Category Archives: ANIMALS

What do you do when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant? George Carlin.

 

Endangered

 

A dugong population lives
in Brisbane’s Moreton Bay.
They have a slow-paced peaceful life
that’s under threat today.

 

With numbers fast decreasing there
are less and less each year;
the birthrate’s low, they’re dying off
and soon they’ll disappear.

 

Hunted to near extinction
their oil was such a prize.
Their habitat’s diminishing,
pollution’s on the rise.

 

Propellers sometimes cut them down
when underneath a boat.
A sight we do not want to see
is dead dugongs afloat.

 

Once a source of native food,
they face another threat
of accidental capture
in a shark or fishing net.

 

They’ve bristly hairs on fleshy lips,
thick skin that’s brownish-grey,
and bodies spindle-like in shape,
three metres long I’d say.

 

They weigh four hundred kilograms,
have diets of sea-grass;
and like their cousins, elephants,
their population’s sparse.

 

So do not let harsh chemicals
escape into the sea,
clean up any rubbish.
and leave our dugongs be.

 

http://members.optushome.com.au/kazoom/poetry/bushpoetry.html

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There is nothing in which the birds differ more from man than the way in which they can build and yet leave a landscape as it was before. Robert Lynd

 

I know the song each shy bush dweller sings, 
From daybreak, when a small grey bellbird rings —
“Awake thou lazy one and stretch thy wings!” 
Till all the golden air with sound vibrates 
And every feathery throat with song pulsates 
To join their music with wild mountain spates. 
These songs I know and love!  

 

Songs That I Know by A.G. MacGregor

http://www.middlemiss.org/cgi-bin/movabletype/mt-search.cgi?search=bird&IncludeBlogs=1&limit=20
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“You’ll think this is a bit silly, but I’m a bit–well, I have a thing about birds.”
“What, a phobia?”
“Sort of.”
“Well, that’s the common term for an irrational fear of birds.”
“What do they call a rational fear of birds, then?” 


Neil GaimanAnansi Boys

In his grief over the loss of a dog, a little boy stands for the first time on tiptoe, peering into the rueful morrow of manhood. After this most inconsolable of sorrows there is nothing life can do to him that he will not be able somehow to bear. James Thurber

 

A BOY AND A DOG
By Marty Hale

I want my boy to have a dog,
Or maybe two or three…
He’ll learn from them much easier
Than he would learn from me.
A dog will show him how to love
And bear no grudge or hate;
I’m not so good at that myself
But dogs will do it straight.

I want my boy to have a dog
To be his pal and friend,
So he may learn that friendship
Is faithful to the end.

There never yet has been a dog
Who learned to double-cross,
Nor catered to you when you won
Then dropped you when you lost. 1 1 1 1 abookofcheerfulc00fran_0051

 

A Boy and His Dog
Edgar Guest 

A boy and his dog make a glorious pair:
No better friendship is found anywhere,
For they talk and they walk and they run and they play,
And they have their deep secrets for many a day;
And that boy has a comrade who thinks and who feels,
Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels.

He may go where he will and his dog will be there,
May revel in mud and his dog will not care;
Faithful he'll stay for the slightest command
And bark with delight at the touch of his hand;
Oh, he owns a treasure which nobody steals,
Who walks down the road with a dog at his heels.

No other can lure him away from his side;
He's proof against riches and station and pride;
Fine dress does not charm him, and flattery's breath
Is lost on the dog, for he's faithful to death;
He sees the great soul which the body conceals--
Oh, it's great to be young with a dog at your heels!

 http://sofinesjoyfulmoments.com/quotes/A-Boy-&-His-Dog.htm

“Accept that some days you are the pigeon, and some days you are the statue. Dilbert

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Pigeon

(Carl Sandburg)

The Flutter of blue pigeon’s wings
Under a river bridge
Hunting a clean dry arch,
A corner for a sleep–
This flutters here in a woman’s hand.

A singing sleep cry,
A drunken poignant two lines of song,
Somebody looking clean into yesterday
And remembering, or looking clean into
To-morrow, and reading–
This sings here as a woman’s sleep cry sings.

Pigeon friend of mine,
Fly on, sing on.

