“Moll-buzzer! You sneezed a parrot from me jernt on Broome!

http://www.herbertasbury.com/Kelly_Eastman111 realnewyork00hugh_04032She was beautiful in a neutral way, emitting no light, defining herself in terms of attrition, a skinny thing, near blond, far beyond recall from the hard-edged rhythms of her life, Southwestern woman, hard to remember and forget…There was never a moment between us that did not measure the extent of our true connection. To go harder, take more, die first.”

― Don DeLillo, Great Jones Street

t’s not the monkey on top that make a tree fall but it’s the work and effort of numerous small insects and ants.

If you marry a monkey for his wealth, the money goes and the monkey remains as is. ~ Egypt

http://afritorial.com/the-best-72-african-wise-proverbs/

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We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals… In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.

Henry Beston

 

 

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. T. S. Eliot.

 

 

The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 17 December 1927

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 17 December 1927

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Goldsworthy, Peter

Fin and scale, sand and shale,

From seagrass plait my hair,

Conch and coral shape my ears.

Of driftwood, my bleached bones.

Fin and scale, sand and shale

It has been a bad season (year), like a frog being in hot water. Hausa.

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Wind by Ali Cobby Eckermann

she sits on a rocky ledge
overlooking frog song
puncturing a choked river
at dusk

it is only here native birds sing
their evening lullaby
echoed between red banks
overgrown with weeds

it’s like life slips away in the evening
a resounding of Salientia castanets
soon to fall silent
like flaking moss

she listens for earth song
under the algae and foreign reeds
and just as darkness falls
a fish jumps rippling memory

I love to think that the day you’re born, you’re given the world as a birthday present. Leo Buscaglia 1924 – 1998

Gutiri wa nda na wa mugongo

There is not the son of the front and the son of the back.

The Kikuyu mothers carry a baby on the back if they have only one.  If they have two, one is carried in front and the other one on the back.  Of course the one carried near the breasts can suck oftener than the other.  That is why they say this is the favourite one.

Parents should have no Benjamin.

http://www.misterseed.com/link%20pages/PROVERBS2.htm

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Old Ted The Dog

Introduction

For graziers and sheep handlers, “the dog” often is their best friend, and they usually know the bloodline right back to Noah. Look out, however if the parents and grandparents were all perfect dogs and the end product isn’t. You have an animal that is too valuable to get rid of and too expensive to keep.

Because this story could end up true,
And I’d hate to be the one to blame.
I think the best thing I can do,
To protect the innocent is change the names.
And so this tale is not a prediction,
But has its foundation firmly in fiction.

The scene is the most romantic of places,
A country house with a wide verandah.
It could be the day after the Louth races,
And we’ll call this fictional property ‘Yanda’.
And we need two hosts of reputed good will,
So we’ll call this couple, Marissa and Bill.

Now Yanda, as far as bush venues go,
Was the partygoers dream discovery.
So everyone who was in the know,
Had gathered there for a races recovery.
To drink and talk the time away
And face their hangover another day.

Bill was a well-respected grazier,
And a hard worker (by most peoples thinking).
But the truth was he couldn’t be lazier,
And was extremely fond of drinking.
And so at the party their roles were quite clear,
Marissa got organised, Bill drank beer.

The party was going exceptionally well,
Though Marissa was pregnant, as everyone knew.
But the secret that she didn’t tell,
Was that she was three weeks overdue!
But Bill kept doing what he thought he should,
Drinking as much as he possibly could.
Now at country affairs it is widely known,
After consuming the correct amount of grog.
The ladies will speak of the things they have sown,
While the men will argue the best working dog.
So this was the line of conversation,
That accompanied Bill’s inebriation.

And every bloke present said they had the most,
And the best ‘country canine cavaliers’.
But it seemed as though Bill was reluctant to boast,
And they found him nearly reduced to tears
‘I’ve made a horrible mistake’ he said,
‘I’ve put all of my faith in that useless dog, Ted’

‘I’ve tried to train him but each time I fail,
Being stuck with old Ted is a cruel twist of fate’
So they all looked at Ted, sitting, wagging his tail,
Eating a sausage he’d pinched off a plate.
Then Bill swung his foot in a savage attack
And said ‘Go on Ted, get down the back!’

