Everybody is fighting the same battle just in different variations

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Tanita Tikaram

 

All God’s children need traveling shoes
Drive your problems from here
All good people read good books
Now your conscience is clear
I hear you talk girl
Now your conscience is clear

In the morning I wipe my brow
Wipe the miles away
I like to think I can be so willed
And never do what you say
I’ll never hear you
And never do what you say

Look my eyes are just holograms
Look your love has drawn red from my hands
From my hands you know you’ll never be
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety

We just poked a little pie
For the fun people had at night
Late at night don’t need hostility
The timid smile and pause to free

I don’t care about their different thoughts
Different thoughts are good for me
Up in arms and chaste and whole
All God’s children took their toll

Look my eyes are just holograms
Look your love has drawn red from my hands
From my hands you know you’ll never be
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety

Cup of tea, take time to think, yea
Time to risk a life, a life, a life
Sweet and handsome
Soft and porky
You pig out ’til you’ve seen the light
Pig out ’til you’ve seen the light

Half the people read the papers
Read them good and well
Pretty people, nervous people
People have got to sell
News you have to sell

Look my eyes are just holograms
Look your love has drawn red from my hands
From my hands you know you’ll never be
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety
More than twist in my sobriety

Di ol’a di moon, di brighter ih shine. Older folks are wiser. Jamaica.

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Full Moon by Robin Klein

At times of full moon—
I wish I knew why—
I get this strange yearning
to howl at the sky!

For reasons peculiar
I’ve not yet discovered,
the backs of my hands then
with fur become covered!

My fingernails lengthen,
my hands look like… paws!
I feel a compulsion
to walk on all fours!

My eyes redly glimmer,
hair sprouts from my ears,
fang-like my teeth grow,
with points sharp as spears!

Though normally fussy
about what I eat—
on nights when the moon’s full,
I crave RAW RED MEAT!

____________________

The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 – 1957), Saturday 9 October 1937

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. - 1848 - 1957), Saturday 9 October 1937

 

 

 

Advice from a Tree ~ stand tall and proud go out on a limb remember your roots drink plenty of water be content with your natural beauty enjoy the view

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An Australian Girl

by Ethel Castilla (1861- ?)

Australian writer

She’s pretty to walk with,
And witty to talk with,
And pleasant, too, to think on.”
Sir John Suckling.

She has a beauty of her own,
A beauty of a paler tone
Than English belles;
Yet southern sun and southern air
Have kissed her cheeks, until they wear
The dainty tints that oft appear
On rosy shells.

Her frank, clear eyes bespeak a mind
Old-world traditions fail to bind.
She is not shy
Or bold, but simply self-possessed;
Her independence adds a zest
Unto her speech, her piquant jest,
Her quaint reply.

O’er classic volumes she will pore
With joy; and true scholastic lore
Will often gain.
In sports she bears away the bell,
Nor, under music’s siren spell,
To dance divinely, flirt as well,
Does she disdain.

1 1 1 1 1 1 dr4awameric00kent_01071 1 1 1 1 1 Bunyip (Gawler, SA - 1863 - 1954), Friday 8 March 1935,Bunyip (Gawler, SA : 1863 – 1954), Friday 8 March 1935,1 1 1 1 1 1 dr5awameric00kent_0107DARK GIRLS

BY ZORA CROSS

Soft brown eyes fringed in lashes black as jet,

Dark girls are so mysterious,

I thinkThey are fit subject for a triolet.

Soft brown eyes hinged in lashes black as jet.

Bright blondes, maybe,are fruit flowers pink and white;

But secret as a dim magnolia night.

Soft brown eyes hinged in lashes black as jet,

Dark girls are so mysterious I think.

 

DARK GIRLS. (1938, December 12). The Sydney Morning Herald 

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article17560811

1 1 1 1 1 1 drawameric00kent_0107What a Polish Folk Song really means 

“Hej, górale, nie bijcie sie.
Ma góralka dwa warkocze podzielicie sie!”

“Hey hillbilly boys, don’t fight.
The girl will dance with both of you!”

