Category Archives: SEASONS OF MY LIFE

We have to build the framework in which we will execute the tasks. LTG Christianson

image

In proverbs, mountains are the immobile backbone and framework of the world. They are the embodiment of Earth itself: immense, indifferent, givers and takers of life, eternal, everything that humanity is not. They are a ready symbol of anything overwhelming.

http://geology.about.com/od/geologyandculture/qt/Geologic-Sayings-Proverbs.htm

Advertisements

I thought how with your spacious hospitality In its high tide you’d made all life a feast – Douglas Alexander Stewart

http://www.inspirationalstories.com/poems/for-kenneth-slessor-douglas-alexander-stewart-poems/

1 SEAGULLS AT BELLWOOD

 

foto – feeding seagulls at bellwood park in nambucca nsw australia

It was there that I found them:
the seagulls – the secret
of where they go at night.

Belinda Rule

http://cordite.org.au/poetry/notheme2/gestalt-with-seagulls/

Taking one’s chances is like taking a bath, because sometimes you end up feeling comfortable and warm, and sometimes there is something terrible lurking around that you cannot see until it is too late and you can do nothing else but scream and cling to a plastic duck.”

― Lemony Snicket

1 1 1 1 augusterenoir00meieuoft_0111

On Home Beaches

Back, in my fifties, fatter than I was then,
I step on the sand, belch down slight horror to walk
a wincing pit edge, waiting for the pistol shot
laughter. Long greening waves cash themselves, foam change
sliding into Ocean’s pocket. She turns: ridicule looks down,
strappy, with faces averted, or is glare and families.
The great hawk of the beach is outstretched, point to point,
quivering and hunting. Cars are the stuff at its back.
You peer, at this age, but it’s still there, ridicule,
the pistol that kills women, that gets them killed, crippling men
on the towel-spattered sand. Equality is dressed, neatly,
with mouth still shut. Bared body is not equal ever.
Some are smiled to each other. Many surf, swim, play ball:
like that red boy, holding his wet T shirt off his breasts.

LES MURRAY
from
Subhuman Redneck Poems, 1996

http://www.lesmurray.org/pm_ohb.htm

If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.

http://www.butterflypages.com/quotes.php

z stories_00mole_0089

“…before you, I was a doubled-up fist – now I can hold soft things, fragile as butterfly wings.


― John Geddes, A Familiar Rain