Bill started drinking then, three times as hard.
As old Ted quietly skulked away.
And found a warm place at the back of the yard,
Where he could quietly pass the day.
And when Marissa went down there to turn off the taps,
No-one at the party heard her collapse.

With a shock she realised the baby was coming,
So she shouted out but no one could hear.
Unable to move, she had to do something,
Then old Ted gave her a lick on the ear.
‘Go and get Bill, boy’, she desperately said,
But this wasn’t Lassie, this was useless old Ted.

‘That useless old Ted, I should have him shot’
Wailed Bill, he was reaching the maudlin stage.
‘He’s by far the worst working dog that I’ve got,
I’m surprised I’ve allowed him to reach this old age.’
Then he told a joke to his friends and his staff,
And they all had a drink and another good laugh.
Meanwhile, down at the back of the yard,
Laughing was far from Marissa’s mind.
She had Ted by the collar and was twisting so hard,
That he couldn’t escape, he just stood there and whined.
But she got some comfort from this simple reaction,
As she worked her way through each contraction.

Then she realised that maybe she could make it through,
With old Ted beside her, taking Bill’s place.
She just needed something to curse and swear to,
And occasionally give her a lick on the face.
And Ted’s breathing was perfect, with no bark or bite,
Bill never could get that panting thing right.

Then the guests started asking ‘where was Bills wife?’
‘As its time they were gone and they wanted to kiss her’.
But Bill was the drunkest he’d been in his life,
And he had forgotten all about poor Marissa.
Then every one gasped and looked in surprise,
As she gracefully returned to say her good-byes.

Few people know what these moments are worth,
The fleeting and inimitable charm.
And beauty of a woman who has just given birth,
With her healthy boy cradled soft in her arms.
The expanse of gardens completed the story,
As the roses burst open in all of their glory.

And wagging his tail there proudly was Ted,
Unaware of the amount of time that elapsed.
‘He looks more like the father’ (a less prudent guest said),
“Than that drunk over there on the verge of collapse!’
And when Bill finally choked at the end of the keg,
Ted found a good place to cock his leg.

So now at this fictional place we call Yanda,
Things are pretty much the same as before.
Baby Edward now plays on the sunlit verandah,
And Bill has promised to drink nevermore.
But Marissa’s alone in the big double bed,
And Bill sleeps out back, with his new equal, Ted.

Alcoholics Anonymous – Bob Earl Mp3s

From Friend of Bill W

Bob Earl in L.A Convention Mp3s

Out of all the Alcoholics Anonymous Speakers, these Free Bob Earl Mp3s are a classic.

Bob Earl in L.A. was one of the first Alcoholics Anonymous Cd’s ever gifted to me and now, years later, it is still one of my all time favorites.

I recall listening to it almost daily for about the first two years of my recovery.

Bob Earl openly states that he is an alcoholic and a drug addict and does not talk too much about what is was like. Rather, the focus is on what it is like now in recovery. He says that this is where he has discovered the pain.

He goes on to say that when a person with 20 years of sobriety speaks for 55 minutes about what it was like and 5 minutes about what it is like now in recovery he starts to get worried.

Me too, I also want to hear about what it is like in recovery. I want to discover how to deal with the emotional disturbance that is connected to the process of alcoholism recovery. I like to attain emotional sobriety.

As Bob puts it:

We all know we do not know how to drink and use!

via Alcoholics Anonymous – Bob Earl Mp3s.

via Alcoholics Anonymous – Bob Earl Mp3s.

The savage loves his native shore.

Les Murray: “Stone statues of ancient waves, tongue like dingoes on shore”.

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On the Shore.

R.K. WEEKS.

HERE many a time she must have walked,

The dull sand brightening ‘neath her feet,

The cool air quivering as she talked,

Or laughed, or warbled sweet.

The shifting sand no trace of her,

No sound the wandering wind retains,

But, breaking where the footprints were.

Loudly the sea complains.

