PHIL FITZPATRICK

I’VE BEEN a bit reluctant to release the final and free version of the Crocodile Prize Anthology 2016 because it does not fully incorporate all the material submitted to the competition, most notably some of the prizewinning entries.

This came about because 2016 was a transition year when the competition came under sole Papua New Guinean control and there were hiccups.

Although I had volunteered to edit and publish the anthology, several breakdowns in communication meant I didn’t receive all the entries worth including in the book.

But it’s already May and I thought it would be worthwhile offering the usual free PFD, which you can find here, and if more suitable material arrives I’m happy to update the book so it is more reflective of the true merit of what was submitted to the competition.

PHIL FITZPATRICK

THE chair of the Crocodile Prize Board of Trustees, Emmanuel Peni (pictured), has provided a detailed and frank report about the operation of the competition in 2016, its sixth year.

Last year was a transitional year when the competition passed entirely into Papua New Guinean hands.

Mindful that the organisation of the competition required a different approach, Keith Jackson and I stepped aside but offered our assistance wherever possible.

However, apart from the odd request for particular advice or clarification, the committee decided it needed to run the gauntlet alone.

In retrospect this was probably a good decision. Experience is a great teacher and the lessons from mistakes, hiccups and even success tend to be better learnt.

EMMANUEL PENI

A story-crafting workshop organised for writers by Papua New Guinea’s Crocodile Prize Association last weekend was a huge success.

Over 30 people attended the workshop in Port Moresby with participants ranging in age from 13 to 65 and consisting of writers, readers, enthusiasts and Crocodile Prize fans.

They were hungry to learn, there was enthusiasm and passion, and many people raised insightful questions.

There was also great energy for the future of the Crocodile Prize and the competition itself.

ISO YAWI.

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Twilight ends
Darkness fades at light's increased strength
Transition in action between light and darkness
Increased light, darkness fades
A day has begun.

It awakens a butterfly in its pupa cocoon
Trying its best it splits off the pupal cuticle
Transformed, a butterfly emerges
Its eyes opened, wings burst
The yoke of pupa fell off and it flew up, up and up

VAGI SAMUEL JR

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

WE GATHERED the fishing nets and folded them neatly like clothes. We took the paddles and pegs, carried them onto the canoe and emptied the hulls with a cut-off four-litre container.

Our skipper lifted the container filled with salt water, sipped a little, then faced the east and listened to the invisible wind.

Thereafter, he looked at the sun’s eye and shadowed his forehead with his hands before getting on his knees and whispering a fishing prayer, made loud in the stillness of time.

“Galeva!” he said. A crew of four males, we headed to the ocean like leaving home for war somewhere far away.

She was beautiful with her skin in white and red stripes caressing each pleasing wave. Oredae, her name, rocking on the sea like a mother swaying her baby in a bilum.

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

If you love me, tell me.
I shall love you every time.
If you want me, tell me.
I shall kiss you anytime.

But let not the sun shine
To chase away our shadows.
Let what I found be mine,
So my haunt could have a glow.

SIMON DAVIDSON

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

A gold mine exists deep within,
The human brain.
A mine whose treasures lie hidden,
Under the scalp.

A zillion nuggets no larger than specks,
Light like stars Innumerable.
A rich mine yielding not money,
But the precious gold of ideas.

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Did you see her?
Or contact her?
No, I didn’t either
Then immediately contact her
Why don’t I contact her?
Aiyo, em mas sampla samting ya

Was she asking for me?
When did she ask for me?
The afternoon of yesterday
How urgent is it I call today?
Sure, be cool and contact her later
Aiyo, em mas sampla samting ya

ISO YAWI

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

There is a light 
Its source, a burning oil
It lights out of generosity
Of the good will of a divine heart.
This light glows in the presence of darkness
And it subdues the strength of darkness.

I longed for this light,
I wished that it could shine in me also
And today it has shown up!

ARNOLD MUNDUA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

PEOPLE who see the title of this article for the first time will wonder if there is any such word as Writeatoullie in any of the world’s languages.

