A Poetry Anthology edited by Ellen Van Neerven, including poems from Elders, knowledge keepers, truth tellers and community shapers from our suburb, Inala 4077.
In Our Hands was created as part of Inala Wangarra’s #knowledgekeepers project
Designed and delivered by Inala Wangarra, #knowledgekeepers takes its inspiration from the Elders, knowledge keepers, truth tellers and community shapers from our suburb, Inala 4077.
Inala has long been known as a significant place for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, community and culture. Pride in our community manifests in many ways, including our postcode, memories, stories of the struggle, the success of our people and the language and culture that we proudly proclaim as our own.
#knowledgekeepers is an ongoing, multi-faceted creative collection designed to capture the stories that have shaped our suburb, and the stories of those who made Inala what it is today.
‘In Our Hands’ is the culmination of a workshop process that engaged Elders, knowledge keepers and community members connected to Inala. A key part of the #knowledgekeepers collection, our community members worked with acclaimed Muninjali Yugambeh poet, Ellen Van Neerven, to craft their stories of hope, sadness, pride, love and laughter into this poetry anthology.
Filled with healing, humour and heart, these poems illustrate what life was like ‘back in the day’ and honour the contribution made by our knowledge keepers to Inala and the wider community.
Ellen Van Neervan p. page 4 - 5
Katherine Collins p. page 14 - 27
Lyn Smith p. page 38 - 47
Susan Knight p. page 56 - 65
Van Neerven p. page 76 - 84
Annette Simpson p. page 6 - 15
Pat Williams p. page 28 - 37
Desley Donaro p. page 48 - 55
Beryl Johnston p. page 66 - 75
We got together every week for many weeks
in a poetry circle weaving laughter and love and tears sometimes we would be amazed as we listened to each other words of truth strength wisdom came forth and grew roots in how we walked talked told our stories through the beauty of poetry together here on the page
In our hands
Languages of the heart are not measured by words alone.
It can be by touch, a smell, the sight of your home.
A moment in time that fills you with love.
That moment of joy that fills your cup.
These moments together speak a language of love.
A language that is shared beyond cultures and races.
A language that can be spoken any time, any place
For this unspoken language of compassion and kindness
Is a gift to us all, just to remind us
That we are all worthy, we are valued and rare
We are human with a heart and love to share.
So we should open our hearts to our fellow man
Look beyond our differences and hold our hands together as one.
No color, no race, no class and no hate.
Join together and let’s make a start
We are all worthy with our loving hearts
Annette SimpsonWords in my mind flow through this pen.
I note them down and discuss it then
That my thoughts are coming through and being released
Writing poetry gives me comfort and peace
I love how words find their space
I love how poetry has a place
It forms like a bubble glowing with colors.
A source of beauty we can share with others.
So here’s my poem, written in haste
No time to think, no time to waste.
Annette Simpson9/3/2021
Today is already awesome
I woke to a call from my sister, she has the day off work
We yarn, we laugh, we make plans to catch up after the poetry workshop
We’ll do lunch, we’ll go shopping
March is a big birthday month
Our mum, our nieces and nephews.
Sometimes it’s too much
We’ll chat about her first grandchild she’s expecting to arrive
We’ll talk about all the family and how did we ever survive?
But most of all it’s quality time
A special time together
With my sister, my best friend
From childhood to forever
Annette Simpson(reflection of International Women’s Day)
A woman’s hands can gently hold babies close to our heart
We can hold hands of children so we don’t come apart
A woman’s hands can be elegant and manicured
Those beautiful hands are often in the sink scrubbing pots
Or cleaning and gardening, perfect they are not
But those beautiful hands are strong
They can hold up the world
A woman’s hands like her heart, can be open to all
Because a woman will always be there with those loving hands when you fall
Women are the backbone, the foundation for our families
We should appreciate all the women any age,shape or size there’s so many
Annette Simpson16/3/2021
I once held the hand of hope gently but tight. I held it with good intentions, in the hope that it might just all work out. I held hope carefully, stupidly some might say. But hope was all I had that kept me hanging on every day. At times it was foolish to hold something so tight. Sometimes it felt wrong, and other times it felt so right. so I hung on and waited with hope in my heart. Things didn’t work out the way I wanted, but that’s a part of the journey. A part of life, hope is a way to survive.
