When suddenly the fierce band burst on the camp near by

The women screamed, the dogs fled as spears began to fly,

And frantic Boola saw too late he was the one to die.

A camp moves when death comes, and they made haste to go,

No wailing for dead Boola, no tree-grave would he know;

They left him on the ground there for carrion kite and crow.

Artist Son

To Kabul of the tribe Noonuccal (Vivian Walker)

My artist son,

Busy with brush, absorbed in more than play,

Untutored yet, striving alone to find

What colour and form can say,

Yours the deep human need,

The old compulsion, ever since man had mind

And learned to dream,

Adventuring, creative, unconfined.

Even in dim beginning days,

Long before written word was known,

Your fathers too fashioned their art

Who had but bark and wood and the cave stone.

Much you must learn from others, yes,

But copy none; follow no fashions, know

Art the adventurer his lone way

Lonely must go.

Paint joy, not pain.

Paint beauty and happiness for men,

Paint the rare insight glimpses that express

What tongue cannot or pen;

Not for reward, acclaim

That wins honour and opens doors,

Not as ambition toils for fame,

But as the lark sings and the eagle soars.

Make us songs in colour and line:

Painting is speech, painter and poet are one.

Paint what you feel more than the thing you see,

My artist son.

Son of Mine

(To Denis)

My son, your troubled eyes search mine,

Puzzled and hurt by colour line.

Your black skin soft as velvet shine;

What can I tell you, son of mine?

I could tell you of heartbreak, hatred blind,

I could tell of crimes that shame mankind,

Of brutal wrong and deeds malign,

Of rape and murder, son of mine;

But I'll tell instead of brave and fine

When lives of black and white entwine,

And men in brotherhood combine –

This would I tell you, son of mine.

Dead Life

I dare not live too long

Life may last for ever.

In a span of life

Ten million lives are lost

And few are found.

Dead men roam

The streets

Screaming obscenities,

Cursing, damning.

Forcing me to look

At my dead life

And theirs.

?

Hello tree;

Talk to me.

I'm sick

And lonely.

Are you old?

Trunk so cold.

What secrets

Do you hold?

Talk tree!

Can't you see;

My troubles

Trouble me.

Silent tree

Let me see

Your answers.

ANSWER ME.

Tree!

You dare

Question ME?

How dare you

Dare, question ME.

Jarri's Love Song

Outside his new-made gunya Jarri

With a sudden howl started to make a song.

He had something to sing about, he

Had been given the pretty Nona,

He was making a song about Nona.

Jarri never made song to remember

But many times he made camp laugh.

Now they laughed at Jarri's love song,

They all liked that cheerful fellow, all

But sour old Yundi.