Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Ostwelve, Ron Dean Harris: Sto:lo Protectors

Waiting In The Wings (Spoken word)
Waiting in the wings with warmongers wearing war chief T-shirts silkscreened in the late 90s. Will we wade in the shallows of oily coastal waters while politicos dance for the next cause of action facing sentinels trained like terminators? The fish winks at the oil tanker thirsty in the distance. Empty eyes now hold our fate while self-appointed hereditary chiefs tweet with the sunrise disguise of wise tides that rise on social angst and hatred painted sacred with shame and abandonment from beyond. Broken societies clammer for positioning while giant mechanical serpents ready their scales for encroachment along side several brands of revolution. Some have traditional dogma while others are artificially flavoured to mask the bones hidden in its fleshy matter. Long dead and gone archetypes dance in the wind as brooms drearily sweep the remnants of solidarity incentives that fade into the past while babies eyes gleam the new motivation for occupation under the regime of soil eaters and water killers who will trade all things for gold even the bones of our Grandmothers fathers Uncles Sisters Daughters and children in tow banging on drums screaming prayers with thick muddy tears like tailings ponds and bloody lust for imaginary coins transmuting into eagle down that transform into bullets that rain on the horizon while boots begin to march along side the rumbling monster in the distance snapping trees like straws and growling as it digests the blood of its own ancestors sacredly stepping on grounds where they slept and wept and crept to safety from red shirts, black masks, brass shields, leafy flags, flowery rhetoric, poetic campaigns and slogans on recycled cardboard waving in the winds now tainted with drunken anger and rage that pisses into our collective thought space while dead eyes piss into the water jug we give to our children's kids friends over for a play date of social diversity and understanding between racial species and ideological eating, living, loving, working, praying, learning and expressional disorders clouded by lithium and false communications that are #hashtaggedasSACRED but never been naked in the forest moss or rivers shores wear salmon people dance for their saviour and beg for another chance at regeneration, revitalization, resurgence, respect and reprogramming while we wait on words and actions or words of actions on words for action or reactionary words with real intent on being, doing, loving, becoming destruction for the better cause because we know better than our Mothers because we're big grownups now with all the answers on our iPhones and Androids uploaded and filtered for flavoured geotagged for location so you can remember where you were when they made the announcement and where you will be for the 49er or funeral fires fuelled by the ancestral bones of trees and dead peoples baggage. Oh how those suitcases and trunks burned in the twilight with kids roasting marshmallows on the glow of realization and reframed revolution where women fight to feed their children and men put their faces on merchandise trademarked with grave markers and red ochre. "Put some feathers on it!" said one man while naked eagles shiver in the rains of our blind obsession with lights in the sky and sounds in the ground, thunder from under while the soil bleeds into the water and a turtle dances to the drums of our hearts. Waiting and praying...someone makes the right choices for those of us with no voices.


Stō:lo Protectors


Ostwelve - B.Medicine / Baphela Bantu
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