Our community is named the ‘Resting Place’. A place where different nations have gathered. There has been uneasy conflict but also loving care. In this community we all share. Our community always comes together and forgets about the differences, to defend our Resting Place. With hope for a future full of love, peace and happiness for all of us. I have hope for our community that we grow to learn and love. That we can move forward and raise above.
We need to work together and do the best we can. To make improvements for our community and learn to understand. We are not your enemies, we are allies hand in hand. Aiming for the same community goals and keeping hope alive. Let’s put our dreams together and forward we will strive.
Annette Simpson
Inspired by the Rumi quote: You are the entire ocean in one drop.
My sleepy eyes open, a drop of sweat goes down my face. I feel the humidity wrapped around my skin. My cotton nightie clinging to my skin. Like an unwanted lover smothering me.
The decision is an easy one. A visit to the beach is a must. My body slowly moves, am I drowning in my own sweat? I reach for the towel to wipe the sweat away. Moving to where the clothes are, I’ve made my decision.
Shorts, shirt, togs, towel. Easy as can be. Shoes, sunscreen, water, fruit. The second essential items. Frozen waters, bags and small tent, I am set to go. House keys, sunglasses and car keys, ready set go.
Which beach will I wander to…that is the question? North, south, which way will the traffic go? I toss a coin: heads south, tails is north….hmm toss tails never fails… get in the car let’s go.
Katherine CollinsI wonder how long this will be?
I started this unintentionally.
The stories that could be told.
The pieces of puzzles that have been found.
People I never dreamed to meet.
People I know that are just one section.
I am slowly meeting area of grey sections.
The wonder of human touch, exchanged glances, stories and laughing at memories.
Sharing pictures and exchanging information.
I am loving the educational process.
Getting to know the different angles and features, what could this be…
A family tree!
Katherine CollinsThe search has begun
What is your name?
What do you look like
Am I the same?
I recall a name
The memory brings a smile
My beautiful Mum and Granny Can I go the mile?
The lady gives me the photo I am so surprised… She wears the same glasses And so short just like me
I find her life story
And work out the health woes
Men who she wed and loved I see the journey
She has a record that shows character I find similarity in health challenges
I’m finding my identity
In her beautiful image
Katherine CollinsCovid, Covid, Covid!
We must clean everything!
Using cleaning products
The place is shining.. sparkling clean.
My eyes begin to water
Ah ..Ah..choo!
My fingers and face start itching
Oh NO my allergies! :s
I now wear gloves for driving..
My hands are not itching,
The Doctor gave me cream for my face, I snort nasonex to stop the sneeze!
Go away allergies, Go away I say
Please let me do the driving.. Without allergies!
Katherine CollinsI hope for the community
I hope that we come together
I hope we all get healthier
I hope we get to communicate effectively
I hope we all find our mobs
I hope we all get to eat food and have good drinks
I hope we all enjoy others company
I hope we grow doing different experiences
I hope we all take part in sporting activities
I hope we all learn positive things
I hope we all learn to slow down
I hope we all live together
I hope we all live as one
Katherine CollinsNan Florrie and Granny Emma are my two Grandmothers. Granny Emma is Mum’s Mum.. I know I look like her.
We grew up with her around us.
Like a true Murri she moved around..
Coming and Going like the winds
Nan Florrie was not known to me.. but I met Pop Gordon..
Honestly I thought she had passed.
I started doing the family trees
And shazam found her at last!
Granny Emma was a wonderful cook..
Whenever she visited we all smiled
We knew she’d spend time with us
And oh the glorious food!!
Nan Florrie had given Dad away..
I didn’t know why
But soon found out there was a secret..
She had moved on and had another family.
There is a huge difference between the Ladies
We had the wonderful presence of one who influenced us all so greatly.
Then we had another that was like a ghost..
Two very different ladies who influenced us in different ways
We have their DNA in us.
And look more like one than others no matter what –I love them both.
Katherine CollinsI think about how you look I can feel my taste senses going wild. I know I have to travel there to get my seafood laksa mild.