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Lepszy wróbel w garsci niz golab na dachu
It’s better to have a sparrow in your hand, than a pigeon on the roof.

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  • Rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men.
    – Douglas Bader

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The tiger takes the leap, the eagle spreads its wings.

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‘the cloud skin’ of ‘the oldest wedgetail in the world’ with a ‘string of men … resting on the eagles wing’

ALI COBBY ECKERMANN

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Colonial Times (Hobart, Tas. : 1828 – 1857), Friday 22 November 1850

1 1 1 1  1 11 Colonial Times (Hobart, Tas. - 1828 - 1857), Friday 22 November 1850

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The time will soon be here when my grandchild will long for the cry of a loon, the flash of a salmon, the whisper of spruce needles, or the screech of an eagle.

But he will not make friends with any of these creatures and when his heart aches with longing, he will curse me.

Have I done all to keep the air fresh?

Have I cared enough about the water?

Have I left the eagle to soar in freedom?

Have I done everything I could to earn my grandchild’s fondness?

– Chief Dan George, Tsleil-Waututh (1899 – 1981)

http://www.californiaindianeducation.org/inspire/traditional/

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Cha mhisd’ a’ ghealach na coin a bhith comhartaich rithe. The moon is none the worse for the dogs’ barking at her.

 

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A Dogs Soul.

Every dog must have a soul
Somewhere deep inside
Where all his hurts and grievances
Are buried with his pride.

Where he decides the good and bad,
The wrong way from the right,
And where his judgement carefully
Is hidden from our sight.

A dog must have a secret place
Where every thought abides,
A sort of close acquaintance that
He trusts in and confides.

And when accused unjustly for
Himself, He cannot speak,
Rebuked, He finds within his soul
The comfort he must seek.

He’ll love, tho’he is unloved,
And he’ll serve tho’badly used,
And one kind word will wipe away
The times when he’s abused.

Altho’ his heart may break in two
His love will still be whole,
Because God gave to every dog
An understanding Soul!

Author Unknown

http://www.wolfweb.com.au/acd/dogsoul.htm

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The Land (Sydney, NSW : 1911 – 1954), Friday 11 March 1921,

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Land (Sydney, NSW - 1911 - 1954), Friday 11 March 1921,

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It would seem from this fact, that man is naturally a wild animal, and that when taken from the woods, he is never happy in his natural state, ’till he returns to them again. Benjamin Rush.

 

 

“This life is yours. Take the power to choose what you want to do and do it well. Take the power to love what you want in life and love it honestly. Take the power to walk in the forest and be a part of nature. Take the power to control your own life. No one else can do it for you. Take the power to make your life happy.”

― Susan Polis Schutz1 1 1 1 1 1 buddy3jim00gord_0070

The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 24 December 1938,

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 24 December 1938,

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“One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am – a reluctant enthusiast….a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.”

― Edward Abbey

Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more. Agatha Christie

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1 1 1 1 The Times and Northern Advertiser, Peterborough, South Australia (SA - 1919 - 1950), Friday 27 May 1949,

My Last Dog My Last Poem. (1949, May 27).The Times and Northern Advertiser, Peterborough, South Australia

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Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 – 1954), Monday 21 September 1953

1 1 1 1 Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. - 1909 - 1954), Monday 21 September 1953

The Times and Northern Advertiser, Peterborough, South Australia (SA : 1919 – 1950), Friday 27 May 1949.

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The pipe marks the point at which the orangutan ends and man begins. Ben Jonson

 

 

 

“Once I saw a chimpanzee gaze at a particularly beautiful sunset for a full 15 minutes, watching the changing colours and then retire to the forest without picking a pawpaw for supper.”

 

― Adriaan Kortlandt

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The demon cried, waving its furry arms above his head like a demented orangutan.”

― Jana Oliver, Forsaken

 

 

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Man of the Forest

By Amy Harris
Aged 12

Wild and free, catapulting from branch to branch
Fury and adorable just like a hairy human baby
Tucked away in the muscular arms of its parents
Kept away, safe and sound from the predators that trespass their tangled terrain.

