tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54748010827567823882024-03-05T08:05:35.461-08:00Little Black Jelly BeanBecause classy and wacky work so well. S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-90764580812677074702023-06-04T18:47:00.001-07:002023-06-04T18:47:33.154-07:00Swan Song<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLO0Tdrna5awabjkCF8BmV_7pojFsiB3n5GamDugrsmdemi9-m6sB5wYiNM2yA-wfFdjUFbA08nQ9ULqUH5tk4MXZW-F1Omz7mYjKr-odYlzBtciIqO5JXFGDRByA8Pai0Uf52aAjvj--cVRWEASCYO7Qhy0zsIw3RUd8JBBxbFWXi2bS9JmUJCuI/s894/(save%20=%20follow%20me).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="626" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLO0Tdrna5awabjkCF8BmV_7pojFsiB3n5GamDugrsmdemi9-m6sB5wYiNM2yA-wfFdjUFbA08nQ9ULqUH5tk4MXZW-F1Omz7mYjKr-odYlzBtciIqO5JXFGDRByA8Pai0Uf52aAjvj--cVRWEASCYO7Qhy0zsIw3RUd8JBBxbFWXi2bS9JmUJCuI/w280-h400/(save%20=%20follow%20me).jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com.au/winterclve/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Source</span></a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>One woman tried to cut her wrists -</p><p>She hid it from the gossips and they said </p><p>Goodbye - there's not been enough dinners </p><p>for us to stay -</p><p>You must pay for our friendship with your bread.</p><p><br /></p><p>One man camps at night in the pouring rain</p><p>He wants to save a few more dollars today </p><p>But when he gets home, he hears how they</p><p>told his wife how he -</p><p>Spends all his time away on drink and play.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Look at the swan, gliding there</i></p><p><i>Every graceful, ever fair</i></p><p><i>She sits serene on a sea of glass -</i></p><p><i>But underneath, the feet are paddling fast.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p>One woman had a friend, dark and disturbed </p><p>And the darkness could not bear to gaze upon the light </p><p>So she told her she was ugly, broken and unformed, tore</p><p>her down until -</p><p>That once shining beauty disappeared into the night.</p><p><br /></p><p>One man has a wife who dies a little every day</p><p>He carries the weight of both their worlds forever </p><p>And others watch and wait and say that he's too sombre</p><p>for them to ever agree -</p><p>Never knowing he's given up praying for her to be set free.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Look at the swan, gliding there</i></p><p><i>Every graceful, ever fair</i></p><p><i>She sits serene on a sea of glass -</i></p><p><i>But underneath, the feet are paddling fast.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>'But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.' </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>James 3:8</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-21953733973509915362022-12-02T07:34:00.002-08:002022-12-02T08:20:42.712-08:00Dried Bean Christianity (and why I am not a fan)<div style="text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkOiFERWRL3xZvuGm8zS0-8NyAohZ1eY0Fi6me7LtIL9sFI-2WUPwprLwHNVhlpD1_IQcvof-J79IvoTPlkvfwVYNmf5y7nFQ3NzvVqsXXnmfAy-DlkWzmTxfu9KJKuNPpghptBYVc7DOEz4wcde8K5sK2JsCcutKT9_3qV8A2BlIFRtYhXx-8W7V/s1200/%22Coffee%20Time%22%20by%20Stocksy%20Contributor%20%22Melanie%20DeFazio%22.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="775" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkOiFERWRL3xZvuGm8zS0-8NyAohZ1eY0Fi6me7LtIL9sFI-2WUPwprLwHNVhlpD1_IQcvof-J79IvoTPlkvfwVYNmf5y7nFQ3NzvVqsXXnmfAy-DlkWzmTxfu9KJKuNPpghptBYVc7DOEz4wcde8K5sK2JsCcutKT9_3qV8A2BlIFRtYhXx-8W7V/w259-h400/%22Coffee%20Time%22%20by%20Stocksy%20Contributor%20%22Melanie%20DeFazio%22.jpg" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.stocksy.com/2294997/coffee-time?epik=dj0yJnU9ZFFEcHl1a3M0cTZMT09MUUpkNmJScHk5QkNKSnJ1c0smcD0wJm49MGhDWWtRd0tnNmJmY3hjZzdRZnJDdyZ0PUFBQUFBR09LSHh3" target="_blank">Source</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Invariably, as we enter the Christmas season, a specimen of holy sanctification will loam mightily upon the horizon. Karen, resplendent in her ankle length denim skirt and thrice-year-washed hair stands triumphant before us, a warm and ever-so-slightly condescending smile appearing upon her face as she, beholding the tree in the lounge room and <i>(horror!)</i> the wrapped presents underneath <i>(bonus 12 victory points to the devil if you've used holly or mistletoe to decorate)</i>, unloads a barrage of reasons why she, (as someone who only exists to please God and who has studied His word <i>extensively) </i>does not celebrate Christmas, but instead, chooses to spend the day on quiet contemplation and private prayer. We listen, smile and nod, and feel guilty that we, carnal sinners that we are, were so very eager to taste the eggnog and pop crackers around the table with family, when God would be clearly more honoured by this more sparce take on holiness. Perhaps we remove a few presents from under the tree and then tell Aunt Mary that no, we won't be bringing a dessert to Christmas lunch after all. Karen is mollified by this, and so we feel better. Then we see the empty places where our gifts have been, and the (less) empty stomachs where our dessert was meant to go and we feel guilty again. Year after year, this cycle continues, until we are just about ready to throw the towel in and refuse to celebrate anything, ever again. "Come to church!" we petition strangers on street corners. "We eat dry beans in the corners of empty rooms and God makes us like it! It's a blast - you don't know what you're missing out on!" Unfortunately for us, the unrengerate pagan is not as big a fool as we would require, and with a belly full of fornication, fat and feasting, it would be a mighty fool indeed who trades such immediate pleasures for the promise of 'perfect heavenly happiness and utter earthly misery.' <div><br /></div><div> I am not arguing here about <i>which </i>festivals, celebrations or enjoyable occasions a Christian should or should not celebrate. That would be silly. God gives us each a conscience and the ability of exercise it. Some of us have a guilty conscience if we partake in anything enjoyable, and that is a stumbling block to which we much pay particular care, while others of us could blow a house deposit on deep fat fryers and firecrackers and then act indignant when the fun police choose to pass out a warning. Each of us has a temptation to fall off a narrow path with deep ditches either side. But I have observed a strange phenomena in my short years as a foolish, frail and female christian <i>(this is a list of reasons why you, a superior Christian, can forgive my offensive opinions)</i> - that those who refuse to celebrate anything not <i>explicitly </i>mentioned in the Bible <i>(Jesus drinking wine doesn't count, He was just trying to show grace to those around Him *wink*)</i> are by far the most bitter, joyless and <i>un-spiritual </i>religious monstrosities that I have ever come across. </div><div><br /></div><div> When I look at my own life and the blessings that God has poured like whipping cream all across my history, I am struck by a dangerous truth - that a blessing only multiplies if I choose to use it. What kind of <span> Christian would I be, if when a gracious Father gives me eggs, I choose to hide them under a basket rather than making a cake to share with my friends and family? <i>(Because a cake has sugar and sugar is </i></span><i>evil, and ancient societies made cakes to offer up to their demon infested totem pole mayan statues. Make quiche. Quiche is acceptable Christian food.) </i>When I look upon a celebration of light and grace being poured out upon an undeserving and uncaring world, and all I can do is mourn the fact that all this celebration takes away from the 'reason for the season' then that says far more about the fragile state of my own spiritual journey than anyone else's. Year after year, I hear the horror stories from those who grew up in an un-feasting, un-celebrating home. 'Trauma', they call it. Now they burn sage and recharge crystals to feel the warmth that God never showed them. They never felt the velvet slick of fresh rolled gingerbread under their skin, never cut down a fir tree like St Boniface, never stayed up late on Christmas Eve to finish a handmade gift, never set the table with gold and silver for a family feast, never felt the giddy rush of joy when another gave so that they could have. Their experience was a list of 'cannot's rather than a list of 'by the grace of God, we can.' </div><div><br /></div><div> When God walked this earth in human form, He attended the weddings <i>(heck, He dished out the wine!)</i>, He joined in all the traditional feasts and celebrations that were part of His cultural calendar - feasts and celebrations occurred so God's people could gather together and celebrate the wonderful things that He had done, and which probably were not celebrated on the <i>exact </i>day that they historically occurred.</div><div><br /></div><div> I think it's telling that in the garden of Eden, it was a world of 'yes' and a single tree of 'no'. And before someone objects, remember that<i> God is a perfect Father</i>. And by His Grace, and His covenant, He is ours! Why wouldn't we want to model Him, perfect in all abundance, overflowing with grace, goodness, warmth and gifts that we do not deserve? </div><div><br /></div><div> So this is my request, this Christmas season. Regardless of whether you choose to celebrate or not <i>(frankly, my dear, I don't give a - )</i>, do not begrudge those who choose to give of themselves to bless others. Strange as it may seem, some of us <i>like </i>presents, candy canes and fairy lights. If you are the weaker brother who cannot touch the meat that you think may have been sacrificed to idols, <i>that's fine. </i>But for the love of God (and I mean this with all honesty and goodwill) take those dry little beans of miserly holiness, grind them up, run warm water through, add a dash of cream, and drink and be amazed at the abundance of a generous Father. Taste and see that the Lord is good.</div></div>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-45840106957079053302022-07-15T23:23:00.003-07:002022-07-15T23:23:51.983-07:00To Flounder {an investigation}<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUb_AKkn1Dd_dW0GQ4WQDUwzRoIdbCDIDVW452bPy_M0pbP1tjQcTzEDfVxRpe289em-kRK9sqO53sXpNmI-oOJ1mGWUFZVNYQy4NxbZNacR4eoNXjdoSgjoDqrWJ2ZDcD2THraXrtutxq6iRnfls4X6vL1gnD-kMumtkMrFQqEFn_6P3dkP3TJ2ef/s1512/Photo%20by%20Annie%20Spratt%20on%20Unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1050" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUb_AKkn1Dd_dW0GQ4WQDUwzRoIdbCDIDVW452bPy_M0pbP1tjQcTzEDfVxRpe289em-kRK9sqO53sXpNmI-oOJ1mGWUFZVNYQy4NxbZNacR4eoNXjdoSgjoDqrWJ2ZDcD2THraXrtutxq6iRnfls4X6vL1gnD-kMumtkMrFQqEFn_6P3dkP3TJ2ef/w278-h400/Photo%20by%20Annie%20Spratt%20on%20Unsplash.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/478085316702203842/" target="_blank">Via Pinterest</a></td></tr></tbody></table> I sip long and hard from the stained coffee mug before me. I think I'm on my third cup now, but the tension between my eyebrows is only growing thicker, and I feel lightheaded whenever I stand. I'm tired. My eight month old doesn't believe in sleeping long stretches during the night and my body clock doesn't believe in falling asleep any time before 11pm (a completely trainable fault on my part), so I medicate with strong coffee and a myriad of pills from a side shelf in my kitchen. "It's a balanced diet," I tell myself and down a token silverbeet leaf. </p><p> Outside, the ground is damp and cloying, the earth sticking to my boots like a persistent lover whenever I head across the yard. Clumps of grass seem to slip away from its surface, creating unsightly divots, and, quickly forgetting the sweat-ridden mowing that seemed to last all day, I longingly remember the smooth, green surfaces of Spring and Summer. The sun seems as reluctant as I myself to venture into this sleepy, cold world. Day after day he barely peaks over the hill, often shrouded in mist and more often than not, extremely lacklustre in warmth. Thanks to him, my seasonal depression is in full swing, and I swallow four times the recommended dose of vitamin D in the hope that this might provide a mental bandaid until the days begin to lengthen. I'm not sure it it helps or not, but I google 'Aztec sun worship' and 'solar powered t-shirt' to make myself feel better.</p><p> It's tough to deal with exhaustion when your burnout is the birth child of blessing. I sit in the seat of incredible opportunity, but I also feel responsible for the most mundane and stupid of tasks. I take each scarred divot in my lawn as a mental neck twitch, each dirty paw print on the carpet as an itching scab - how much more do I feel that I sink under the weight of goats, beehives, horses, large vegetable gardens and two persistent, small children? And yet, through it all, I know that I am blessed. Maybe that blessing sends me deep under the bedsheets at 4pm, damp and salty while my three year old brings himself and his sandpit toys to join me, but that blessing, which feels like it dives under the covers for a moment's respite through the dark months of winter, will surely emerge - like me - hopeful after a floundering respite. </p>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-90088654044144269732022-06-10T21:38:00.003-07:002022-06-10T21:38:39.859-07:00~ Futile ~ Poem<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3K2oX_qkI3DRtUjs9hYFcLDOjyP8gpIG-Kw_RnhjBJHhjiQkOvcpUNDER7S-dQL6_W1D3fey_fxXnGjgKlbKi0m9vWISYZUV-zlNi9sOM0FOAcIzabT_cgm3UpdrMJI1ELydNi2z-s9jfUXT_SOgfNoN-qcCfBzX2Uf2x3o5r5MYFgxxEcadbjMF/s945/286276139_2565388186928823_6255524253703534716_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3K2oX_qkI3DRtUjs9hYFcLDOjyP8gpIG-Kw_RnhjBJHhjiQkOvcpUNDER7S-dQL6_W1D3fey_fxXnGjgKlbKi0m9vWISYZUV-zlNi9sOM0FOAcIzabT_cgm3UpdrMJI1ELydNi2z-s9jfUXT_SOgfNoN-qcCfBzX2Uf2x3o5r5MYFgxxEcadbjMF/s320/286276139_2565388186928823_6255524253703534716_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Why do I still stand before this mirror</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">And strive thus to cleanse my soul </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">My eye, impatient, shall not see it clearer </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">For all my fret and weary toil.