Hiri Hanenamo emi danis, Hiri Moale Festival, 2014 (Stella Blog)

MICHAEL DOM

This new poem in Tok Pisin and English uses the primaquatrain poetic form which I have invented. It is meant for original composition in Tok Pisin and seems to work well that way for me - MTD

Eh, meri nambis ia
Longpela garas bilong yu
Emi tanim ai bilong mi
Na tromoi lewa olsem purpur

DUNCAN GABI
| My Land, My Country

MADANG - I joined the long queue outside BSP bank in Goroka at around something to 12 to pick up my long overdue bank card.

I had lodged an application for a new bank card a month ago. About two weeks ago, thinking my card was ready, I went to pick it up.

PHILIP FITZPATRICK

TUMBY BAY - The old man looked down at the rippled and translucent skin on the back of his hand.

He slowly closed his fist but that just accentuated the brown blotches and spindly blue veins.

When he eventually lifted his eyes be became aware of being watched from the end of his bed.

SIMON DAVIDSON

When suns setting rays,
Touched western horizon,
The ev’n skies lit up,
And burned as with flames.

I set my eyes transfixed,
At the evenings fireworks,
At the transient glory,
Oblivious to Covid-19’s rage.

A G SATORI

Mama, I can't come home for Christmas. I love you and miss you still. I want to say Merry Christmas in person but can't.

But I know where you will be each day.  We had done this together so many times - three days before Christmas service.

JIMMY AWAGL

The tropical rainforest
Stretching up the slope
Tree tops shrouded in cloud
Offering a misty canopy
Drifting through the leaves

The sun’s descending rays
Spreading their radiant fingers
Touching the hovering vapour
Flaring before us in a golden spray
Blinding our eyes in a rainbow spectrum

JIMMY AWAGL

Shut down
Lock down

Hold on for dear life
Got to live this life

Shut down the operation
Government needs cooperation

JIMMY AWAGL

An invisible tremor shakes the earth
as an enemy crosses our paths

Like a silent wind uprooting our lives
and bearing the curse of disease

Small but forceful it penetrates
wherever it lands, crushing lungs,

A mysterious enemy invading all
around the globe, an invisible smoke

Aishi Nokowano Gitehoma aka Papa Sii,  Kotiyufa Village,  Iufi-Iufa,  2013

AS TOLD BY PAPA SII TO BAKA BINA

PORT MORESBY – Before I continue this story, I should let you know that it is an adaptation of a legend told by Papa Sii, whose image is at right

I have taken the words he told me and retold it using a contemporary overlay story of some bored village children.

Piku-Piku (black grasshopper)

AS TOLD BY PAPA SII TO BAKA BINA

LEGEND - Nana-Muni held the bottle out to the three girls and Sukare took it carefully between two fingers, took a quick look and passed it to Teniso.

Teniso was a tomboy and she turned the bottle upside down and let the asukena (mole grasshopper) scramble onto Sukare’s hands.

Sukare gave a scream and a wince and dropped the bottle. The asukena scurried off into the kaukau vines.

Asukena (mole cricket)

AS TOLD BY PAPA SII TO BAKA BINA

Baka Bina’s ninth book, Tales From Faif, is due for release before the end of December. It includes for extracts from the popular Cry Me a River series, two from the Pineapple series, four legends and three contemporary stories - KJ

A LEGEND - Alonaa was bored. He did not like the idea of babysitting the terror cousins –the three girls, Teniso, Sukare, Panikame, and two boys, Nana-Muni and Metty-Mahn, who were smaller than him.

The girls were terrors - more like terriers - who were too troublesome to look after.

JIMMY AWAGL

The calm breeze from the sea waves
Moves peacefully to the shore
Unsettles the tender palm leaves
Offers a sense of calmness, like
the grass-skirts of Papuan girls

The aroma of this gentle breeze
Moves sweetly across the lonely beach
As the soft sand squishes beneath my feet
Creating gentle puffs of crystal dust
Gathered by the breeze and taken where

Lake Murray dawn PNG (Ian-Lloyd-Neubauer)

JIMMY AWAGL

Heavenly lights subside in the sky
As the glow of the flame arrives
Kissing the soft dew settled on leaves
As the beauty of a new day appears

Observe this time passing your eyes
This time that dictates your life
Either to rise or fall; succeed or fail
It’s the time flame that dominates earth

TATTIANA ABOLA

The battle seems a losing one
Your opponent tough and strong
You feel afraid, tense, and tremble
Surveying his massive frame

At the back of your mind you’ve lost
It gives not a chance of winning
Are you so weak, or what is this?
Why you're here, and why this fear?