Literally: The girl has two pigtails, and she will share!

http://www.polishtoledo.com/proverbs.htm

One man likes playing violin, and the other when his feet are smelly

 

 

Jeden lubi grac na skrzypcach, a drugi jak mu nogi smierdza   POLISH1 1 1 1  1 1 drawameric00kent_0023

 

The Old Violin

The Touch of the Masters Hand

 

‘Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.

“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,”

But, No,
From the room far back a grey bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its’ bow.

“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
“We just don’t understand.”
“What changed its’ worth?”
Swift came the reply.
“The Touch of the Masters Hand.”

“And many a man with life out of tune
All battered and bruised with hardship
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters’ Hand.

– by Myra Brooks Welch

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The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 20 August 1932,

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 20 August 1932,

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A doll floats downstream; carrying with it prayers; spring has come at last.

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‘Overdose’

last week,  I think on Tuesday,

she died

just gave up breathing

toppled over

a big smashed doll

with the needle still in her arm

I made a funeral of leaves

and sang the Book of Questions

to her face as white as hailstones

to her eyes as closed as heaven

                                   ‘For Ann so still and dreamy’

Dransfield,

http://printedshadows.wordpress.com/category/australian-poetry/michael-dransfield-collected-poems/

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The Mail (Adelaide, SA : 1912 – 1954), Saturday 7 February 1953,

1 1 1 1 1 1 √The Mail (Adelaide, SA - 1912 - 1954), Saturday 7 February 1953,

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The paper dolls

Yesterday
we had to dance
for a visitor’s amusement.
Today
we are pinned
to a wall.
Our pencilled eyes
can’t blink away the dust.
Pale, thin,
we grip each other’s hands
and tremble
whenever the door
open
Peter  Bakowski

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The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 21 January 1928

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 21 January 1928

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“Neighbours bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between. Boo was our neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of good-luck pennies, and our lives. But neighbors give in return. We never put back into the tree what we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad.”

― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

It is the patient building of character, the intense struggle to realise the truth, which alone will tell in the future of humanity.

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The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 1 April 1933,

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 1 April 1933,

 

God is merciful to those whom He sees struggling heart and soul for realization. But remain idle, without any struggle, and you will see that His grace will never come.

http://vivekananda.org/quotes.aspx

Don’t dance on a volcano. – French

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It was the last wish of the Icelandic economy that its ashes be spread over Europe.

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Tuesday Poem: The Johnsonville Volcano

 TIM JONES
The sea has flooded Lambton Quay,
turned buses into hydrofoils.
A subtle charcoal pinstripe is all the rage
in this year’s range of swimsuits for officials.
The Johnsonville Volcano erupted on Saturday,
turning three prime retail outlets into slag.
Brave shoppers, risking a fiery death,
shepherded whiteware to safety.
Blame isostatic rebound. Blame white elephants
and their love of motorway construction.
We’ve learned that indoor sports centres
readily convert to swimming pools.
We’ve learned that nature doesn’t stuff around.
Wear something light and ash-resistant.
Get on the road early. Fit asbestos tyres
to the wheels of your asbestos car.

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go in the direction your head is pointed in. Jung Chang, Wild Swans

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“We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of the God as we understood him.”

 The Third Step requires a surrendered attitude of spiritual growth if we want to keep the good things coming. Our will is a simple way of stating what we want. Our wants direct our lives and if they are not in alignment with what we need, we have a contradiction to overcome. Turning our will over to the God of our understanding removes the burden of contradiction. We find that some of the things we wanted come more quickly when we let go. Other things cease to be interesting to us, and it is even hard to recall what they were. Having dealt with surrender and a new belief we look outward to turn our life and will over to something far more powerful and loving than ourselves. We entrust ourselves to God’s care. This is a big change from our attitudes of fear and distrust. We become part of the whole. We are putting action to what we learned in the Second Step. We made a decision to trust God’s care of us. We do what is necessary and the outcome simply belongs to God. We are not as powerful as the God of our understanding. We are indeed powerless. In recovery, we grow but not to the point where we can afford to stop praying. We have to maintain, and sometimes renew, our decision to actually let God take care of us. We try to remain open and aware of His guidance through our prayers, meditations and the people in our lives. The decision to trust God’s care releases us from the need to try to control what we have no real control over.

http://www.nawol.org/2012_step3.htm