Category Archives: BATTLE

Sad is the house where the hen crows and the rooster is silent!

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 c2hardin00furs_0153

If you were born lucky, even your rooster will lay eggs. Russia

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 c3hardin00furs_0153

Sunday Times (Perth, WA : 1902 – 1954), Sunday 12 July 1908

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 Sunday Times (Perth, WA - 1902 - 1954), Sunday 12 July 1908

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 c6hardin00furs_0153

Aaron Newman

Saltbush Bill’s Gamecock

‘Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town;
He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take ‘Em Down;
He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard:
For Stingy Smith, of the Hard Times Run, had hunted him rather hard.
He bore no malice to Stingy Smith — ’twas simply the hand of fate
That caused his waggon to swerve aside and shatter old Stingy’s gate;
And, being only the hand of fate, it follows, without a doubt,
It wasn’t the fault of Saltbush Bill that Stingy’s sheep got out.
So Saltbush Bill, with an easy heart, prepared for what might befall,
Commenced his stages on Take ‘Em Down, the station of Rooster Hall.
‘Tis strange how often the men out back will take to some curious craft,
Some ruling passion to keep their thoughts away from the overdraft;
And Rooster Hall, of the Take ‘Em Down, was widely known to fame
As breeder of champion fighting cocks — his forte was the British Game.
The passing stranger within his gates that camped with old Rooster Hall
Was forced to talk about fowls all night, or else not talk at all.
Though droughts should come, and though sheep should die, his fowls were his sole delight;
He left his shed in the flood of work to watch two gamecocks fight.
He held in scorn the Australian Game, that long-legged child of sin;
In a desperate fight, with the steel-tipped spurs, the British Game must win!
The Australian bird was a mongrel bird, with a touch of the jungle cock;
The want of breeding must find him out, when facing the English stock;
For British breeding, and British pluck, must triumph it over all —
And that was the root of the simple creed that governed old Rooster Hall.
*****

‘Twas Saltbush Bill to the station rode ahead of his travelling sheep,
And sent a message to Rooster Hall that wakened him out of his sleep —
A crafty message that fetched him out, and hurried him as he came —
‘A drover has an Australian Bird to match with your British Game.’
‘Twas done, and done in a half a trice; a five-pound note aside;
Old Rooster Hall, with his champion bird, and the drover’s bird untried.
‘Steel spurs, of course?’ said old Rooster Hall; ‘you’ll need ’em, without a doubt!’
‘You stick the spurs on your bird!’ said Bill, ‘but mine fights best without.’
‘Fights best without?’ said old Rooster Hall; ‘he can’t fight best unspurred!
‘You must be crazy!’ But Saltbush Bill said, ‘Wait till you see my bird!’
So Rooster Hall to his fowlyard went, and quickly back he came,
Bearing a clipt and a shaven cock, the pride of his English Game.
With an eye as fierce as an eaglehawk, and a crow like a trumpet call,
He strutted about on the garden walk, and cackled at Rooster Hall.
Then Rooster Hall sent off a boy with word to his cronies two,
McCrae (the boss of the Black Police) and Father Donahoo.
Full many a cockfight old McCrae had held in his empty Court,
With Father D. as a picker-up — a regular all-round Sport!
They got the message of Rooster Hall, and down to his run they came,
Prepared to scoff at the drover’s bird, and to bet on the English Game;
They hied them off to the drover’s camp, while Saltbush rode before —
Old Rooster Hall was a blithesome man, when he thought of the treat in store.
They reached the camp, where the drover’s cook, with countenance all serene,
Was boiling beef in an iron pot, but never a fowl was seen.
‘Take off the beef from the fire,’ said Bill,
‘and wait till you see the fight;
‘There’s something fresh for the bill-of-fare — there’s game-fowl stew to-night!
‘For Mister Hall has a fighting cock, all feathered and clipped and spurred;
‘And he’s fetched him here, for a bit of sport, to fight our Australian bird.
‘I’ve made a match that our pet will win, though he’s hardly a fighting cock,
‘But he’s game enough, and it’s many a mile that he’s tramped with the travelling stock.’
The cook he banged on a saucepan lid; and, soon as the sound was heard,
Under the dray, in the shadows hid, a something moved and stirred:
A great tame Emu strutted out. Said Saltbush, ‘Here’s our bird!’
But Rooster Hall, and his cronies two, drove home without a word.
The passing stranger within his gates that camps with old Rooster Hall
Must talk about something else than fowls, if he wishes to talk at all.
For the record lies in the local Court, and filed in its deepest vault,
That Peter Hall, of the Take ‘Em Down, was tried for a fierce assault
On a stranger man, who, in all good faith, and prompted by what he heard,
Had asked old Hall if a British Game could beat an Australian bird;
And old McCrae, who was on the Bench, as soon as the case was tried,
Remarked, ‘Discharged with a clean discharge — the assault was justified!’

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 chardin00furs_0153

Advertisements

Everybody is fighting the same battle just in different variations

1 1 1 1 1  1memoriesofcrusad00stewrich_0339

1 1 1 1 1 1 z z z twentytwogoblins00ryde_0049

1 1 1 1 1 1 m2emoriesofcrusad00stewrich_0340

 

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

One is never over-dressed or underdressed with a Little Black Dress. Karl Lagerfeld

1 1 1 1 1 an5thologiedartfr00saun_0131

 

(The spirit likes to dress up)

 

Mary Oliver

The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest
at night
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,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body’s world,
instinct

and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility,

to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
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.

1 1 1 1 1 anthologiedartfr00saun_0131

 

Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 – 1954), Friday 17 February 1950

1 1 1 1 1 Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. - 1909 - 1954), Friday 17 February 1950

If you are being attacked in a dream or in person by a demon, devil, incubus, succubus, Satan, unclean spirit, unclean bird or alien, immediately cry out

z z z z newprojectioncon00mort_0103

 

“I used to think I knew what was right and what was wrong, and who the good guys are, and who the bad guys are. Then the world got very grey, and I didn’t know anything for a long time”
― Laurell K. Hamilton, Incubus Dreams

I must follow them. I am their leader.

– Andrew Bonar Law, 1858-1923

z z wonderfulcurious00brya_0103

I come in peace, I didn’t bring artillery.  But I am pleading with you with tears in my eyes.

Marine General James Mattis, to Iraqi tribal leaders

Defiance may be the roughest path to beauty but, unfortunately, often it is the only path.”

― Debra K. Rodgers, Dear Maymie

1 1 1 australiafrompo00hodggoog_0008

“None of us should be ashamed to speak of our class power or lack of it. Overcoming fear, even the fear of being immodest, and acting courageously to bring issues of class- especially radical standpoints – into the discourse of blackness is a gesture of militant defiance, one that runs counter to bourgeois insistence that we think of “money” in particular and class in general as private matters.”

― Bell Hooks, killing rage: Ending Racism

Never forget that life can only be nobly inspired and rightly lived if you take it bravely and gallantly, as a splendid adventure in which you are setting out into an unknown country, to face many a danger, to meet many a joy, to find many a comrade, to win and lose many a battle.

Annie Besant

zz thwayofindian00remirich_0247

 

“I suppose sooner or later in the life of everyone comes a moment of trial. We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end.”

― Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

In my life, I’ve learned when to let shit go and when to fight. This, babe, what we got, I’ll fight for.

― Kristen Ashley, The Gamble

illustrationsfro00worlrich_0115

“Life is gamble, It’s harsh and painful most of the time, and it’s not for the timid. Spoils go to the victor, not to the one who doesn’t even show up for the battle."

Sherrilyn Kenyon, Night Play