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Inward, I cower and faint in heart</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Yet somehow appear as valient as indeed,</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">I so surely shall shake apart </span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">As with my wounded mind I plead.</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Inward still, I must seek to find</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Some virtue hidden in mortal mire</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">An unmined gem burried deep in mind</span><br style="caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Yet all is but coal for my pyre.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">-S.K. Downes</span></div><br /><p></p>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-18114936511811766482021-05-30T00:34:00.002-07:002022-03-30T04:02:42.836-07:00In Praise of Mothers<div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(This was intended for Mother's Day, but life, as it is oft prone to do, 'got in the way.')</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><br /></div> I am currently sitting on the couch in my living room, surrounded by small children playing ferociously at my feet and often, on top of me. A slow cooker bubbling in the background (never mind the fact that it's mainly filled with packet sauce and cheap potatoes) and a pile of freshly washed dishes on the sink might give you the erroneous belief that things are under control here, but the truth, if I am honest, is far from that. <div><br /></div><div> I currently only have one child earth-side, though his passionate, independent view of life make him quite unlike any other child I encountered in the long years spent as a reluctant babysitter for frazzled homeschooling mothers, and subsequently, I like to think of myself as already having reasonably full hands. (Those who have more children might see fit to disagree!) However, a large extended family makes for a full house more often than my sanctification's comfort zone might like, and so, I find myself here.</div><div><br /></div><div> One child has already ingested a great deal of red crayon, another is missing a chunk of hair thanks to a heightened disagreement over who got the pleasure of using the balance bike, and right now one is running around the kitchen table with the dog and two toddlers in hot pursuit while another reliably informs me that I can be a bridesmaid at her wedding tomorrow and proceeds to bombard me with questions about her future husband. I had to explain that maybe she shouldn't be marrying a man who needs me to tell her whether he prefers pear or blueberry juice.</div><div><br /></div><div> In the chaos, in the beautiful, ugly, <i>necessary </i>chaos (written as my toddler lovingly leans over and wipes his nose on my sleeve), I cannot help but by struck by my mother's example. If a dollar landed in her bank account for every stranger's pitying utterance of "You sure do have your hands full!", she would have spent her life perpetually holidaying in the Bahamas. It wasn't without reason, either. She bore eight children, one after another in such a monotonous succession, that I struggle to remember a clear time when she wasn't pregnant or nursing. Neither were we tame. Sugar and spice might make the occasional appearance a Sunday morning but otherwise slug and snails were the traditional order of the day. Whether jumping off the highest point of the concrete tank, weeing off the steps of the minivan or using the drive on mower to ferry one another around (may all the trees that J hit rest in peace), we most certainly did our best to keep her hands full. And yet, a tired sigh or a self-serving, bedraggled response was never her go-to reply. Instead, she'd face them, bright eyed and bushy tailed and say something like, "Yes! I am blessed!"or, "I wouldn't have it any other way."</div><div><br /></div><div> I have always admired that response. Some of my richest childhood memories invoke such tangible recollections, like the smell of fresh baked bread every day or the selecting of spring bulbs for the garden, and yet, as an adult and a mother myself now, I realise that my mother's joyful response is one of the greatest memories that I have. I was never made to feel like a burden, not matter how burdensome I or my siblings strove to be. </div><div><br /></div><div> Now in our culture, the facebook wine mummy reigns supreme, her indulgent self flagellation broadcast for all to see and pity. There's an almost perverse delight in sharing how much you have failed in your duty to die to self, take up your cross and follow Him faithfully; to publicly broadcast how much you hate the simple and yet all encompassing task He gave you to do -"Feed my sheep." </div><div><br /></div><div>My mother in law couldn't be further from the above. A jeans-wearing, fantasy-reading mother of *shocked gasp* only two children, she often incurred the scorn of the bobby socked, long skirted homeschooling mothers around her. While spending the majority of her life bed bound and in constant pain, she managed to raise two boys into strong yet tender men, surviving off a shoe string budget and constantly moving in and out of 'fixer-uppers'. You might forgive her the self-centred venting of a modern day 'wine mommy'. And yet, while she never denies the sacrifice taken to get there, she turns to me now and smiles joyfully whilst saying, "Now is the time of harvest."</div><div><br /></div><div>They're everywhere, women like this. Hidden from public view, they do their duty, day after monotonous day, and rise again each morning to do it again. Like my sister-in-law, raising three small children and building a family home with her bare hands, or the lawyer turned stay-at-home mother of two who never stops learning and developing her skills, no matter how temping the desire to stagnate might be.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am in awe of women like these. Forget your Jacinta Arderns, your Beyonces, your best friend from down the road who lives in a million dollar home with 2.5 children and a flourishing career. Give me the women who live it out every day, through the blood, sweat and numerous tears, the split milk and overflowing nappies, and who can still turn to a stranger at the supermarket and say, "Yes, my hands are full! But God help me, may they never be empty."</div>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-13362822686273179112021-02-25T04:07:00.003-08:002021-02-25T04:11:35.036-08:00 ~ Chrysalis ~<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Too small the cocoon for space -</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Too tight the web eternal</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Was held across the face</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">This frame the husk, soon to fall -</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">This blighted soul the kernel.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Felt as I have the wings beating </span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Incessantly from the inside</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">And broken, have I been entreating -</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">To see in the mirror, face to face,</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">To see the likeness amplified.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Let this stunted soul be swallowed</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">With all that is good and wise</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">My earthly body spent and hollowed -</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;">Let a pair of soaring Monarch wings</span></p>
<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Be this caterpillar’s prize.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>1 Corinthians 13:12</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>2 Corinthians 5:17</i></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-31136988929767498932020-11-04T16:55:00.003-08:002020-11-04T16:55:16.597-08:00For the Sake of Sodom<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/30/opinion/sunday/riots-george-floyd.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGP5-aeWyR0QG9qIzgQVL8VHXs3M3Krh31AzfBj-guUg55ScpZI0kXjlA3PhBiMP0Jsl7UIK9CgvmYUxmLGYwRP7iwoLAobEY6coG5R6rcoH81zZMVzNI8voR-roueHrlvNUD9p_1PkA/s0/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/30/opinion/sunday/riots-george-floyd.html" target="_blank">Source</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">For the Sake of Sodom</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Oh Lord, high and mighty</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Hold not your hand away</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Keep not Your words from us</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Let not our fears betray</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">How far we have fallen -</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">How far left still to go </span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">For the sake of Sodom -</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Lord, let it not be so.</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">For the sake of the fasting</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">On their knees all around</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">For the sake of the faithful</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Burn us not to the ground.</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">If You find the righteous </span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">If there only be but ten -</span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Do not forever condemn us </span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">For a million wicked men.</span></p><p>
</p>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-12643892222149241162020-07-02T22:13:00.000-07:002020-07-02T22:13:08.052-07:00~ Infertile Ground ~<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlku55SKRn5z2FwaK00jcoae8iX-xeSbFim9SRpC_-3qTddbN_wqM3ODxC8vGKXdfUeekzOl5C338MASIpeiaYcHeRrxQpML0uLZ5m8cIbRQ08J5yVmbPB0lJPBu-DTOXaz6IkkryZfI/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdlku55SKRn5z2FwaK00jcoae8iX-xeSbFim9SRpC_-3qTddbN_wqM3ODxC8vGKXdfUeekzOl5C338MASIpeiaYcHeRrxQpML0uLZ5m8cIbRQ08J5yVmbPB0lJPBu-DTOXaz6IkkryZfI/s400/images.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://steveparr.blog/2020/04/19/early-spring-woodland-flowers/" target="_blank">Source</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This world is like a murky wood</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Its men all tall, tenacious trees</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
While women flower into fragrant buds</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Flocked in virtues like a cloud of bees.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But once clear paths are overgrown</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By many a rooting root</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Once bright meadows slumber dull -</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The song and sun now cold and mute.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The trees that spring twist and stoop</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No more to stand for a thousand years</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And at their side, no flowers bloom -</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Only tawdry thistles flourish here.</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-21050345554399667302020-03-10T16:27:00.001-07:002020-03-10T16:27:20.577-07:00~ Time ~<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxg9cgI5R1zVBfPOmm3hSK9uUII0-t6sFsNlmibreIwjJg75vRdy_6D7RwtgyazHQva3Xz0nKTSOCe07WE-4kbeuPfT8fcmC7d5s8zUucHx4NXR69DvcCWz-oReSuhaBIahjbM-hlCsA/s1600/69508-gettyimages-pavlinec-churchbells.1200w.tn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="1200" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxg9cgI5R1zVBfPOmm3hSK9uUII0-t6sFsNlmibreIwjJg75vRdy_6D7RwtgyazHQva3Xz0nKTSOCe07WE-4kbeuPfT8fcmC7d5s8zUucHx4NXR69DvcCWz-oReSuhaBIahjbM-hlCsA/s400/69508-gettyimages-pavlinec-churchbells.1200w.tn.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.christianity.com/wiki/church/what-is-the-origin-and-purpose-of-church-bells.html" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The body grows outside the soul</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">And facilitates the oath</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">To binding, hold the two as whole</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">And carefully bear their growth.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 16px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">But if the soul should tarry still</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">And slowly drift behind</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The body works to it’s own will</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Like most of humankind.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 16px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The body grows outside the mind –</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The church heart beats an earthly toll</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">To slow the body down to find –</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It is the clergy of the soul.</div>
