Hello everyone, and welcome to my first J.E. Im very nervous right now as i sit and wonder on what to write about. I stumbled across red…
Hello everyone, and welcome to my first J.E. Im very nervous right now as i sit and wonder on what to write about. I stumbled across redbubble a few hours ago, and then decided to take the plunge to sign up and become an active member in this artistic community. Its great to be surrounded by so many tallented artists… gain inspiration and knowledge from other creative minds. / Ok, the nerves are calm and im getting excited. I want to jump straight into the gallery and have a better look at the work on offer. / So, where does my inspiration come from u may ask?? Mainly nature. I love trees, flowers, animals, the oceans and lakes. I have travelled alot around Australia in the past few years, and i have gained a great appreciation of this amazing country i call home. I have also been to 5 other countries, but nothing beats “down under”. / Peace for now… / TARA
This is really big! We’ve tracked down some of the coolest photography prizes we could find, passed the hat round the office for some b…
This is really big! We’ve tracked down some of the coolest photography prizes we could find, passed the hat round the office for some bubblecash, stuck the megaphone out the window, and now we’re ready to launch the RedBubble Real Photography Competition. Prizes include: / – Leica M4-P plus 50mm F2 Summicron (or a Canon 400D + 17-85mm IS USM) / – Elinchrom D-Lite 4 – Studio Lighting Kit / – Gitzo Carbon Fiber Tripod with a Really Right Stuff BH-40LR Head / – 15 x great photography books / – $2500 bubblecash There are five categories, and you can only enter once per category. Simply upload your entry and tag it as follows: 1) Landscape, Travel and Nature Tag your entry with landscapephotocomp 2) Portrait, Fashion and Commercial Tag your entry with fashionphotocomp 3) Black and White, Street, and Reportage Tag your entry with bwphotocomp 4) America Tag your entry with usaphotocomp 5) Europe Tag your entry with europephotocomp See www.redbubble.com/promo/photocomp for full details
I’ve entered three works (in accordance with the clearly defined rules) into the RedBubble Photo Competition...
I’ve entered three works (in accordance with the clearly defined rules) into the RedBubble Photo Competition Theme 1: Landscape, Travel and Nature / Entry: Shell Necklace / These shells have attached themselves to a string of seaweed washed up in the surf. Found on Kangaroo Island. / (tagged: landscapephotocomp ) Theme 2: Portrait, Fashion and Commercial / Entry: Hail Britannia II / Shot at 2007 All British Day, Uraidla, Adelaide Hills, February 11th, 2007 / (tagged: fashionphotocomp) Theme 3: Black and White, Street and Reportage / Entry: Coffee in Carpark / Atop a carpark in the Adelaide CBD. Captured as found / (tagged: bwphotocomp )
To date I have photographed around 250 species of Australian wildlife (including more than 220 species of birds!). All found and photogra…
To date I have photographed around 250 species of Australian wildlife (including more than 220 species of birds!). All found and photographed in the wild over the last few years. click here to view the list of species Yet I consider myself a novice ‘birder’ and don’t even use binoculars to help me locate species. Recipe: research + petrol + walking + luck! (add in some flies, dust and corrugated roads for good measure) To me there are few things more satisfying than travelling and exploring new places then finding new species to add to my photo collection. Australia has such an amazing variety of wildlife out there! Our travels have included wetlands, coastal areas, mallee scrub, woodland and forests. Day trips or longer trips that can see us camping and ‘roughing it’ for a few days at a time. I love it – each trip is a bit of an adventure. I have a range of my wildlife images here on Redbubble, available as cards and prints for purchase. / click here to view above images and many more A portion of sales will be donated to wildlife conservation or rescue. If you see something on my other sites that you would like to see offered as a card, print or t-shirt here on Redbubble, drop me a line! Thanks for looking ~ and enjoy our wildlife! Cheryl Ridge/chezzy designs View my Redbubble range by theme Visit my extensive online Photo galleries Visit my Cafepress shop email: chezzyr@yahoo.com / (please do not leave any comments on this page. You are however / very welcome to email me or send me a bubblemail)
Hi all, Have just uploaded the final pic’s to my series on the wheatbelt area of Western Australia. By all accounts, they have be…
Hi all, Have just uploaded the final pic’s to my series on the wheatbelt area of Western Australia. By all accounts, they have been enjoyed by bubblers. It has put a big smile on my face to share them with you all and receive such a warm response in return – many thanks for the kind comments and sales. Cheers / Grant.
I’ve just returned from a 17 day jaunt to Sri Lanka, an experience so good I can’t keep it to myself. My interest in Sri Lanka gained …
I’ve just returned from a 17 day jaunt to Sri Lanka, an experience so good I can’t keep it to myself. My interest in Sri Lanka gained momentum when I met a Singhalese family through AMES Education, where I am a volunteer in a program that helps migrants settle into their ‘new found homes’. Week after week my new friends welcomed me to their house and at the end of every visit I was treated to some amazing food and interesting conversations about Sri Lanka. I mentioned my interest to another friend who quoted her father as saying “Sri Lanka is beautiful, like heaven on earth”. That was it I had to go… I experienced a bit of everything during my whirlwind trip. Hiking, biking, swimming, some hair raising car travel, train and elephant rides, wildlife safari, culture and history, village life, city life, incredible food and never ending hospitality. And rather surprisingly, only one conversation about cricket! It did sadden me though to see that Sri Lanka’s recovery after the devastating 2004 Tsunami has been quite slow. Many damaged buildings still remain and people have done the best they can to rebuild from absolutely nothing. It certainly put things into perspective when speaking to locals about their recovery. They talk about where they were and what it was like but they have an incredible inner strength that sees them somehow just acknowledging what happened and moving forward. Not one person asked me for money after telling their story instead they asked me to tell all my friends to visit Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka is a country that has been known by many names. Ceylon, Lanka and Ilankai to name a few. Of all the names, Serendib, meaning ‘land of jewels’ describes it well. And from that, serendipity, the making of happy, unexpected discoveries is certainly a description I would use when talking about my Sri Lanka experience. Geographically Sri Lanka may be tiny and it is not without its own internal adversity, yet its natural beauty and the warmth and unconditional generosity of its people shines through, making Sri Lanka a country well worth visiting. I’ve loaded some of my photos, I hope you like them. I will load more soon.