Indeed the word is not to be found in any modern dictionary for it is a word I created after watching Brad Bird’s 2007 Academy Award winning animated film, Ratatoullie.

Ratatoullie is a French dish prepared by expert chefs and the movie tells the story of how a colony of rats in Paris could cook Ratatoullie too, proving restaurant critic Anton Ego wrong when he disagreed with the title of a cookbook, ‘Anyone Can Cook’.

The critic was adamant until, when he finally tasted what the rats cooked, he had to concede that anyone can cook.

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

IN THAT darkest hour of the night, that which human eyes cannot penetrate, it is fear that occupies the heart of the traveller.

At Mainamo village in the Chuave District of Simbu Province, a Christian women’s fellowship group conducted a week-long fast beneath the tall trees that surrounded the huge cemetery.

The women had nightly prayer session at the foot of a limestone cliff overlooking the cemetery. The women stationed themselves in various locations to kneel and pray for hours.

Their aim was to rebuke the domination of evil within the community and stare down its evil ways: sorcery, witchcraft, drugs, alcohol and gambling.

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

With this love that I have loved you,
love me back, but just a little more.
With this kiss that I’m kissing you,
kiss me softly till we part no more,
till thoughts and time make us whole.

In this moment of memories,
let me rest in the sanctum of your
Heart, let me dream in the recess
of your Soul.

And if Fate should cast a shadow
over this September moonlight,
I’ll ask the ocean to steal its glow
and make the heavens our candlelight
while with the twinkles of Virgo,
my Heart, I crown my
                                                enraptured Soul.

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

The pioneer hero of Simbus
Made a breakthrough in politics
To draw the unknown civilisation
Towards a great development
His heart held the Simbus together
His willpower delivered great things
He bore the unbearable for people’s good

Never taught to read or write but
Used his wisdom write in people’s hearts
He spoke for Simbu
He worked for Simbu
He dreamed for Simbu
He lived for Simbu
He died for Simbu

ISO YAWI

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

In the twinkle of an eye
As it seemed, onion's vapour comes in contact
It filled with watery feeling
The eye lid worked hard with strong muscles to stay closed
Soon the white retina turned red
Darkness is the image projected inside the brain's focal sight
bang, bang, bang
Behold darkness!

EMILY JAMAIZ HOKO

An entry in the Crocodile Prize

As the Sun sets over Mount Kauka,
A magnificent ray of golden red splatters the horizon.
Before the night makes the world darker,
That ancient Sun is certain to rise again when it dawns.

Beautiful golden red, pink and purple,
Such are colours to behold.
But if a sunset has them all, 
Now that is a moment untold.

ILLYANA GARAP

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

You’re hurting me, please stop I cried
I’m sorry that your brother died.
Your brother was my son, you see,
So stop this pain. You’re hurting me.

I’m sorry that your father died,
He was my husband, at my side.
He was so old, he could not walk,
He even found it hard to talk.

I’m sorry that your daughter died.
In God’s own hand she’ll now abide.
She was my grandchild, dear to me,
I would not harm her, don’t you see.

EMILY JAMAIZ HOKO

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Tell me now, what have I become, a creature of the dark?
I don’t have my own soul.
I am not my own.
Living on the wasted
Feeding on the remains of the night
A life I call mine
Screams out through the window of my insanity.

Tell me now, what have I become, a creature of the dark?
I cannot sleep.
It has ceased with time.
I remain locked, trapped, a prisoner of my insanity
Robbed from the joys that were once mine.

ISO YAWI

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

I've tried harder and harder to improve
But I'm always convicted, defeated
The course of sin is much at work
As a virus inhabiting a poor soul
Sucking out all the good I try to do

I persist in vain with these shackles
And the yoke, so overpowering
Everywhere I turn, sin is not absent
It dwells in three dimension in the world of living
I am not a perfect folk

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

between birth and death
is life;
a farrago of savagery
with a tinge of romance.
but what lies beyond
is an insufferable silence
called religion;
a lame shot at immortality,
an illusion fabricated
to humour the vagrant.

