A carp laughs, opening its mouth, on a treetop. Zen.

http://terebess.hu/zen/ZenForest.pdf

The student looked all around and did not know from where the voice came. Finally he said “Who is calling me?” From the treetop the prisoner now called “Raise your eyes. I am sitting up here in the sack of wisdom. In only a short amount of time I have learned many things, among them that all learning is as elusive as the wind. Soon I will have mastered everything, will come down and be wiser than all humankind. I understand the stars and can read the signs of the heavens, can decipher the blowing of the winds, the sand in the sea, know all manner of healing sickness, recognize the powers of herbs, birds and stones. If you sat here in my place, you too would soon understand the wonder that flows out of my sack of wisdom.

Grimm’s Fairy Tale No. 146 The Carrot King

http://www.carrotmuseum.co.uk/trivia3.html

atbackofnorthwin00macd_0347
A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Dorothea McKellar

http://www.dorotheamackellar.com.au/archive/mycountry.htm

Every family has at least one black sheep.

The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. - 1866 - 1939), Saturday 5 May 1923,

The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), Saturday 5 May 1923,

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An Australian poem.

The sun was hot already – it was only 8 o’clock
The cocky took off in his Ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs,
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.

He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
“Typical bloody sheep,” he thought, “they’ve got no common sense,
“They won’t go through a gateway but they’ll jump a bloody fence.”

The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt
She’d stay there ’til she carked it if he didn’t get her out.
But when he reached the water’s edge, the startled ewe broke free
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.

He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down
If he didn’t rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.

He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks
And as he couldn’t stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam
He caught up with her, somewhere near the middle of the dam.

The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn’t get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.

She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side
He swore next time he caught that ewe he’d hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed
He still thought he could run her down, she must be nearly stuffed.

The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day.
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away
He didn’t really think he’d get fresh scones for morning tea
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch
The farmer yelling wildly “Come back here, you lousy bitch!”

The stock rep didn’t hang around, he took off in his car
The cocky’s reputation has been damaged near and far
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!

 

She was not accustomed to taste the joys of solitude except in company. Edith Wharton

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The birds upon the trees sat all agape,

 

And in their voices erst all mirth and song;

 

There was a sadness pitiful to hear

MICHAEL KILMOUR BEVERIDGE

http://australianpoems.tripod.com/fromblackthursday.html

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Morning Bulletin (Rockhampton, Qld. : 1878 – 1954), Monday 21 August 1939

Morning Bulletin (Rockhampton, Qld. - 1878 - 1954), Monday 21 August 1939

The wood-plank bridge which led out of town when I was a child, also led me back, and is now the one on a smaller, less traveled road, where one could possibly find oneself, if one was looking. The sound of a car crossing a wooden bridge always arouses feelings of loneliness, the desire to escape, and perhaps return to my childhood.

JANICE BOSTOCK

http://www.ahapoetry.com/PP0101..htm

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Children are not mini adults. To recognise that childhood is different from adulthood is not patronising, it’s actually respectful and a fact!

Kathy Walker