My Redbubble calendar! I hope you’ll like it! / I wish you all a great weekend! *Please contact me if you are interested in purchasing …
My Redbubble calendar! I hope you’ll like it! / I wish you all a great weekend! *Please contact me if you are interested in purchasing 2008Daydreams :)
TORN TICKETS AND ROUTINE RETURNS BY SIMON AND RUSTY GLADDISH DEDICATION For my much–missed mother Enid / And father Ke…
TORN TICKETS AND ROUTINE RETURNS BY SIMON AND RUSTY GLADDISH DEDICATION For my much–missed mother Enid / And father Kenneth (fellow poet), / My brother Matthew and his family, / My sister Sarah and her family, / And last but never least / Rusty’s charming children: / Laura, Kate and Aramis TORN TICKETS AND ROUTINE RETURNS ‘A traveller’s amusement and ultimate acceptance of the hallucinating language and culture obstacles which surround the Englishman trying to do his job and simply be a good chap in the land of Abroad’. (Dr Bruce Merry – Professor of English at the University of Kuwait) BIOGRAPHY / Simon R Gladdish was born in Kampala, Uganda in 1957. / His family returned to Britain in 1961, to Reading where he grew up. / Educated at Oxford and Cambridge Universities, he trained as an English Language Teacher, a profession which enabled him to live for years in Spain, France, Turkey, Tunisia and Kuwait. He now lives near Swansea, Wales. / His poetry has been warmly acclaimed by other poets including Andrew Motion, the former British Poet Laureate. / He has published eight volumes of poetry so far: Victorian Values, Back to Basics, Images of Istanbul, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Original Cliches, Torn Tickets and Routine Returns and The Tiny Hunchbacked Horse and The Poisoned Tunic jointly translated from Russian with Vladimir and Elena Grounine. His wife Rusty, a fellow English teacher, is a talented though hitherto unpublished poet with a considerable lyric gift. Hopefully this will be the first of several collaborations. / THERAPY I was feeling really depressed / So I wrote myself a poem. / As I was putting the / Finishing touches to it, / I still felt fairly depressed / But the prospect of annoying / Certain editors with it / Had cheered me up considerably. / / IRIS The rainbow is so beautiful / It can’t occur by accident; / Its fluted columns must infer / The presence of an architect. Its psychedelic arches stretch / A mile in diameter; / Its spanning spectrums silhouette / A heavenly geometer. Throughout recorded history, / A solemn promise made by God / To use his coloured canopy / To save us from another flood. The sunshine and the sparkling rain / Combine in perfect harmony / Until the leaden curtain falls again / On suffering humanity. / / DOUG (IN MEMORIAM) Doug is sitting in his usual place, / (I can see him through my bedroom window) / Gazing into a sun-filled space, / A secretive smile on his poor sad face, / Staring unseeing, unblinking, / What are you thinking of Doug? / Sifting through the back numbers / Of your brown-edged memories, / Turning over the long-lost leaves / Of the relics of your past. Casting back through the cobwebbed hall of memory, / Cocking your ear to catch the lingering strains / Of a forgotten melody when the verdant valleys rang / With the timeless tunes of the male voice choir. / When the music swelled to a crescendo, / Spilling over and washing down the / Face of the honeycombed mountain, / But that was in the olden days. And do you remember when we sang Myfanwy / Down in that dark, dank dungeon of a mine? / Buried alive boys, buried alive! / Buried in the bowels of mother earth! / Praying for a miracle of swift rebirth. / Ah! Those were the days, the drear doomed days, / But they’re dead and gone and there’s no more roving / Over those broom brushed hills. (Rusty) / FIVE O’CLOCK SHADOW As another new day dawns, an arctic silence / Lies upon the frosted furrowed fields. / A bitter breeze blows through denuded trees. / A bunch of disillusioned crows sit hunched / Among frost-blasted branches, / Mourning for the summer days long past. In the distant woods, a wily fox returning late back to his lair / Gives out a sharp consumptive cough, / A sinister sound, enough to set the huddled birds / A shuddering on their perches. A wintry sun shines weakly in a blue uncertain sky, / Reflecting rainbows in the glittering crystals / Suspended like diamonds from the cottage eaves, / Trembling in Zephyrus’s icy breath. / A brazen robin trills his song, defying Death / Who masquerades in winter’s hoary mantle. Across the bleak and whitened wastes of empty fields / The strident call of some triumphant pheasant can be heard, / Strutting proudly through the ploughed and furrowed iron ground. / A haughty bird who bears his noble plumage like a shield of honour, / A brightly feathered coat of arms. But now the winter’s day is disappearing, / As Vesper spreads his cloak of gathering gloom, / And in a clearing through the snow clouds / Can be spied brave Hesperus travelling home. (Rusty) / MORPHEUS AND REYNARD Wrapped in Morpheus’s poppy scented cloak / Lost along the paths paved with unwanted dreams, / There came a sound so strange that broke / Into my unconscious, a lingering, chilling, sobbing scream. The clock ticks on and you breathe easily beside me, / I lie awake, all senses straining in the dark, / Waiting for another sound to reach me, / Listening for the fox’s prehistoric bark. Going quickly to the open window, / I gaze upon the silent and deserted street, / And suddenly I catch the faintest echo / Of Reynard’s snarling cough as he retreats. (Rusty) / SANS TOI It’s been a long weekend / Without you. / Time has telescoped. / Every second has flexed its muscles / Intimidating me with its presence. / To add insult to injury, / Watching the World Cup, / The television blew up / Just before the penalty shoot-out. / As soon as I took my eye off the ball, / England lost. / (Eat your heart out, Uri Geller!) / At night, unable to sleep, / Listening to Radio 2 / Playing all their saddest / Most sentimental songs / I could hardly keep from weeping. / Still, you’re home this afternoon. / I’ve got to make the empty bed, / Hoover the food-stained rugs, / Wash the dirty dishes / And generally tidy up. / And just for once, just this once / It will be truly a labour of love. / / COMMUNICATION My wife and I / Have a mutually exclusive / Collection of obsessions. / I am concerned about / Getting my poetry published / And winning the lottery / Whereas she is worried / About her failing health / And our mutually mortgaged house / Disappearing before our eyes. / In fact, / If I’m perfectly honest / We don’t really communicate at all / In the accepted sense / Although in some strange unfathomable / Esoteric fashion / We definitely do connect. / / SEX WAR My wife has become / A real man-hater in her old age / Who is constantly going on / About how awful we all are. / And I have to admit / That when I see yet another newsreel / Of testosterone-crazed, gun-toting males / Running amok, massacring innocent civilians, / Even I don’t find it easy pleading / For my own guilt-ridden gender. / Eventually I concede: / ‘Maybe men are bigger bastards than women / But they’re also greater geniuses. / Look at Leonardo, Michelangelo, Shakespeare, / Schubert, Beethoven and Mozart.’ / Just when I am beginning to succeed / In hauling my (heavy) end of the sexual see-saw / Back towards the horizontal / We sit down (on opposite sides of the settee) / To watch the early evening news. / Apparently, a Colombian hombre (about my age) / Has finally confessed to slaughtering, / Raping and torturing around 150 school-children. / ‘Alright. You win. I surrender. / It’s a fair cop. I’ll come quietly.’ / / WIND HAIKU The wind rattled my letter box. / When I went to investigate / There was no-one there. Later, the wind ripped the roof right off my house. / When it rained I suffered / Rather more than usual. / / TWINS They were like two carbon copies / Apart from a couple of moles. / Their bodies were identical / But they had different souls. One was called Rebecca; / Her sister’s name is Ruth. / The body is the outer mask, / The soul, the inner truth. They separated them at birth, / Soon after they were born. / They cut them up like paper dolls / Upon a paper lawn. Rebecca was the younger one; / The one who failed to thrive. / Rebecca’s in the cemetery / But Ruth is still alive. Their skins were white like ivory; / Their eyes were dark as teak. / Their bodies were identical, / Their destinies unique. Ruth married an Englishman / And became known as Mrs Lister / But not a single night goes past / Without her dreaming of her sister. She sees Rebecca waiting / In a garden filled with ferns, / A citizen of that distant land / Whence no traveller returns. She awakens every morning / Feeling fazed and feeling faint / For she knows Rebecca’s waiting / With the patience of a saint. They were like two carbon copies, / Apart from a couple of moles. / Their bodies were facsimiles / And they have similar souls. / / FANTASY Every so often you catch sight of a face / That hits you like a wrecking ball. / You stop what you’re doing / And stare like a cat. / You had that effect on me. / Although we’ve only just met / I know if things had been different / We’d be languorously making love / On a gently sloping hillside / Underneath the lilac trees / In the bosom of July. / The songbirds would be chanting / Against an azure sky / And the green grasshoppers chirruping / To keep them company. / Your husband scents danger / And pulls you away. / / LANDLADY The expensively dressed landlady / Met us on the steps of our new abode / And ushered us in. Playing with her pearls / She came straight to the point: / ‘I want two months rent in advance’ / Which we had ready. Eight hundred nicker / In brand new crispy twenty pound notes. / She carefully counted them out. / ‘No’, she sighed, ‘I meant calendar months. / You owe me another fifty pounds.’ / I emptied my pockets, my wife her purse / And discovered we had fifty-one quid exactly. / ‘Now’, she said, ‘Did I mention a deposit on the phone? / I need a month’s deposit against damage.’ / Taking our courage in both hands / We agreed to write her a cheque. / Finally she left us with a fifty pence piece / (For the meter) and a coffee cup half-full of coppers. / When we sure she had gone / We set about examining our new habitat. / Half the bulbs were blown, / There was no hot water, / Kettle, crockery, cups or cutlery / And the kitchen was literally crawling / With cockroaches. / Not to worry. / My wife is going to give her a ring tomorrow / If we can assemble enough change / For the public phone. / / KITCHEN CABINET We share our kitchen with / Cockroaches, ants at least an inch long, earwigs, / Centipedes, cockroaches (have I mentioned cockroaches?) / Millipedes and other mal-assorted fauna. / I wouldn’t mind but / They never contribute to the rent, / Do the washing up or / Generally lend a hand around the place. / What is really infuriating though / Is that when we retire to bed early / So we can get up for work the next day, / They stay up all night partying / At our expense on dainty morsels / We were too tired to clear away. / (One of the little blighters even had / The temerity to bite my finger recently.) / Freeloaders! Gatecrashers is what they are! Low-life scum! / They think that because we don’t / Kill them on sight we like them. / But we don’t. Oh no. No way. / Deep down we despise them. / We’re just biding our time, / Putting a little aside each month / Until we can afford the Rentokil man / Who will come with his shiny, genocidal equipment / And fumigate the flat from top to bottom. / Personally, I can’t wait. / That should wipe the smirks / Off their smug little faces. / / PUB CONVERSATION 1 I met this tramp in a local pub. / Scruffy food-stained beard, / Patches on his jacket. Stank. / You know the sort of thing. / I felt sorry for him / So I offered him a pint / Of Theakston’s Old Peculiar / Which he grudgingly accepted. / Reckoned he was a poet whose books / Weren’t selling too well. / As I got in the third round / The discussion turned to politics. / He announced he was a socialist / And began to berate me for being, he believed, / A fence-sitting, arse-indented liberal / Although he hadn’t even asked me / My political opinions. / Eventually losing patience I said: Look. / Philip Larkin was a right-wing, reactionary / Xenophobic racist and still a better poet / Than you will ever be. / That shut him up / Briefly. / / PUB CONVERSATION II I was having an argument the other day / With this bloke down the pub. / I reckoned pop stars were paid too much / Whereas he maintained they weren’t. / ‘Pop stars give a lot of pleasure / To a lot of people’, he said decisively. / I replied, / ‘So do postmen, prostitutes and ice-cream vendors / But we don’t pay them millions of pounds. / Your argument doesn’t hold water.’ / His eyes swivelled. / ‘Now you’re being stupid. / Arguments are either right or wrong mate, / They ain’t meant to ‘old water.’ / I winced at his dropped ‘h’ and glottal stop. / ‘Arguments are sacred vessels containing truth. / Of course, they’re supposed to be water-tight. / Aristotle laid down in the 4th century B.C. / That a valid argument comprises a set of / Premises whence a relevant conclusion / May be logically derived or deduced.’ / I didn’t see his fist spring out of the ether / But I felt a sharp sting / As my nose split apart like a kipper. / I learnt a valuable lesson that day. / Never conduct intellectual discussions / With large, violent people / Of the male persuasion / Except, possibly, by telephone. / / SUN, EARTH, MOON, MAN The sun is a bell / Ringing out light. / Earth is a hell, / Tasteless and trite. The moon’s a balloon / Bobbing in space / And man is an ape / With a smirk on his face. / THIS WORLD This world is / So unnecessary. ARGUMENT FROM DESPAIR Would a loving God / Create a world like this? / My friend, you have got / To be taking the piss! NATO To blot their weeping bruises / And drown out their tales of woe, / We shower them with cruises / At a million quid a throw. We bomb the Serbians, then refuse / To house the refugees. / We pray for their deliverance / But never on our knees. / / PHILOSOPHY A friend of mine used to relate / That we’re a long time dead. / And what is there to say, he’d state, / That’s not already said. Philosophy’s a young man’s game / (The sport of system building) / But everything remains the same / Despite the different gilding. The enterprise is doomed to fail / (Like that of cancer surgeons) / The world, like an oblivious whale / Shrugs off the minnows at its margins. We know not what awaits us when / We slough our mortal coil / Except the fact our cells return / To nourishing the soil. / / CONCLUSION After a lifetime’s philosophising / I have finally realised that / If you’ve got enough money / You can do what you want / But if you haven’t / Then you can’t. / / GOOD SAMARITAN It’s odd how often doing others favours / Can leave us feeling wretched: / Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread. EQUALITY I’m sick to death of the rich / Who acquire even more / By deliberately pretending to be poor. MASKS OF INEQUALITY ‘All employees will receive a bonus of ten percent.’ Ten percent of a lot is a lot. / Ten percent of sod all is sod all. / Ten percent of some thing is something. / Ten percent of no thing is nothing. / Ten percent for some equals luxury / Ten percent for others equals penury. / So take care never to be fooled / By fictions, factions or fractions. HOME ECONOMICS They say the British economy’s booming / But I’m still skint, / Struggling to pay for / My privatised water, gas and electricity; / My income tax, council tax, / Television tax and V.A.T. (whatever that may be!) / They say the world economy’s booming / But whenever I turn on my taxed T.V. / I still see Bangladeshis with bloated bellies, / Indians with chronic dysentery and that / Perennial dark cliché – the starving African baby. / They say the European economy’s booming / But a billion humans are hungry / And a further two are forced to subsist / On less than a dollar a day. / They say the economy’s booming / But for whom? B.B.C I always pay my licence fee / Although I seldom watch the BBC / Because I’m absolutely sure / The Tories would abolish Radio Four. MISSING MANUSCRIPTS I have written thousands of poems / In white ink on virgin pages / And now I’ve completely forgotten / Where I’ve put them. / / POPPY PETALS Poppy petals decorate my garden / Like a mud-cake landscape / Splashed with perfect pools of blood. / The wind whistles innocently. WALES A sheet of lead steals across a silver sky / Like the sliding roof at the Millennium Centre / Leaving us trapped beneath a platinum ceiling / Before they turn on the sprinklers. POEME Je connais bien / Le Limousin / Mais je preferais / Pas-de-Calais. ORIGINAL I don’t believe this poem / Has ever been written before / But I’m going to include the word / ‘Sesquipedalian’ just to make sure. / / OBJECTIVITY I read your hagiography / Written in haste / And the thought that assailed me / Was ‘scissors and paste.’ I admit that the pictures / Were fairly amazing / But all I could see / Were the cuts and erasing. The tone of your argument / Is totally martial. / No-one could accuse you / Of being impartial. The losers have rights / As well as the winner. / Your body of evidence / Could not have been thinner. You set yourself up / As a sound academic / And then vomit out / A lousy polemic. I don’t blame your publishers; / They’re out to sell books / But you know what they say / About too many cooks. I’ve filed your pot-boiler / In a basket marked ‘waste’ / And I’m sharpening the scissors / And wetting the paste. / / LITERARY ADVICE Jorge Louis Borges counselled / That if you have a bad experience / You should imagine / It happened a long time ago / To somebody else. / This is a wonderful piece of advice / And would be even more perfect / If it actually worked. / Instead we thumb the pages of our lives / Too slowly to erase the stains. / We ignore our few triumphs / And dwell on our many failures. / Leo Tolstoy announced that in a long existence / He had enjoyed less than a week of happiness. / He said the secret of happiness was engraved on a green stick / Hidden in a primeval forest impenetrable to mortal man. / (Mind you, if he were alive in Russia today / He’d be far too busy trying to survive / To find time to be miserable.) / On the other hand, Tolstoy sired thirteen children / And died an octogenarian / Which is more than can be said for Borges / The blind bachelor Buenos Aires librarian. / / FOOLISH PROVERBS It is said that / If the fool were / Sufficiently foolish / To persist in and with his folly, / He would, in the fullness of time / Become wise. / That’s nice. / There’s no fool like an old fool / And, unlike heads, one fool is better than two. / A fool and his money are soon parted / And this is one of those poems / I wish I’d never started. / / FRENCH GIRL At the beginning of the lesson / She unselfconsciously peels off / Her purple pullover to reveal / A taut white T-shirt emblazoned / With the French flag. / Her nipples are pointing straight at me / Like firm fleshy arrow-heads / Holding me hostage. / I ought to look away / But I can’t; / I’m impaled on her poitrine. / I’m supposed to be teaching the lesson / But I can’t remember where I was. / She smiles coquettishly at me / And I grin sheepishly back at her. / With a supreme effort of will / I turn my attention to a / Flint-faced youth / And ask him a deeply Freudian question. / His gallic incomprehension / And sharply shrugging shoulders / Are, for once, a welcome distraction. / I beam benignly at the class. / Sixteen is such a sweet innocent age / Surtout pour une femme. / / SCHOOL REPORT David’s dextrous, / Sean is shoeless. / Roger’s restless, / Colin’s clueless. William’s witty, / Walter’s waxy. / Petula’s pretty, / Sonia’s sexy. ‘Simon’s sick;’ / So writes his mother. / Arthur’s thick / And so’s his brother. All these kids / Have driven me spare / And come next term / I won’t be there. I’ll be in the Bahamas / Lying on a beach / Or orbiting the moon / Miles out of reach. I’ll be camping at the North Pole, / Cold and cursed / Or wandering in the desert / Dying of thirst. I’ll be pacing Piccadilly / In my threadbare socks / Or trying to grab some kip / Inside a cardboard box. When my money runs out / I’ll break the law / But I won’t be going back / To school no more. / / NEARLY Whenever I toss a screwed-up ball of paper / Towards the waste basket / It invariably hits the rim / And bounces out again. / I realised after a while / That this was a metaphor for my life. / Always so near and yet so far, / Narrowly missing the target / And winning absolutely nothing. / Losing the lead on the final lap / And getting stuffed in a photo-finish. / An also-ran who ran his heart out / And still didn’t quite make the frame. / Always the second best man / And never the glowing groom. / Always the bitter bridesmaid / And never the blushing bride. / Always stuck in the slow lane / In a clapped-out conveyance / I can hardly afford to maintain. / Starved of sunshine; / Sated with rain. / / BRAIN I often brood about my brain / And all that it contains. / The cameras and chambers, / Locked closets and trap-doors. / The semi-permeable windows / And somersaulting synapses. / The languages I speak; / Interlocking colours in a painting / Bleeding and blurring / In a psychedelic abstract. / The damaged suspension / And uncoupled couplings. / The levers, ropes and pulleys / Dusty with disuse / Or worn out from overwork. / The funnels, pipes and pumps / Pulsing blood around like water. / The open house of a drunken revel / With its piecemeal broken shards / Of memory. / The angry, jagged zig-zag of a headache / And the closed shutters / And drawn curtains / Of a dream. / / PIG The pig is very greedy. / He’s fatter than a tank. / His proclivitities are seedy / And his face is rather blank. His nose is somewhat bloated / And his nostrils over-prominent. / His skin is usually coated / With some other porker’s effluent. His house is quite untidy / With nothing in its place. / I’ve no wish to be snidey / But it’s often a disgrace. The pig is full of mischief; / He loves to fool and frolic / As a smokescreen for the private grief / Of a secret alcoholic. The pig’s rather intelligent / (He usually wins at cards.) / I know just what George Orwell meant / When he called him ‘the philosopher of the farmyards’. / / CROCODILE MAN Last night I dreamt of a man / With a crocodile tail, / A slime-green panoply of interlocking scales. / I woke up screaming. / He loved his mother, liked his music, / Played guitar and had a nervous tic. / The sight of him made me feel physically sick. / But why? / Was it an atavistic fear / Of deformity, enormity, non-conformity? / He looked like a cross / Between a foetus and an Egyptian god. / I fumbled for the dream dictionary / And finally found the following: / ABNORMAL: ‘To dream of anything that is not normal / Means that you will shortly have a pleasing / Solution to your problems’. / I hope so. I sincerely hope so. / / STRANGER I dream about him every other night / With his braided, black hair, / Heavy brooding features / And piercing brown eyes. / He frightens me to death. / He’s always running after me / Trying to catch me. / He chases me up mountains / And along valleys, / Through cities and across plains. / Although always gaining on me, / He never quite manages to reach me. / I don’t think he wants my money / (Though in dreams money is easily manufactured) / Or even my body / (Though that would be evil enough). / No, I think he wants something far, far worse than