The staff are always friendly ‘Hey how you been? We missed you.’ They know what my order will be seafood laksa mild.
I sit down at the chair to dine in they bring the food to my table I take one look and close my eyes. I smell the seafood laksa mild.
The colors are from a rainbow. It’s got veggies and seafood galore. The taste of some spices in the seafood laksa mild.
I eat the veggies first: broccoli, beans and more. I know I’m eating healthy and looking for… the seafood is the best bit… muscles, calamari galore. I ate up all my seafood laksa mild.
Katherine Collins
The rainforest so green and wild
The raindrops fall from the leaves wets your head and makes you feel clean
The palm fronds sway from side to side greeting me as I walk through greenery and dead fronds
I come to the waterfall and feel the drops as they spray the rocks
I stand there watching thinking how beautiful it is
I feel like I’ve walked into paradise and I don’t want to leave
Pat WilliamsThe day we thought would never come again.
Anna was once there again with the medical officer saying things we did not want to hear.
Lockdown again from 6pm. Queenslanders three day lockdown for those who got a serious strain from England no less.
Caught in quarantine, now in a hotel.
Then another from Melbourne. How was she allowed to fly?
So here we stay at home again.
Exercise, groceries and medical is all we’re allowed. The days go slow, no one to talk to, luckily there’s TV and food.
Two more days.
Pat WilliamsIt’s in my mind and funny colors
I close my eyes and what I want it to be is muddled
Angles and strokes of colour
All trying to mix together
I push the brush all around
It moves by itself to get the background
Up high you see the mountains and trees
Birds twitting and laughing at me
As I move down, there are roads and cars
People escaping from their dreary lives.
Then a picnic blanket is there to sit
And have a lovely bite to eat
Now I see the stream and fish jumping up and down
Tired now, I’ll lay down
That beautiful art is where I like to be
The artist in me you didn’t see
Pat Williams1.
In my mind years ago hope was bleak.
I always believed that love would return.
Many memories were so good and fine
Many times we have fun
Then I heard you had another life
This makes me feel very sad
I sometimes dream you are there beside me
Then I wake up and shake myself
But now I am strong, determined and independent
This is hope going forward
I don’t need love, I’m not unhappy. I just need me.
2.
That hope for my community is that everyone be treated fairly.
That there is no violence and one can walk safely to shops or even to a friends’ place.
That hope is saying hello to anyone with any backlash.
That hope is we can hug one another without fear or malice.
That hope is we come together as one.
And peace be with all of us.
Let us all be role models for kids.
Let hope be the best person you can be that others follow in your footsteps.
Let hope be the one thing we can all achieve.
3.
If hope is lavender
If hope is the sniff of lavender on my skin
If hope was so soft to touch
If hope was lavender that makes us sleep
If hope were my feelings then all will be well
If hope was closing my eyes dream
If hope was a land that never hurts
If hope was a place in my dreams
Pat WilliamsMy favourite flower is the October Lily, I have different bulbs from people’s gardens, Some have passed away. They flower from a bulb, And come up every October.
The colours come up differently, I have pink tips with white in the middle.
Bright red, orange and more of the same. They don’t need much care and look like long green ferns when not in bloom.
These plants are memories of people who have passed. I love it in October when they bloom and I share their memories in their glory blooms.
Pat WilliamsShe is many colors
Warm and cozy
I have different ones
Long and fringed and cultural
For day wear or nighttime I can’t go without her.
Makes me feel special
Oh I love them all
My many beautiful shawls!
Pat Williams
Finding out I have Aboriginal descendants was a real surprise. My mum’s adoptive was a Kiwi so we always assumed that we had New Zealand origins. My mother’s brother found out they had a sister and tried finding her for several years, only to find she had died. But had tracked me down as a result.
I got a phone call from a man saying he was my uncle, gave me lots of information about my mum that no one else would know. So I agreed to meet the next day at his house. All the uncles and their partners were there. When I said, ‘We thought we were Kiwi,’ you could have heard a pin drop. They all looked at each other. Seemed like ages before Uncle Kenny told me we were descendants from Aboriginals. They thought I would be shocked but somehow it made a lot of sense. I felt very proud to know this. I remember a time when I was little and Mum had me at the pub with her. There was a mob of Aboriginals drinking at two tables. Mum and I were at another table.
