Giant women

giant women

 

 

 

Giant women

 

I love giant women.

Her deep booming voice of demand.

Her strength that holds me

tight to her bosom.

I am weightless in her care, servant

to her movement.

Obedient to her wishes.

But I freely and willingly submit to

her vice,

her voice,

her reason.

For in those moments.

she is everything to me.

My protector, provider, lover.

My strength for life.

Yet, tis all but an act.

An alter ego,

a fantasy.

Put on for fun and laugh.

If only she knew, I wish it to be true.

I am sad when it’s through.

I love giant women,

with all my heart.

A Kinsman Passed

Rani

 

 

A kinsman passed

Away last night

What sorrow and

Remorse we feel

It brings a tear

To know your

Not here

The poorer

We all are

 

A kinsman passed

My window

Last night

Her warmth and

Breath I felt

She flew on

To where

Crucibles don’t rumble

Our thoughts follow

In her draft

 

A kinsman passed

The gates

Last night

Into another verse

Joy and happiness

Are hers to behold

Forever she

Will last

 

A kinsman passed

Into his arms

Last night

How cruel it

All seems

To us

 

That cold morning in May

imagesYKKYHX3P

 
Budjiti

Slowly I walk
Between the dunes
That protected this
Tribe from the
Cold winds of
June
Forever an Dreaming
It held them tight
Their smiles once
Beaming on its sight
These dunes were
Comfort
Shelter
And safe
A place
On their ancestral
Journey along
The dry and dusty
Paroo
Then along came the
Ghost men
And there foreign ways
Happened upon them
On this cold morning
In May
There fire sticks
Rang out amongst
The screams and cries
They slaughtered this
Tribe that Dreaming had
Provide
One survived

Slowly I walk
Between these
White weathered
Old dreams of the
Budjiti
A mournful desert
Crow call
Heralds my presence
In these dunes
That didn’t protect
This tribe
On that cold
Morning in May
Authors Note
I am honoured that the Budjiti people
trusted me to tell one of their stories.
I know that I haven’t done it justice
I don’t think anyone could.

Breath

 

 

 

under water photo

Photo by Pete Johnson on Pexels.com

 

I’m drowning

There’s no

Flotsam an jetsam

Left to hold onto.

I am clutching and reaching

For those rays

Of light

But that’s all

They are

They wont buoy me

They just watch

And look

At me drowning

As hard as I

Try

I am slipping

Further

Down

From those

Shafts of light

I’m nearly

Out of

Breath

 

 

 

 

Wayne

 

His demons come at night.

Creep up on him at his low.

Horrifying moans an screams to tow.

At what I fear to know.

They torment him,

Ferment him.

In his nightly slumber.

He’s more at peace in the waking hours.

Before the bottle, cause’s him to topple.

Into the abyss of nightmarish twist’s.

He says little of his history.

But hints at the source.

Of hell’s gate keepers and

Their relentless force.

Like bates outta Haiti.

Them banshee screams.

To once again torment

His sordid dreams.

 

All the real men

Where have all the real men gone.

Those bronzed statues of history past.

Farrowed, weathered faces of

Strong character an morals.

Big helping, protecting hands.

Gentle on the child.

Feathery on the lady, mild.

Where have all the real men gone.

None left to teach what’s

Best to future progeny.

Left to be corrupted,

By porn, scorn an meth.

Where have all the real men gone.

Those old mates of kinship an friends,

Fighters of fair an go.

Ready to jump to help those in need.

Defenders of under an dog.

Where have all the real men gone.

Just skeletons now.

Even half, men that were.

Mouths of talk an nothing more.

Except to condemn the under an dog.

Kick them in their lodge.

Where have all the real men gone.

Sadly, nevermore.

 

Heart Forlorn

 

We ran toward,

Our arms outstretched.

My heart pulling ahead,

Out of my chest.

It flew forward,

Through the air.

Hitting your chest

Where I wanted it to rest.

It fell down,

To the ground.

We stopped.

And just looked at it.

My heart forlorn,

on the lawn.