</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-32826221271110945682019-11-03T03:59:00.000-08:002019-11-03T03:59:17.497-08:00~ I am Pain ~<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1DID2SssgG7K9O65DIhpAht-eFyrSWjejRbI4RlOiIFNq3yFoM6iZ5Xe_nPA45WpfFEbh4Ol6bs1TKAWlbQWUVTY6nvtcEThJOO0D0bZF0vdqWDh3IWUrm6wVwCmhKXEVyxmF3CveMH4/s1600/558f1ff6036f5e103b84a2150828f722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="867" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1DID2SssgG7K9O65DIhpAht-eFyrSWjejRbI4RlOiIFNq3yFoM6iZ5Xe_nPA45WpfFEbh4Ol6bs1TKAWlbQWUVTY6nvtcEThJOO0D0bZF0vdqWDh3IWUrm6wVwCmhKXEVyxmF3CveMH4/s320/558f1ff6036f5e103b84a2150828f722.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/380976449703375346/?lp=true" target="_blank">Source</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I am the sound of jagged breath<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Catching in a broken chest<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I am the feel of slow drying salt<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Sleepless for another’s rest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I creep in silent, midnight hours<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I bathe in mounds of moulding flowers<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Pilled high to pretend some cheer –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It is not needed, for I am here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I am the dropping to the knees<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The screaming in the dark<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I am an eternal mighty river<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Drowning slowly each single spark.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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Sorrow, she holds me closer<o:p></o:p></div>
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Than any lover ever would<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am undying, yet only need one day<o:p></o:p></div>
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Bound forever by what you cannot say<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do not think I will be forgiving –<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Your death is in the living.<o:p></o:p></div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-7495040261696228092019-08-23T00:25:00.001-07:002019-08-23T00:25:49.544-07:00~ Blue Wren ~<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF321MMiMyg9hxXjSKPHFhu46KtTrPybxETJygl_VeoVaIHwOULQataDyqwt7cM1WZPTiWCw_Zn9I0ZUtBYe6H1EvCEgFc_hrj_K0rnGev13yVXPWpAyL-bFuaQRKmZ8EipeohfkjQEcs/s1600/blue_wren_singing_by_whimsical_dreams-d9qsu85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF321MMiMyg9hxXjSKPHFhu46KtTrPybxETJygl_VeoVaIHwOULQataDyqwt7cM1WZPTiWCw_Zn9I0ZUtBYe6H1EvCEgFc_hrj_K0rnGev13yVXPWpAyL-bFuaQRKmZ8EipeohfkjQEcs/s400/blue_wren_singing_by_whimsical_dreams-d9qsu85.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.deviantart.com/whimsical-dreams/art/Blue-Wren-singing-589211141" target="_blank">source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Blue Wren<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I had one blue wren<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Given as a gift to me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And though its wings beat the bars<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
So strong it sung, until the day He set it free.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Small and sweet and feisty –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Encaptured by its song –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A borrowed treasure to hold close<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
For such a treasure would not be mine for long.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
While its feathers faded,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It sung through day and night<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
For though it warbled in the dark,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It was the creator of its own moonlight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And then one day,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
He came to take the cage <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
“Your boys have asked me for you” –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The door opened and He turned the page.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Head tilted sideways,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It stopped and looked at me –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Let out one final trill –<br />
And bright-eyed, turned and fluttered free.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>For Nanny xx</i></div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-27974771404401330412019-07-09T04:17:00.002-07:002019-07-09T04:17:49.226-07:00~ If I Could Paint You in My Head ~<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
If I could paint you in my head<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
What colours would I use?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
When all His nature used before<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Any hue that I could choose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Original I could not be<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
No masterpiece could fake<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
“Imitation must be your key” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Yet this forgery I make.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Modern masters look to me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
As empty piercing lights<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
My brush is tattered in its climb<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To it’s Master’s lofty heights<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
What skill we had is fading fast<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
As each day I see more clear –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
We cannot relive a gloried past<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
But must create in ‘now and here’.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
S.K Downes</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-47347949814380723702019-04-03T04:41:00.002-07:002019-04-03T04:42:15.235-07:00~ I Walked the Precipice of Beauty ~<span style="text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDEhAxT9srVvbXPLFqyafZqdFyHAO43v-zxTqE8qUJBsUS6yLmDAXqSLmJM5RCts1-vr834xf2BkzwcHHHrN1qqzpziKFjHyISAdx7tsf1WEuF5u43wO2KZ3PjfcRtmZb0R2b5ZTSP9k/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDEhAxT9srVvbXPLFqyafZqdFyHAO43v-zxTqE8qUJBsUS6yLmDAXqSLmJM5RCts1-vr834xf2BkzwcHHHrN1qqzpziKFjHyISAdx7tsf1WEuF5u43wO2KZ3PjfcRtmZb0R2b5ZTSP9k/s400/Unknown.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://wallhere.com/en/wallpaper/1189719" target="_blank">source</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I walked the precipice of beauty <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Above a motion bold and ‘grand’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
That walked a million circles<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Upon once long discovered land.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Where weakness was an honour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To be given to the strong<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And truth was a trigger word <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Besmirched in marching song.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
One man’s trash was treasure<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And all the treasure trash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Tossed out with every measure<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Of a new generation brash.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Too tired of old men talking<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
They cut the old men down<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
With smirks and smears and knowing leers<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Packaged in a thorny crown.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I had to stand in pointless queues <o:p></o:p></div>
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And smile at paper bags<o:p></o:p></div>
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‘Artistic’ were the words they used<o:p></o:p></div>
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Describing each damp rag<o:p></o:p></div>
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That sat upon the fire of growth –<o:p></o:p></div>
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Smoke signals in my wind<o:p></o:p></div>
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To blow the futile is the oath<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of all in daylight dimmed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They smashed the windows of the cars<o:p></o:p></div>
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That paid to use my street<o:p></o:p></div>
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Those people waiting quietly<o:p></o:p></div>
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They were the ones they beat<o:p></o:p></div>
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For saying ‘let us hear a voice <o:p></o:p></div>
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And perhaps learn to disagree’ –<o:p></o:p></div>
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This culture’s god, her name is ‘Choice’<o:p></o:p></div>
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So all must choose not to see.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I walked the precipice of beauty<o:p></o:p></div>
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Above the slippery slope<o:p></o:p></div>
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They stood below and propositioned <o:p></o:p></div>
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Me to hang upon their rope<o:p></o:p></div>
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These safe spaces held their hands<o:p></o:p></div>
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And gave the cutting knife<o:p></o:p></div>
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Their only way to meet demands<br />
Was to love an ugly life.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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S.K. Downes</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-59448056346182480572019-03-26T04:22:00.002-07:002019-04-03T04:25:13.450-07:002018's Reads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Edit: Bushfires and a new baby have shockingly delayed this post, but as I had the best of intentions when starting it, I thought it only right to carry through and finally post it, regardless of the time delay. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Subsequent edit: No, I am just lazy. This post has sat open on my desktop for over a month and I have consistently passed it over in favour of Netflix's cooking shows. </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am also aware of the font changes and size changes throughout - what can I say except that this blog has taken </span></i><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>formatting into it's own hands and my genius is in this instance entirely useless to combat these changes.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have to honestly admit that I</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> was disgusted with how few books I actually read in <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2017, so I challenged myself to record and briefly review all that I read in 2018. It's still a little embarrassing how few I read (and also how long it has taken me to post this!) but it's am improvement from the previous year so at least I succeeded somewhat in that area.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some of the brief reviews were written directly after finishing while others had to wait several months, but enjoy my brief summaries and jumbled thoughts - hopefully I can either steer you towards or away from certain books depending on your tastes!</span></div>