DOMINICA ARE

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

This poem is dedicated to my younger sister, Clara Are

The day has come
To leave your nest, to leave home
Do not worry and cry
Confidently spread your wings and fly
Young girl!, the moment has come

Time to conquer the world, fun you’ll have some
There’ll be trials and do not grow weary
Challenges shall arise, don’t give up – just try
We’ve had ours, and now, your time has come

WARDLEY D. BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

I believe in the flightless bird,
That it can soar above the herd.
I believe in the tree leafless;
I believe that its dead branches
Can bear leaves and fruit on a bad day.

I believe in love torn apart.
I believe there’re songs in your heart’;
There’s a music in your silence,
And in your silence there’s romance.
I believe that nothing dies away.

SCOTT WAIDE

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

In the innocence of childhood
I saw pictures
Of fathers and children
Much like me and my dad
Of women with bilums
Like grandma and mum
Why do they flee
When the land is theirs?

In the innocence of childhood
I saw dark haired strangers
In photos all in green
Bearing tools of war
With a man just like
My uncle Jimmy
Lying dead at their feet
Why did they shoot him dead
When the land is his?

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

In memory of the good men who, of all days, died today

i

A good man, like all good man, died today.
It can’t happen on any other day.
Sundays and Mondays are too lacklustre
For the death of one meant to live forever.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are incomplete;
The grave is not satisfied with half-wits.
Thursdays are when lovers beget romance,
And love is too lofty for death’s weapons.

Fridays are fun and Saturdays holy.
For the grave to strike it would be folly.
But today—pure, perfect today, is fine;
When the earth sprouts, and sun, moon and stars shine…

Perhaps, God made good men to die today,
For today, of all days, is a good day.

PAUL WAUGLA WII

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

The wooded land atop the hillock
Where the silhouettes of the ancient oak
Stand aloft and motionless in the midday hour.
Those eucalyptus trees beyond the graveyard
And the ancient oak and the others
Whose names the midday wind utters
In such gentle tunes.

In the cool of the midday hour
A sudden destruction befalls the wooded greenery
The roar of chainsaws reverberates
Through the sacred burial grounds.

PAUL WAUGLA WII

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

OUR country is ruled by tyrants who have completely wrecked the national economy and have run up debts amounting to billions of kina.

Corporate greed thrives in Papua New Guinea simply because the masses are not raising their voices against the perpetrators who are dipping their fingers into the public coffers.

PNG is probably the only country in the world where corporate criminals and despots walk around freely without having to look back over their shoulder.

Almost two weeks ago, a group of university students marching to parliament house was shot at by police.

JEFFREY FEBI

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Dedicated to Nalepa Diou Febi

Though I listen to myself constantly
Not the sound of blinks have I heard
Nor the sound of hair growing
Even in the storms of my life
The thunderous thud fades to nothing

But this voice of a call
Perpetual call of a voice
Sweet like the sugary sap of a cane
Mingles with my blood
Resounds even to the ends of my little world

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

PNG fanatics are mounting for Origin
Their agenda is focussed on Origin
Their emotions, desires, confidence
Resources, time and effort, all

Bragging about Blues or Maroons
To the climax of the day’s celebration
Face painting Blues or Maroons
Flag raising Blues or Maroons

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

This poem is dedicated to all couples who remarried,
with their kids having a stepmother and step father

The glow of the setting sun sparkles
Glimmering rays on the valley of Kewamugl
At the western end the setting sun glows
As I descended from Mount Mondia
I caught the full glimpse of the spectrum

The clouds on Mount Oho split
A thick shower of golden hail falls
And clenched still on mom’s chest
You build your kingdom
Along this splendid plateau 

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

PNC government speaker
You hit the corruption garamut
So hard the echo shook the nation
By storm
Too good with the first agenda
Speaker silence corruption

The removal of carvings and totems
You prescribed for evil & corruption
Disregarding PNG as the home of spirituality
Your voice as a leader of people
And a speaker of parliamentarians
Brought in the 400 year old bible
Speaker silence corruption

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

To ol bata na susa blo Rabaul Town

A is for Ah Tam, a bata's paradise:
                where good guys become bad boys in a blitz,
                where raw rebels revel with blood-red eyes.

B brews four, five, six, seven eight-hour bakets,
                and gets you nine packets of cigarettes.

C takes you anytime to classic nightclubs:
                Zoo Club, Darkmoon and Hamamas Hotel,
                where strumpets milk big-shots through luscious rubs.

JEFFREY FEBI

Blood bleeds on the streets
The hot pavement a death bed
Young souls giving up for future
Indeed my child's future too
At the hands of non-thinking idiots
Guns ablaze indiscriminately
Foul smell from Tambaran Haus
Intoxicating non-thinking idiots
The command of bespectacled shorty
Is like the call of money
My children's future stained
Our children's future bloodied
By the dreams of a thief
The bespectacled shorty lives on
But blood bleeds on the streets

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

The voice of the majority
From the citizens of this country
Who are neutral without political ties
Voicing the grievance of the people
Prime Minister resign

Calling on the roguish character
To surrender, step aside
To allow justice to take its course
Since prime ministerial office is noble
Prime Minister resign

MARLENE DEE GRAY POTOURA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

WHEN she opened her eyes, Grace Kunsei saw that her right leg was stuck into a fire escape door and that door wouldn’t open. She pulled with all her might, but it just wouldn’t budge.

The MV Rabaul Queen was a passenger ship owned by the company Rabaul Shipping in Papua New Guinea. She was built in Japan in 1983 and brought to PNG in 1998, plying regular weekly route between Buka, Rabaul, Kimbe and Lae.

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Dream with me,
When I dream that I twinkle among stars,
Or skip with sweet cherubs from moon to moon;
When I spread my wings and glide through rainbows,
Catching gold teardrops of gods in my hand,
Or rollick and romp where night and day blend;
When I gaily farewell stalking shadows,
And watch them disappear into poltroons;
When I spark in Elysian Fields on Mars,
Dream with me.

DOMINICA ARE

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

On my face a comforting glow
Excitedly, from the clamorous world I take a bow
Disturbance I cannot allow

At my hideout
I close the doors and lock everything out
It’s just me, myself and I, out and about

Can’t conceal my delight
As I dance around with smiles so bright
And kneel down to thank God with all my might

JIMMY AWAGL

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

A culture of civilization
Introduced for modernization
To undermine traditionalism
Shattered tribalism
With this dynamic notion

It’s not the norms of my forefathers
All in print materials
Label as curriculums
Interpreted by professionals
In front of them

WARDLEY D. BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Be the voice
When silence dominates and ignorance
Shoves cottons down the throats of your fathers;
And fear cripples your mothers’ vocal chords;
And your weeping child is choking for breath
Desperately on the portals of death.
Stand up and sing a song or speak some words.
Carve them on wood; scribble them on papers;
And paste them on walls — nail them on a fence.
Be the voice.

BETTY GABRIEL WAKIA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

IN EARLY Huli history, there emerged an important young man named Baya Baya. He was the son of the great high god of Hela, Datagaliwabe, who transformed himself into the sun god Ni, came down to the earth and stayed among the Huli people.

Baya Baya was conceived by the virgin Tiame. He was a perfect young man who went around doing good and persuading people to stop fighting, committing adultery and doing evil things.

He was around 14 or 15 years old when he came with Tiame past Duna to Koroba and then down to Lai Terebo places in Duguba. Lai Terebo is a site for performing the ancient dindi ponegone, the ground knot rites.

From there Tiame and Baya Baya came into the Huli area where they stopped and slept at Gumu.

Then they crossed the Tagali River and went to Lumu Lumu, Wabia and all around the Huli area telling people not to do evil things.

