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Member since 22 Oct 2006
Member from Christchurch CBD
The Window, Beautiful Great thanks.
Member since 03 May 2012
Member from Maraetai
A description of the Mackenzie Country
'The Vision Splendid
Of the sunlit plains extended
And at night, the wonderous beauty
Of the everlasting stars
Thanks I love that one and wasn,t it used in a famous film the name of which escapes me or was it from Clancys Overflow by Banjo Paterson.?
I dont believe so, he was pretty much a local (Fairlie) , there are interesting facts available on line, just google his name
When I,m Alone by Siegfried SassoonWhen I,m alone--the words tripped off his tongueAs though to be alone were nothing strange.When I was young, he said:when I was young.......I thought of age,and loneliness,and change.I thought how strange we grow when we,re aloneAnd how unlike the selves that meet,and talkAnd blow the candles out,and say goodnightAlone... The word is life endured and knownIt is the stillness where our spirits walkAnd all but inmost faith is overthrown.
The hand that signed the paper Dylan Thomas
The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death
The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A gooses quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk
The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name
The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor stroke the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow
The Window. I,ve never heard that before. Great.thanks.
The gaze is fixed with silence,
Thoughts alone unheard
Cruelty of nature inflicted;
Should humanity endure its wrath
Yet in the quiet there is recognition,
Words alone unspoken, understood
Affliction has failed to dim the spirit;
The couple that once were, are yet
TW, That is lovely and from the heart. I understand.Dr.L.
From "Every Time it Rains like this" by Sam Hunt
Every time it rains like this:
I walk hangover beaches, make
no more sense of it:
in love with a winter woman,
a woman when she steams, I kiss
wet winter lips, return to you
Every time it rains like this
Member since 29 Feb 2008
by Shel Silverstein
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She’d scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned butter toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts . . .
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall . . .
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
“OK, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course, it was too late . . .
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!
Member since 28 May 2008
Member from Wrights Bush
That poem would be lovely for a children's book Ocker, I can just imagine the illustrations.
The window, I like Sam Hunt Poems, I met him at An evening with Sam Hunt a few years ago. He hasn't changed at all, even his clothes are the same.
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