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<a href="https://i.harperapps.com/covers/9780062670540/y450-293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="293" height="400" src="https://i.harperapps.com/covers/9780062670540/y450-293.jpg" width="265" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Breaking Free</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rachel Jeffs</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Breaking-Free-Escaped-Polygamy-Father-ebook/dp/B06X3ZXNSG" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Synopsis</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rachel Jeffs is one of the daughters of the infamous polygamist Warren Jeffs, a man who abused her from the age of eight and who is now serving a life sentence for marrying and abusing two of his 'wives', aged 12 and 15 at the time. An intriguing look behind the often serene exterior of a fundamentalist cult, Rachel here chronicles her life from innocent child to absconding adult. An excellent glimpse into the mindset of those who are trapped within a lie that they fully believe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Overall, I enjoyed this book. I'm a keen reader of books that I am fully aware might be too much for other people to handle, due to whatever circumstances, and would definitely put this book in that category due to the mere fact it is written about Warren Jeffs. It's not overtly graphic but she does detail her abuse. However, Rachel has a light and sweet tone throughout which appears indicative of the woman herself (I noticed that the same natural, simple demeanour and use of expression when watching her being interviewed on TV). It's this tone that I feel keeps the book from becoming too depressing (though it certainly has that potential), and rather, more eye-opening and self-reflective. Perhaps due to the simplicity of Rachel's writing style, the pace can drag a little a times (the sections in which she and her fellow sister wives spend years being moved from one holding house to another particularly spring to mind) but overall it's well written and extremely interesting.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">7/10</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Wool Pack</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cynthia Harnett</span></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'A compelling 15th century thriller, set against the background of the Cotswold wool trade. Rich with period detail, the story of Nicholas Fetterlock's apprenticeship in his father's business and his political betrothal to the daughter of a linen merchant is nonetheless immensely accessible to twenty-first century children. As his father embarks on a deal with Italian Lombards, Nicholas, his betrothed Cecily and their friend Hal unearth a sabotage plot of smuggling and piracy that will have repurcussions all over Europe. But can they find someone to believe their tale before it is too late?' <a href="https://www.bookdepository.com/Wool-Pack-Cynthia-Harnett/9780008170257" target="_blank">(source)</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A classic! This is historical fiction as it was meant to be written - no heaving bosoms or men in tights within view, and entirely accessible for both children and an older audience. I remember this book being read aloud to us when I was quite young and have also independently read it several times since. It's rich in period detail and very well illustrated with images not only relating to the narrative but also the daily life, tools and clothing of its characters. Nothing feels forced<i> - </i>the characters simply <i>are, </i>the time period simply <i>is</i> and the overall plot is interesting while also highly informative. Throughly recommend! </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">9/10</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxavGHSBu0OHHPo0u-ACp95ewUFQiS4XYELwc7keRZFndp1Sm0bGskhd0a4pmPCB7wzTnNYj3mm167HbPzdlrZyNAgX4pTkGI-XYwxWnw9bVylS-gp7Zs-LEPHx-h0TYAXbPju_Jtw9U/s1600/things-bogans-like.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="308" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxavGHSBu0OHHPo0u-ACp95ewUFQiS4XYELwc7keRZFndp1Sm0bGskhd0a4pmPCB7wzTnNYj3mm167HbPzdlrZyNAgX4pTkGI-XYwxWnw9bVylS-gp7Zs-LEPHx-h0TYAXbPju_Jtw9U/s400/things-bogans-like.jpg" width="307" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Things Bogans Like</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Various authors</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm not a fan of the bogan race. That is a truth never ever debated by anyone who knows me, so of course I was ecstatic to see this little book at my local library. As it explains, the modern bogan is changing and devoloping - no longer can they be confined and defined by the usually universal boundaries of mullets and holden utes. A roaringly satirical look at justified weight gain, top line flat screen TV's, Contiki tours, sudden chronic, undiagnosed gluten intolerances/ADHD, Ned Kelly and small buddua statues, this is a hilariously accurate portrait of the modern bogan race.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(Please note, this is a book with various STRONG adult themes - we are talking about bogans after all. Read at your own discretion)</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This book is just so fabulous that I had to include the following passage from page 49.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'<b>Ned Kelly</b></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The self- congratulatory first year Arts student loves the idea of Che Guevara. While Artsy generally know little about Guevara's murderous ways, it remains thrilled to embrace the stylised logo of this young, attractive rogue who symbolised the liberation of lefties from things that lefties didn't like. The bogan, on the other hand, is generally unmoved by Guevara, because he is complicated, eloquent (and generally not in English) and un-Australian. Still, the bogan attempted to co-opt this figure, as it saw so many examples of him on brightly-coloured t-shirts. The disturbing predilection of second and and third year Arts students to query bogans on who, exactly, that person was, led them to look closer to home for their icons.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Being itself a resourceful student of history, the bogan settled on Ned Kelly as its countercultural pin-up boy. Born into a criminal family in Victoria during the 1850a, young Ned's first brush with the law came at age 4, when he was arrested for assaulting a Chinese farmer. While the bogan generally does not know anything about Ned Kelly other than the fact that it likes him, the bogan would approve of its precocious hero beating up an ethnic minority before he was even able to grow his beard. The following year, Kelly assaulted a bloke who accused his mate of borrowing his horse. The bogan mentally substitutes 'horse' with 'HSV' and approves.'</span></i><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">8/10</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Laurie Viera Rigler</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She's nursing a </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "lora" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">broken</span></span> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">heart (read: mildly injured) after a breakup with a marriage-material (read: cheating) boyfriend and she is obsessed with Jane Austen to the point of being one of those freaks who would probably have a wet-shirt Colin Firth cardboard cutout in the corner of her lounge. So of course, our 'relatable' (read: annoyingly feminist and also extremely stupid - figure that one out) heroine, Courtney Stone, wakes up one morning in the beautiful body and the strange life of a Regency era female called Jane. (Read: <i>not </i><b>the</b> Jane, just Jane because heaven forbid anything about this book appear contrived!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yeah...I hated it. Get onto the Goodreads page if you think I have been too harsh (the reviews there make my soul sing), but seriously, I swear this book was written by some soppy American who suddenly realised the massive money making potential of tacking 'Austen' into a title of a generic, badly written book, watched a few movie adaptations and then proceeded to shove this abomination down the gullets of the unsuspecting public.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even the title is wrong. There is nothing confessional at all abut this book, and as for Courtney herself, I know an electrical tradesman with a better understanding of her books and time period in which Austen was writing (he's also single, ladies, just saying...).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>3/10</b></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BBKyR4V66vQyRPx4mhgZzlvBavimcJe4xJxRr1FWhcNDOafAJEVYQlWX38HEbkiNHg76I6iehX9luij6kNqW0NU7F4WY2mKM6y4FNgzQWm8rGRe52kmuAio4G2gxdqW8UPQftrEuczM/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BBKyR4V66vQyRPx4mhgZzlvBavimcJe4xJxRr1FWhcNDOafAJEVYQlWX38HEbkiNHg76I6iehX9luij6kNqW0NU7F4WY2mKM6y4FNgzQWm8rGRe52kmuAio4G2gxdqW8UPQftrEuczM/s400/Unknown.jpeg" width="265" /></span></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Jane Austen</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'When Elizabeth Bennet first meets eligible bachelor Fitzwilliam Darcy, she thinks him arrogant and conceited; he is indifferent to her good looks and lively mind. When she later discovers that Darcy has involved himself in the troubled relationship between his friend Bingley and her beloved sister Jane, she is determined to dislike him more than ever. In the sparkling comedy of manners that follows, Jane Austen shows the folly of judging by first impressions and superbly evokes the friendships, gossip and snobberies of provincial middle-class life.' <i><a href="https://www.bookdepository.com/Pride-Prejudice-Jane-Austen/9780141199078?ref=grid-view&qid=1548054687187&sr=1-2" target="_blank">(source)</a></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*happy sigh*</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Let me count they ways I love thee..." Indeed, what could I say against this, my favourite Austen? I am fully aware that liking this novel of hers best is the most basic white girl sin that I am guilty of, but quite simply, I don't care. It's just that good. Her characters are deftly drawn in all their fallen glory and their conversations are so expertly crafted that they can feel more real than my discussion with my husband about what we desire for dinner. That's <i>art</i>, peoples. Jane Austen reads like the love child of P.G. Wodehouse and Elizabeth Gaskell and dang, it's good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>10/10</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Dangerous</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Milo Yiannopoulos</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ah Milo...where do we start?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because quite frankly darling, this was <i>boring.</i> I'm not going to bother giving any synopsis, because anyone worth their salt has a rough idea of you, your beliefs, and your belief that your beliefs are somehow radically different and revolutionary. And honestly, from such a great provocateur, I expected more. In fact, if I am completely honest, I didn't actually finish this book. The poor librarians at my local branch added this book to my holds shelf a<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">t least three tim</span>es, only for me to pick it up and then leave it beside my bed until the astronomical fines convinced me that this was not perhaps the best method of extending the mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Look, if you needed a crash course in free speech and your preferred type of humour extended only as far as RuPaul's Drag Race, then I can understand the appeal. But someone continuously congratulating themselves on how good-looking they are while also reminding you that they are pretty much universally hated gets old pretty quick, not matter how truthful or thought provoking the statements that they make are. It's simply distracting, and detracts from the far more intellectual purpose behind the writing.</span><br />