that. / I think he wants (I can hardly bring myself to say the words) / I think he wants, I think he wants, I think he wants / To be my friend. / / CAN’T I’m hungry but I can’t eat. / I’m angry but I can’t hate. / I’m zealous and a bit strange. / I’m jealous but I can’t change. I’m a brute like my close kin. / I’m astute but I can’t win. / I’m running up hill and down dale. / I’m cunning but I can’t prevail. I’m broken like a rusty can. / I’m a token of a healthy man. / I count the recalcitrant hours / That calcify my fading powers. I’m tired but I can’t sleep. / I’m sad but I can’t weep. / I’m told that it is wrong to lie. / I am old but still too strong to die. / / HEATWAVE (TALES FROM TUNIS) It was so hot / It was like living inside a kiln. / Great wodges of tarmac stuck to our feet / And a fat film of sweat clung to us constantly. / The air conditioning went on strike / And the fans felt too lazy to rotate. / Ice-creams melted before we had a chance to eat them / And water evaporated before we were able to drink it. / Hyenas were filing emigration papers / And vultures were going absent without leave. / Mosquitoes were knocking off early / And flies were stumbling around like drunkards. / The cicada’s buzz had turned into a death rattle / And the call of the camel had become a lament. / Flowers were attending their own funerals / And the trees were in mourning. / People were suffocating in their front rooms / And the skeletons in the cupboard / Were the apartment’s previous occupants. / All in all it was a pretty hot summer / That August in Tunis. / / / LIVING ABROAD You have to cope with different / Customs, cultures, currencies and climates. / You have to guess what’s going on / Due to your imperfect grasp of the language. / You have to deal with reverse racism, / Truculent attitudes in shops and bars / And with being routinely ripped-off / In restaurants and cafeterias. / You have to adjust to having / Your universe radically redesigned / And all your assumptions subverted. / You have to overcome / Homesickness, bureaucracy, hostility, hypocrisy; / Not to mention things like diarrhoea, / Upset stomachs and undrinkable water. / So why do we travel thousands of miles / For the dubious pleasure of living abroad? / Basically, I suppose / For the same reason that people go bungee-jumping; / Because every day is a brand new adventure / When you cease existing and start to live. / / LANGUAGE BARRIER I like the language barrier. / You can talk loudly in front of people / Without them threatening / To punch your lights out. / You can ignore them without feeling guilty / Or stare at them without being embarrassed. / You can make politically incorrect jokes / Knowing that they are probably doing the same. / You can enjoy the shared intimacy / Of your linguistic community / Without fear of sudden intrusion. / You can speculate openly about people’s private lives / Unperturbed by the prospect of apoplectic contradiction. / When a foreigner unexpectedly / Breaks into passable English / The hypnotic spell is almost always / Shattered into shards, fractured into fragments / And we are never quite as pleased / As they expect us to be. / / TUNES Tunisians are colloquially known as Tunes. / Unsurprisingly, this gives rise to a number of bad puns / Such as: ‘Name that Tune.’ / ‘Tunes help you breathe more easily.’ / ‘Looney Tunes’. ‘Change the Tune.’ / ‘The Libyans are less important than the Tunes.’ / ‘Many a fiddle played on an old Tune.’ / Plus plenty more that I can’t even remember. / Like most things in life it is basically boring / But it does help to pass the time. / / TRAM The great green tram slams into town / Up and down, up and down / Into the crown of the city. / Apple green, pea green, / Sea green, tree green, / A sort of human soup tureen. / A turbo-charged snail / Rattling its tracks, / Its antennae / Spot-welded to the overhead cables, / Its clear shell humming with its heaving human cargo. / Businessmen and women, / Merchants and traders, / Soldiers and sailors, / Pickpockets and thieves. / Perverts rubbing up against schoolgirls, / Prostitutes rubbing up against the police, / The police rubbing everybody up the wrong way. / Am I carried away? Of course I am! / Everyone is, aboard the tram. / / TRAM TRIPPER There’s this nutter in the Avenue de Paris / Who keeps trying to trip up the trams. / The other day I gave him a dinar / And some heartfelt advice. / I told him that if he wanted to increase / His life-expectancy he should / Limit himself to spitting at passers by / And pushing people off their bikes. / He listened attentively and bowed respectfully / Before limping off to his new life. / I hope and pray he doesn’t go back / To his bad old ways. / The straight and narrow is fine in theory / But extremely dangerous in practice; / Particularly when there are trams on it / Hourly shunting back and forth. / / MOON AND VENUS Tonight the moon and Venus were conjunct / In the constellation of Cancer. / You could see them above the sunset / Sitting together like old companions. / A bat and ball, a toy car taking a curve, / A white peach rolling into a shallow bowl, / A snowberry sidling up to a banana / In a strange cocktail bar, / A comma and a full stop, a semi-colon; / A cosmic augury of peace and plenty, / A precise promise of better times to come / And see for yourself. They are still there. / / THE MOON AND TENPENCE The moon was full tonight. / We stood on the roof / And held hands, holding a small (tenpence) piece / Of silver each in our unheld hands / And made a wish. / Rusty wished for World Peace / Whereas I wished for a substantial / Slice of luck in Saturday’s lottery / So that I could make a personal contribution / To World Peace. / That’s the trouble with women – / They’re just so impractical. / / UP ON THE ROOF Last night it was so hot / We slept on the roof under the stars / For the first time since I was homeless. / We felt like children again. / Orion climbed his heavenly ladder, / The better to keep a paternal eye on us. / Diana the huntress / Gatecrashed our private party / And was extremely full of herself / Although, to tell the truth, / We half expected her to be round. / Incestuous Zeus arrived with his delightful daughter Venus / Who was warily keeping her distance from him. / The lion, bear, bull, goat and ram / Roamed their uncluttered pastures / Marking out their celestial territory. / In the morning / Swallows flew overhead in a V formation / Sluggishly followed by wisps of cloud / Which didn’t pause long enough to pass water. / Rosy-cheeked Apollo mounted the marble steps / Of his pale-blue palace / And peered over the balustrade. / We realised that it was time that we too / Shook ourselves free / From Somnus’s seductive embrace / And began to make a move. / / TUNIS INTERNATIONAL RADIO On Tunis International Radio today / There was a British woman / Who sounded like a guest on Woman’s Hour. / She was a cartoon, copybook feminist / And part-time freelance journalist. / Politically correct to the point of imbecility, / She was pontificating about the plight / Of Tunisian women / In the towns and in the country, / At home and at work / In offices and shops / Or harvesting the crops / In the fields and in the factory. / (None of which I would necessarily disagree with.) / Then the interviewer asked her how long / She had been in Tunisia and she admitted / She’d only been here a week. / I didn’t know whether to be horrified / Or admire her cheek. / I opted for the latter course. / These days you don’t actually need to know anything / To get on in this God-forsaken world, / You just need to be bloody pushy / And shout yourself hoarse. / / COLLEAGUE The first night he negotiated / An expensive round of drinks in the Africa hotel / Then made sure he was hiding in the toilet / When the tab arrived. / The second night he jumped into our taxi / On a long ride home and leapt out / Without offering a contribution. / The third night he turned up unexpectedly / Just as we were sitting down to supper. / Now he’s talking animatedly about / Meeting up for another meal next week / But unfortunately I very much doubt / That we’re going to be able to make it. / / INTERNATIONAL HOTEL Last night we had a drink / On the tenth floor of the International Hotel, / A rooftop bar with a fairly low surrounding wall / And fantastic views over Tunis. / We were on our third round and / Thoroughly enjoying the craic as the Irish say / When a highly agitated Arabic man leapt from his seat / And ran towards the wall. / Upon reaching it he stood on tiptoe / And leaned over as far as he possibly could. / My beer started to taste stale and the tonic / Went flat in Deborah’s mouth. / Then he dragged a white plastic chair / Towards the wall, the better (it seemed) / To propel himself into oblivion. / I thought: / ‘If he jumps and I can’t save him, I’ll never forgive myself. / But even if he doesn’t jump he’s still being a bloody nuisance. / (What a selfish swine you are for even thinking such a thing! / The poor fellow is evidently deeply disturbed.)’ / We called the waiter and explained the problem. / ‘Don’t worry’ he reassured us (in French) / ‘I know him. He’s not going to jump.’ / The waiter had obviously never read Bertrand Russell / Or even Jean-Paul Sartre. / I argued ‘Is the past necessarily a reliable guide to the future? / Is the fact he’s never jumped before any guarantee / That he won’t jump tonight?’ / The waiter looked worried. / ‘Je ne comprends pas’, he said. / We decided it was time to leave and left / Our undrunk drinks warming slightly on the white table. / / LEAVING THE DOOR FOR DEBORAH / (FOR MIROSLAV HOLUB) I’ll leave the door for Deborah. / We might get a burglar. / We might get a cat. / We might get a badger / Or a curious rat. / All the same I still aver / I’ll leave the door for Deborah. We might get a pigeon. / We might get a dove. / We might get a smidgen / Of reciprocal love. / Which is why I quite concur / To leave the door for Deborah. We might get a vagrant. / We might get a tramp. / We might smell the flagrant / Smoke of his lamp. / None of this will me deter; / I’ll leave the door for Deborah. We might get a donkey. / We might get a dog. / We might get a monkey / Or even a frog. / All of which makes me infer / I’ll leave the door for Deborah. We might hear the melody / Of a telephone humming. / We might get nobody; / She may not be coming. / But none the less I still prefer / To leave the door for Deborah. / ROMAN COIN I bought myself a rusty Roman coin / Under slightly dubious circumstances. / I was in Carthage / Haggling over the price / Of a plaster head / When the wizened guide suddenly / Plunged his hand into his pocket / And produced an off-white handkerchief / Replete with Roman coins. / I eventually purchased one for twenty dinars / (Around eleven pounds.) / It wasn’t cheap but I would have paid / Much more. I wanted it so badly. / I’ve no idea if it was genuine or not / But I sensed it was. / About the size of a halfpenny, / It was very poorly pressed / With the obverse upside down. / The face showed a Roman emperor, / Caligula perhaps or Nero / Staring imperiously at the letters of his own name. / Judging from the dirty green patina / The coin was struck from copper or from bronze. / Every time I picked it up / I felt I was handling over two thousand years of history. / I dropped it into my shirt pocket for luck / (Which in the light of hindsight was a bad idea.) / Yesterday evening I was clumsily fumbling for cash / For the Tunis tram. When I got home I clutched / My top pocket and counted my change. / My Roman coin was nowhere to be seen. / It was back on the streets of Tunis where it belonged / And I was left howling at the moon, / Utterly beyond consolation. / / CARTHAGE Phoenician faces, almost Grecian / Stare in wide-eyed wonder / At the weary twentieth-century traveller / As he blunders through the arid ancient sites / Cowering under Apollo’s blistering gaze, / Eyes screwed tightly shut against his piercing rays. / Peering intently, almost touching the sun-baked mosaics. / Cheek to cheek with the Phoenician sailors / As they glide in their golden galleons / Across their stony ocean. Dark eyed Numidian nymphs in secret trysts peep shyly / From underneath their black-fringed lashes, / Frozen in stone, blasted by the sands of time; / Locked forever in another dimension / Like dragonflies in amber. / Knowing how long they’ve waited there / We kneel and stroke their matted hair. (Rusty) / JASMINE The smell of jasmine fills the air; / Its lingering scent is everywhere. / The cloying fragrance fills my nostrils / As the perfume seeps from every petal. Ethereal as a whispered prayer, / A girl winds jasmine in her hair. / A boy binds a bouquet behind his ear / While a child begs her mother for some to wear. / / WASH YOUR STEP Today I watched a Moslem woman, / Wrapped in black from ankle to crown, / Methodically washing her step. / Wiping and waxing, scrubbing and rubbing, / Pushing and pulling, warping and wefting, / Making the dull red clay / Sparkle like marble. / Suddenly she became aware of me, / Hurriedly finished what she was doing / And rapidly retreated inside / Clanging the beautiful blue, ornate iron gates / Closed behind her. / I felt strangely sad, realising / That this was yet another / Human Being on planet Earth / With whom I would never communicate. / / THE CACTUS TREE MOTEL At the Cactus Tree Motel / With its cool marble mosaic floors / And ever opening and closing doors, / And voices echoing along the halls / And bouncing off the blue-tiled walls / And soaring up the galleries. Above the prickly cactus courtyard / A velvet canopy is spread. / Now there’s only Jack Orion / Gleaming mutely overhead. But down on earth the patron shuffles, / Wearily dragging his feet; / Lagging behind him, his over-weaning, / Obsessively cleaning wife, / Her cloth crown awry, / Wielding her restless ever-moving mop, / Fearing to stop even for a moment / (In case she has to think / Or pour herself an alcoholic drink.) (Rusty) / LE PATRON I remember the fat git even now / (Hardly surprising really – / It only happened a week ago) / Moaning and groaning, mumbling and grumbling, / As he collected the breakfast trays, / The sweat stains spreading steadily under his flabby arms. / The pension was pathetic. / The rooms were small and stuffy / And sleep was completely out of the question. / On the third day, / Dehydrated and exhausted, / We begged the patron for the use of a fan / Which he grudgingly supplied. / That night, for the first time since arriving / We actually managed to capture / A few hours fugitive kip. / The following (final) day, refreshed and in fine fettle / We wolfed our meagre breakfast / And bade the patron a heart-felt farewell. / All he said to us (in French) was: / ‘You owe me five dinars for the fan.’ / Five flaming dinars for a frigging fan! / Rusty and I held a hurried consultation / Before paying him in full. / Some people are just sent to try you / Aren’t they? / / SEASCAPE Indigo nights succeed blue butterfly days. / The gleaming waxing moon turns the waves to purest silver. / The stars sparkle in their infinite firmament. / Zephyrus holds his fiery breath / And stillness captures the azure evening. / Selene’s platinum smile gilds the cobalt ocean / Whilst we, prisoners of the purple sea / Track the floating fishing boats / Parading in slow motion. (Rusty) / TOPLESS WOMEN The first day I felt embarrassed / And didn’t know where to look. / The second day I thought ‘Sod it!’ / And stared like a prawn at / Every pair of breasts / That blocked my path. / I was amazed by their / Distinct shapes and sizes, / Their startling tones and textures, / The infinite variations / Of natural selection. / The women didn’t seem to mind / Or even notice my minute examinations. / In the end it almost became boring. / Almost but not quite. / Other people’s bodies are rarely really boring, / Especially those whose contours / Are different from our own. / / WATERMELON I bought a watermelon from Mohammed, / Our local greengrocer in the adjoining street. / I was really buying lemons at the time / But couldn’t help remarking / The gigantic greenish gourds / That he had gathered round his feet. / ‘What are they?’ I asked in French. / He answered in Arabic. / None the wiser, / I indicated I desired one. / It was so heavy, he had to / Hoist it onto my shoulder. / I staggered home. / I knew it was a melon of some stamp / But wasn’t sure exactly which. / I seized the most vicious looking knife in the kitchen / And stabbed it mercilessly. / The green skin split and the roseate blood / Began to flow. / I ripped apart its flesh like a crazed serial killer. / My thirst was tormenting me. My throat was on fire. / Soon I was spooning handfuls into my arid mouth, / The rich blood dribbling down my unshaven chin. / Meat the colour of rare roast beef / With pips as big as pebbles. / Pure heaven. / The heat here is so hostile and the air so heavy / You could hang your hat on it / But the saintly watermelon is filled to bursting / With sweet soft succulent flesh / And refreshing fragrant juice / Which smoothly overflows / The ragged contours / My greedy spoon creates. / If the watermelon is not conclusive proof / Of the providential bounty of a superior being / Then I am a banana. / / MARCHE CENTRAL I’ve only been / To the market twice / But here’s the benefit / Of my advice. Local food / Is fairly good. / Imported stuff / Is naff. So buy your fromage / And frogs’ legs, / Your turkey breast / And chickens’ eggs. Buy your wine / And watermelons / With skins as tough / As eagles’ talons. Don’t put on / Your smartest suit / To get your / Vegetables and fruit. Buy your spuds / Of various shapes, / Your green and red / Delicious grapes. Buy your apples, / Peaches, pears / And pack a change / Of underwear. / / SOLAR ECLIPSE 1999 I was up on the roof in my Ray Bans. / The eclipse was scheduled for / Eleven minutes past eleven on the eleventh of August 1999 / And I wasn’t going to be the sucker who missed it. / The sun was beating down with his customary ferocity / And I was very wary of staring directly at his face. / Finally I screwed up my eyes and courage / And chanced a glance. / I was instantly blinded / And rewarded with a free fireworks display / Complete with sparklers, Roman Candles and Catherine Wheels. / I risked another furtive peep; / The same thing happened. / There did seem to be a second celestial body up there / But it could equally well have been the bird-shit on my sunglasses. / I essayed a final look / And saw every colour of the rainbow / But no hint of the moon’s shadow. / I blinked furiously in an effort to focus on my watch: / Twenty past eleven. I couldn’t believe it. / I had been waiting patiently on the roof / In my straw hat, shorts, sandals and sunglasses / For nearly an hour / To witness at first hand / This incredible event / And had still somehow contrived to miss it. / Never mind. I’ll catch it on the news tonight. / / KARMIC CURSE To those who don’t believe in fate, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who deny destiny, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who doubt the efficacy of curses, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who discount the existence of karma, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who dismiss coincidence, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who feel bad about themselves, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who need to believe / That power and wealth are not everything, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who question whether truth is stranger than fiction, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who are searching for a subject, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ To those who want to write the great American novel, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those whose lives are hanging by a thread, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who are slow to count their own blessings, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / To those who are tired of living and scared of dying, / I say ‘Look at the Kennedy’s.’ / / HASSAN II If my French is correct, / Hassan the Second of Morocco / Died yesterday of a heart attack / With pulmonary complications. / He was over seventy. / There will be three days of mourning. / Fine. But why all the funeral music, / The dirges and threnodies? / Why not some dance music, / Reggae, rag-time, rock and roll, / Northern soul and Nat King Cole? / Why not roll out the red barrel / Along with the red carpet? / Hassan lived life to the full, / Married several wives / And died peacefully in his sleep. / We would all do well to follow his example / Instead of squandering our cowardly lives / And flinching away from the final lift / In the long black taxi. / / A NIGHT IN TUNISIA The band was diabolical / And the karaoke was cruel and unusual punishment. / The Master of Ceremonies was fluent in / English, Spanish, Double-Dutch and Gibberish / And the pizzas tasted of papier mache. / The sense of boredom amongst the punters was palpable. / The British were foul-mouthed and boorish, / The Germans glum and gluttonous, / The French and Spanish lethargically latinate / And the Italians irritated and irritating. / I was consulting my watch every ten seconds / And discovering that the hour hand had gone into reverse. / The one person who looked remotely happy was the owner. / Never mind the band’s baleful bum notes, / The only sounds that really mattered that night / Were the constant crying of the cash registers / And the metallic clanking of the coins / Into the waiters’ outstretched palms. / / LEFT When I left Tunis / I nearly left my poems behind. / I had no energy left / And my left hand didn’t know / What my right hand was doing. / (Just as well.) / Then I fell to wondering / If it would have made any difference / If I really had left my handiwork / To the tender care of the caretaker, / The janitor, the refuse-collector, / The city cleansing supervisor? / After a lengthy internal inquiry / I decided it wouldn’t matter a jot / Even if the British Library burnt down. / The sun would still rise every day, / The moon would still dance in her orbit / And the stars would still twinkle benignly. / / DEISM I’ve no desire to gloat / But God is distant and remote. / I wouldn’t say He doesn’t care; / It’s more as if He isn’t there. Don’t forget, He’s lived alone / For millions of millennia / And people who live on their own / Are prone to persecution mania. So when you’ve influenza / And pray to lose your cough; / Ignore the ripple in the ether / That sounds a bit like ‘Bugger off!’ The right of Simon and Rusty Gladdish to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Imr There were Pleiades in the sky, as on a woman’s dress, / Diamonds, full of fire. / Her brothers walked patrols, / And every one of th…
Imr There were Pleiades in the sky, as on a woman’s dress, / Diamonds, full of fire. / Her brothers walked patrols, / And every one of them wanted to destroy me. / But I sneaked into her like a serpent. / Already she was undressed for bed / And said: ” I won’t be yours, / Why won’t you meet me openly? “ / But anyway gave in to me, we used / A counterpane to cover up the traces. / So we came there where calyxes of white lilies / Stand proudly in the middle of the water. / There I took her head in my hands and / She threw her arms around my torso. / How hot her mouth was, her shining breasts / Could only be compared to mirrors, / Her eyes were timid, as the eyes of a gazelle / With her young calf, / And since then the stupefying smell / Of musk in my bed is ineradicable. / … But what’s the matter? Why you are crying?