One lady, in particular kept coming over saying, ‘Hey sista, come drink with our mob,’ which we eventually did. We were there for what seemed like hours. I wanted to go home but this lady kept saying, ‘No she’s having a drink with us mob’. There were other things that happened as I was growing up that I understand now. Had we known at the time I feel it would have changed a lot.
My mum would have the family that deep down she missed. The reason for her drinking maybe. Memories surfaced that she couldn’t explain so she just eased the pain. She never knew her family and she always felt she didn’t fit in anywhere.
I don’t know a lot of women who I could dedicate to, but my mum when I would think back was a strong deadly one. She had a tough life from the very beginning. Being with her real family until two and a half, then getting adopted because they didn’t want her. To know her past and where she came from, she never felt she belonged anywhere throughout her life. She drank a lot. When she started wouldn’t stop but she always looked after us even if all our clothes came from Vinnies. She worked cleaning houses for fifty cents an hour to buy us things. Even when we got Christmas and birthday presents she would say they were from her and dad, but he never gave her a cent. Because he knew like us that she would buy grog. McWilliams port was the cheapest she could buy. Growing up with this never really thought about how much she had done for me and the reason she drank was to take away her pain. If only she knew her past she might have been complete.
This is my dedication for you now that you are with Uncle Kenny. You know your worth now and where you are from.
Lyn Smith Lyn SmithI never know if I’ve ever left a heart print before. All my life I’ve tried to please people and do things to help others. I never know if I have print, it’s not something I think I do. Some people you help just expect you to continue with no thought, others don’t want your help and make you feel bad when you do. Helping others is what I like to do, no strings attached. It makes me feel good to make others feel good. I think it’s a win-win situation but sometimes I try too hard and feel overwhelmed by negativity that’s hard to shift. I just want to help from the heart, no other intentions than good.
They said the name has to change
They’re making such a fuss. We didn’t want to do it
It’s always been Carole Park to us.
They said too many break-ins in the industrial estate. Our insurances were the proof.
But when they changed to Ellen Grove
The insurances went through the roof.
They said it would be better for all of our sakes. But they gave us the postcode from Forest Lake.
Forest Lake gets broken into most, or so the story goes. On most insurance we even had embargos
They had to figure out for themselves which way would be the best. Believe me, people around here were getting put to the test.
I’ve always loved Carole Park because it’s by itself
Back then it was like a forgotten suburb.
Just left upon the shelf
We’ve been here 35 years of good and bad. It’s had its share you see, but it’s home to us, No matter what, it’s where I want to be.
Lyn SmithI know that I have Aboriginal decadency, the feeling is excitement. But sometimes people look at me and say I’m not the right fit. My skin isn’t dark enough, I don’t know all the history there is to know. I sometimes feel unwanted in groups, that I just want to get up and go. But why should I give up my heritage just to please a few unkind people? I keep looking for ancestors though I’m not that good online. It’s hard for a layperson to know just where to go to find the puzzle pieces that have been left behind. I wish I could just pay someone to find what’s on the shelf but I guess half the journey is to find it all yourself. I have traced back to my great, great, great, great grandmother but can’t trace all certificates, government departments don’t know where they are. As far as I’m concerned the connections are in my tree, so please can’t people accept me for who I am and let me be.
Lyn SmithWho would I like to eat with?
Now that’s a weird request but I’d like to put Gordon Ramsey to the test.
So long as he brought the ingredients, cooked and cleaned up afterwards.
There’d be a lot of swearing but boy there’d by some laughter or probably many.
He’s really nice, bringing to the kitchen some very special spice.
As long as he was saying we’ve got soup for that We’d sit around the table and have a bloody good chat.
Lyn Smith
In our hands
A place of shelter
If hope was a taste, it would fulfill.
It would be sweet to smell
And comforting to touch and give comfort.
That we all would meet again
Lost hope, I fully accepted
Young ones whose words helped me through this sad time.
Samantha, young hippy families.