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I like Milo - I liked him more before he thought that picking on anyone and everything that he didn't like or that personally offended his particular tastes was somehow explosive journalism, but I like him enough to try this again and to be keen to read his next book when it comes out. He does write like a little-boy-lost though. After reading sections of his book, I have come to the sneaking suspicion that Milo actually doesn't know <i>who</i> he is, or really, what his true purpose in life is. That's why the flamboyant figure is drawn so heavily across those pages - really, it's just hiding an abused, confused man who mixes poignant half-truths with his personal beliefs while trying to raise an army of followers.</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Gorgeous Girl</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Mary K. Pershall</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'On the 10th of February 2017, there was a sentencing hearing for murder in the Victorian Supreme Court. The young woman in the dock, who sat quietly with her hands in her lap, had perfect skin and light-brown hair tied back as neatly as a private school prefect's. When the judge asked her to confirm her plea, the young woma</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">n answered in a clear and polite voice. 'Guilty, your Honour.' </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">That killer is Mary K. Pershall's beloved daughter Anna.' <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41210365-gorgeous-girl" target="_blank">source</a></i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mary's tragic story caught my eye one morning wh</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">en I was scrolling through the news over coffee so of course being the nosy parker that I am, I immediately placed a hold on her book as soon as it came to my local library. As probably evidenced by this list, crime and especially true crime hold a particular fascination for myself, and this book is probably the most enlightening when read with the aim to understand <i>why</i> people allow themselves to degenerate so far that they would murder another human being. It's very well written (Pershall is a writer by profession) though apt to wander a little over details that obviously appeal to the mother writing this book but less to the audience reading it. Anna's downward spiral is chillingly fascinating, but my desire to reach into the book and slap her mother across the face definitely overcame me whilst reading. The endless whining of both mother and daughter against one another, the seeming delight and indulgence in a 'victimhood' mentality and blatant enabling on a parental level (such as buying the drugs which helped send Anna further into her dark headspace) made the outcome no less upsetting but not as surprising as one might wish it to be. Overall, while unbelievably tragic, this story comes from a world with no God, and ultimately, no hope. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Expecting Better</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Emily Oster</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(This book is better described by Goodreads than myself so here goes)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;">'Pregnancy—unquestionably one of the most profound, meaningful experiences of adulthood—can reduce otherwise intelligent women to, well, babies. We’re told to avoid cold cuts, sushi, alcohol, and coffee, but aren’t told </span><i style="color: #181818; text-align: left;">why</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;"> these are forbidden. Rules for prenatal testing are hard and fast—and unexplained. Are these recommendations even correct? Are all of them right for every mom-to-be? In </span><i style="color: #181818; text-align: left;">Expecting Better,</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;"> award-winning economist Emily Oster proves that pregnancy rules are often misguided and sometimes flat-out wrong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;">A mom-to-be herself, Oster debunks the myths of pregnancy using her particular mode of critical thinking: economics, the study of how we get what we want. Oster knows that the value of anything—a home, an amniocentesis—is in the eyes of the informed beholder, and like any complicated endeavor, pregnancy is not a one-size-fits-all affair. And yet medicine often treats it as such. Are doctors working from bad data? Are well-meaning friends and family perpetuating false myths and raising unfounded concerns? Oster’s answer is yes, and often.</span><br style="color: #181818; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;">Pregnant women face an endless stream of decisions, from the casual (Can I eat this?) to the frightening (Is it worth risking a miscarriage to test for genetic defects?). </span><i style="color: #181818; text-align: left;">Expecting Better</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;"> presents the hard facts and real-world advice you’ll never get at the doctor’s office or in the existing literature. Oster’s revelatory work identifies everything from the real effects of caffeine and tobacco to the surprising dangers of gardening.' <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16158576-expecting-better?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">source</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #181818;">I love this book. Yes I am aware that this woman is no doctor, I am aware that she has only been pregnant once and it was a fairly smooth pregnancy and birth and I am aware that there could most certainly be bias on her part - but someone out there is finally not saying that "because you are pregnant you cannot eat or do anything"!!!! Her breakdown of the data backing up claims regarding the three </span></span></span><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">main vices (alcohol, tobacco and caffeine) was particularly interesting. Once you have been through the public heath system like myself, where the majority of women are either having their first child at 35 or are living off drugs and smokes (yes, smoking is definitely one of the no-nos!) in some backwater with 3 under 3, then you can understand why such hard and fast 'pregnancy rules' are made. But if you are a healthy, conscientious woman then why shouldn't you be allowed to know <i>why </i> we are not supposed to drink and eat deli meats, and whether we actually can still enjoy things in moderation? Besides, I'm not sure how I would have survived had I never been allowed to touch coffee during m</span></span><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">y pregnancy! Thank goodness for Emily Oster.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>(P.S. As someone who spent a lot of time getting told the bare minimum by the majority of her doctors and didn't realise just how little information she had to make decisions with until she had a GOOD doctor who finally talked through everything with her - doctors can definitely make hard and fast rules and refuse to take any risks at all, even if the outcome would be better. Just saying).</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>8/10</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Boy in the Attic</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>David Malone</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">'</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ireland, 1973. In a tiny village in Dublin, a seven-year-old boy was left in the care of his teenage neighbour. No-one suspected the teenager was a Satanist. They went out to the fields to look for rabbits. The child was never seen alive again.</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br style="color: #181818; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;">For the first time, author and TV producer David Malone reveals the exact events of this murder, including how the boy was lured to his death, how the teenager came to be interested in the occult, and the nightmarish scene awaiting police when they entered the attic. But there is another question – why was this murder kept so quiet?' <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12905129-the-boy-in-the-attic?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">source</a></i></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #181818; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well, that was a somewhat chilling summary for what turned out to be a rather boring book. (<i>Edit: how to raise eyebrows in christian circles - read a book that says the word 'satanist' in it somewhere.) </i> Look, I am not a horror fan and will never enjoy books that are just gore and guts - this book is far more focused on true crime, and as the subject matter is so minute and unexplained, it fills at least half of it's pages with a great deal of boring waffling. The cover and summary look quite daunting but to me, it was less confronting than 'Gorgeous Girl'. David Malone is a first time author and his inexperience does show - certain aspects of the book feel like the background script for a crime documentary as opposed to a true crime thriller. Of course there are aspects that might be disturbing, depending on the reader, but (adult) readers should proceed with discretion. <i>(Just a quick note - 'The Wool Pack' and 'Pride and Prejudice' are the only titles on this list that I think non-adults should be reading.)<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></i></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm a little unsure as to what I think of this book - despite the hea</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">vy subject matter, i</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">t has no satisfactory exposition of human nature and an awful lot of boring filler. Overall, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can't help feeling that this story is better suited to a 2-part Netflix crime documentary.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Faro's Daughter</b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Georgette Heyer</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'The beautiful but poor Deborah Grantham presides over her aunt's gaming house in Georgian London. Here she meets Max Ravenscar, who is determined to prevent his young cousin Lord Mablethorpe from contracting an inappropriate marriage to Grantham. Incensed by the idea that she would exploit an innocent, Deborah decides to take her revenge on Ravenscar.' <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faro%27s_Daughter" target="_blank">source</a></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Georgette Heyer's regency novels are, to me, like hot chocolate with marshmallows - a little sickly sweet in large doses but delicious, warm and comforting. This one is no exception! Deb is a delightfully drawn heroine - she's the usual, plucky, resourceful and yet ladylike foil to Ravenscars' cool, calm, ruthless yet caring character. <i>(Adjective overload alert) </i>Adrian is a delightful contrast to Ravenscar as the love struck youngling. My personal favourite scene? When Deb decides to show Adrian's mother just what 'vulgar' really means by painting herself up and parading around in public with Adrian, covered in feathers and fake laughter. If you've read it, you know the scene...</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heyer is definitely not for everyone, but if you like a Jane Austen inspired world where virtue still exists and is prized, with a hint of P.G. Wodehouse and trashy paperback romance thrown in for good measure, then I highly recommend this author!</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><b>8/10</b></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(I'm already starting to write down 2019's books - finger crossed I don't take a solid three months into the new year to post them!)</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-88005913262977380662018-12-19T02:47:00.003-08:002018-12-19T02:47:46.630-08:00To Her<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-17222851297831777652018-06-10T19:58:00.000-07:002018-06-18T15:22:24.416-07:00An Australian in London ~ a poem ~<br />
I delved into that great cesspool like Doyle said<br />
Where a queue is my forever amongst the boxes red<br />
Where the bleating honk of horns was the music to their beat<br />
<div>
And every cobbled pathway walked by a thousand foreign feet.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No one here is sacred to my soul and space</div>
<div>
No one will remember this millionth fleeting face -</div>
<div>
That is like the sand of time upon this British shore</div>
<div>
That the waves of years will wash away forevermore.<br />
<br />
Boxed in by iron rails and deep in clipped mistrust<br />
This whirlpool of accents oils down my coloniser's rust<br />
Until proudly, in grandiose tones I can say -<br />
"I navigated the underground by myself today."<br />
<br />
Piled upon each other, people have no outward fear<br />
That the other's deepest secrets they could always hear<br />
But British moral forbids them to every really mention<br />
Anything beyond a polite acquiescence to attention.<br />
<br />
Soft green are the fields of this blessed land I rome<br />
But still my heart yearns for the parching dust of home -<br />
I will water my wilderness until is flows as a sunlit spring,<br />
And then of <i>my</i> land, this choir boys will finally sing.</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-46042533493066984612018-04-06T20:48:00.000-07:002018-04-06T20:48:25.340-07:00Two Kingdoms ~ a poem<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/h2g2/blobs/matches2_promo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.bbc.co.uk/h2g2/blobs/matches2_promo.jpg" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/h2g2/blobs/matches2_promo.jpg" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A ode to the few true match sellers I have been privileged to know</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I once lived on Kingdom
Street and used to walk its path<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
As I made my daily journey
into the worldly wise<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And on either side, speaking
brimstone and oncoming wrath<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Where the match sellers
trying to offer their little fires.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Their lights were bright,
their voices were crying aloud<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And one by one, they struck
and lit the matches before me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They were but a performance