 

Culture

 

 

Because culture represents the unwritten rules of one’s society, accepted cultural practices that are not questioned but are considered a “given” are left sometimes free of critical analysis or thought. Which leaves these practices open to abuse or manipulation by sections of society that wish to reinvent or reinterpret these cultural icons for their own gain. Culture represents the glue of social cohesiveness, common beliefs and celebrations to bring societies together for a common good. I argue that the more mature in age a member of society, the more cultural practices they have experienced and the more respectful of these traditions and less accepting of new (“Darn youth of today”). These are also the people that see the most change, waning or divergence of these practices which sometimes results in a push back via moral panic. The current debate on same sex marriage is an example. These people fear change or evolution in their societies and expect a cultural sedentariness. Yet those cultural practices that defy change or critical thought are usually those that do harm to offers rather than a tactile experience. I might note with the same sex marriage debate, the same moral panic in defence of our constitution is missing. The debate in the communities about Australians being in control of the Australian Parliament, the institution that represents and governs them via our constitution is just not there. This pillar cultural document left to us by our forefathers is being reinvented and reinterpreted by the political elite that are, via the constitution, illegitimate. What does this tell us? I would say, it shows how culture and cultural practices can be manipulated and guided over time away from what was originally intended. By people and organisations that where not privy to its inception or who have a lot to gain by corrupting it. An example of this I see every day is the indigenous population of Australia. Their culture has been thoroughly trashed leaving them in social isolation through no fault of their own except that they did not have the skills or strength to resist the invasion. So, their culture has disappeared. What you see left today is the commercialisation of some of those cultural practices and a populace devastated and broken through generational trauma. And I can draw parallels with the current debate on dual citizenship. Is it not just another wave of immigrants taking control of long held cultural beliefs and practices? and discarding those that cannot be commercialised or corrupted for benefit.

I faced the same debate within myself years ago when moving from the country to the city. The culture I was use to did not reside in the city, so I needed to learn new cultures with new traditions and cuisine. The question arose, where these city people Australian? Because they were foreign to the culture of the bush. So, to survive I needed to learn these new cultural ways that weren’t Australian but brought in by new Australians. I did myself a favour, as people debated the ways of these new migrants, I already knew the answers that was blinded to them by ignorance. An example was the use of concrete by Italians to cover their front yards. While Australians loved their green front lawns, Italians loved to concrete it over. No one knew why, it was a mystery and something to latch onto, to use against them. But I knew. To the Italians, concrete was a sign of wealth, prosperity and social standing as in Italy only those lucky enough to have these could afford concrete. So it was with these new Australians, they were prosperous and showed it, how their old culture did via concrete. Another observation on Migrants bringing their culture to Australian. I have found that the Migrants of the fifties and sixties from Europe held their culture to that time period of when they left Europe. And I have heard it be said many a time that the Australian Italians, Greeks and Cypriotes are more Italian, Greek, Cypriotes than those that actually live in those countries. My partner was born in Darwin to Italian migrants. As a child, she was taught to speak not only Italian but also the local dialect of her parent’s district. But when she returns to her ancestral land she finds that there is no one left speaking the local dialect. It has passed to history. A cultural loss. She is Australian of Italian descent that still speaks a dead language of Italy. Does that make her more Italian than Italians? Or is it an example of how culture is always in flux along with the population. Some old cultural ways slip past without a whimper while others cause riots.

Only by engaging culture from everywhere is one able to obtain cultural maturity. The ability to accept cultural practices that diverge greatly from one’s own. And to do it in a way that doesn’t degenerate or belittle or is scornful of. A way that is respectful and understanding. With an influx of African migrants to Australia and my industry. I have turned my cultural curiosity toward them so as to better understand the people I am working with. The hard lessons I learnt early in my life have giving me a good grounding into how to approach these new Australians. An understanding of their cultural practices and expectations provides me better tools on how to approach or broach subjects with them. Who knew African time was a thing? Who knew African men sit down to their phones when women’s work was to be done? Who knew that disabled people were discarded because it was a struggle every day just to survive for the able, let alone to have a disabled person to look after as well? I knew, because some cultural practices are universal.

I would argue that while cultural self-awareness might lead to cultural intelligence it doesn’t necessarily lead to cultural maturity. It could be said that those that are culturally intelligent, pick and choose different aspects of opposing or emerging cultures to spread scorn and fear so as to keep the status-quo or cause moral panic. An example of this would-be Pauline Hanson’s political stunt of wearing the burqa into federal parliament. This did nothing except pour more scorn onto the most oppressed cultural group in our society. Further alienating them from integration and cultural safety.

 

The term ‘Cultural safety’ was first defined by the Maori nursing fraternity in New Zealand and is expressed as

 

“An environment that is safe for people: where there is no assault, challenge or denial of their identity, of who they are and what they need. It is about shared respect, shared meaning, shared knowledge and experience, of learning, living and working together with dignity and truly listening.”

 

http://www.supportingcarers.snaicc.org.au/connecting-to-culture/cultural-safety/

 

Cultural self-awareness leads to Cultural intelligence which should lead to cultural maturity.

The universal culture of disliking and fighting change needs to be critically looked at by everyone, everywhere. Otherwise these unhealthy universal cultural practices will continue to grid against each other, the status-quo is maintained and people continue to suffer all because of a clash of culture and lack of cultural maturity. The world has a lot to learn from the Maori nursing fraternity.