Far in the distance a noise echoes through the leafy, plain and plaited planks, billions of age
Metal machines and enormous engines roar through the depths of the Borneo jungle
Devastating deforestation and animal cruelty are the least worries on the loggers mind.

Tick by the clock and chop goes the tree Crashed and trashed to then plant palm trees
A dollar a dead as this land is cleared and then reuse to plant the palm tree
The orange palm seed is then crushed and mashed into an oil only to be used for facial boils
Chocolates, cheeses and crackers this oil is made into
It is all a big secret, which only pleases the greedy smiles, who own those millions.

As this peaceful family hide away in their tree
A hunter snaps a twig and alarms the mother of its young
But before she can blink a bullet as fast as lightning is released into the humid air of the jungle
As she inhales her last gulp of air, it has hit her rough skin
Then she leaves this terrifying world to sleep in her anger and rage.

Leaving the young an orphan, helpless and hopeless in the big wide world
As he clutches his mother, he is pulled and thrown into the cold box of bars he could now call home
Like a dungeon of deep darkness and death.

All he hopes, as it looks into the red eyes of its mother’s killer, is that one day his race will be saved
by someone loving and kind. Will that be you he asks?

Extinction is forever.

http://www.orangutan.org.au/news/2013/man-of-the-forest-a-poem-to-save-orangutans

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The crow wish’d every thing was black, the owl, that every thing was white. William Blake.

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1 1 1 1 1 1 The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. - 1866 - 1939), Thursday 8 December 1932

The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), Thursday 8 December 1932

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Boobook Owl

If they had been Roman, then someone would have

Died every night for months on end as the Boobook

Owl’s chime coursed through the evening like a late

Night telephone call’s bad news. Metronome regular,

The beat of its hoot shelled them relentlessly, enfilading

Their ears from the patch of remnant blue gums across

Waghorn Street. The book book of its mournful cry, as if

It was a trapped sailor in an air pocket of a capsized ship,

Beating a morse code tattoo with a leaden wrench. Inside

Its tree’s iron hull, the school ruler long bird received the

Suburb’s dying souls nightly, like an apprehensive mother

Drawing up her child’s medicine in a feather light syringe.

When he heard it, fear suckled their young son who forbade

The repetition of its summons & shrieked if he heard its call.

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“Agua!, cielos”, dijo un pato cuando volar ya no pudo

Water!, Oh Heavens!”, said a duck when it could no longer fly
This proverb can be woven into conversation, by way of exclamation, to highlight a situation where there seems to be no way out.
When a duck in the air realizes it´s no longer able to fly, its options are not many. The best it can hope for is water – to make a soft landing.

http://www.spanish-learning-corner.com/mexican-proverbs.html

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a gate wide open

moving forward with courage

toward the unknown

http://gabriellebryden.wordpress.com/

GABRIELLE BRYDEN

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Well, fuck a duck.
― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

The lizard brain only wants to eat and be safe. Seth Godin, Linchpin

 

 

From it’s heights, the lizard on the wall,
Like a super hero, leaps and  fall,
I jump on the chair, stand, stunned,
And watch it move..slither and run.

 Nishu Mathur, India

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The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 25 March 1933

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 25 March 1933, p

She laughs and whispers ‘Arrangkwe just 2 pelicans in the sky!

I drive out to Amoonguna to tell the family he

is right

I sit down with his Aunty, round the campfire, in

the night

I ask her to explain the pelicans and the meaning

of the sign

She laughs and whispers ‘Arrangkwe just 2 pelicans

in the sky!

Ali Cobby Eckermann

URUNGA SEA LIDO 2014

foto – urunga sea lido january 2014

Carefree by Samuel Wagan Watson

you’d never forget the pelicans
because it was their home too
and that occasional one who’d try and swallow your baited hook
while we cast out into an endless mould of brown and blue skin
sometimes catching our line in its enormous and clumsy wingspan
floating around the jetty constantly boasting that huge gullet
so close to the pylons covered in poinson oyster shells
that waited for the bare flesh within our gait,
inviting our bare flesh to dance
Mum worried that we’d get sick from eating them
Day saying the sewage from the caravan park
would sometimes flow near where we fished
and that they oysters bathed in it too

little buckets of a few bream
silver catch of a meal
and the persistent cats at our ankles
lapping up the smell
running up past the shop
a front window necropolis of stonefish in vegemite jars
suspended in a vault of clear alcoholic brine
still deadly in death
and us in bare feet all the time
three kids in stonefish-infested mud
playing Russian roulette –
one good pair of running shoes between us

Source:  Smoke Encrypted Whispers  by Samuel Wagan Watson Univ. of Queensland Press, 2004

Breac à linne, slat à coille is fiadh à fìreach – mèirle às nach do ghabh gàidheal riamh nàire. A fish from the river, a staff from the wood and a deer from the mountain – thefts no Gael was ever ashamed of.

http://www.hp.europe.de/kd-europtravel/gaelic/proverb.htm

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THE DEER

by Helen Mort

The deer my mother swears to God we never saw,
the ones who stepped between the trees
on pound-coin coloured hooves,
I brought them up each teatime in the holidays

and they were brighter every time I did;
more supple than the otters that we waited for
at Ullapool, more graceful than the kingfisher
that darned the river south of Rannoch Moor.

Then five years on, in the same house, I rose
for water in the middle of the night and watched
my mother at the window, looking out
to where the forest lapped the garden’s edge.

From where she stood, I saw them stealing
through the pines, and they must have been closer
than before, because I have no memory
of those fish-bone ribs, that ragged fur

their eyes, like hers, that flickered back
towards whatever followed them.

Winner of the Cafe Writers Open Poetry Competition 2009, Norwich

 

http://polyolbion.blogspot.com.au/2013/01/poetry-and-plagiarism.html

Sentimental irony is a dog that bays at the moon while pissing on graves. Karl Kraus

http://www.lexiyoga.com/moon-quotes

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FOTO  John May’s dog at a Raleigh Rumbling. 

 

The Vagabond And His Dog.

 http://www.wolfweb.com.au/acd/vagabond.htm

By Robert X Leeds.It was another Christmas day
And God looked out to see
What scripture promise came to pass,
What promise would not be.

Andturning aside, HE turned his eyes
To those who’d dwell inside,
To those who’d warm by Heaven’s hearth
And those who’d be denied.

And HE saw a man at St. Peter’s gate,
A mongrel dog at his feet,
And a line that reached to the dark of night
As far as the eye could see.

And St. Peter looked at the disheveled two
And challenged the wretch to say,
What deeds he’d done, what praise he’d won
To walk in Heaven’s way.

And the vagrant stood in his shabby robe
And not one word he spoke,
As though he heard not a single word
This man in the tattered cloak.

 

“What deeds have you done to think you’ve won
The grace of Heaven’s line?
What honors earned? What evils spurned?
Pray help me be inclined.”
 

But the wretched soul and his shepherd hound
Stayed on without a sound
As though no deed could come to mind,
As though no reason found.

“Can you not find one deed so fine,
To merit entrance here?
Can none attest some honored quest,
A challenge still unclear?”

And still he stood and but held the leash
That stayed the mongrel hound.
Until he knelt to feel the ground
And kiss the furry crown.

As love was cast in skin and bone,
He held the dog around,
And Heaven watched and Heaven judged
This vagabond and his hound.

“What seeds were sowed that a flower’d grow
When you’d depart the scene?
A single tree? One slave made free?
One clean and shining sea?

Was not one life made free of strife
Along the path you strolled?
Was not one child encouraged to smile?
No good that can be told?”

And all looked on at the vagabond
Who held the unkempt hound.
But not one voice to sway the choice,
No plaintiff voice was found.

when at last, his patience past,
St. Peter bid unkind
And motioned on to the dark beyond,
“No reason you can find?”

“Not one but simple virtue be
That all of us may see?
Not one redeeming act of faith
Did bring you here to me?

In all your time can you not find
One voice for yours to plea?
In all your time can you not find
One voice to vouch for thee?”

And now at last his time though past,
The vagabond turned to speak;
And his eyes were filled with tears that spilled
And coursed the craggy cheeks.

And from his heart the speech did start
To argue not his sake,
But to plead the cause of the mongrel dog,
That lay in Heaven’s wake.