JIMMY AWAGL

The dream is bitter
Not really better
than days gone by

I walked your way
To be close to your heart
but it was closed to me

The dream is a fairytale
Your love was legendary
until it all turned to clay

ISO YAWI
| A fictional story in three parts

As Pala was readying the food for his wife Tarubo at the vavine numana (women’s house), Laka left for her own house in the village.

When Pala came out, Laka was gone. Pala went to Laka’s house, but there was no one there. The house was quiet as if abandoned.

ISO YAWI
| A fictional story in three parts

An hour had passed and Laka had not yet returned from the village. Tarubo and Pokana waited for another hour and still there was no sign of her.

With growing impatience, they waited for two more hours, but Laka did not return.

JIMMY AWAGL

Heavenly flame caging its eyes
Within the shadow of darkness
Before the fire’s soft glow
At the edge of the women’s hut
Align parallel facing each other

The midnight princesses align
With their tender oily flesh
Bird of paradise framing their face
Through dim flame a golden brown
Alongside eager encircling kumuls

ISO YAWI
| A fictional story in three parts

Outside the small brown vavine numana (Papuan women’s house), just beyond the civilised world, it was a cold rainy evening.

Standing 20 metres high on the plateau of Rako, the vavine numana was set some way from the village of Babaka. Within, a young pregnant woman, Tarubo, laboured in the pangs of childbirth.

JIMMY AWAGL

Mandated politicians surging
In desperate quest for power
Conditioned by greed for money
Demeaning their role as leaders

Spinning like mad wheels
Slithering like bad eels
Stomachs filled with beer
and flaps, the food of politicians

PHILIP FITZPATRICK

FICTION -The man has a battered metal bowl in his hands. His left eye is opaque but he stares at me with his right eye.

I look down at him and he extends the bowl towards me with both of his hands and holds it there smiling hopefully.

SAMUEL LUCAS KAFUGILI

A puppet is no more than,
human hand in lifeless glove,
A finger cluster in one round hole,
Following one man’s orders.

The canon is filled with puppets,
Mindless but yet power-hungry,
Trapped in a snare of enticement,
Just a limp cloth around someone’s hand.

SAMUEL LUCAS KAFUGILI

Mt Giluwe, oh Giluwe 
Kiluwe in mother lingua franca,
from whose mighty peaks,
the freezing mists disgorge

And snowflakes that puff out, 
and ice, the spray-gunned ice,
Sending away the glacial drops
that slide into the mist

MICHAEL DOM
| Ples Singsing

Translations: Bahasa by Sylvana Sandi; Tok Pisin by Michael Dom; Hiri Motu by Gemona Konemamata

She rises late in the afternoon
And tonight she carries her umbrella
Smoky tendrils trail behind her glittering sarung kobaya
As she strolls across my universe
Far, far away she walks, alone
Where my arms cannot reach to embrace her

BAKA BINA

PORT MORESBY - Darn the wind!

As she stepped out of the PMV bus outside the Port Moresby town police station, Matalina immediately knew she would be in trouble.

The gale-force wind, blowing fast and furious from Ela Beach over the isthmus to Fairfax Harbour, was sweeping the debris away and replacing it with its own rubbish of torn bushes and plants.

JOY MILAMALA

I am the Corona Virus or Covid-19
I seem to be making headlines this year
In your news, radios and papers
All that you ever see and hear

SAMUEL KAFUGILI

Perhaps beautiful as sunny rays,
Shining as a diamond glimmers,
But in reality merely flesh,
Garlanded to attract a man,

Dishonest beauty to deceive a gent,
Reckoning he may be quite handsome,
Feeling that he desires a lassie,
A bloke with a heart for love,

SAMUEL LUCAS KAFUGILI

A web of human mind,
Showing deep mind boggling,
A thought like a wireless gadgets,
Impelling deeper work of a neuron.

