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/

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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,

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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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