Bush poetry by Andrew Hull
All night a noisy little mouse was keeping me awake,
With that irritating little squeaky scratchy noise they make.
And then at breakfast time there was mouse pooh on my flakes,
And at lunchtime there was mouse pooh on my chocolate cake.
“I’ll snare him”, I decided, “when he finishes his nap”.
And I used a bit of cheese with a drop of mango sap.
Then I set the apparatus just outside his little flap,
But he just ate the cheese, and left mouse pooh on the trap !
|The Mouse on the Barroom Floor
Some Guinness was spilled on the barroom floor
when the pub was shut for the night.
Out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
and stood in the pale moonlight.
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor,
then back on his haunches he sat.
And all night long you could hear him roar,
‘Bring on the goddam cat!’
The Urana Independent and Clear Hills Standard (NSW : 1913 – 1921), Friday 29 December 1916,
I’ll dance with mob on this red Land, munda wiru
I’ll dance away them half-caste lies ‘cos I got my
Ali Cobby Eckermann.
little bit long time. Australian Poetry Centre, Balclava, 2009.
Calling Me Home by Lyndon Lane, Goodooga, NSW
Read more: http://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/arts/calling-me-home#ixzz2jqzHuj5H
I survived by keeping my emotions in check – by maintaining my composure and tucking it all away. I managed to stay under the radar, skating through school without anyone truly remembering I was here. My teachers acknowledged my academic successes and my coaches depended upon my athletic abilities, but I wasn’t important enough to make a recognizable social contribution. I was easily forgettable. That’s what I counted on.”
― Rebecca Donovan, Reason to Breathe
Beware of the person with two faces.
“She’s always getting into trouble because she gets bored really really easily.
My mum says it’s because Celia has an attention span the size of a sesame seed.
Celia’s mum says it’s because Celia’s identity is unfurling itself slowly, like a tulip bud, and it’s a breathtakingly beautiful thing to see.”
― Jaclyn Moriarty, Feeling Sorry for Celia
“Everyone of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self..We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones we cherish about ourselves. Contemplation is not and cannot be a function of this external self. There is an irreducible opposition between the deep transcendent self that awakens only in contemplation, and the superficial, external self which we commonly identify with the first person singular. Our reality, our true self, is hidden in what appears to us to be nothingness….We can rise above this unreality and recover our hidden reality…. God Himself begins to live in me not only as my Creator but as my other and true self. “
― Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
― Tiffanie DeBartolo, How to Kill a Rock Star
“Walk tall, kick ass, learn to speak Arabic, love music and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers and warriors.”
Hunter S. Thompson
We wander, question. But the answer waits in each separate heart – the answer of our own identity and the way by which we can master loneliness and feel that at last we belong.
Carson McCullers, The Mortgaged Heart: Selected Writings