WARDLEY D. BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize

Peter was made Pope by twisting a verse.
His reincarnation became a chief
When he covered himself in blue trousers
And made Capris look like a petty thief.

To stay blameless, he mastered casuistry
And manipulated those in the Haus
With clinks of gold and calls to ministry;
A ministry to keep him in the Haus.

He made friends that only money could buy;
The kiss of a judge and faith of a soldier.
Leo and co weren’t born of virgins. That’s why,
They must bow and kiss the feet of Peter.

MICHAEL DOM

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

THE question must be asked: does God care about what's happening here at the grassroots?

Or, if you unwittingly step on an ant, does it really reverberate in another dimension?

Many Christlike people are asking the former question right now.

But they are still not listening to the ‘still small voice’ telling them to get off their hinnies and do something for themselves for a change, instead of dumping it all on an Unseen Force – may it be with you.

WARDLEY D. BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the Crocodile Prize

The dawn sweeps carelessly over the hills….
And you now live a thousand miles from me.
Cursed be the light! There’s a darkness here still.

I am cursed more for I’m forced to see
The remains of our love being swept away.
In its wake is nothing save a memory;

A bitter-sweetness to drink each new day.
Yet a taste of the magic still lingers
On my lips, a blend of strawberry and

RAYMOND KOMIS GIRANA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

PNG’s democracy
Is a crazy demo
Of such egos

Let’s do no harm
Add 17 more charms
Come 2017’s poll

In our bout for freedom
They give us a demo
A nasty crazy demo

ROSLYN TONY

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

This is a scary world to live in. We must educate ourselves about its influence and impact. This poem shines a light on on some causes of violence and how we can address violence in our society today - RT

Did you consider who I will be when you kicked and punched mama while I was forming silently in her womb?
Did you consider who I will be when you insulted mama while I listened painfully?
Did you consider who I will be when you punched mama like a punching bag while I clung on her helplessly?
Did you consider who I will be when you threw mama out of the house while I tagged along?

PHILLIP KAUPA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

I know a place
where there's room for every face

For every talent
either noisier or silent

A palace much enormous the unborn can share
and its rooms welcome brains who dare

It is a traditional palace
built within our place

FRANCIS NII

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

I don’t know why, but so often women are quicker
to buy into love deception than men

I never knew you, PK
We met at the dance
At Crown Plaza

You stared at me
Like I had just arrived
From Jupiter or heaven

You offered me a beer
I refused it
Never drank before

KEITH ANGEN

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

I am a writer
I have a sharp mind
My sharp mind will shape my nation

I am a Papua New Guinean
I have a Papua New Guinean mind
My Papua New Guinean mind will shape my country

I am a writer
I have a sharp pen
My sharp mind sharpens my pen

ROSLYN TONY

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

The money language,
That fast track action,
A nice practice,
But promotes continual expectations,
That builds frustrations.

The endless postponement,
From communal department,
Making you wander,
If money language is needed,
To cease the postponement,
And process the permit,
So peculiar!

HAZEL KUTKUE

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

TO begin with, she knew she would die one day. And she knew that it would be sooner than her peers.

Most days, she would tell her mother that she wanted to die, still young, and so full of life.

And her mother would take a coconut frond broom and chase her out of the house, ridiculing her and saying how horrid she was to say these things like that to people who loved her.

And she would burst out laughing, saying it was all a joke. But she knew. And eventually she came to the hospital, sick and dying, thrown out of the house by her parents who suspected she had the illness.

FRANCIS NII

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

Look at the world
Why it is full of conflicts
There is so much killing
Poverty and hunger

While world powers
Are pumping billions
Into developing lethal weapons
And space rockets

WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA

An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize

In memory of those who left us in the month of April

The smell of death in April,
like the fragrance of a passing virgin
that interrupts our peace,
and steals our innocence,
taking our breath
                                                    a  w  a  y

leaving us running after
its absence, groping for its whiff,
making us painfully aware
of the absence in ourselves
— of some part of ourselves.