1880 ‘On the Shore.’, The Queenslander(Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), 28 February, p. 265, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article20331530

 

 

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Walking a solitary road

  
   A young boy or girl knows that if they want to be part of a 
   group that drinks, they have to drink.  If they want to be part 
   of a group that parties, they have to party.  If they  want to 
   be part of a group that uses bad language, they have to use bad 
   language.  If they want to be part of a group that engages 
   in a certain kind of behavior, they have to participate in 
   that behavior.  If they want to be accepted by some particular 
   group they have to participate in that group's behavior.  They 
   know all that by instinct.  They know what they must do to be 
   liked and accepted.  They must conform to the attitudes, 
   outlooks and values of the group they wish to be accepted into.  
   If a young person looks around and sees that everyone is 
   drinking, partying and using bad language he knows he has a 
   choice.  He can either join them or walk a lonely road.  The 
   young person who decides within himself that he will not drink, 
   that he will be a total abstainer, knows there will be a price 
   for that, there will be consequences for himself.  The 
   teetotaler is aware that he has freely chosen a path that 
   necessarily makes him a loner, an outcast, an object of 
   ridicule and scorn, to a large portion of society.  The young 
   person who has determined within himself to take the route of 
   never using low, profane or bad language knows there will be 
   consequences.  He knows he cannot ever be really accepted by 
   that large portion of society that does these things.  He knows 
   he will walk a lonely road.  The young person with scruples, 
   high personal standards, integrity who looks at the crowd and 
   has moral objections to their behavior has a choice:  he can 
   maintain his standards and principles and walk a lonely road or 
   he can give them up and join the crowd.  

   A young person knows that one must either go with the crowd and 
   be one of them or have the courage and strength to stand alone.  
   The young person who chooses a path of strict principle in 
   regard to drinking, smoking, low language, etc. knows what he 
   is doing.  He knows he has chosen to buck the crowd rather than 
   go with it.  He knows he has chosen a lonely path, a solitary 
   path.  He knows he has freely chosen a way that will bring upon 
   himself ridicule and rejection and ostracism.  He knows that 
   you cannot have both the approval of the crowd and of God.  You 
   have to choose.  You have to have the strength to stand alone, 
   to walk alone.  You have to be willing to accept ostricism and 
   rejection.  The crowd doesn't like the person who doesn't go 
   along with it.  The drinkers and partying don't want a non-
   drinker around when they are partying.  He is a wet blanket, a 
   kill-joy.  Those whose minds and language are gutter don't 
   like those who don't accept their language, mind and humour.  
   The person of integrity, the person of moral standards who 
   objects to the moral depravity of the crowd walks a solitary 
   road.  He lives on a different wavelength.  He is a different 
   species, a creature from another planet, a creature from an 
   alien culture. 

   What induces a person to walk a solitary road?  Well, 
   conscience, fear of God, love of God.  But yet it is not really 
   a solitary road.  God is with him.  God is his friend.  And he 
   is his own friend.  He has two true friends: God and himself. 

   May 2008
http://www.solitaryroad.com/a961.html

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Australian Town and Country Journal (Sydney, NSW : 1870 – 1907), Saturday 3 January 1891,

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“Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon” Winnie the Pooh

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Balloon

Graham Nunn

Into the blue of August
a balloon has left
without saying goodbye.

Boys and girls
throw up their arms
as the roller-coaster crests.

Such a lonely dialogue.

http://anotherlostshark.com/tag/poems-about-the-ekka/

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 ch3ildsfirstpictu00freerich_0025

Woroni (Canberra, ACT : 1950 – 2007), Friday 3 August 1984,

1  1 1 1 1 1 1 Woroni (Canberra, ACT - 1950 - 2007), Friday 3 August 1984,

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 ch6ildsfirstpictu00freerich_0025

The best way of travel, however, if you aren’t in any hurry at all, if you don’t care where you are going, if you don’t like to use your legs, if you don’t want to be annoyed at all by any choice of directions, is in a balloon. In a balloon, you can decide only when to start, and usually when to stop. The rest is left entirely to nature. William Sherman Pene du Bois

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Who dug the grave ? I said the owl with my shovel and trowel.

http://idak.gop.edu.tr/ayhandiril/ENGLISH/PROVERBS.htm

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Owls

Philip Hammial

Two wrongs make, for owls, a night. Seven brides: they, the keepers of owls… a poem from Philip Hammial

