Does a Koala shit in a gum tree and wipe his ass on a Cockatoo? Most likely


The Cockatoo

(Mary Carolyn Davies)

Green and yellow cockatoo,
Won’t you let me talk to you?
Or if you would kinder be
Won’t you come and talk to me?

Tell me all about the places
Where the children have black faces,
Armlets, anklets, copper rings!
Where the cannibals are kings!

Has a hungry crocodile
Ever met you with a smile?
Have you taken many a trip
In a rakish pirate ship?

Cockatoo, cockatoo,
How I’d like to talk to you!
But as you can guess, I’d be
Gladder if you’d talk to me!

Don’t even take a bath with fools, because they’ll throw away the soap. Italian

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Jaya Savige: Surface to Air

To quit heroin you have to leave the country,
the novelist says with a wink.

I wonder what you would have made
of Europe. What I’d have made of junk.

I guess I’ve never truly understood
the romance of those ruins of the blood.



“Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.”

― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

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It is so easy to get a lot of noise out of an accordion that it is very difficult to get music out of one. In the hands of an unfeeling person or a show-off, it can be a pain to listen to. But in the hands of a sensitive person with taste and restraint — and also with a good deal of strength and power in arms and shoulders — perhaps it can be just as beautiful as any instrument. Listen to the accordions accompanying the Piatnitsky chorus on Russian folksongs, or the Louisiana cajun accordion (“windjammers” they called them — Leadbelly could play one).
 Pete Seeger in his Johnny Appleseed, Jr. column in the February-March 1963 issue of Sing Out! magazine

“Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.” Robert A. Heinlein


“I wash my hands of those who imagine chattering to be knowledge, silence to be ignorance, and affection to be art.”

Kahlil Gibran

To the thief every bush is a man.

"Bannú: Or Our Afghan Frontier"


on the road he happened to say to himself, I wonder how a blind man finds his way about." And, as there was no one near to tell him, he shut his eyes, and walked on and on until he lost himself.

The grass may be greener on the other side of the fence, but you still have to mow it.

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A snake is seen and fear is felt. She tries to kill it: "O beat him into the ground/O strike him till he dies." The snake is black and red and as he dies, "His icy glance turns outward." However the snake-killer soon realises that her enemy is not the snake but fear itself.

"The Killer" by Judith Wright


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foto- izzy foreal mows lawns in ulmarra for xmas 09

The devil always paints himself black, but we always see him rose-colored. Dominican Republic


The roses are out in their summer garb, The tiger-lily is flaunting gay, The song of the lark is soft and sweet, And sweet the breath of the new-mown hay ; Over the meadows the buttercups throw Their golden sheen of summer glow, And we think of childhood’s happy home, When Christmastide was white with snow.



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"A century of Australian song"

foto – roses in ulmarra dec 09

Yunus Emre (1238 – 1320). True Speech is the Fruit of Not Speaking True speech is the fruit of not speaking. Too much talking clouds the heart.



Gathutha konagia mundu njira

A little, contemptible path is sometimes the one that leads you to the highway.


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foto – fruit in summer 09 ulmarra

in the distance on the verandah having said yes too many times and become loaded, i believe you, “all doors lead to busy rooms”, the darkness can roll in while you’re not looking. JILL JONES.

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Imagine, if you will, a hallway so long that it takes weeks to traverse. Imagine a labyrinth that rearranges itself in the dark, a maze of shifting walls and below freezing temperatures, whose staircases descend endlessly and whose windows open into the vacuum of non-existence. Pretty creepy, isn’t it?

Now imagine that this labyrinth is in your living room.

House of Leaves

The Reverend Seth Ethan Carey


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foto – hallway in  ulmarra

Sabır acıdır, meyvesi tatlıdır. Translation: Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. Turkish.



peaches? Beaches. A peach of a beach.
Gracetown in summer. A soft fur of heat
over bodies. The water, icy. Exploding
gently on legs as fruit in the mouth.
Sand the texture of peach stone: gritty,
rough. China, a memory refracted
through tropics: small fat god, white beard,
riding a deer. A Chinese Santa Claus.
In his hand, the fruit of which we speak:
everything peachy

Australia- Poetry International Web

foto – summer fruit in ulmarra dec 09

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference.

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Look to this day,

The very life of life,

In its brief course lies all

The realities and varieties of existence,

The bliss of growth,

The splendour of action,

The glory of power.

For yesterday is but a dream,

And tomorrow is only a vision.

But today well lived,

Makes every yesterday

A dream of happiness

And every tomorrow

A vision of hope.

Look well, therefore,

To this day.

foto – bilambil dec 2008

Cicadas can’t vibrate their wings when the humidity is very high, so may be silent when rain is approaching. Flying insects are more active when the air pressure drops and stay closer to the ground, so they seem to be swarming before a rain storm.

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"The fakir upon his bed of nails is happier than is that
Toughness of hide could blunt more ills,
Than can be dodged or fought,
The lesson is well taught.
And happiness, pivoted elate
On peace of mind, health, sleep,
Food kindered, good support like that
Knows to where wounds can creep
Or suddenly sink deep.

Robert D Fitzgerald.  “Glad World”

Pro 27:1 Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.

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The stick of warnings hurts. It punishes when you do not listen to warnings.

Swahili Proverbs

Center for African Studies
University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign


foto – iluka pelicans dec 09

I shall dream delight Till our souls take flight. Mary Hannay Foott.

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Yesterday is but a dream, tomorrow but a vision. But Today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness, and every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well, therefore to this Day.


foto – kathryn at kati b’s baby shower bellingen dec 2009

An Australian Girl "She’s pretty to walk with, And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on." Sir John Suckling. She has a beauty of her own, A beauty of a paler tone

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It is too late to write them now –
The ancient fire is cold;
No ardent lights illume the brow,
As in the days of old.
I cannot dream the dream again;
But, when the happy birds
Are singing in the sunny rain,
I think I hear its words.

After Many Years

foto – iluka apartments dec 09

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There is only to wait for a new day’s birth and the hills stand out again. For no less sure than the rising sun, and no less glad to see Is the lifting sky when the rain is done and the wet grass rustles free. George Charles Whitney.


The sailors say ’twill be rough to-night,
As they fasten the hatches down,
The south is black, and the bar is white,
And the drifting smoke is brown.
The gold has gone from the western haze,
The sea-birds circle and swarm –

But we shall have plenty of sunny days,
And little enough of storm

Will. H. Ogilvie.


foto – ulmarra storm dec 09

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I desire Some sensual thing For the tongue To soothe the body. Lindsay Rabbit.

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When diet is wrong medicine is of no use.
When diet is correct medicine is of no need.


foto – new leaf cafe murwillumbah nsw dec 09

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Bed is the poor man’s opera. Italian.


There’s no doubt she was out with one of them and went further than she meant, but if you make your bed you must lie on it.

1921 A. P. Herbert House by River

foto – bilambil cottage dec 2008

When God gives light he gives it for all. Spanish.


a fine glow lights up
your lazy limbs and the nerves
drop away. Behind the blue horizon
a boat disappears, popular mysteries
begin. Your lips fade. You’re
asleep, and thoroughly happy.



foto – lamp at bilambil cottage dec 09

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Never go to bed with a woman or man who has more problems than you.



We always look back,
attracted by that feeling
of having been there before



foto – coffs harbour shopping centre dec 09

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There can never be enough said of the virtues, dangers, the power of a shared laugh. Françoise Sagan

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Often I sit, looking back to a childhood
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion.
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion;
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters.



foto – monique and kathryn at kati b’s baby shower in bello dec 2009

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