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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 17:46:29 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 5088
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Paleface (a)
[time] => 2002-10-15 06:00:00
[hometext] => From1985-99 I lived in an first nations community is N. Ontario: This is a reconstruction of a poem that I wrote at the time. The incident that triggered this poem occurred on the dock as a number of us waited for the canoe taxi over to "The Island"...
The original is trapped it an antique computer format - - - [bodytext] => He really was rather pale Real Indians had turned him quite white. Others of us, at home in this reality, Chatted with Joel, and Munroe, and Abraham, But the new guy saw only “Indians”. He’d soon be trying to assert his superiority. It showed on his face: He could hear their war drums, Their savage shrieks as they danced It the fire light, his scalp Dangling from their red fists... A victim of his own reality, He really was rather pale. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 157 [topic] => 31 [informant] => aernby [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 7 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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