Marrickville Public School

My Country

2021, Primary School, Writing

My Country.
We stop, we think, we reflect on Gadigal Land.
Acknowledging Indigenous custodians past present and future.
We live, we learn, we breathe on Gadigal land. We walk on Gadigal land.
Thinking about caring for the land, when we care for the land the land cares for us.

Ultimo Public School

Bundjalung

2021, Primary School, Writing

Beautiful
United
Nature
Dad
Jarjum
Aboriginal
Loving
Understanding
Nature
Gadigal Land.

Rosary Primary School

Under One Sky!

2021, Primary School, Writing

Though the wind blows,
the clouds go away,
a ship on unknown land shows,
but the sky is there to stay.
Colonisation is booming,
natives are driven out,
greed and selfishness looming,
but, the sky is here to stay.
Land riddled with injustice,
laughs turn to cries,
discrimination casts out justice,
but the sky is there to stay.
Mistakes are made,
but good can shine too,
with one foot at a time,
discrimination may fade.
Past, present, future,
future, present, past,
can we live in an equal word,
with the sky to last?
Is there a world,
where face and place can’t hold us back,
each other we can embrace,
where tears fall for a smile above?
Yes, if the sky can last,
it can be our reminder,
that we should be kinder,
as we all beings together will make a sky to last.
We are all one race,
our hearts beat together,
the sky we embrace,
united in harmony forever.

Orange Grove Public School

The Voices

2021, Primary School, Writing

The banksia.
A striking flower.
A well of knowledge.
A mirror that reflects all the paths I've walked down, all the doors that I've opened on this journey.
My feet wander on, eyes, mouth, ears opened, soaking in the voices.
The voices that talk to me, lead me, tell me stories of old and new.
More paths are taken, more doors are opened.
My feet keep walking, surrounded by whispering voices.
The voices that murmur pieces of information, the information that glues themselves to me, forming a cover, as though I have a second skin, the sprinkles of colour that dance across my ebony page.
The sprinkles of paint, the thousands of people that crowd the world.
Watching, waiting, listening.
Straining their ears to hear the voices.
The voices that share their bountiful wisdom with us.
Explaining which paths to take, and which ones to avoid.
The voices that encourage us to tell others, show others, help others.
The voices.

Orana Steiner School

Wall of Glass

2021, Writing

The land is old,
As is the sky.
But we shall shatter,
The hideous lie.

That lies within our land,
The world is in our hands

A wall of glass,
Cuts between.
And though
its translucent,
Nothing is seen.

Not within our land,
Weighing down our hands.

So we shatter the wall!
Break the glass!
To finally see the sky,
We finally see the lie.

That lived within our land,
Made by our own hands.

We are one people,
Under one sky.
Stronger together,
No crystalline lie.

That was between our land,
Torn down by many hands.

So we can always be free,
It'll start with you and me,
Yesterday, Today and Forever.

Orana Steiner School

A Reconciled Friendship

2021, Writing

Minjarra was strolling through the bushland; he had no idea where he was going. The sky was blue with a storm cloud here and there. He could smell the wattle already, the floral fragrance wafted into his nostrils. He could hear the rosellas chirping in the eucalyptus trees. He could taste a smoky campfire nearby; he was following the trail of smoke. He could feel the twigs snapping under his feet.
“Hey there! The voice made him jump; he had wandered right into the camp without noticing.
“Who are you?” Minjarra replied.
“Who am I? I am Steve! Who are you?”
“I’m Minjarra, what are you doing?” asked Minjarra.
“I’m trying to cook some chicken.”
“Any luck?” Minjarra asked.
“No.” said Steve.
Suddenly a monitor lizard with yellow stripes on its neck and tail burst out of the bush, grabbed the chicken, and ran off.
Later, they were walking through the bush, and Minjarra pointed out some berries to Steve,
“These are edible, by the way, not poisonous.” Steve tried one,
“Very starchy.” he said, “I hope it doesn’t make me fart.” Minjarra chortled, “Ha!”.
It was getting dark, and they had nowhere to shelter for the night, so they started to look for a place to sleep. They suddenly discovered a cave that was dug into a cliff-face. There was a striped, yellow tail sticking out of a crevice that was covered in moss.
“Hey!” said Steve, as he pulled the lizard out of its hole, “Where did you put that chicken!?”
Minjarra showed Steve how to cook the lizard. First, he made a fire and let it burn down to the embers. Then, he rolled the lizard into the ashes and covered it in embers. He waited for a little, before taking it out, finding it soft, and when he poked it with a stick, the flesh fell right off the bone.
Steve watched as Minjarra pulled the lizard out of the embers, brushing the ashes off. He began to pull chunks off by holding the legs and passed some to Steve.
“This is soft bush tucker, traditionally for old folks, but it tastes rather good.”
They sat together eating the lizard, contentedly, until Minjarra asked Steve if he had ever had bush tucker before.
“Have you ever tasted lizard before?”
“I’ve never really eaten anything like this actually.” said Steve with his mouth full of lizard flesh.
“You don’t really have to chew much, that’s why it’s for the old folks. Usually, we clear out the tall grass by lighting small fires, that way it is easier to find them – lucky we did not need to do that this time, thanks to you yanking it out by its tail.”
Steve sat quietly chewing the tasty meat and watched Minjarra expertly tear away more delicious chunks.
“I guess I should thank you for sharing your bush tucker knowledge with me. I would have been pretty hungry without the chicken.” Steve mentioned.
Minjarra chuckled, “Tastes better than chicken anyway.”