See a boy no longer,

He who passed the Bora,

He who bears a man's marks,

He who knows what men know,

All the tribal secrets.

Now as man Bora-made

He has right to lubra.

With eyes shy and shining

She whom he is given

Peeps through her fingers:

This is her man.

Glad she will follow him,

Wait upon her man's word,

Care for his every need,

In their own gunya

Proud to be his woman,

Proud of her man.

Nona

At the happy chattering evening meal

Nona the lithe and lovely,

Liked by all,

Came out of her mother's gunya,

Naked like the rest, and like the rest

Unconscious of her body

As the dingo pup rolling about in play.

All eyes turned, men and women, all

Had smiles for Nona.

And what did the women see? They saw

The white head-band above her forehead,

The gay little feather-tuft in her hair

Fixed with gum, and how she wore it.

They saw the necklet of red berries

And the plaited and painted reed arm-band

Jarri had made her.

And what did the men see? Ah, the men.

They did not see armlet or band

Or the bright little feather-tuft in her hair.

They had no eye for the red berries,

They did no look at these things at all.

The Food Gatherers

We are the food gatherers, we

And all the busy lives we see,

Fur and feathers, the large and small,

With Nature's plenty for us all:

The hawk circling over the plains,

The dingo, scourge of his domains,

The lone owl who voice forlorn

Pursues the sunset into dawn.

Even the small bronze chickowee

That gossips in bright melody –

Look, into the clump he's gone,

He has a little murder on!

For food is life and life is still

The old carnage, and all must kill

Others, though why wise Nature planned

Red rapine, who can understand?

Only for food, never for sport,

That new evil the white man brought.

Lovely to see them day to day,

The food gatherers, busy and gay,

But most of all we love our own,

When as the dulled red sun goes down

Fishers and hunters home return

To where the family fires burn.

Food now and merriment,

Bellies fill and all content,

Around the fires at wide nightfall,

This is the happiest time of all.

Aboriginal Charter of Rights

We want hope, not racialism,

Brotherhood, not ostracism,

Black advance, not white ascendance:

Make us equals, not dependents.

We need help, not exploitation,

We want freedom, not frustration;

Not control, but self-reliance,

Independence, not compliance,

Not rebuff, but education,

Self-respect, not resignation.

Free us from a mean subjection,

From a bureaucrat Protection.

Let's forget the old-time slavers:

Give us fellowship, not favours;

Encouragement, not prohibitions,

Homes, not settlements and missions.

We need love, not overlordship,

Grip of hand, no whip-hand wardship;

Opportunity that places

White and black on equal basis.

You dishearten, not defend us,

Circumscribe, who should befriend us.