Category Archives: RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER PEOPLE

Husband and wife in perfect accord are the music of the harp and lute. (Chinese)

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It’s hard to keep from trying to control the lives of others, especially in a family. We can learn from the man whose friend drove twenty miles to and from work on the freeway every day. “How can you do it?” he asked. “I’ve tried, and I can’t go a mile in such traffic without screaming at the crazy drivers who cut in, go too slow, change lanes. Nobody listens. I’d lose my mind if I had to do it your way.” His friend replied, “Your trouble is trying to drive every car around you. I relax and drive only one car–my own.”

i long for you in your absence and in your presence just the same, endlessly.

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Absence

Funny how our anthropomorphis,
makes us read even empty benches in the park
as gathering, huddled, grouped together.

The metal stairs we used to sit on
are honeycombed in structure,
rigid and unyielding, they hold their empty

hexagons apart.

Once we wove the in-between,
spinning the cobwebbed lines across the gaps
in a crazy railway network map.

Funny how you leave a trace on space.
The silver, flattened grass whispers
that here (not long ago) someone lay.

Friends are like fiddle-strings, they must not be screwed too tight.

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The Old Violin

The Touch of the Masters Hand

 

‘Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.

“What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,”

But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its’ bow.

“One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
“We just don’t understand.”
“What changed its’ worth?”
Swift came the reply.
“The Touch of the Masters Hand.”

“And many a man with life out of tune
All battered and bruised with hardship
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters’ Hand.

– by Myra Brooks Welch

A woman often walked In the garden all alone And when I passed along the linden-bordered road We almost talked.

Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)

Annie

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Japanese poem by Lady Koshikibu from Ogura 100 poems (early 13th century)

大江山 いく野の道の 遠ければ まだふみもみず 天の橋立

“By Oe Mountain / The road to Ikuno is far away, / And neither have I beheld / Nor crossed its bridge of heaven. .” 

To truly laugh, you must be able to take your pain, and play with it. Charlie Chaplin

KOOKA 9

in the cave she rolls the big rock for table, for the desert wildflowers they pick each another
she carries many coolamons filled with river sand to soften the hard rock floor

she makes shelf from braided saplings to hold all the feathers given by the message birds
when he sleeps she polishes his weapons with goanna and emu fat till they glisten in fire light

he tells the story of the notches on his spear, the story of the maps on his woomera
their eyes fill with spot fires lit on his return

the other women laugh “get over yourself” they laugh “he’s not that good”
she smiles she knows him in the night

YANKUNYTJATJARA LOVE POEM

FOTO – BURA AT THE BEACHSHACK MARCH 2015

“I don’t buy temporary insanity as a murder defense. Breaking into someone’s home and ironing all their clothes is temporary insanity.” Sue Kolinsky

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Maybe some women aren’t meant to be tamed. Maybe they just need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with them.
-Carrie Bradshaw” 


― Candace Bushnell

Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words. Rumi

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He could see plainly that she was not herself. That is, he could not see that she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.

― Kate Chopin, The Awakening

And the fruits will outdo what the flowers have promised. (Francois de Malherbe)

http://bijlmakers.com/agriculture/fruits-proverbs-and-quotes/

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THE A.A. PROMISES

If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and selfpity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.

memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. And, as I watch the line of light, that plays Along the smooth wave toward the burning west,

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There is in every human heart,
Some not completely barren part,
Where seeds of truth and love might grow, 
And flowers of generous virtue flow;
To plant, to watch, to water there,
This be our duty, be our care.

– Sir John Bowring (English author, poet, political economist, and 4th governor of Hong Kong; b. 1792 – d. 1872), from Matins and Vespers: With Hymns and Occasional Devotional Pieces(1827)

Just because I cut the heads off dolls doesn’t mean I hate babies, I just hate dolls.” Alice Cooper – 2003

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If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend.”

― Charlotte Brontë, Shirley

A sugarcane is sweetest at the joint

Siku ya kufa nyani miti yote huteleza

What seems to be hard to achieve in real life is often times the best. Fruits of hard labour are enjoyed the most.

http://www.glcom.com/hassan/kanga.html

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Ihii na igwa ikuragira uthu-ini

Boys and sugar-cane grow up as enemies (because boys are all the time eating sugar-cane)

A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy. ~ Albert Einstein

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The second fiddle. I can get plenty of first violinists, but to find someone who can play the second fiddle with enthusiasm
 

 

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-Leonard Bernstein

http://www.quoteland.com/topic/Violins-Quotes/355/

“There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend’s Sister.”

