66464_291304850944496_75448536_nBorn on Wakka Wakka land at Barambah, which is now known as Cherbourg Aboriginal Reserve,  Lionel Fogarty has travelled nationally and internationally presenting and performing his work. Since the seventies Lionel has been a prominent activist, poet writer and artist; a Murri spokesperson for Indigenous Rights in Australia and overseas.  His poetry art work and oral presentation illustrates his linguistic uniqueness and overwhelming passion to re-territorialized Aboriginal language culture and meaning which speaks for Aboriginal people of Australia. In 2012 he received the Scalon prize for Connection Requital and his most recent collection is Mogwie Idan: Stories of the land (Vagabond)



Advance Those Asian An Pacific Writers Poets

As an murri writer pitch fee in carvings
Asian unity we need is most important
They are the beings on top of us an on the side of us.
At our arms is the Pacific of knowing
We need to unite for rights in all writing powers.
Our Asians are on our earth if we walk under the seabeds we sleep together
Think were there’s no sea the waves of our humanity is the same.
Most of this Asian Pacific is in fights just like love’s that was taken from them.
Most times the spirit of unity is not walled or housed but air free smell free and giving a shared stories.
Life at all times shown must have no different, but there are the bright lights, when we are blind.
Asian is not cassation
Pacific are not anglosacktion
The peace of mind was a balance in space respect the times of the once timeless minds.
Can the truth of Asian Pacific writer give us justices of causes?
Yo if they don’t get out work in their community’s then the pushishing world is at a lost.
So black fell writers this sacred future timing is important.
Remember in school we were taught they whites run them.
Will not true, wave have tunes
Our dancing not same, yes but thing can say and feel.
Our looks are not same but we see in painting art looks don’t mean we apart.
Just see them real reading our stories our culture of what a fight makes to be right.
Asian we can love on open eyes
Pacific we can love on open arms
They weren’t our oppression
We know here lot bugged like the white man’s peoples.
But that not the ones on homeland
Our skies in outback here beds and houses their skies.
The rain of road ships trucks all the days off all foods.
Delightment nights in fashion of opposite
Many souls wants to be unhurt unsafe offences of the desire to unity of the heart to art writing our Asian mobs have done in reply.
Our bodies spill the tempers but the spirit is one.
The moody Pacific mingling in our
Countries are negative at times
Yet these shinning sail them away says are sometimes can’t stand their own peoples.
All people of Pacific Asian are star travelling poetry, but the destination get contemplation.
All Pacific Asian needs our first Australia words to fill their emptiness.
A thousand pages in the food dish will feed the mind body as one.
Require our bush land sea sky without a cost to cut your bloods.
Reason now Asian Pacific letters to us natives down under not of sorry uncountable.
Capture our song mouth lip in our written sweat drop off the spear pen we given.
Let Asian knowledge refinement to out first Australia writers.
Make our books be the beach to lay on.
Make the millions turn the pages our, Pacific Brother Sisters writers learn and action to us, Asian as not drafting a trees felling over
pain sad and down and ousters.
Scream to the injustices quieted by birds in flying over the perpetually aggravation.
Don’t like the lit bug Aussies,
Hum began to like the Asian Pacific forgive but don’t forget.
Don’t like the collar reserve sir to the loudly thunder statures.
Pacific some trash our calendar histories,
Yet most of them know savagery is a wall-to-wall things.
And the sea makes all inland the body of man and women’s.
Asian history must be on our side for future frail fake are not civilianise.
The words here is to rib the rid of bone requiem deceit in the rackets.
Asians are not my or my people’s root yet flowers grow eye for an eyes.
Pacific are not my feet to eat, yet praise be it, to the writers not white in minds + bodies.
Coming back to poems over seas, yes the Asian Pacific touches our fingers without we know.
Half the write it’s not gods or goddess just same as land love, when a rainbow is felt by the two people’s the down under people
walk and talk sing and dance the dust on the pages of histories futures.
We cut the trails off for the smell to be tongued all around the Asian Pacific worlds.
They were never boat people but cues to cuss and shared to share.
The Makassar came then stayed so we live equal passion and ate blood on blood drank the earth as writers to today.
Some kill we had in need not for power over powers that be.
Bourgeois Asian sits a write poor at the doors life’s still die
Bourgeois Pacific sits on grass head thinking their freedom is the tongues they speak, well-written word must unite our respect too.
Mocked as nothing off shores, we last strong winged sails from shores to shores epics anew to write.
The warm beat on ward unawakened the sense in clearer washed skies.
Asian Pacific stories of the homesick
Aspire the creation unstained.
Asian Pacific attains our noon moons recoiling colour crews to be lacerated by our mythologies.
Banished now those ambush settlements away from a chained writers fears.
Bewail our progression painted to sing dance the one possess in peace over wars of grief.
Bound and adore our call for our poets to condemn flack fades of history awaking.
Monument the trust of patient and see our races unbridled.
Reappeared the repeated memories were no games are drop to knee.
The Asian Pacific volunteer are payed by the society vaporises.
We crawl not the injustices to arm our fingers and hand on legs for we yearn face on face rhyme to fierce any dodges of our writers.
Long lives the history of the struggle funny or wild to attack conditions.
Asian Pacific you all are the originality
Enfold the valleys in lust and rages
The country on earth is all that gives generation the chance to write and arts.
Shape our unity with perfect visionary give maturity to the immaturity other writers are old in the wall of racisms.
Mountain the unseen Mountains in our writer’s poet to rich on every Aborigine wish.
From the dawn of futures to the Australia dedicated longings,
We still must affectionate our Pacific Asian writers quarrel darkest mining to suddenly give hope over fury kept.
Fortune are moved by famous gallantry to stop genocides,
We must dominate all authority
Never surrender prophetic to the reflection of oppression
We must courage our welcomed one on number so high.
Customs are to carry on more so than the drunken stupor older chiefs.
Now speak of the harmony Asian Pacific’s
Bungalow all poor and unrest the brigade,
Harvest the learners even grabs soil in all barefoot victorious to rejoice rein in return.
Blunders those evil when the writers are burial; in shroud to justices by poets not massacred.
False people’s say they are ministers not the truth of people’s on peoples,
So stirred the ancestral emotions.
Let the Asian Pacific warriors live message UN broken.
Let the Asian Pacific warrior’s faith the barely crawled belly of mischievous.
Come Brothers of the Asian Pacific writers pleasant our pride for a truce in a thousand devour years, no colony can con.
The tall tales are Europeanism to blame for steering hopeless taste and treaty’s surprises.
Dreamtime multiple declare all mistakes be a past tears for those unfriendly warpaths.
Familiar our write-to-write together now Pacifica Asian’s narrow and bigger……….


Sort of Sorry

Sort of sorry tears on drops
Were no eyes?
Sore cries
Walk pass the changed season
Sing passion to the changed leavening.
Mouths lay at the below eyes of beds.
Now writing is unwritten
So ear in took raw deals.
Then as a stood sorry people
Said no more tears.
Smiles embraced the truth for saddest
Wiped an extinct body.
No sorry business changes things
No loaded crying stops crimes
Walk pass the changing seasons
Walls seek space for the lonely faces
She saw pain in a lane of flyaway planes.
He sewed rains drops fallen by
The baby’s unborn restrings.