The greatest treasure we can seek is wisdom that comes from God
Wind by Ali Cobby Eckermann
she sits on a rocky ledge
overlooking frog song
puncturing a choked river
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
(The spirit likes to dress up)
likes to dress up like this:
shoulders, and all the rest
in the black branches,
in the morning
in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather
plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
the metaphor of the body,
lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body’s world,
and the dark hug of time,
to be understood,
to be more than pure light
where no one is —
so it enters us —
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;
and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.
Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 – 1954), Friday 17 February 1950
The Tragedy at Mini-Beastie Hall
In Beastington a family lived, who made a “Beasts R You,”
It was a section of a garden – well, a mini-beastie zoo.
The little creatures all moved in and crawled around the wall,
And the lovely name they gave their home was Mini-Beastie Hall.
“Let’s throw a lovely party, if the family gives consent.
We’ll plan a meal, arrange some games, get invitations sent.”
The news got round, the day arrived, guests came to “Beasts R You”.
What a really lovely place to live, it’s exactly like a zoo.”
A ladybird, a grasshopper, slugs and worms came too –
It was such a nice occasion and the party grew and grew.
One brought his own computer – the spider’s name was Fred.
“I’ve had a lovely thought” he said “You can learn to surf the web.”
“A computer’s such an asset for your lovely little park
I’ll teach you how to crawl the web – if you wait until it’s dark!
I don’t want you to bug it, or to introduce a worm –
I’ll only teach you one by one – just wait and take your turn.”
So, one by one they entered: “Just what can we achieve?” –
But a tragic thing then happened, for no-one seemed to leave.
Mini Beastie Hall went quiet, there was no-one on the wall –
Which was really not surprising – Fred had eaten one and all.
Poems about insects and spiders by Josie Whitehead
by Shel Silverstein
So what if nobody came?
I’ll have ALL the ice cream and tea,
And I’ll laugh with myself,
And I’ll dance with myself,
And I’ll sing, “Happy Birthday to me!”
a rooster cries dawn;
the sun shines bright.
Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 – 1954), Thursday 6 June 1946
“Surf Siren.” The Brisbane Courier (Qld. : 1864 – 1933) 1 Mar 1930: 22. Web. 31 Jan 2014 <http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article21523666>.
“The Mother’s Day Swell.”
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
foto – URUNGA January 2014
Mud Crabs, Low Tide
I feel a sharpness under the surface like tin-tacks,
having come down to their soft mud among smells
where most would retch. They sift broken bits,
tuck into their mud; the bay has the sound
that could suck a crab-claw clean: a low-tide restaurant.
Like the guileless yachts, or tunes
of light sociable chopsticks: their lilting suck and clink—
but it stops when you move, when the wind changes,
As The Crow Flies
There’s a place not far, as the crow flies,
In the desert, so hot and so dry
It holds memories so dear and so close,
That I can see it in my mind’s eye
It doesn’t have towns or a city,
It doesn’t have trains or a tram.
It does have wide open spaces
And I see it wherever I am
There are many things to see and do there
But they’re not the ones that are here.
No matter what I find myself doing now
There are times when I journey back there
Where the moon is so large and so brilliant
That it lights up the night time sky
And I find myself reminiscing
About all the times that have gone by
Stella P. Bell
foto – flowers in the gardens of davidson’s whaling station just south of eden in twofold bay
The love of field and coppice
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance,
Brown streams and soft, dim skies
I know, but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror
The wide brown land for me!
The stark white ring-barked forests,
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.
Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us
We see the cattle die
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine
She pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze …
An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand
though Earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
At the river’s swollen joint we dived in,
suddenly light and jointless
as our six feet mixed the warmed crust of water
with the icy below.
The frangipani I had tucked behind my ear
was presumed drowned until it resurfaced between us
as a beautiful relic.
skinks darted at our every scream as if
powered by sound.
― Kahlil Gibran
SPRING AWAKENING BY LILY BAKER
Spring is the magical time
When the rainbow lorikeets hum and the honey suckles
When I actively bounce down the sand dunes
And onto the pea green grass,
The waratahs and the wattles bloom,
And my heart opens to the riot of spring.
I love this time when everything comes to life,
Nature triumphs in the trees, swaying freely in the wind,
Stealing my train of thought
And making my imagination run wild.
I am inspired by this heavenly kingdom,
The tranquillity of dew droplets falling,
The mastery of the rain.
I feel connected.
Tree sap trickles down the bark of native gum trees
I examine this , calmly, curiously.
Sometimes the wind whispers to me at dusk
Giving me confidence within my body
I will always make the most of springtime.
Source: these poems were written by Australian children in masterclasses on The Four Seasons using The Hathorn Technique led by Libby Hathorn.
Buttons and patches and the cold wind blowing,
The days pass quickly when I am sewing.
“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea.”
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
A cloudy morning often changes to a fine day.
We are all wanders of this earth; our hearts are full of wonder and our souls are full of dreams.
Joan Wester Anderson
You can do it out loud or inside your head, your angel can hear you. Ask your angel to be near you, to put his or her hand on your shoulder, to give you courage and protect you.
We must not be forced to explore the universe in search of a new home
because we have made the Earth inhospitable, even uninhabitable.
For if we do not solve the environmental and related social problems
that beset us on Earth – pollution, toxic contamination,
resource depletion, prejudice, poverty, hunger
– those problems will surely accompany us to other worlds.
~ Donald G. Kaufman and Cecilia M. Franz
from ‘Biosphere 2000: Protecting Our Global Environment’ 1996 ~
With your food basket and my food basket the people will thrive
Dem give yu basket fi
meaning: Someone give you a raw deal.
— Kahlil Gibran
“I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud. And I don’t want to get to the end, or to tomorrow, even, and realize that my life is a collection of meetings and pop cans and errands and receipts and dirty dishes. I want to eat cold tangerines and sing out loud in the car with the windows open and wear pink shoes and stay up all night laughing and paint my walls the exact colour of the sky right now. I want to sleep hard on clean white sheets and throw parties and eat ripe tomatoes and read books so good they make me jump up and down, and I want my everyday to make God belly laugh, glad that he gave life to someone who loves the gift.”
― Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Life
― Lawrence Ferlinghetti, A Coney Island of the Mind
My father worked at Coney Island. He had a concession on the boardwalk, where you knock over milk bottles with baseballs, which I could never do for my entire childhood. There was a tidal wave at Coney Island when I was a child. Ripped up the boardwalk and did about a million dollars worth of damage, houses and everything. The only thing left standing was those little milk bottles.
Joe Perry of Aerosmith – 1989
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
“The abundant life begins from within and then moves outward to other individuals. If there is richness and righteousness in us, then we can make a difference in the lives of others, just as key individuals have influenced the lives of each of us for good and made us richer than we otherwise would have been.”
Spencer W. Kimball