“Perhaps it ain’t for me to see
The paradise within.
I was a simple soul on earth
This hound’s my only kin.

But if the children’s smiles count,
His cup’s filled to the brim.
Oh, I can vouch for this hound, your grace.
I can vouch for him.

You should’ a seen them laugh and run
When he was all their game.
You should’ a seen the love he gave
And never once complain.

And when the tide of time arose
And naught was there to eat,
He shared the taste of an empty plate
And stayed at these failing feet.

It ain’t for me,” he whispered soft,
“It ain’t for me I ask.
But don’t deprive this poor old hound
For what his master lacks.

If caring and sharing and loyalty
Are virtues of your size,
Consider one who lacks of none,
Let Heaven be his prize.

It matters not what comes of me,
Or what may come about.
But it just ain’t fair. It wouldn’t be fair
To keep my poor hound out.

No friend has ever been so true.
No man has walked a line,
Who never strayed, but not this dog,
This hound that I call mine.”

His fingers stroked the shaggy coat
And the dog licked back the hand;
And as much was said in the silence there,
Than since God’s quest began.

And then abrupt, the hound looked up
And labored with its head
To lick this face of human grace,
This man of tattered thread.

And suddenly a calm would be
That tethered every sound.
And a warm breeze blew that embraced the two,
This vagabond and his hound.

And St. Peter turned to the mist beyond
And paused with uplifted head.
To heed the voice of Almighty God
And to do as HE has said.

I’ve set the task and I have asked
For virtues held and shared.
To dwell in a world of every kind
And for every kind have cared.

And now I’ve seen dimensions dreamed
That seldom I’ve seen before,
A simple man and his faithful hound,
Denied at my own door?”

With pen in hand, St. Peter began
To enter on his list,
The names of those whom God had chosen
To dwell in Heaven’s bliss.

And one belonged to a vagabond
And the other he called his kin;
The man who vouched for an old hound dog
And the hound dog who vouched for him.

Submitted by John Chandler

http://www.wolfweb.com.au/acd/vagabond.htm

Animals are such agreeable friends — they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.

http://archive.org/stream/cu31924027664907/cu31924027664907_djvu.txt

 

aesopinrhymewith00tayliala_0025

 

To everybody's prejudice I know a thing or two; 
I can tell a woman's age in half a minute— 

and I do. 

Yet everybody says I'm such a disagreeable man ! 

And I can't think why

He who digs a pit for others falls in himself

http://www.khmerkromrecipes.com/pages/quotes.html

 

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   Irima rirekagia riemba

The pit allows the grass to fall in

The proverb alludes to the pits the Kikuyu used to dig for trapping wild animals.  These pits were covered with sticks over which, as well as over borders, they put a layer of grass.  Since this grass often fell in the pit through the spaces between the sticks, so they say that often one falls into the pit dug by himself.

Hoist with his own petard.

araignée du matin, chagrin, araignée du soir, espoir

seeing a spider in the morning brings bad luck, seeing a spider in the evening brings good luck (a commonly cited French superstition)

http://www.languagerealm.com/french/frenchproverbs.php

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Tenei ano a mutu, kei roto i tona whare-pungawerewere:

So evil intentions are hidden as a spider in his web.

Then their little ferret faces Are peeking out to see That what they’ve stolen most Is the very heart of me!

http://www.angelfire.com/pa/adella/poem/poem3.html

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A Trip Across The Sea

If I had to pick but one thing To take across the sea I think I’d pick a ferret To go along with me

A ferret is more precious Than any other thing They can make you feel complete And get your soul to sing

And when that ferret and I Set sail across that sea We’ll fear no squall nor storm Together strong we’ll be

http://www.kwflatbed.com/ferretpoems.html

 

I know now why I live And could not die, the days I wished me dead.

1893, Roberts Brothers

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“That reminds me." I dug into my book bag and pulled out a white cardboard box tied with a string. "I brought these back for you."
He looked at the box, then at me, before slowly reaching out. "What are they?"
"Poisonous snakes. Open it."
Zachary untied the string. "They seem like very quiet snakes."
"They’re stealthy. Or maybe dead.”

― Jeri Smith-Ready, Shade