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Project Infiltration


Port Moresby - Wallace’s story, ‘Project Infiltration’, won the Grades 11 -12 category for Best Language Usage Story in the Paradise College ANIS Writing Competition

DAY FIFTY-TWO BEGAN with fear; the type that kept me awake at night; the type that filled me with disconcerting uncertainty; the type that was present from the beginning.

It had been fifty-two days since my carefully orchestrated escapade and too long since my unfortunate kidnapping. I had seemed to have lost track of time.

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I spent a bit of time in New Guinea


So what did you do for a crust?
Oh, the usual, public service and all that
Me too, I was in health administration
Before that I was a kiap in Papua New Guinea
That’s interesting, who do you barrack for?

I walked the high mountains and deep valleys
I reckon the Eagles will make the finals this year
I met men who had never seen steel before
Go on, is that right, is that your car out there?
And I saw men fighting with bows and arrows

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All true stewards of nature


A band of warriors
Bold and brave with spears
Splendour of their forefathers
Invoked deep is their courage
Faces painted traditional colours of war
All true stewards of nature!

Brothers and sisters of Morobe
Spears sharpened in Tutumang haus
They will not give up
Fighting for Huon Gulf's clear beauty
Saying no to the mine's deep sea deposits
All true stewards of nature!

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Let words be not silent or sleep alone


Have all good poems been written
That we today have none to share 
What then of the heart being smitten 
By the beauty of eyes that stare 
Or the walk that none can compare 

Have all good poems been written 
That we today have none to read 
What then of the loss that burden 
A broken heart held by a thread 
Or photo lost to time instead

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Law & the unfairness we face


FACTION - I sidled up to Ve’ Maghe working on his next piece of writing or legal argument.  He was engrossed in penning a few lines and did not look up.

I’d been friends with Ve’ Maghe for a long time and had been around him so long I think he could recognise my smell, especially the lavender cologne that I liked to wear.  It was registered in his brain.

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Between islands



FICTION - The young woman drifted almost unnoticed to sit beside me. She was probably in her mid-twenties and without doubt strikingly beautiful.

From the way she was dressed she seemed educated. Maybe a teacher or a nurse or a research student who, like me, was headed to the islands.

I was on the starboard deck of MV Papua with just the warm sea breeze and a Philip Fitzpatrick Hari Metau novel keeping me company when she took the empty seat beside me.

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Reckless Healing


Always in a dilemma of loathing and loving
Your family that keep secrets
You are dismayed but they plead for your silence
It’s for your protection they say,
It’s for everyone’s peace
You want to disappear
But the feeble child inside you feels insecure
Home is what they provide
So you tolerate their exploitative ways
Yes, we all get broken any way
And a reckless healing would do anyway

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Hail Meri


I didn’t see my baby after the Caesarian. My sedated state made it impossible to do that.

After the procedure, the baby was taken from the operating theatre and brought to the nursery. I was told I would not see my miracle until I was able to sit up in bed.

I was afraid I might not recognise my baby.

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Kipilan’s moka exchange

Jeremiah Munini
Jeremiah Munini


PORT MORESBY - Kipilan, a leader of the Yanarian people near Wabag in Enga Province, was born in Tambori village, in the 1920s.

Three months before Papua New Guinea’s independence on 16 September 1975, he went to Port Moresby to record the story of his life in the Enga language and anthropologist Philip Nere translated it to English.

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Where we lived

Knocked-down-coconut-treesMICHAEL DOM

There were coconut trees, I remember,
Four, which would have me at the door
With the sounds of their arrival
I creamed them for us
And we did not want more

There was the wind that night, a sign,
Tempestuous love affair of earth and sea
And we did not know that
That time would soon be at an end
We spoke of the barren grapevine
And listened in silence
To words left unsaid

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Sonnet to morality (for Lindsay F Bond)

Lindsay Bond - Oro style
Lindsay F Bond featuring an Oro style hairdo


My moral compass swings
On the freed finger tips
Of the monster I hide

The smiling fiend who haunts my dreams
Whose cold silhouette passes me
By the doorway in the mirror

It swings there just at arm’s length
One step away from horror
One move and I embrace it

I cannot subvert
This weird reflection
To love or hate it

Like a shadow that I cannot outrun
The compass on my own extended arm

Turangu Morie

Greg bablis
Gregory Bablis


You asked me why, why don’t I leave you?
But in the same breath, you walked over and locked the door
My head spun, as blow after blow
You performed me a special number
My own tune that night after night I fell asleep to.

Neim blo yu em bikpla lo PNG
You told me you had many other names too
Elvis Presley, Mr Universe, Mr PNG
Mr Money Bags, Fast and Furious
The ‘Dark Prince’ himself
Bruce Lee.

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Tribal Fights


‘Twas our forefathers’ definition of fame
A cultural aspect that magnified their name
‘Twas a sport in the primitive days
A method for acquiring land rights
Still, a technique that aroused mournful cries
A taint of the nightmare that kept villagers on guard

‘Twas a custom infused into our grandfathers
Demanding submission to be a tradition of our grandmothers
Whenever the inhumane figure awakened
‘Twas a weapon that guaranteed security
Still, the means that troubled their identity
An inescapable infection that existed in the community

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The Chase

I+am+the+stormGIDEON KINDIWA

You’re chasin’ the wind
Your feet’s dancin’ thing
The ground is hot coal
Jus’ burnin’ your soul
You couldn’t stand firm
With this world’s turn

You’ve had enough
But you can’t rebuff
You just want more
Your heart’s so sore
You couldn’t look back
And say, ‘What the heck?

‘I’ve got all I need
‘I don’t need to feed
‘It’s nothin’ but greed
‘That’s mak’n me bleed’
But instead you chase
Your greed into space

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Love's Left Unsaid


             She fell for the sparkle in his eyes
                          His final smile each time he leaves
                              Blinded her vision, detained her speech
                                     Oh, such a feeling!
                                       She longed for more
                                            But he just stood
                                               The love left unsaid

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Hanging Balls – you be the judge

Author Baka Bina asks you to review his short story. I'm here to tell the judges it's a rattling good yarn, absolutely splendid - KJ


PORT MORESBY - I had submitted this story to the Commonwealth Writers Prize for 2020. Three stories from Australia and New Zealand were on the short list. None of the Pacific islands entries made it.

Like Thomas Hukahu has said, we in Papua New Guinea tell stories but not in the same way that first language English speakers wants them told, or how they want to hear them.

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The Man in the Mirror


One day when I opened my mouth to speak
I heard a language I did not understand
I went to the bathroom to take a peek
At my reflection in the sky-roofed mirror and
To my relief the face was my very own
So I said, "Oh it's you,
I thought for a moment you were gone"
And mirror-me smirked back through
The thin looking-glass veneer
"Yes, it's me, you know I'm no voice in your head"
So I replied with a sardonic sneer
"That's ok, come on out, I won't tell till I'm dead"
Then mirror-me smiled and looked back eye-to-eye
When he said, "Back to work boy", his lips moved, not mine.