By crawling a child learns to stand. ~ African




(written in the Tasmanian bush.)


Through the valleys, softly creeping

‘Mid the tree-tops, tempest-tossed,

see the cloud-forms seeking, peeping

For the loved ones that are lost.

Not for storm or sunshine resting,

Will they slacken or desist,

Or grow weary in their questing

For the children of the mist.


Where are those children hiding?

Surely they will soon return,

In the gorge again abiding

‘Mid the myrtle and the fern.

Ah! the dusky forms departed

Nevermore will keep their tryst,

And the clouds, alone, sad-hearted,

mourn the Children of the Mist.


E’en the wild bush-creatures, scattered,

Ere they die renew their race,

And the pine, by levin shattered,

Leaves an heir to take his place.

Though each forest thing, forth stealing,

Year by year the clouds have kissed,

Vainly are those white arms feeling

For the children of the mist.


Dead the race, beyond awaking,

Ere its task was well begun;

Human hearts that throbbed to breaking

Are but dust beneath the sun.

Past all dreams of vengeance-wreaking,

Blown where’er the tempests list.

But the cloud-forms still are seeking

For the children of the mist.


John Sandes

My Cigarette, My Friend I’ve got a bit of sinus My throat’s a little bit dry My lungs are a little bit wheezy But I’m not going to cry.


“Three of the four elements are shared by all creatures, but fire was a gift to humans alone. Smoking cigarettes is as intimate as we can become with fire without immediate excruciation. Every smoker is an embodiment of Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods and bringing it on back home. We smoke to capture the power of the sun, to pacify Hell, to identify with the primordial spark, to feed on them arrow of the volcano. It’s not the tobacco we’re after but the fire. When we smoke, we are performing a version of the fire dance, a ritual as ancient as lightning.”

― Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

The three little kittens, they lost their mittens, And they began to cry, “Oh, mother dear, we sadly fear, That we have lost our mittens.

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Confront a child, a puppy, and a kitten with sudden danger; the child will turn instinctively for assistance, the puppy will grovel in abject submission, the kitten will brace its tiny body for a frantic resistance.



Kittens are born with their eyes shut. They open them in about six days, take a look around, then close them again for the better part of their lives. – Stephen Baker




Foreign Kittens
Kittens large and Kittens small,
Prowling on the Back Yard Wall,
Though your fur be rough and few,
I should like to play with you.
Though you roam the dangerous street,
And have curious things to eat,
Though you sleep in barn or loft,
With no cushions warm and soft,
Though you have to stay out-doors
When it’s cold or when it pours,
Though your fur is all askew–
How I’d like to play with you!


A Selection of Kitten Verse by Oliver Herford

It’s a braw bricht moonlit nicht the nicht

It’s a good (or brilliant) bright moonlight night tonight.



“The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.”

― Deng Ming-Dao, Everyday Tao: Living with Balance and Harmony

Boys do not grow up gradually. They move forward in spurts like the hands of clocks in railway stations. – Cyril Connolly

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Brian Dunnett & Mark Gregory . . . research archive

The Northern Mail

The Northern Mail is moving fast
With seven hundred souls;
Though many vow this ride’s their last,
The fireman shovels coal.

Who knows the drama buried here
Within this lurching throng?
Who knows what tales of love and fear—
Who knows who’s right—or wrong?

There’s cutters, shearers, spielers, thugs,
Commercials with cigars
With town-men, bushmen, bad men, mugs,
They jostle through the cars.

The Northern Mail goes roaring on,
A comet through the night;
The sun goes down, the bush has gone,
The farm-lamps fly from sight.

And some arrange, with weary hand,
A bundle in the rack;
Only the bush can understand
Their fate—along the track….

And some for health and pleasure go,
And some go riding free,
And some sleep now who do not know
Where their next bed will be.

God knows what’s in those trunks and ports,
Or where they’ve been—and why;
The whistle screams, the head-lamp glows,
The Northern Mail flies by.

There are sleepers restless of the roar,
But few of them recall,
For some can sleep upon the floor;
And some don’t sleep at all.

Some day, perhaps, I’ll put down roots,
Hear no more ‘Tickets please’
And bid farewell to smoke and soot,
Farewell to cramp and fleas.

The Northern Mail comes panting by,
We rattle round the bend;
For some, new roads of life begin,
For others, old ones end.

I meant to have but modest needs . Emily Dickinson.



In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it’s wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices.”

― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia

Over Emily Dickinson’s for Thanksgiving: 16 Poems

Clattery MacHinery on Poetry


Emily Dickinson




A Bird came down the Walk

            A Bird came down the Walk–
            He did not know I saw–
            He bit an Angleworm in halves
            And ate the fellow, raw,

            And then he drank a Dew
            From a convenient Grass–
            And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
            To let a Beetle pass–

            He glanced with rapid eyes
            That hurried all around–
            They looked like frightened Beads, I thought–

View original post 3,001 more words

A pretty basket does not prevent worries. Congo

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I see story: the rise of rice from the paddy,
shoots the colour of trust.  Grains of rain fall,
shaken from the rain-giver’s basket.  Rice broken

into bowls, mouths. 

Broken, Rising




The fact is, squire, the moment a man takes to a pipe, he becomes a philosopher. It’s the poor man’s friend; it calms the mind, soothes the temper, and makes a man patient under difficulties. It has made more good men, good husbands, kind masters, indulgent fathers, than any other blessed thing on this universal earth. Sam Slick, the clockmaker”

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When you pray with this pipe, you pray for everything in the universe, and everything in the universe prays with you.”

-Black Elk, Holy Man of the Oglalas

For it is commonly said: accomplished labours are pleasant.



Vulgo enim dicitur: Iucunde acti labores.

Quotation from De Finibus by Cicero.
(Lived 106-43 BC)




After Mardi Gras
the city’s largest bacchanalia
a dazzling display of breast
feather sequin sleek flesh
muscular loins and electricity
contraptions everywhere
the grit of hard labour. Now
the body unwinds like string
from a yo-yo, the mind tightens
into routine, toxins clear
skin takes in water.
Sydney, Australia

The cuckoo goes to Beaulieu Fair to buy him a greatcoat. New Forest.


By the Merri, in the Gippsland forests

The blackberries are the tears of the country

Its buried black history

They have been here

an Australian length of time

The country is making

something different of all of us

John Anderson

A fish that drinks like a fish, that is a fish in excess .



As dead as a herring. 

A herring is said to die immediately after it is taken out of its element, the water ; and that it dies very suddenly myself can witness : so 
likewise do pilchards, shads, and the rest of that tribe. — R.

And the fruits will outdo what the flowers have promised. (Francois de Malherbe)




If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and selfpity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.