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Diving unclothed into a literary venevetaka

Baka Bina - author and thinker.
"I give credit to those who write
Tok Pisin for print. It is daunting"


PORT MORESBY - Reading Dr Michael Dom's essays, ‘Vernacular Traces in the Crocodile Prize’, published in Tok Pisin and English in PNG Attitude and Ples Singsing, made me wonder if Tok Pisin or even a Tok Ples can be used in literature.

For many years, Tok Pisin has been used in the print media with Wantok Niuspepa, although the last time I bought the paper to read an article in Tok Pisin was three years ago.

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You see dried grass over rough cut logs

Village_Scene_at_KaloMICHAEL DOM

You see dried grass over rough cut logs
And the earth floor of my house
When I open my home to you
And you think to yourself how you can help me.
And yet…

I smelled the air that morning we cut the kunai grass
And I heard the children laughing as they played
On the green knoll beside us
And I tasted the sweet sour sweat
As we hewed the living trees to earth.
I felt the heat of day and the burning flames
As this house was dried and bound
By light of bright blue day above
And in the deepest dark of night.

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Vomit Flavoured Ice Cream

| Ples Singsing

In loving memory of Green Eggs & Ham by Dr Seuss

I do not like vomit flavoured ice cream
Vomit flavour is not in my dreams
And if I were to taste it I think I would scream
Please don’t count me on your vomit-flavour team

Many other people dislike it too
But I’m sure there’s someone and maybe it’s you
Who likes vomit flavoured ice cream
And maybe you dream and scream for it too

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The god of truth is dead so speak your own

TrusttruthMICHAEL DOM                                                     

The truth does not belong to you, my dear,
It lives and breathes inside us all. And what
You say is yours to speak, for which you dare
Force us to share, when a fraction of it
Does not compute the sum of nor compare
To the fullness of life, where each remits
The pain of being. If truth exists, we bear
The weight, we each, so if each one is fit
Be wary of your words, your vice declares
Itself in the nature of being. Know that.

But say the wise, just speak your truth, no fear,
We shall force the mathematics to fit.
God is dead. Truth is whatever you care,
The truth we speak need not care about that.

Father Daughter Bond


This poem is dedicated to my stepdaughter who,
against her will, was taken away from me

That faraway mountain in the east
Lazy clouds drift by it slowly
Amongst the white lime rocks
There, in a little old grey hut
My dearest little girl plays in mud
Daddy longs for you with throbbing heart

Daddy misses everything of you
Misses you waiting at the gate
Misses your hugs and little kisses
Misses waving arms of greeting and goodbye
Misses your sweet, persistent call of ‘Daddy’
Daddy misses you, his heart in shreds

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We are one by blood


I’m black, I’m white
We’re one by blood 
Nothing separates how hard we try
I’ve same blood group as you
So we’re one forever
Dialects, circumstances, boundaries,
Standards, status don't matter here
Born same, die same, no difference
And we are one forever

See same sun; walk same earth
Breathe same air; sleep same sleep
So we are one by blood
Both feel pain, shed tears, lived life
Through life's blessings and curses
But still one by blood

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The story of Marcus, the firewood man

Paul Wii and friend
Paul Wii and friend


FICTION –The boy sat there under the perum tree, dusk’s fading light casting a grey shadow across a landscape now silent.

Marcus Yalgomia cried tears of pain, misery and heartache, it was if the floodgates of the gods had been thrown open.

There was no way he could hold back the tears. And there was no one around to see him cry.

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The Scientist

University of Technology  Lae (Elizha Maino)
Nightfall on the University of Technology campus, Lae (Elizha Maino)


FICTION - When I first entered university, I came with huge expectations to the University of Technology.

All that was in my mind was keeping my eyes on the books, attending lectures, passing the examinations and graduating with high grades.

That’s what I intended to do. It was in my mind and it was in my heart.

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Malarial Death Games

Bablis - malarial death gamesGREGORY BABLIS
| Ples Singsing

I’ve battled you most of my life
In health, I am winning
But damn you give me so much strife
When your death zone I’m entering
Warmth leaves my body
Like a soul unmooring from its host
The flashes you give are hot yet chilly
I feel half human, half ghost.

Hot or cold, I cannot tell
In the night and in the day
I’m freezing my ass off in hell
No time for work or play

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Three triolets for Yahweh

Whose god are youWARDLEY BARRY


Whose God are you?
My father knows Mavoyati,
And he wasn't a Jew.
Whose God are you
To force on me a value
That defies my ancestry?
Whose God are you?
My father knows Mavoyati.


What is this holiness you sell?
My dance is not wicked.
My song is not a spell.
What is this holiness you sell,
That calls me a rebel
When I summon the dead?
What is this holiness you sell?
My dance is not wicked.

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Let me tell you, Civilised man

| Kurumbi Wone

Civilised man, you make me sick with your corona and vaccine.
You keep inventing and stockpiling dangerous weapons that threaten all life on this planet.
You brought deadly ideas that divide the brotherhood amongst humanity.
You poison me with your chemicalised food and drinks.
Civilised man, you came to destroy and pillage my home.
Civilised man, you pollute waterholes and streams that give life to all sentient beings.
Civilised man, your prison walls get bigger.
Your religious doctrine divides humanity;
Your wars have sacrificed millions of innocent children of humanity.
Civilised man, your economic system has enslaved humankind.
Civilised man, your social system alienates human families into vulnerable individuals;
Your materialistic values erase the original human values;
Your education system indoctrinates innocent children to support the broken system.
Civilised man, you sell the daughters of humankind and profit from their torments and misfortunes.
Civilised man, you roam around the planet and steal from everyone to build your psychopathic projects towards a self-deluded suicidal path;
You invent laws and justice systems to defend your crimes;
You rewrite history books to legitimise your current state of madness and use it to manipulate future agendas;
You manufacture, control, and disseminate information to manipulate my perception of reality.
Civilised man, you drive all other lives on this planet to extinction in the name of development and progress.
The fate of all life on this planet is at risk because of your soulless project towards progress;
Your reckless and savage civilising mission is causing my extinction.

