Papua New Guinea: In Verse Essay, Research Paper

Come fly with me, across the seas

Far East, past Africa,

Or India, or if you please,

It’s South of Sakura

(That’s Japanese for cherry flow’r.)

It’s latched to Indonese,

But go east, yet, from Java Isle,

‘Til Papua you sees.

The second-largest nation isle

In all the ocean world,

It’s Papua New Guinea’s name

That leaves its nature curled.

Within the forests, waterfalls,

Both rivers curved and staight,

The nation is about the size

Of California state.

Fly and Sepik, rivers two,

Forests tropical,

And swamps all cover most of land,

Though forests lately fall.

Mahogany and walnut trees,

And pine are all clear-cut;

The habitats of native plants

And animals soon shut.

The history of Papua

Before the Portuguese

Was largely static. Centuries

Did pass, with seeming ease

As immigrants from Asia came

To South Pacific Isles.

The Highlanders were farmers first,

The prime agrarian style.

The early prowlers worked with wood

Or stone, or bone for tools.

The Europeans came to change that

When they came. The fools!

‘Twas German in the north, and British

Only in the south.

That’s only after centuries

With Dutch as head and mouth.

Spending years still unexplored

Until the World War Two,

New Guinea mostly was ignored

By Brits, Australians, too!

In nineteen hundred, seventy-five

Papua freedom gained,

With independence from control

Without war, unbloodstained.

New Guinea is a linguist’s dream,

For tongues abound at length;

Eight-hundred forty-three were count,

Distinct. It is their strength,

Their binding in their difference,

Though English most can speak;

But schools just cost too much to stay,

When work can pay the week.

Animism practiced once,

Now Christianity

From missionaries reigns the land,

And pagan evils flee.

Few if any natives still

Protect ancestral ways

Religion-wise; The culture stands

As strong as’t has always.

The roads are crap, and mostly dirt,

A precious few are paved,

But mostly, travel’s done by air

When cars cannot be saved.

Buses cross the city streets,

And driving on the lee,

But cheapest transport’s still the feet,

And boats can row the sea.

The farmers there are not too rich,

They grow enough to live;

But crops for cash can still pop up

To pay the bills we give.

Palm oil, cocoa, coffee, tea,

And others all are grown;

But veggies still provide the force,

Subsistence mostly sown.

These days it’s in a pecky spot,

A war in Bougainville.

The natives there are getting hot;

They say they’ve had their fill.

Their culture is a different kind

From Papua, they say.

Examination soon will find

They just might have their way…

For it is true, their fights to be

A country of their own

Have met with mercenaries’ fee

As paid by Guinean throne.

Prime minister, I should have said,

For kings no longer rule

New Guineans. Republic’s head,

And that seems pretty cool.

But civil war is simply one

Of many troubles faced;

The mercenary scandal’s done,

And Minister’s replaced.

The Hagahai are patented,

Their blood a potent gene,

Leukemia sends none to bed,

A scientific scene.

But now our presentation’s done,

Our poem comes to end,

The cows have all come home to roost,

The straight track’s ’round the bend.

The hefty lady’s singing loud,

The hamsters run the park,

The strange young man is saying, “Don’t!

Eat broccoli in the dark.”