The sun is/ bright, but the/ chickens are in/ the way.

Roll up, roll up, roll up! Everyone's a winner! The Lucky Sticks stall, Lindisfarne North Primary School Fair, Lindisfarne. March 2012.

So the Lindisfarne North Primary School Fair has been done and run. Our (and by OUR I mainly mean JEN's) contribution - the afore-mentioned Lucky Sticks stall - was a raging success, with all sticks sold and prizes awarded. Moreover, the fair itself was proven a massive success, with the school raking in the dollars and proving that plenty of parents and teachers were keen to give their time and energy to making it happen.

Even better, the whole thing was achieved without any kind of hitch!

Well, unless you count the kid that broke his arm on the jumping castle and the bloke that needed the ambulance for the burns. Anyway, there are always going to be a few kinks!

Anyway, well done to the Lindisfarne North Primary School Fair organising committee and all of the volunteers, and my apologies to that girl who bought fourteen dollars worth of lucky sticks yet still didn't win the prize she wanted. Hopefully you will have learned the harsh lesson that very rarely in life do we ever get what we want or feel we deserve.

Actually, fourteen dollars is quite cheap for such a lesson.

Home to Roost, Kay Ryan

The chickens
are circling and
blotting out the
day. The sun is
bright, but the
chickens are in
the way. Yes,
the sky is dark
with chickens,
dense with them.
They turn and
then they turn
again. These
are the chickens
you let loose
one at a time
and small—
various breeds.
Now they have
come home
to roost—all
the same kind
at the same speed.

Comments

SH -ic said…

:)) are you celebrating a birthday party ....or is eastern earlier ..on the other side of the earth

1 April 2012 at 06:20

Kris McCracken said…

It was the school fair.

1 April 2012 at 15:07

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

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...

This will hurt me...

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