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Uphill & down along the Black Cat Track

Map of the Black Cat Track and surrounding landmarks
Map of the Black Cat Track and surrounding landmarks

| Ples Singsing

LAE – Morobe, November 2018, a blend of everything Papua New Guinean, from the cool mountainous ridges that step from the majestic highlands to the endless plains of the Markham and onwards to the shoreline of the Huon Peninsula.

A walk around Eriku and a visit to Lae Market remains no exception to this, fruits and vegetables of variety, faces and languages of throughout the country, all in chaotic-harmony of economic exchange.

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This cannot be what God conceived

Jenelyn Kennedy
Jenelyn Kennedy. "Tell me, Jenelyn, why must love grieve today? / Is there no mercy to grant us reprieve today?


Jenelyn Kennedy. Born, 18 March 2001. Gagged, chained, beaten & tortured by her husband for six days, 18-23 June 2020. Died of head injuries & bruised internal organs caused by blunt force, 23 June 2020, aged 19.

LAE - This is a poem I did not want to share. I am doing so because Jenelyn's story haunts me.

Just nineteen when she died, she was the same age as my baby girl. She was the mother of two infant children.

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The times they are a’changin'


FICTION - Ambassador Akali Wakane – The Old Man – had long been a respected figure in Papua New Guinea but now he had become an instant hero, a household name in every settlement in Port Moresby and throughout the country.

Talk of his Supreme Court victory in the Old Dairy Farm land appeal had travelled fast, and around the streets and villages he had become known as ‘Rabinhat’- the man who took from the rich man and gave to the poor man.

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After the rebellion, sweet peace - & Uluru


FICTION – As the crowd dispersed, The Old Man met with Fredric Farapo and his people in the middle of Independence Drive and Simon Kerowa drove the Governor Bird back to his accommodation at the Ela Beach Hotel.

The Old Man, Kerowa, Farapo and some compatriots who had planned the peaceful outcome would join him for dinner that evening.

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The Old Man comes to the rescue

Daniel Kumbon and grandson Clinton  Kundiawa  2021
Daniel Kumbon and grandson Clinton.  Kundiawa,  2021


FICTION - For millennia, land has been the lifeblood and spiritual amalgam of the Melanesian people.

Land. Much more than a possession to be traded. An ancestral bequest to the people, uniting the past with the future.

Brutal tribal wars were fought over the ownership of land. Countless numbers of people – both warriors and the innocent – lost their lives over land.

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Mama Tang (Mother Tongue)


Mama tang
The hook
Long hangamapim
Your items of bilas
Is not missed
Until it's not there
At the pool showers
Na your bilas
Emi silip long floa 
And gets trod on
By other swimmers
Disregarded, made to look
Olsem pipia. Ragged.
Go ahead
Have your swim
When you're done
Bai yu painim 
Narapela trasis 
Long karamapim ass
Bilong yu na sem
Olsem na
In what language 
Will you excuse yourself
And the sem pipia
Taim kastam emi lus

On the verge of destruction


An extract from Daniel’s forthcoming book, The Old Man’s Dilemma, a novel about modern Papua New Guinea, its issues, its stresses and its journey to a place unknown

FICTION – A cold tremor like an electrical current shot down The Old Man’s spine. The reports he was receiving about an insurrection were ominous.

He feared that Papua New Guinea was heading for a period of extreme violence and instability.

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a butterfly brooch

John-apel-18ky-large-enamel-and-diamond-butterfly-broochMICHAEL DOM

a butterfly brooch
at some stage a blue present
the pin pricked my thumb
sweet sweat stains, your blouse, your hair
familiar to my big nose

An extract from Put Me On Your Tongue, a new
collection of Michael Dom poetry coming soon

The bonds that become stronger


FICTION - Delisa broke the news of her pregnancy to Japheth, sounding anxious as she spoke to her mother about her duties in the maternity ward of the over-stretched general hospital.

Japheth assured her everything would be fine. She didn’t have to worry. Delisa was strong and healthy. She was a sensible young woman. And she was married to a clever man.

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Delisa & the young rape victim


FICTION - The Old Man knew only too well that people throughout Papua New Guinea desperately needed basic services like health and education.

He had done what he could through his charity for disadvantaged children, but it seemed no person could meet the problems were tearing apart urban settlements and just about every village in the country.

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The marriage proposal


FICTION – The ceremony over and the photographs taken, The Old Man and Delisa decided to skip the refreshments for the new nursing graduates and drive straight from Lae to Bumbu village where a big mumu was sizzling amidst hot stones.

The family trooped to the three vehicles. Delisa sat in the backseat while, as protocol dictated, her aunt’s husband sat in the front seat with The Old Man.

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With skin like burnished copper parchment
this slim Eurasian lady seems in charge.
She emerges from the shadows of the shelves
and the pages of a spy yarn, now at large.

Her manner firm, attesting ownership,
insisting that I do it by the book
and sterilise my suspect Covid hands
lest I taint her tidy tomes as I look.

Continue reading "Bookshop" »