to the disinterested crowd<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For their desire to sell made
them absurd to see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They danced before me every
single raining day –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Telling me of how this little
light could change my soul<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They lit and flung the
drowning matches into my fixed way<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
While they spoke to me of
fires, and lamps and coal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They lit bright fireworks to
blaze upon our dark sky<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They wrote songs like the
tavern lyrics we sang each night<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And yet while they sang to me
of a life both bright and dry –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Their houses behind them were
devoid of warmth and light.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The windows had once seen
some golden sunrise but forgot<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The doors were muddy from
their own damp tavern shoes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For the light was not there
in deed, but only thought<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The only warmth these people
gave was to wooden pews.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To strike the matches to
their own lamps never crossed a mind<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For what real part ever had this
day with their night?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
In their choices, they were
the blind leading on the blind<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Their kingdom had no place
for this intrusive light.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
What if it shone upon the
places best kept deep and dark?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
What if it urged them toward
a greater, martyred goal?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
What if their lives became a
bonfire to this immortal spark?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And what if they were called
upon to pay the final toll?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
No, it was far better to sell
this brightness quickly on<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Then ever engage its pure
practice upon themselves<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They disapproved of our beautifully perverse Babylon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
But they wanted to live in
our world, not us by ourselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
There were other match
sellers on that fateful street<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And they were mocked by all
who passed them by<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For they did not shout and
dance, only quietly entreat<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
That they might show us the
reasons why to buy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Their backs bore the mark of
another’s heavy lash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Their hands were those of a
soldier’s, fighting long at war –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They did not stand together
in a pile of smoking ash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
But held alone one glowing
torch before an open door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The stained glass glowed stranger
than any rocket’s glare<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And the candles lit the rooms
for all inside to see<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
There was indeed human
weakness and old evil there<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
But it was painted on the
walls, a portrait of who they used to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I watched, as painfully, they
lit another lamp to consume<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The dark, and heard the
mocking jeers of the sentimentalist,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -10.25pt; text-align: left;">
“Light
not the side issues, our only purpose is their impending doom –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
If you care that much, then here! The mark of the fundamentalist!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For many years I watched them
both as I walked their way<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And saw a heritage rising
strong before my eyes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For many children stood in
the doorways of the day<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And yet pattering feet soon
left the homes of harsh cries<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To seek out warmth and light,
they ran to Our Woman’s arms –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Babylon the Great welcomed
them with a luster never known<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For unlike their parents, she
could read their palms<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
She saw that their hunger,
she could feed to make Her own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And in the doorways of the
light, silhouettes there stood<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
That few were changed through
many passing years<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The souls that left departed
as they would<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
But few they were, and
forever mourned with bitter tears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For to the third and fourth
generations of those who loved Him<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To those who truly burnt for
the torch could not help but light<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Those little ones following
on behind them<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To also burn themselves alive
in pure, flaming fight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
One day I could not help but
stop, and ask one bent old man –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
“What
is the reason for this light? This light your grandson is holding there?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
Sell
to me, I wish to know if, indeed, there is a greater plan –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
You
are the reason that I have stopped, by the mark you bear.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
The
old man’s brand shone with pride another world must give<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
While
his scars dimly mirrored greater ones above<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
He
drew me close, and lit my match, “My son, you live!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
We
here, we burn and struggle in true testament of love.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
“For
if this world keeps turning, we must turn along with it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
And
seek out souls to guide them to the Way<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
These
matches in our hearts must be forever lit<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
By
the actions that we make, and the words we must say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
And
if we do not light our lamps with the words we sell<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
Then
how can we ever halt this sun in its flaming sky?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -45.7pt; text-align: left;">
Unless
we struggle to a great goal, never shall they tell<o:p></o:p></div>
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That
we change the course of nations by the dark we all defy.”<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-37977691203844015782018-01-29T23:38:00.000-08:002018-04-21T22:09:06.589-07:00I am a Black Cloud<i>Posting this here as I highly doubt that this would be ever publishable in a poetry magazine due to the worldview that writing can often betray/faithfully portray.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://wallinsider.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Black-Clouds-Wallpapers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" height="250" src="https://wallinsider.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Black-Clouds-Wallpapers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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I AM A BLACK CLOUD</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am a black cloud in the rainbow storm<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am the cool rain in the deathly warm<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am the falling gently down your back<o:p></o:p></div>
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And not the cusp of gold you lack.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am the floating true above you<o:p></o:p></div>
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Brought by how the wind blew<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am blowing the sky to shreds – <o:p></o:p></div>
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We are the wind the rainbow dreads.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am the storm the violet fears<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am the water of sweet salty tears<o:p></o:p></div>
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That washes the earth from far away<o:p></o:p></div>
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And cleanses the sins of yesterday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The rainbow needs me to shine<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or what would they take of mine?<o:p></o:p></div>
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The rainbow needs the Sun to glow –<o:p></o:p></div>
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But He brings the winds to blow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am a black cloud to weep for you<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am fleeting, I am through –<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I am of the storm everlasting –<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
We will water the earth from fasting.<o:p></o:p></div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-90226684348870512692017-08-21T22:24:00.000-07:002017-08-21T23:36:21.639-07:00Tightrope<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Feet treading mute on thin will<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I fell, and hit the net below –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To dance that dance, my ledger nill<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For my pain – no gain to show.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They told me the ropes constrained me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
They said it was Lucifer who fell<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Called blind so as not see –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Fear as running blood within their shell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Weighty their yoke upon my head<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
To tread that tightrope of time<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Equal parts both joy and dead –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
A marionette of the strings of mime.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Let your feet still limp on single strands<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I will traverse the sky on a net of stars<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
My feet will tread through promised lands<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
My freedom bound in a rope burn’s scars.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Lucifer fell because he was proud<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Too proud to tread the firmament below<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And you – too cowed, you follow the crowd<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Too proud – their threads your status quo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I fell so that the noose slipped away <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Tightropes – they turn us to prey<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
But heaven forbid I speak words true –<br />
Lucifer is holding the strings that bind you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
SK Downes </div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-54598074891594760252017-03-26T19:22:00.000-07:002017-03-26T19:22:54.117-07:00~ An Ode to my Generation ~<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Some scribblings recently found in the back of an old notebook. Not Byron or even remotely good, but it make me laugh to read it again.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh young woman, on the corner's street,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why does your laugh sound so fake?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your eyes be long with blackened paint</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your hair be straight, of unnatural make</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You squark and strut like that rooster's mate</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
