Quotes about week, page 9
Dark Victory 11/11/18
The Bells ring out great Peals of joy.
The war is won, Great Albion.
It merely cost a million dead,
a generation lost and done.
To you, fate tendered victory sweet,
to the Germans, a bitter peace.
There, fatherless boys, abed, asleep,
plot revenge for their deceased.
In the Wilfred Owen house;
no alloyed joy to meld with sorrow:
That day they learned their son had died
They'll dress the house in Black tomorrow.
His mother knew before word came,
she had a sense her son was gone.
That he'd be among the last to fall
for the glory of Great Albion
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Mystery Remains
Sometimes when I am working
I notice shadows moving
out of the corner of my eye.
Their shapes are assorted,
animal and human,
but when I look around
the shadows are gone.
I know some act as a warning
of some imminent thing to come.
Don’t ask me how I know,
just suffice to say I do.
Throughout my life,
strange and unexplained things
have happen to me.
It is if I’m channelling energy
from some unknown source.
I remember back in the 1960’s
when I was just beginning writing,
I made a friend in London
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poem by David Harris
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On The Second Week Of January
On the second week of January I hear the shrike thrush sing
His flute like notes so pleasant to them have a familiar ring
And Spring is but a memory and Summer near her prime
And that birds sing out of Season happens all of the time.
The piping of the white backed magpie his is a familiar song
By their songs Nature's feathered minstrels one cannot get them wrong
A pleasant Summer's morning 'twill make a pleasant day
And the paddocks of Wonthaggi scent sweetly of baled hay.
In a clearing I am standing surrounded by scrub trees
In such places the Aboriginal dancers had their Corroborees
They danced on Summer evenings before the sun went down
Long before there was a Gippsland or a Wonthaggi Town.
A morning on the second week of January with a warm summery breeze
And a forecast high for the afternoon of 25 degrees
One might say perfect weather for the time of year
North in New South Wales and Queensland 'tis warmer by far than here.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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The Town Karnteel
The Town Karnteel--! It's who'll reveal
Its praises jushtifiable?
For who can sing av anything
So lovely and reliable?
Whin Summer, Spring, or Winter lies
From Malin's Head to Tipperary,
There's no such town for interprise
Bechuxt Youghal and Londonderry!
There's not its likes in Ireland--
For twic't the week, be gorries!
They're playing jigs upon the band,
And joomping there in sacks-- and-- and--
And racing, wid wheelborries!
Kanteel-- it's there, like any fair,
The purty gurrls is plinty, sure--!
And man-alive! At forty-five
The leg's av me air twinty, sure!
I lave me cares, and hoein' too,
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Mailbox Opens By Itself?
How does a mailbox open all by itself?
No, it needed a human’s help.
You opened it, then looked in,
you saw the note,
you were caught again.
So you played Sherry
with your stupid little lie,
your made up false alibi.
“All the mailbox doors
open just like M.D’s.”
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poem by Christina Sunrise
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Maybe A CINO
Friend, are you a CINO faithfully, being a Christian in name only?
Christianity they don’t profess, as The Spirit they don’t possess.
Some, may dare profess a faith, never touched by God’s Grace,
Grace that when it’s received, changes hearts that have believed.
True faith’s more than knowledge of, The Lord who reigns above,
But, a faith that brings to earth, God above, through a New Birth,
Spiritual Birth, bringing into life, as Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,
Who moves upon this earthly sod, in all who truly belong to God.
There are CINOs in every church, weekly in their pews they perch,
Hearing the Word week after week, but His Truth they never seek,
And in their pews they do remain, with a heart in need of change,
Sitting there as they always have, using their faith as just a salve.
So they leave their house of faith, not changed, by God’s Grace,
Still being who they were before, they entered in a church’s door,
And back into their week they go, with very little change to show,
To those on life’s Broader Way, with whom they work day to day.
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poem by Bob Gotti
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Attacked
Over the last week I have been attacked
by over eighty internet viruses
that even overcame my virus checker.
I lost all of my emails that had recently came in,
have had to reinstall some software
to get things going again.
It has been a nightmare week,
one of which I don’t want again.
It has stopped me doing things
I really wanted to get done,
put my life on hold for the week
and for what I wonder, so someone moron could get his kicks.
I shudder to think what goes through their mind.
I know it isn’t sanity that is for sure.
I spoke to a person whom told me
they would be lost without their computer.
I guess there is a lot of us like that who feel the same way.
All of us finding it strange
that people should act this way.
Not only do they put lives in danger
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poem by David Harris
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From A Bleak Start
Another day that’s gray and bleak; and what a way to start the week.
But, as the weather changes friend, we too, could have a better end.
With the sun, the sky is brighter, and with The Lord a load is lighter.
When your heart is weighed down, only in Jesus, a Peace is found.
It always seems darkest when, your strength seems to be at its end,
That is when you will see The Lord, open for you a brand new door.
It’s always darkest before the light, as Christ Jesus breaks the night.
Then you see as you regain full sight, that everything will be all right.
So when your life seems overcast, you can be certain it will not last.
As the sun sheds away the gray, Jesus Christ will light up your way.
When in the darkness of this life, use the Light that’s found in Christ.
For Christ’s Light shines so bright, when the days are dark as night.
During these times, it is Christ, who guides you through all your life.
For He will not forsake you friend, indeed, He is with you to the end.
Through the week lean upon Him, Jesus will guide you in everything.
And all the gray will soon subside, as in Christ Jesus you fully abide,
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poem by Bob Gotti
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Now Listen to Me and I'll Tell You My Views
Now listen to me and I'll tell you my views concerning the African war,
And the man who upholds any different views, the same is a ritten Pro-Boer!
(Though I'm getting a little bit doubtful myself, as it drags on week after week:
But it's better not ask any questions at all -- let us silence all doubts with a shriek!)
And first let us shriek the unstinted abuse that the Tory Press prefer --
De Wet is a madman, and Steyn is a liar, and Kruger a pitiful cur!
(Though I think if Oom Paul -- as old as he is -- were to walk down the Strand with his gun,
A lot of these heroes would hide in the sewers or take to their heels and run!
For Paul he has fought like a man in his day, but now that he's feeble and weak
And tired, and lonely, and old and grey, of course it's quite safe to shriek!)
And next let us join in the bloodthirsty shriek, Hooray for Lord Kitchener's "bag"!
For the fireman's torch and the hangman's cord -- they are hung on the English Flag!
In the front of our brave old army! Whoop! the farmhouse blazes bright.
And the women weep and their children die -- how dare they presume to fight!
For none of them dress in a uniform, the same as by rights they ought.
They're fighting in rags and in naked feet, like Wallace's Scotchmen fought!
(And they clothe themselves from our captured troops -- and they're catching them every week;
And they don't hand them -- and the shame is ours, but we cover the shame with a shriek!)
And, lastly, we'll shriek the political shriek as we sit in the dark and doubt;
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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0012 Poetry Class
Two o’clock on a quiet afternoon,
and the class file in for their poetry ‘hour’,
brief daily slot in the packed week’s course in many things.
We’ve been through ‘the basics’ –
whatever they are these days;
they’ve been told what, at least,
they used to be; I try to keep all options open,
say ‘this is what it used to be’, tell them
it’s a great time for poetry now, no rules,
just sincerity, the open heart, some models
if they need them, so after this week,
just read, write, as much as they can;
and now, forget about achievement,
just feel really good
that you’re doing what you want to do,
being what you want to be - yourself -
saying what you want to say –
feel more like a loving, expressive human being
than you’ve ever felt before..
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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