Poetry

How can I celebrate?

by Veronica Foale on January 26, 2014

in Poetry

How can I celebrate on this day,
this Australia day.

When the date marks the invasion of the land,
the rape, the pillage, the slavery.
How can I celebrate our sunburned country,
when we built it on the back
of such misery.

How can I celebrate?

When we treat our indigenous people,
like they ought to be grateful
for what we do to them.
Sit there and thank the white men,
for stealing your land, your children, your souls.
Your culture.
You’ve got McDonalds now,
and hey, progress right?
No.

When we lock up refugees in places akin to concentration camps.
When we dehumanise and demonise anyone
who isn’t white and shouting
‘Straya cunt.

When the racism is so ingrained, people honestly believe
today is a day for equality.

It is not,
and I cannot celebrate.

For how can I,
when our government accidentally invades Indonesia,
and then says
Whoops, sorry mate, totes an accident.
We didn’t think you’d notice.
When we bully, and coerce, and push and strangle.

How can I celebrate?

When the flag so many have wrapped around their shoulders
makes me cringe,
with its message of patriotism and imperialism.
The sublte whisper of
kill the brown people, let them die, no one wants them, send them back.
A Union Jack on every corner,
God Save The Queen.

How can I be part of this,
when the shame of being Australian
eats at me, making my stomach roil.

I am disgusted,
At the things we do
in the name of this country.

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And it’s a race (race race)

by Veronica Foale on October 12, 2013

in Poetry

Someone’s dead
and it’s a race
(race race)
to Facebook, to
let the world know
you knew them when,
that you knew them before,
before they died.

And my stream is full
of RIPs and
Good bloke, him;
Such a wonderful lady
Taken too soon

and I wonder when
did we stop taking the time
to grieve in our hearts
before we announced
we were grieving
to the world?

It’s a race
(race race)
to feel important
with our loss,
to
cry
aghast
our
sorrow
publicly.

And I understand
(I do, I do)
the need to reach out
to your friends,
in your time of need,
but the self important
posturing
leaves
me
cold.

Because this is how
I found out
that someone I loved
had died.
A glib announcement,
on a Facebook profile
and I grieved, and grieved.

I wonder,
in this race
(race race)
to feel important
with our loss,
do we forget
others.

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