With ruffled feathers and an injected hide- </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You are like the chickens stuffed with paste</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That at my grocery store are daily fried</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And consumed, as part of Sunday lunches</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Devoured by culture with many munches</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Meat broken off and bones thrown away-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My dear, is that not you today?</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-26360565142500349532016-10-04T18:36:00.002-07:002016-10-07T05:11:13.875-07:00The Returning of a Child<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.travelmyne.com/photos/australia-country/snowy-mountains-hut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.travelmyne.com/photos/australia-country/snowy-mountains-hut.jpg" height="171" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.travelmyne.com/" target="_blank">Source</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>The Returning of a Child</u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The old man sat alone by hearth, hunched toward the ground,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
While his voice softly rumbled and his forehead deep and frowned</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Where are all the children? Why don't they come and see?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've been all alone for years- what has become of me?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"For I know I am a simple man, but still I would have thought</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That an old man is a father, and a father's love is wrought</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Through years and tears of guidance, and is not turned away</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By an easily made decision - 'Oh, we'll go another day.' "</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"I know I love this country and they have moved far on</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The city, it has called them, and now I am forlorn</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They've traded in their bushman's blood and it has served them well</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But still I wish they'd ride these tracks and help me trees to fell."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But on the fire crackled, and no one did reply</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Only the old sheepdog raised its head and gave a sigh</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And the wind, it howled harshly and rattled through the pane</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
While the old man kept on sitting and the clouds began to rain.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The hours ticked by slowly, and hope began to fade</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So the old man rose up slowly and on the pillow his head laid</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Lord, if you be listening, please send one home tonight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've never asked you much - I beg, look upon my plight."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It wasn't till the morning when the cock began to crow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That hoof prints quickly thudded and packed the falling snow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And through the morning glow, a horse came into sight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Carrying a man, crouched in the morning light.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bleary-eyed and weary, the man now struggled down</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dressed in garb and grime of a man about the town,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And as he thudded on the door, hope showed on his face</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And when the father opened it, the son began his piece.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Father, please don't spurn me, I know I don't deserve</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You to help me out, I know I've got a nerve,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But you see, I've lost the business and I've nowhere else to go</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You are my last hope; help me though my woe.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't wish for charity, I know you've none to give,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I ask to live with you, the way we used to live</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know it's been a long time since I've worked this land,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But heart to heart I'm like you - I bear the bushman's brand.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But the old man did not listen, to the speech so carefully planned,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He pulled the boy toward him in his strong and gnarled hands, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And as his son stood hesitant, unsure to stay or fly,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
His father pulled him closer, and then began to cry.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"My boy, how long I've waited to hear you say those words!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wishing, praying, hoping as I rode among my herds.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
'I do not ask for charity'! I am your father, son!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You know I'll always care for you, no matter what you've done.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your mother is not here but this is your childhood home,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And always will remain so, though the city you did rome.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was my greatest dream, that we be reconciled</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have always wished to see the returning of a child."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And so they stood together, locked in an embrace</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As tears of joy and happiness washed the toil from each face</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Two bushmen reunited, a father and a son,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A child returned home, and a new beginning won.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sarah Downes</div>
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5/10/16</div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-5648338494759110512016-10-03T20:49:00.001-07:002016-10-03T21:07:07.864-07:00I have learnt<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td><a href="http://www.qqxxzx.com/images/rainy-pics/rainy-pics-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.qqxxzx.com/images/rainy-pics/rainy-pics-17.jpg" height="224" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.qqxxzx.com/" target="_blank">Source</a></span></td></tr>
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I have learnt so much this year. Now I know the why and what and when of what I never needed to know, as well as the deepest hidden secrets of the world that every human being should have to chance to understand. </div>
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How the colours of the wind are written in the sound of silent words as people hold deep conversations without even saying a word.</div>
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Why eyes really are the windows to the souls.</div>
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What it means to be finally complete after years of unawareness as to who you really were, who you really could be when you thought yourself complete.<br />
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How a whisper to the ear can be the lifeblood of a thousand humming heart-beats.<br />
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What it means to read for pain and not for pleasure except the pleasure of saying that you know what you never needed to know.<br />
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Why people think that they really matter when we all know they are only kidding themselves into a sense having to belong, somewhere, somehow.<br />
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That often life catches you in the middle of a epic plot twist and throws you in the air and then catches you, giddy and breathless on the way down, while you try to understand how and why and where.<br />
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I have learnt what it means to take control of what you decide with your life, while still remaining within the boundaries of commitment.<br />
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That to be a lover of people does not mean that you have to love people themselves, do not have to condone the wilful stupidity that they drown themselves in. You only have to understand why, or at least try to.<br />
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Why children make a house dirty and a home sing.<br />
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How it is possible to have a thousand memories carried on the single scent of a long reaching dream that has come true on your doorstep.<br />
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How to cry in silence when your feet are ripped out from under you and you still have to go on, press onward on your bleeding stumps of self doubt, while the smile plasters onto your face until it becomes your true expression.<br />
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I have seen the fire, held the hands, cried the tears and beamed the smiles.<br />
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I have lived this year.<br />
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S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-73947484378701278572015-08-26T05:33:00.000-07:002015-08-29T16:56:40.076-07:00The Man on the Bus<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pre13.deviantart.net/5560/th/pre/f/2012/295/3/2/man_on_a_dark_bus_by_umakbill-d5il1rz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://pre13.deviantart.net/5560/th/pre/f/2012/295/3/2/man_on_a_dark_bus_by_umakbill-d5il1rz.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.deviantart.com/">Source</a></td></tr>
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I can't help but stare. As I wait in line for my bus, he shuffled past and asks the lady first in line if she minds if he cuts in. She nods ok, and he gratefully positions himself in front, his vivid blue hair peeping out from under his greasy cap. Like ancient leather, his face tells the tale of a harsh life tainted by constant drug use, while self-neglect and anger are written in the hollows of his cheeks and a scraggly beard tufting out from his chin is a sharp contrast to the <span style="background-color: white;">Bahamas blue on his </span>head. He looks like the kind of man who wanders the streets, muttering to himself while greedily burning tax payer's wages into cigarette smoke. I quickly turn my eyes away, as feelings of pity and slight horror rush over me, but mostly because I remember that day when I was a tender child on the way home from church. Out of my car window, I watched two policemen struggle to pull a man across the hot tarmac towards the station, his wiry arms shackled behind his back. A child never forgets their first brush with the cruelness of the real world, and the drug-torn figure in front of me is an uncomfortable reminder of a memory I thought long crushed into silence.<br />
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We board the bus, and I resolve to try and hide myself in a deep corner of carpeted chair, safe in my biases and ink free skin - but fate has other ideas and he is sitting diagonally in front of me. Perfectly in my line of sight. Now, with nothing left but music to play and quiet contemplation, I find my eyes wandering over his strange, dark clothing choices. He really is the epitome of the man that our parents would tell us never to talk to. His skin is tattooed in random places, with the blurred pen of the inexperienced, and his right lower arm is completely encased in a studded leather cuff, while grease and grime seem to be slowly glossing over his pores. If cruelty could be expressed in clothing choices, it would be screaming it's heart out through the leather clad rags he is dressed in and the dark glasses covering his eyes.<br />
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The bus pulls off and rumbles down the highway. And every now and then I get a mutter of the complaining rumble of his voice cracking over the volume of my light pop ballades that sing of a world so very different to the earthy reality around me. He's half talking to the bus driver and half talking to himself. At one point, his phone is called by an insurance company trying to market a policy to him, and he spends the next five minutes abusing them to the indiferent bus driver.<br />
