Skip to main content
Skip to footer
Red Room Poetry logo Red Room Poetry
  • Home
  • Poetry
    • Poets
    • Poems
  • Projects
    • Red Room Fellowship
    • Phone-a-Poem
    • Poetry Month
    • Baraya Barray - Whale Song
    • Poem Forest
    • All Projects
  • What's On
    • News
    • Events
    • Newsletters
  • Learn
  • Support Us
    • Supporters and Partners
    • Donate
    • Shop
  • About
    • Team
    • First Nations Wisdom Circle
    • Key Documents
    • Work with Us
    • Access
    • FAQs
  • Home
  • Poetry
    • Poets
    • Poems
  • Projects
    • Red Room Fellowship
    • Phone-a-Poem
    • Poetry Month
    • Baraya Barray - Whale Song
    • Poem Forest
    • All Projects
  • What's On
    • News
    • Events
    • Newsletters
  • Learn
  • Support Us
    • Supporters and Partners
    • Donate
    • Shop
  • About
    • Team
    • First Nations Wisdom Circle
    • Key Documents
    • Work with Us
    • Access
    • FAQs
Search Website Donate
You are in:
  1. Home
  2. Student poems
  3. Flowers

Flowers

By Jye D

  • Share via Email
  • Share on Twitter (X)
  • Share on Threads
  • Share on Facebook

Published 30 September 2022

Flowers

Pointy, seeps

Grow, turn, spin

Making me smile

Home.

Project

POEM FOREST

Poem Forest

2022 Submissions

Author

  • Jye D

    Narrabri West Public School
    Year 2
Go back to start of main content
Go to top of page

Red Room Poetry acknowledges the Elders and Traditional Custodians of the lands, waters, sky and languages where we work, live and write. We are grateful to collaborate with First Nations people and aim to respectfully follow protocols as we move across Country.

Copyright © 2024 Red Room Poetry
Red Room Poetry
ABN: 35 103 464 446

Joynton Avenue Creative Centre
3A Joynton Ave
Zetland, NSW 2017 Australia

Phone: 1800 POETRY
redroompoetry.org
Contact us
  • Follow us on Instagram
  • Follow us on Twitter (X)
  • Follow us on Facebook
  • Follow us on YouTube
  • Follow our podcast

Ngurambang yali – Country speaks
~ Jeanine Leane

It’s been too long since I sat on granite in my
Country and thought

Too many years since I breathed this air—
Bunyi-ng—ganha
Felt this dirt—Ngamanhi Dhaagun
Smelt this dust—Budha—nhi Bunan

Listened for the sounds of her words that say
‘Balandha—dhuraay Bumal-ayi-nya Wumbay
abuny (yaboing)’—History does not have the
first claim. Nor the last word.
Nghindhi yarra dhalanbul ngiyanhi gin gu 
‘You can speak us now!’

Back to top
You have reached the end of the page. Thank you for reading.