Take The Rope From My Throat That I May Sing My Song Children Of Mokomoko
I’m a Pakeha! I’m a Pakeha! I’m a Pakeha!
To you!
To me.
I’m a kiwi.
Jump up and down! Jump up and down! Jump up and down!
Knock heads off stone statues!
Spray paint emblems of Britannic Queen.
Banter! Banter! Banter! Racist Slogans!
Frog march in gardens!
Decapitate under trees.
Shit on land you claim as yours!
I can tell you really respect it!
Best land management policy!
Pakeha and extinct Moa!
Make all nation’s children everyone
learn Maori at school.
Learn!
Anything?
You never did.
Show some real Maori mana!
Traditional Full-Face Tattoo!
Wear it with leather-jacket boots tribal patch.
Go on. Kick my head in!
I know you want to!
Idyllic days.
Before Pakeha
came and spoilt everything.
Maori all mates together.
Left.
And then?
There’s no white one.
For you to eat.
Left each other.
Just the way it used to be.
Cook’em in a hungi in the ground with hot smouldering stones.
Perfect. Yum Yum. Pork. Pakeha (meaning white pig) .
Those Nineteenth Century Pakeha.
They were too tough.
And these twentieth century ones.
Too fat and lazy.
They don’t do anything.
They can’t
have
no Maori rights.
See.
We are.
One people.
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
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