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We reach the next town and pull into the stop. Standing at the front of the line is Lucy*, who I see riding the buses all the time. She's obviously stuck with the boundaries of her assumed social class, but always has a smile on her face. Her teeth are narrow yet wide and point slightly out above her lower lip, while her dark blonde blonde hair is unimaginatively styled in its' regular long wispy cut. She drags her comfortable body up the coach stairs and greets the driver cheerfully, before easing her flannel shirted frame into the seat in front of me, right across from the ocean-haired man.<br />
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They obviously know one another. He greets her by name and she returns likewise, and I am strangely sorry that I missed his name. Conversation springs up easily between them all, flowing, comfortable. They know how to talk and be friends and care. I switch off my music but keep the headphones in as I absorb every word.<br />
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He shows her his new electric guitar which he has been clasping to himself ever since he boarded the bus. It's a surprising shade of red, and they both exclaim over the price, even though he proudly states he was able to find it second hand. He's clearly excited to take it home and place it with his other instruments, and spends a long time elaborating on how it feels to play it, while Lucy listens and admires patiently.<br />
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They ask after one another's health. Like they mean it, but like it is an important everyday factor, making up the small pieces of their lives. There is no point in asking about work, family or holidays, no point in asking about things that they don't have. There's an invisible social compass, constraint, that keeps their questions simply and general. Lucy knows it well. But the ocean haired man begins to stray.<br />
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"You never married, did you?" he asks. It's an innocent enough comment, something that has simply arisen in their conversation, a piece of thought debris caught in this section of his mind's river. They were talking about his child and this was the next logical step. But she uncomfortably shakes her head 'no' and does not venture any comment. "Never interested, eh?" he follows up, jumping to conclusions that I as another woman, can immediately tell are wrong by simply looking at the back of her head. Lucy mutters something in agreement, but still doesn't make any effort to start a conversation about this topic. There's a sense of bitterness, longing for something that never happened that is evident through her demeanour, yet he still continues.<br />
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"I'm afraid of men."<br />
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This jerks me out of my seat and has me on the edge, listening intensely to what he has to add. A man like this? Stained and tattooed and dark and studded and worn? Afraid of other men?<br />
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"I've told you what they did to me, didn't I?" he asks Lucy. If she was uncomfortable before, it's nothing compared to now. She almost squirms and looks away.<br />
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He clarifies, "...when I was young."<br />
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"That's why I dress like this. I dress and act all big and tough so that they leave me alone, but I'm not really like that. I'm like a big, squishy marshmallow inside."<br />
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And my heart breaks. A window's opened onto something that I'll never be able to see and understand. His tone is so even, measured, <i>calm. </i>It could have been the most mundane of everyday comments by his tone, and yet those words hold a lifetime of fear, a lost childhood. And my heart breaks that I could judge him.<br />
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How could I shrink from him in distain? How could I ever begin to understand what this man has been through, what has brought him to this place. My Saviour ate and talked and laughed with the whores and the tax collectors and the poor. But I could not see past one man's appearance to see beyond, into the soul behind, scarred and broken and harshened by the years.<br />
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H and Lucy are talking again. They are on safer ground now, safe within the comfortable, constraining dimensions of what they've always talked about. But when the bus pulls over for me to descend the stairs and open my gate, I resolve never to forget. Never to forget that I learnt about myself and most of humanity that day. Never forget by writing it out, even if it would trickle out as distant memories over the course of several weeks while I juggled life and study. Never forget that I will fail, and fail again. But most of all, never forget what an un-knowing man on a bus taught me that day.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*Names have been changed to protect identity </i></span>S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-25463144890927151362015-08-07T19:59:00.001-07:002015-08-07T19:59:03.859-07:00July Favourites<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.autostraddle.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/woman-balloons-walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.autostraddle.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/woman-balloons-walking.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Google Images</td></tr>
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Gosh, has it really been this long since I posted? It's crazy how life leaves you empty-spinning, locked into the everyday chores and duties. It's not like I'm planning a wedding or anything though. ;)</div>
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Anyway, what do I have to share with you this month?</div>
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How about starting off with some logical, ethical article which is branded as 'controversial' right now? <a href="http://www.theblaze.com/contributions/sometimes-its-just-easier-to-care-about-dead-lions-than-dead-people/">This article</a>, written by Matt Walsh (who I think is awesome - he always takes the bull by the horns, and is not afraid to employ a good dose of sarcasm), discusses the attitudes of people regarding the death of poor Cecil the lion and the murder and selling of thousands of innocent children.</div>
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<a href="http://www.projectinspired.com/4-reasons-why-i-dont-believe-the-idea-of-the-one-is-biblical/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=facebook">This</a> is an interesting short article on the Christian concept of 'The One', and how that's not biblical. I had to take it with a pinch of salt though. You see, I spent my teen-aged years completely disbelieving in 'The One', and then I met a man who could only be described as my soulmate. Whoops. You win, God.<br />
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How about lowering the intellectual standards greatly with this Buzzfeed article, <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/alisoncaporimo/snacks-for-the-lazy#.cvanx4ooq">21 insanely simple and delicious snacks that even lazy people can make</a>? I wouldn't recommend Buzzfeed as a daily source of edifying information, but they occasionally have a worthwhile article.<br />
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This (<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/apentak720/16-minion-diy-projects-that-need-to-be-stopped-1b817#.af7dK6kkP">16 Minion DIY Projects You Won't Believe Exist</a>) one's for <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCU2c3tfdS-lXMvW0Ko8klAw">Kitkat Kababs</a>. (My sister and friend) They started their dual youtube channel not that long ago, so head round and say g'day.<br />
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<a href="http://mypaleskin.blogspot.com.au/">My Pale Skin</a> is a blog that I've come across only recently, but I've seen her youtube channel and absolutely love her work. She's a true artist when it come to re-creating her face, and as she has problem skin too, it's really inspiring to see her courage in creating these videos for thousands of people. Plus, she has an awesome British accent. ;)<br />
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More Buzzfeed... I do feel like I'm letting myself down right now. But this article on <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/lincolnthompson/53-books-you-wont-be-able-to-put-down#.mkzL8OXXl">53 Books You Won't be Able to Put Down</a> sounds good, and I REALLY like this info piece about an '<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/shannonrosenberg/lower-body-workout#.vcnzwW00X">Insanely Effective Leg Workout'.</a><br />
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Now, back to serious. Interested in how conformity is used to normalise 'same-sex marriage', and the guilt trapping attitude employed? Have a read of <a href="https://www.lifesitenews.com/opinion/bigots-and-haters-using-conformity-to-normalize-same-sex-marriage">this.</a> Very thought provoking.<br />
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Another VERY thought provoking article. (<a href="http://www.biblesociety.org.au/news/perhaps-feminism-is-not-the-enemy">Perhaps Feminism is not the Enemy</a>) Now, let me get this clear - I am not a feminist, and I am very well aware as to how my peers who are seem to claim dominance of the the male sex, and the extremely negative aspects that has on our culture. But I'd never thought about it this way. And I think the passive, often dismissive attitude of the church need to be challenged. Check it out<br />
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Now perhaps for my FAVOURITE article in the last few months! I shared this on Facebook and got a whole stream of people telling me how 'I should do what makes me happy and it's nobody else's business', but that's not the point. The point of this article (and the reason I shared it) is that you don't have to wait until you are a bitter old 28 year old, had all your adventures, got a steady job, and already seen the world before you get married. Commit to love, honour and cherish through whatever you might experience. Grow and experience life together, as a team!!!! Anyway, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/shelbie-thilmony/im-getting-married-at-22-_b_7151670.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000063">have a read.</a><br />
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That's all for now.</div>
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Toodle pip and all that jazz!</div>
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S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5474801082756782388.post-21024674562324825842015-06-16T06:23:00.000-07:002015-06-16T06:23:04.141-07:00Passenger - a poem<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8356/8444813752_eb8370e0a3_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8356/8444813752_eb8370e0a3_z.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Passenger</span></u></b></div>
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Rhythmic clicks of wheels on tracks</div>
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Beat against a heart of painted black</div>
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Un-aware of what it lacks,</div>
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Numb in silence, unable to turn back.</div>
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Days and worlds flash by them,</div>
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A passenger alone in an empty car</div>
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No meaning left to condemn,</div>
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Their identity lost in a journey far.</div>
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A dirty window displays the world,</div>
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Locked above in a realm of blazing stars,</div>
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Bound away like a sail furled</div>
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Far from this hell scented of old cigars.</div>
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The journey holds no joy</div>
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When the destination is but a nowhere</div>
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Now devoid of youthful ploy,</div>
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The harsh and bitter end to a brief affair.</div>
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So they sit in acceptance,</div>
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Silent and sure in their hidden pain,</div>
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A passenger in penance,</div>
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For there is nothing to lose, nothing to gain.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Written by me very quickly on 16/6/15, as the result of too much Coldplay and half an hour of free time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image source: http://farm9.staticflickr.com</span></div>
S.K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/18421457723343720451noreply@blogger.com0