On the floor, tie strings to their legs, pull
them around. Owls: toys without wheels. One
who blows into the wrong end—of a trombone. One
who blows into the wrong end—of an owl. Two wrongs
make, for owls, a night. Seven brides: they, the keepers
of owls, have dared to suggest that I won’t be happy
with less but six would suffice. What
Attila asked of Nestor at the Battle of San Romano: Why
to owls this show of kindness? Wretched & sumptuous,
a squat among owl-faced clocks. Stubbed out
on flesh: owls clap. Fifty men, fifty women
on twenty-five window ledges: holding hands, two
by two, will jump unless … owls, no
strings attached, jump first. A cheer for Lisbon—owl
chatter silenced. Modus operandi: a flooded forest, oars
for owls. Sailors in trees, coaxed down,
maybe, by … owls. Snuffed candles: not me who’s responsible
for this lack of owl precision. J’accuse: responsible
for my heart attack—that owl perched on my left
pulmonary artery. On the head of a pin: owls jostling
for space. Alone in the mess world (read hall): feed
them, now! Cat’s bowl: bath
for owls. For Philip the Good: owls
in a game bag. For Philip the Bad: flies
in a game bag. Opening his raincoat, a drenched
dealer in owls. Submissive for a pushing guy, sycophant
as owl surrogate. Common error of owl injection:
sub-temporal orientation. Goth owls: bald with
multiple piercings from which
canaries swing. Respectful of fashion whims, they’d
better be. Perfectly rendered: an owl in wood
to manipulate: obedient marionette. Four corners for
owl blessings, ascertain which is most officious. Quantum
wedges equal (usually) pontifical owls. They
know that we know that they know …
©Philip Hammial

 

http://meanjin.com.au/articles/post/owls/

“You will face your greatest opposition when you are closest to your biggest miracle.” ― Shannon L. Alder

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ANGER MANAGEMENT: A SOUTH COAST FABLE

ALAN WEARNE

His screaming has commenced. The kids are home.
And you are bruised, walking-into-a-door bruised,
like you’ve seen enough before except
now it’s his, his bruise and possible fracture.
You saw the good man (if nobody else did)
the one who rolled you your White Ox,
the one who actually wrote songs,
the man you were loving who disguised
so much (no doubt from himself).
Well it all is out now with a sort of noise
that’s heading to your kid’s guts
to stay for decades. But it’s when
he starts up ‘Don’t you get it, I love kids,
I love them!’ you grab yours and lock away
the three of you, three hearts deranged
with thumping, with him outside the toilet
howling, whilst you phone your girl friends.
Men arrive, and now he screams at them:
the Bowlo band, the cover band, the busking partner
who then reaches for what you never thought
you’d reach with him: cops, their AVOs.
Oh, and you’re reasoning again,
he was never thick, some cops are truly thick
and sometimes we need what the thick provide.
Meantime he’ll be off,
a stocky, perspiring man, making noises no one wants
to understand, getting dragged away.

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poet/item/13652/15/Alan-Wearne

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An idle brain is the devils workshop.

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The Inquirer & Commercial News (Perth, WA : 1855 – 1901), Wednesday 8 October 1890

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 The Inquirer & Commercial News (Perth, WA - 1855 - 1901), Wednesday 8 October 1890

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“To show the thumb” is a vulgar act amongst children and stupid people in Kashmir .

I took out the ashes from the fire-place, I put them into a basket ,and then threw them away. I have done three works. 
I woke up the baby and gave him a little milk, and then I put him to sleep again. I have done six works. 

As busy as a hen with one chicken. 

http://archive.org/stream/dictionaryofkash014372mbp/dictionaryofkash014372mbp_djvu.txt1 1 1 1 1 1 1 il3lustratedcatal1883muse_0267

Are the horns too heavy for the bullock ?
No matter how large the family the father would not willingly part with one of his children 
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Distance lends enchantment to the view. Familiarity broods contempt.

1 1 1 1 1  11 h4eathsbookofbeau1833lell_0008

“For this is one of the miracles of love; it gives – to both, but perhaps especially to the woman – a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted.”
C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed 1 1 1 1  1 11 h2eathsbookofbeau1833lell_0008

the kids waving through the kitchen window —
all this happens as a coda to the dream about
Kim Novak, and I suddenly understand the difference
between Apollo and Dionysus, between beauty and the
Beast of the Reading Room.

After Reading ‘Four Quartets’

— for John A.Scott

 TRANTER

http://johntranter.com/poems/fugitive.shtml

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