Holocaust Island by Graeme Dixon Page A

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Black death
    For forty thousand years, our ancestors
    Caressed our fertile seed
    and tended to the weaning
    Gave us life then we were freed
    a living part of Dreaming
    encased in living flesh
    But now the fruit is hanging
    in cells of bars and mesh.

    Now those links eternal chains
    have been torn asunder
    as the guns in Whitey’s hands
    spat lightning flash and thunder.

    They sat midst the dirt and flies
    alone and in disgrace
    But behind those saddened eyes
    are angry words and screaming
    aimed at those in uniforms
    who killed those of the Dreaming.

Regrets
    I started stealing cars
    at fourteen-years old
    Trying to impress me mates
    Proving I was bold
    Flying around in V.8.s
    Baiting the manatj 2
    Jesus! life was exciting
    Full of thrills, spills ’n’ laughs
    When I did get caught
    Didn’t worry me at all!
    I knew I’d only spend
    A coupla weeks in Longmore
    And it wouldn’t take too long
    To be back on the streets
    Prowling for cars to steal
    Manatj to defeat
    My teenage years flew past
    In and out of trouble
    Never realising
    White law would burst my bubble
    but it finally happened
    When officially I became a man
    The magistrate gave me
    Eighteen months in Freo can
    Shit! That sentence stung
    Dulling the fire in my eyes
    One of me mates escaped
    Via prison cell necktie
    I tried to convince him
    A coupla months ain’t long
    But it was no bloody use

    His spirit had already gone
    It’s hard for any man
    To be caged in a prison cell
    But if your skin is black
    It’s like burning in hell
    Being locked up by wajellas 3
    Glaring at you with hate
    Counting down the hours
    To your earliest release date

    But as the bible says
    â€œAll things come to pass”
    My time eventually came
    To be free at last
    My experiences caused me
    To attempt a brand new life
    With no more thieving
    Or getting into strife
    I confidently set out
    Searching for a job
    I had even decided
    To avoid me old mob
    but everywhere I asked
    I got for an answer
    â€œMay we have a look.
    At your driver’s licence sir?”

    My past had returned
    Haunting me like a spook
    I couldn’t find no work
    No matter how hard I looked
    This made me finally decide
    To visit the dreaded police
    Asking politely if I could
    Sit for a driver’s licence please

    The copper’s sarcastic reply
    Was poison to me ears
    â€œLook here fella
    You’re suspended for five years!”
    My suspensions as a juvenile
    I had truly forgot
    And waiting for five years
    It seemed I’d probably rot!
    So to secure reliable work
    I began to drive cars
    That my friends is the reason
    I’m back behind prison bars
    Counting the endless days
    For the next coupla years
    Missing freedom, friends and family
    Shedding lonesome tears

    If you young black fellows
    Have any kind of sense
    Be patient and behave
    Get your driver’s licence
    Waiting to turn seventeen
    Isn’t really very long
    And it’s a long lonely journey
    Down the road that is wrong

    2 Manatj—police Back

    3 Wajella—white person Back

Escape!
    Spiteful rifle spits
    slices through still night
    Fragile life flickers
    dying beneath searchlight
    Faceless, uniformed figure
    caresses hot, faithful toy
    Warm blood gushes
    shattered skull, tender boy.

    Institutionalised keepers
    blood lusted by the kill
    gaze upon the carcass
    Overwhelming power thrills!
    Nobody mentions
    victims a hungry thief
    fallen from life’s tree
    like browned autumn leaf.

    World eternally spinning
    nothing breaks this move
    Deafening silence returning
    prison’s eerie gloom
    Bloody razor-wire glistens
    beneath silvery moon
    Night, quietly mourning
    life escaped too soon.

Yigga’s run
    Bugger this for a joke coord! 4
    I’m hitting the toe
    Jail’s breaking my heart
    and making me low
    My yorga’s 5 pissed off
    with this bunji 6 wajella 7 bloke
    on all this bottled anger
    I’m ready to choke
    I haven’t had a visit
    near on six months