Sometimes
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.
-- Sheenagh Pugh
Too busy to pen my own I present one of my favourites from Thomas Hardy.
To the uninitiated the myth is that all the animals of the field kneel and pray on Christmas Eve, their own midnight mass.
May you all get the Christmas you deserve.
The Oxen by Thomas Hardy
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.
We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.
So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel
“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.
With apologies and acknowledgement to James Blunt.
I can’t just believe that it’s over
We were chillin’ down on the sofa
Thinkin’ how the magic goes
When you loose someone you know
Did you write that speech yourself
Just to give the others hell
Does Kevin have a different take
Does he seem real and you seem fake
Does everyone get hypnotised
By his lies
So long Johnny, so long
When you gave us IR laws
We all knew your time had come
Singing
So long Johnny, so long
Kevin gained from your experience
Now he’s here and now you’re gone
We’d love to see you reach you goal
Cause we all wish that you’d stayed on
Life goes on
I’m just so relieved that it’s over
You were hanging out going nowhere
Thinking where will the policy go
When you hand it over to Costello
Will you miss your morning walks
And all those diplomatic talks
Does Kevin have a different take
Does he seem cool and you seem fake
Does everyone get mesmerised
By his lies
So long Johnny, so long
When you stayed eleven years
We all thought you were the one
Singing
So long Johnny, so long
You had so much more experience
We miss you now you’re gone
We are dreadin’ Kevin’s rule
‘Cause we all wish that you’d stayed on
Life goes on
Naturally, I would have like to have posted this on Sunday but Nook is so unreliable that I have posted it today in the hope that it will appear by Sunday! A small tribute of my own with apologies and acknowledgements to John McCrae who crafted the original and Moina Michael who penned the original response.
In Flanders Fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark their place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
And, now, not hear the guns below.
The rows of dead; long years ago
They lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Loved and were loved; and now they lie
Beneath a peaceful, azure sky
In Flanders Fields
Wherever right must take a stand,
From jungles green to desert sands,
From Long Tan to Afghanistan,
In near or distant foreign lands
We took the quarrel to the foe;
From failing hands we caught the torch.
We hold it high so they might know
In peace they rest, whilst poppies blow
In Flanders Fields
We hope our children never know
The pain, the misery and the woe
Of losing family, sons and daughters
Amidst the bombs, the shells, the slaughter
Of Flanders Fields
We cherish still the poppy red
That grows again where heroes bled.
We keep the faith with those who died,
Who now with former comrades bide
In Flanders Fields
For all who paid the greatest price,
Who made the final sacrifice.
This day, with pride, the poppy red
We wear in honour of all our dead.
I’d just like to extend a hearty welcome to any nooksters who have joined recently. If you enjoy being blindfolded and led into a dark room with no doors and no windows to search for a black cat that isn’t there, well, this is the place for you.
Another Labor pollie finds the competition such
That falling gamely on his sword is really not too much.
He earned the nickname ‘Bomber’ whilst standing by Hawke’s side
Now history will tell his tale; twice bridesmaid, never bride.
From Fremantle to Canberra, obscurity to fame,
Farewell a local boy made good, Kim Beazley is the name.
Sayonara, Shinzo Abe,
Less than one year number one.
Now your rivals (and Osama)
See the rabbit, see it run.
One last word before you leave us,
One last glass of Asahi,
One last sushi, one last lotus.
Domo arigato. Kampai !
Farewell to Premier Peter Beattie
Nine years he led the sunshine state
Now he’s gone, and just like Bracksy
We don’t know why, we’ll have to wait.
Through floods and parching droughts
Whenever things were grim, sure
You’d see him laugh on Channel 9
Romancing Tracey Grimshaw
At fifty-four he’s bowing out,
His thongs replacing polished shoes.
As he hands the con to Anna Bligh,
Lets hope no mutiny ensues.
I’m getting a little tired of all the council bashing - no need for names. After all you, your peers and your neighbours voted these people in to do the work you don’t have time for, can’t afford time for or just can’t be bothered; to make the unpopular decisions and to perform the thankless task of serving the community. Yes, one would expect them to be honest and open but you can’t expect them to do everything you or your pressure group wants. You elected them to act ‘on your behalf’ which means that you trust them to make the right decisions for all the community they represent. They should listen to your wants and needs but when they act it should be according to their conscience, which may have been swayed by other opinions. ‘On your behalf’ also means they do not have to consult you on every decision they make. This is how democracy works, you hand over the decision making process, on trust, to those whom you elect. There’s little point in whinging about it afterwards if you backed the wrong horse.
If countries are said to get the police forces they deserve then perhaps it could be said that communities get the local councils they deserve. After all, as I said earlier, it is you, your peers and your neighbours who voted these people in.
I don’t expect this is the popular view but, naturally, I believe popularity is overrated.
dark is my mood though the daylight is bright
dark is the gloom, long after the night
dark is the morn when sleep brings no rest
dark is the worm that gnaws at her breast
dark is my sorrow, wailing out loud
dark is my anger, pale is her shroud.