Aunty that was the day that the angels came and took him home
Samantha-mum I thank god for giving me Josh
Hear us, listen to us
Our culture is the oldest in the world
Place yourselves in our shoes and walk our walk
Enough is enough
My hope in my community is coming together
Take away racism
Take away anger
Take away the stigma
Take away the cliques
Take away the haters
Take away the race card
Let’s begin to reach our children this is a day to stop and plan
Look into the roots of where we all played a toll in the above.
We’re not all innocent
We’re just as much to blame
Look into the mirror and ask yourself
How can you teach your child the hope of a community?
Coming together, teach em young
Teach em that we are all one
No-one is perfect, no one is clever, no one is a boss of us
We are all wise but not wise enough to break the circle
Because the community still needs to come together to share their life experiences.
Susan KnightI am waiting for my mate to cook curry chicken
I see the look cause I know she won’t cook
But I won’t let her off the hook
Cause I can’t cook
Her eyes say it all
But gee she won’t fall
Cause I am so full of drool
Put this woman in the kitchen
And she is busy cooking for us all
Curry Chicken is loved by us all.
Susan KnightAlong came the cops
Out come the cuffs
And boy, was I tuff
Things got rough
But I didn’t give a stuff
Down came the tears
I turn to look at you
To give you a kiss
Down came the tears
Then they said, my dear – you are getting locked up
So I didn’t give a stuff
Cause I was tuff
I left behind my boy
Inspired by the Maya Angelou line ‘But still like air, I rise’
I came into this world
Not like the girl next door
Raised by the Department, a state ward.
Kicked to the kerb growing up
Life taught me to be aware of all who came into my life
It taught me the Golden Rule
Never to trust others and never to put all your eggs in one basket
You can talk about me
You can twist your words
You can treat me the way you find me but you can never lower me to others
Because I will rise to show you all how strong I am
I will rise above you all
Susan KnightI had no hope for my boy
Totally lost, a wall built
Between us, hope wasn’t
There until, I felt I was Fighting a nightmare, a day
I thought my world would crumble
A day I had to wake up and face the truth, a day I thought I lost the battle of my boy completely
Year 12, it was a day the principal sat with the boy
And it was a day he worked to see the light of believing in himself
A day that could of ended with the light to never been seen
A day that taught me suicide was near
A day he reached out for help
A day I will never forget
But yet a day he completed his Year 12 exams
A day he moved forward
A day I will never forget.
These women who sit around the table
Are different from me
They grew up
Had their family memories
Me, I grew up too quick
I could make your hair grey
So please forgive me I haven’t anything to say
My life was a mess and I really couldn’t care less
I am me
I came into your life for a reason
So please realise I am me
Take me for who I am
Not for the kid who fought to survive wrong life
Susan Knight
I am proud
On meeting mob
We ask,
Who are your mob?
Where are you from?
So you tell them.
Who your family/ mob are
We are only ones who asked
I reflected on who I am
We have travelled many paths
The paths are not smooth
But I can smile knowing I am a strong Aboriginal woman
Beryl JohnstonWe see pictures of ancestry
They are shackled, stripped of culture
No identity – flora and fauna.
We get angry at what happened.
I ask the question why?
We might have lost land and water to wander over, gather food.
Have we lost?
No, I answer.
We still have culture and spirits
Our ancestors are with us, they fight beside us.
People strived, were denied their Aboriginality.
But no matter what, they can remove visible things.
We are always was and always will be Aboriginal people of this land.
Beryl JohnstonFeeling all was sad and lost
Walking into quarters and sitting on the bed with friends and laughing,
And wanting to walk away from nursing.
Then remembering the words my dad said; do not let them beat you. You are stronger.
Over the years I have been tested by people, I remember a time at school, standing up to face many young and old to speak about the importance of the freedom ride,
Or when I was speaking to a group of white ladies about Who am I? And letting everyone know we are all the same.
Challenges have come from many but I have had those. You are there for family and friends, even strangers.
Beryl JohnstonLove when we go home
Smell of saltwater and floating in seawater.
Surf washing over you.
Walking along the beach with your toes in water feeling for eugaries. The smell of them cooking on an open fire.
Sitting and listening to nature, birds, wind in the trees
The cicada chirping
The goannas walking passed the camp or climbing the tree
Lying in the fresh, cold water moving over me.