A tangle mind fearful,
Human inflated badly,
The power of muddled mind,
Disappearing sagacity of permissive.

HILDA DAVID-AIPI

That precious moment
That glorious morning
In that place of worship
My life’s course to change
From being young to now
My life’s destiny, you
You were destined for me

JOSEPH TAMBURE

Have experienced sad and all emotions 
Sometimes faced death, unprepared but conquered 
But will one day return to that faraway place I call home

Sun burned, rain washed, cold wind chilled
Have travelled, tastes of all kinds felt
Seen faces of all colours, heard strange dialects 
One day to return to that faraway place I call home

ISO YAWI

Written for my nieces Fidelyn and Shamalyn

Dear Big Sister
I write this letter to tell you
About my world

It all began
In a little young a soul
Yes, my soul

Deep fear and sadness arise
It filled my vessel with anxiety
Like a mist watering the earth

WARDLEY BARRY

I don't take to poetry
For fun or for the thrill –
Not anymore.

I don't take it lightly.
There's a darker feel,

An even darker story
To every line, every jot,
Every ill-gotten thought.

WALLACE PARIMAHI

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.

PHILIP FITZPATRICK

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

ISO YAWI

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!

RAYMOND SIGIMET

We who fear darkness 
Or stoke his powers
Will come under his spell 
A pit hard to ascend 

Our breath will become his 
Giving life to him 
And all things sinister 
That imprison our will

RAYMOND SIGIMET

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

STEPHANIE ALOIS

You had your plans
But I wish you had involved hers
You told her you love her one moment
But disappeared in the next
You knew she’d risk anything for you
That she’ll face the world alone
But you still left anyway
Why were you so selfish?
How could you?

A G SATORI

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.

BAKA BINA

FICTION – “Watch where you go there. Don’t you see your brother’s momberr? You will walk all over your brother’s tapolis!”

What momberr or what tapolis, and what language are they this time?  I need not ask about the latter.

That was Forapi or Low Lufa language from the Eastern Highlands Province.  It was Bubu’s sentimental language.

RAYMOND SIGIMET

When the white starch is here 
Mama and papa will smile and wink 
Now they have food of their people 
That special food from fertile lands 
Which stands proud on the land 

When the white starch is here 
Mama and papa will talk and laugh 
Now they have food from home 
That special food to be shared 
Which brings occasion to family

GREGORY BABLIS

Masks protect
They conceal
They hold back
Then they reveal

They identify
They distinguish
They may terrify
But may also save you future anguish

RAYMOND SIGIMET

I

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.

EDWIN LAKO

KUNDIAWA - Sine-Gai Tine oh, Prena oh! Your face is like the sunrise when looking up from the bottom of Mt Wilhelm, blinding me for a moment.

Your complexion is as fair as the sands of Madang beach, your hands are as tender as a shepherd’s and you have a warrior’s calf.

Your eyes and smile mesmerise me, and your laughs, they hypnotise me.

STEPHANIE ALOIS

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

LINDSAY F BOND

Words that Francis plied to vantage
verbs he wove into his work,
nouns he’s nourished now are vintage,
wounds he hid nor spoke nor wrote;
epithets his ought not languish,
pronouns he so keenly wrought,
determiners he spiced, assuaged,
wants, inveigles, interests, sought.

FICTION BY RAYMOND SIGIMET

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.

FRICTION BY PHILIP FITZPATRICK

The theory goes that if you elect your leaders democratically you end up with a disorganised rabble of one trick ponies, carpetbaggers and other chancers running the place.

According to proponents of this ‘democracy is a rabble’ theory, a one party system is a lot more efficient and better for the general populace.

GREGORY BABLIS

Is this the death of progress?
Or the progression of death?
NCO – New Covid Order
A Trojan-horse
For NWO – New World Order
Stuck in purgatory
A perpetual limbo
Is this the new normal?
Niupla Pasin protocol.

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.