Julia Quinn, The Duke and I

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SHIT POEM

by JAS H. DUKE

I’m in the shit business 
I work for the sewerage department 
I analyse experiments 
I draw graphs and flow charts 
and conclusions 
today I was sitting at my desk 
trying to explain 
the dissolved air flotation process 
where streams of little bubbles are released 
into a tank full of sewerage 
to float the suspended solids up to the surface 
to be skimmed off 
but what I was really thinking about 
was lunchtime 

http://www.takver.com/history/925/925_sum.htm

Speak like a parrot; meditate like a swan; chew like a goat; and bathe like an elephant. Indian

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Swan Lake

 

As music curves through the body, the swing of it

lifting mind’s invisible feet, so it happened

 

a ballet I’d gone to in the days after breaking up

with someone who had found me rather clumsy

 

left behind a troupe of swans in my heart.

Now the inner band played on, a waltz as searing

 

as a light too brightly shining in a room that should be dark,

and the swans, pirouetting through the dark

 

and joyful moments of the plot, took my heart

dancing, till the grief that remained

 

turned to a mood of gentle swanning

through the fine, vacated ballroom of the mind;

 

till the swans evaporated with a cry.

 

The dread of loneliness is greater than the fear of bondage, so we get married. Cyril Connolly

http://www.gadel.info/2011/08/feeling-lonely-and-loneliness-quotes.html

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foto of raleigh rumblers in december 2013

The Lonely Crossing

A man on foot came down to the river,
A silent man, on the road alone,
And dropped his swag with a chill-born shiver,
And sat to rest on a wind-worn stone.

He slid then down to the long grass, bending
His arms above as the resting do,
And watched a snow-white chariot trending
Its wind-made way o’er the wedgewood blue.

In it sat one of the fairest ladies
That mind could mould, in a crown of white,
But close beside came a fiend from Hades
In a chariot black as the heart of night.

The man, he sighed as the fiend would clasp her,
Then smiled as the wind by a wise decree
Her white steeds turned to the streets of Jaspar,
And Satan drave to a sin-black sea.

The wattles waved, and their sweet reflection 
In crystal fathoms responses made;
The sunlight silted each soft inflection
And fretted with silver the short’ning shade.

A restless fish made the thin reeds shiver,
A waking wind made the willows moan,
But the resting man by the noon-bright river
Lay dreaming on, in the long grass prone.

The bell-bird called to its tardy lover,
The grebe clouds all to the west had sped,
But the river of death had a soul crossed over,
The man with the swag on the bank was dead.

Lawson, Louisa (Dora Falconer)(1848-1920)

If The Phone Doesn’t Ring, It’s Me. Song title by Jimmy Buffet

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“If he’s not calling you, it’s because you are not on his mind. If he creates expectations for you, and then doesn’t follow through on little things, he will do same for big things. Be aware of this and realize that he’s okay with disappointing you. Don’t be with someone who doesn’t do what they say they’re going to do. If he’s choosing not to make a simple effort that would put you at ease and bring harmony to a recurring fight, then he doesn’t respect your feelings and needs. “Busy” is another word for “asshole.” “Asshole” is another word for the guy you’re dating. You deserve a fcking phone call.” 

― Greg Behrendt

Goodbye, must hit the frog and toad.

http://jendi.bowmeow.com.au/rhymingslang1.html

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“There’s nothing deeper than love. In fairy tales, the princesses kiss the frogs, and the frogs become princes. In real life,the princesses kiss princes, and the princes turn into frogs.” 

― Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible and when I leave you will finally understand why storms are named after people.”

 

1 storm

foto storm over raleigh nsw australia 2013

The storm

My mind swirled
like a storm that day:
my mouth the wind,
my heart the rain.

The fire scorching in her soul,
the deluge poured and did annul.
Her ship awash on eddied seas,
the wind a breath to bring her peace.

Dark thunder broiled with bodies toil
as Thor did rend from sky to soil.
I gave the girl a quenching passion
and left a rainbow in refraction.

 David Donovan

http://www.independentaustralia.net/australia/australia-display/the-repellant-australian-poetry-scene,3868

No reply is best

It is often advisable not to give any answer. Don’t say no. Don’t say yes. Say nothing.

http://www.englishclub.com/ref/Sayings/Talking/

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I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings.

from the Fox-”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince