sexta-feira, 9 de março de 2012

Lest We Forget.....


Haiti.

Hear them cry out Lord...cry out in pain.
Their spirits and bodies crushed.
Tragedy hits Haiti again.

The eerie silence of the dead,
While the world watch aghast,
The many who were forced to an early concrete bed.

Why of all the countries Lord?
Amongst the poorest of them all!
Does this happen for a reason or a Divine accord?

Is it so, it’s left to us to help our Haitian brother?
To prove that we can still love,
Yes  - still love one another!

I know the world can lift you up,
higher than before.
But, have we learnt this bitter lesson,
 To see compassion score?

Courage to all you island folk and all your saviors too.
You are in our thoughts and prayers,

May God, be with all of you

sábado, 3 de março de 2012

Rain From Nowhere.


Rain from Nowhere
by Murray Hartin
His cattle didn't get a bid; they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry; hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale.
His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road.
"Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898,
"Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.
"Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before,
"Crikey, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war."
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight.
There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst.
He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad.
Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the writing from the notebooks that he used at cattle sales.
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.
"Son, I know it's bloody tough; it's a cruel and twisted game,
"This life upon the land when you're screaming out for rain,
"There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light.
"But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right;
"I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away.
"See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day;
"You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did.
"But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
"I'm worried about you, son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
"I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every bloody mile.
"The date? December 7 back in 1983,
"Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.
"See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place;
"Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates.
"The bank was at the door; I didn't think I had a choice,
"I began to squeeze the trigger - that's when I heard your voice.
"You said 'Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game'
"I've got Squatter all set up, we might get General Rain.'
"It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me son,
"And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun.
"Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down.
"Look, you might have to swallow pride and take that job in town,
"Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice.
"And when you get this letter ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear your voice."
Well he cried and laughed and shook his head, then put the truck in gear,
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear.
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away,
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.
He called his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again.
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.
In this report: Murray Hartin and his poem Rain From Nowhere. If you are feeling a bit low, or just want to talk to someone, you can. There's Beyond Blue on 1300 22 46 36 or Lifeline 13 11 14.

* This is yet another of my favourite poems...It brings tears to my eyes every time I read it...I hope you feel the same way...

domingo, 19 de fevereiro de 2012

Carnival.

                                      
An explosion of colour,
Happiness and love.
Creative ideas, sent from above.


Incredible rhythm,
Music and song.
How can all this be condemned or wrong?


Such fun to watch,
Hilarious and clever.
I hope carnival continues forever!


A variety of costumes,
Carefully sewn.
Photographs taken by celular phone.


A mass of humanity,
All coming together.
No fighting, just love...what an endeavour!


So just for today,
Let's dream and pretend.
IT'S CARNIVAL FOLKS...let's mix and blend!
               
                        

quarta-feira, 15 de fevereiro de 2012

O'Henry.

                     
  Black and white,
 Magestic sight.
 Softest fur,
  Mighty purr.
  Icy stare,
  Contemptuous glare.
  Green, green eyes,
  Beautiful size.
  Subtle agility,
  Deadly ability.
 Whiskers long,
  Paws so strong.
  Silent pad,
  Notoriously bad.
  A gorgeous cat,
  O'Henry...
  You were THAT!
                                                                                             

Perdas.

          Depois dos cinquenta anos, ou até antes, a vida vai te proporcionando perdas, uma atrás da outra. A vida esta te preparando para a perda maior....a perda da sua própria vida.

quinta-feira, 9 de fevereiro de 2012

Travel Transport.


Up and down on the aeroplane,
Traveling around the world again.
Sailing away to distant lands,
Visiting islands with white, white sands.
In and out of the busy trains,
Passing fields with lots of grains.
Hailing taxis in New York,
It's sometimes better just to walk!
Double deckers can be fun,
The Louvre in Paris can really stun.
Skiing down a snowy slope,
Waving reverently at the Pope.
Seeing Holland on our bikes,
Visiting the windmills and the dykes.
Jigging about on a donkeys back,
Time for home....so now let's pack!

       * This poem was written for a presentation by children (7/8 years old.).

quinta-feira, 2 de fevereiro de 2012

True friendship.

                                       
                        One Little Rose.
       I would rather have one little rose
                 From the garden of a friend
          Than to have the choicest flowers
          When my stay on earth must end.


      I would rather have one pleasant word
                     In kindness said to me
         Than flattery when my heart is still
                   And life has ceased to be.


         I would rather have a loving smile
               From friends I know are true
          Than tears shed round my casket
             When this world I've bid adieu.


            Bring me all your flowers today
            Whether pink, or white, or red;
           I'd rather have one blossom now
            Than a basketful when I'm dead.


                             - Author unknown.