money
bleeding too much concrete
and steel
another road to nothing nothing nothing
another freeway to invisibility
the illusion of tranquility nothing nothing nothing
yet we hear the sweetest noise
and we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
and we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
we’re speaking in verse, always traverse
its two steps forward, another in reverse
two steps forward, another in reverse…
PREACH PREACH
PREACH PREACH
PREACH
in verse