He had read somewhere that love had been invented in the eleventh century by the troubadours. Why had they not left us with lust?
A pensive Ez considers man's inhumanity to man down on Howrah Beach.
I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral
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'Polly', my friend and constant companion left this world on December 8th.
She was 13 years old our time. Approx. 96 years her time.
There is a hole too large to imagine at present.
She suffers no more.
My apologies Kris for using your blog as my obituary space. Roddy.
A lot on the plate there Ezra, but least you have a great facial expression!
Roddy said,"For those interested in the post dated December 3.
'Polly', my friend and constant companion left this world on December 8th.
She was 13 years old our time. Approx. 96 years her time."
:-(
I'am so very sorry to hear about that Kris' dad...
Thanks, for sharing the photograph Kris...
DeeDee ;-D
Ez was pondering Polly.