Walking the path especially looking at whales, stingrays
Dolphins swimming by,
But most of all I love going home to my family and visiting places I know from childhood.
Beryl JohnstonStrong women you have always been there,
You have helped me through many a hard time
Aunties who told me stories of our ancestors
How they challenged the systems
As I went through life I had a variety of strong women from family and friends, mums, teachers and colleagues
Their strength has guided me, which gave me strength to help others.
As we celebrate International Women’s Day (IWD) and listen to stories of great women.
How in recent years we hear of women of colour who gave so much but were never acknowledged
I sat at a lunch last week to celebrate IWD
I saw women who were young when I first met them
To see them as leaders in their fields
Our young leaders coming through
I am proud to be part of this time.
Beryl JohnstonWomen, young and free
We walk behind our men
We didn’t talk back
1960s happen with flowers in our hair and love free.
Most important, women threw away the aprons and marched down the streets for freedom from the little woman title.
We got our own identity
Wearing short dresses and speaking for ourselves.
We are our own person not attached to any male.
We are women, we are strong
Even though the path is still hard for some and the fight will not stop until all women are free
Beryl Johnston
Creamy rice and smooth
Only Mum makes it just like I like it.
She goes to the fridge and gets her special glass jar of her homemade prunes and syrup.
Us kids watch and wait for her to open it.
Smell is instant, delish, and my mouth waters.
Mum has a special ingredient for the prunes and no-one ever finds out.
I take my bowl and a mouthful of this: my favourite dish. No-one can make this so good as my mum.
If I could start over I would wake at dawn jump out of my bed without any trouble and get ready for an awesome day.
This day will be mine every essence and I will take every last drop. I have to go swimming as that’s what I love. The feeling of the warmth on my skin the weightless I feel while floating and the stillness when I swim underwater.
How the world disappears. I could stay there all day.
But my skin starts to protest so I must get out and head for the café for my second favourite thing. Cake.
If she was born in another time
She would not would not have to work for the white woman starching sheets that make cracking sounds when you fold them.
If she was born in another time
She would not have had to live through the Queensland Aparteid.
If she was born in another time
She would not have to pacify my father when the taxi drivers refuse them.
If she was born in another time
She would not have to work three jobs to put only potatoes on the table.
If only she was born in another time
When she could sleep all night tucked warm and peaceful without worrying her son would be picked up by police on his way home.
If only she was born in another time Where opportunities were not barricaded because of the colour of her skin.
If only she was born in another time Where she could say NO. I can choose.
They sail down the river to give it a name
The land of my ancestors
They did not know we have a name already
No permission was given
Only blood and violence
And so the wound of my country was cut open
It festers and seeps
When I was young it was my girlfriends that I looked for to go travelling with to dance with and tell secrets.
When I had my children it was my mum who I looked for.
So many times she would be there to give advice. I would have panic attacks about the smallest things that seem so terrible at the time.
Mum was always so calm.
‘It’s only nappy rash,’ ‘Just go easy on the orange juice.’ When the children were older, and I needed advice, I still hear her saying, ‘Little kids, little problems. Big kids. Bigger problems.’
Maria Van NeervenInala Wangarra is one of Queensland’s leading Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander owned and managed community development organisations. Inala Wangarra’s vision is for a strong, proud and prosperous community that is walking tall, united in culture, spirit and identity.
Our fundamental belief is that all people, regardless of their cultural, social and economic background, have the strengths and resources within themselves to bring about real change in their lives, their family and community.
One of our key deliverables is an arts program, that encompasses a developmental workshop arm as well as a program that focuses on the creation of new work in collaboration with our community.
Building on our 18-year history of placemaking through arts and cultural work, we are committed to creating work that moves beyond the workshop approach and, with a whole of community focus, explores, agitates and creatively represents the urban First Nations experience.
Program design and delivery – Inala Wangarra: Jane Jennison, Belinda Duroux and Lenesha Dunca
Author portraits taken by Jo-Anne Driessons
Image of Ellen Van Neerven and Maria Van Neerven –authors own
Book design by Navada Currie
This project has been assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
Inala Wangarra is proudly supported by Brisbane City Council