I would love to hear your thoughts!! !http://images-2.redbubble.net/img/art/size:large/...
I would love to hear your thoughts!!
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/ / / *Just …
/ / / Just in case any of you are interested I will, over the next few weeks, be uploading some wildlife Christmas Cards. Below is a small sample of what is to come. / / / / / / Steve, / /
I ordered a set of my cards and the calendar to check out the quality … and really .. WOW ! ... they are so beautiful … i am very…
I ordered a set of my cards and the calendar to check out the quality … and really .. WOW ! ... they are so beautiful … i am very excited … the quality of the cards are fantastic and the calendar looks so beautiful …. i often wondered if there was one pic i the whole calendar i may not like so much or something … (or worse, more than 1) ... each page is gorgeous and the work looks fantastic … thank you REDBUBBLE ! >>> Gina
Hope you like them: Tropical Dreams “Under The Same …
Hope you like them: Tropical Dreams Under The Same Sun Nature All Around Us Thanks!
Precious friends, I give God thanks for you all, and your prayers and support. You are so precious to me and the lord. While I was pr…
Precious friends, I give God thanks for you all, and your prayers and support. You are so precious to me and the lord. While I was praying early this morning for each of you, as I doe each day, The holy Spirit allowed me to feel a members pain and the lord laid it on my heart to share with you the words that you are about to read. This is for someone here, and I do not know, but the Lord Jesus knows. I pray it will bless all, but especially the one whom God sends it to. [Gods personal message to someone he knows]. Zephaniah 3:17-20 [Common English Bible].The LORD your God wins victory after victory and is always with you. He celebrates and sings because of you, and he will refresh your life with his love.” (18) The LORD has promised: Your sorrow has ended, and you can celebrate. (19) I will punish those who mistreat you. I will bring together the lame and the outcasts, then they will be praised, instead of despised, in every country on earth. (20) I will lead you home, and with your own eyes you will see me bless you Then you will be famous everywhere on this earth. I, the LORD, have spoken! 1. As a minister of God, I have often counselled Gods children who have come to me with all sorts of problems and Challenges. One of the challenges that was most common is that they feel guilt and condemnation. / Their thoughts were filled with guilt over what they had done in their past, someone they hurt, something they said or done. One precious child of God would wake up at nights with fear that God was angry with her. Another would feel he was being judged by God because he was always depressed about his past. satan would like all of us to think and feel that way. But you need to understand something. God is Love and he loves you. God has spoken to you today in Zephaniah Ch3. Does that sound like God is angry with you his child. NO!. / One of the strategies satan uses is to get you to feel shame, guild and worthless because of your past. I knew a dear friend who would not pray as they felt God was angry because of the things they did in the past. They would cower and feel so unclean. He said that he knew God had forgiven him, but he still felt shamed and unworthy. Beloved, here Gods minister now as I speak to you under his anointing and in the power of his Holy Spirit. If that is you, and I know someone feels like this or similar, God has something to say to you personally right now. 2 Corinthians 5:17 Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. When you asked Jesus into your heart / He washed away every sin, every wrong, and you became a brand new person. You became a brand new person. Notice that in 2 Corinthians 5:17, it clearly says that the old things have passed away. God does not see your sins or wrongs, as they have been washed away in the Blood of Jesus. God does not remember them anymore. Jeremiah 31:34 And they shall teach no more every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the LORD: for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, saith the LORD: for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more. Here God is talking about his children. Now before this was fulfilled, the price for Sin had to be paid in full, before God could forget their sins and wrongs. Jesus Gods son paid tat price in Full. God sees you through the finished work of his son Jesus. He sees the Blood of Jesus applied to your heart. He has forgiven you and does not remember your sinful past. When you received Jesus as saviour, you became a new person. Now you have a new father, and you have the DNA of God. You are brand new. Often satan will try and bring to your thoughts things that you did and then get you to think or focus on them. When he does this just tell him, “I have no sinful past, as the Lord Jesus you thought you could destroy, rose from the dead and his blood paid the price for my forgiveness, and that sacrifice was excepted by God, and the blood has washed away all my sinful past from Gods memory and mine”. Tell satan, you are born again and Jesus lives in you! / There is no need to feel unworthy, shame or guilt. / / 1 John 2:1 My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. / The Blood of Jesus never stops working and is all powerful. Precious friend, See yourself as God sees you. He sees you righteous in the righteousness of Jesus. He sees you as his son/daughter. You have the same father as Jesus. Hallelujah! / There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus. [Romans 8:1] / / Colossians 1:12-14 [Amplified Bible] Giving thanks unto the Father, of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has made us meet [Qualified] us to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light: (13) Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath [translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son]: (14) In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins. Now you know for sure that God in Christ Jesus has made you worthy to be his child, and that you are forgiven. There is no condemnation to you. You’re a new creation. Hallelujah! No more need to ever feel guilt or shame. You now can come boldly to your Father, knowing he has forgotten your sinful past and welcomes you to his presence as his dear child. I will close with Zephaniah 3-17-20 our opening scripture. The LORD your God wins victory after victory and is always with you. He celebrates and sings because of you, and he will refresh your life with his love.” (18) The LORD has promised: Your sorrow has ended, and you can celebrate. (19) I will punish those who mistreat you. I will bring together the lame and the outcasts, then they will be praised, instead of despised, in every country on earth. (20) I will lead you home, and with your own eyes you will see me bless you / Amen.
Thank You to all the wonderful groups for the features and to those who voted for my work in the challenges. “*Historic Richmond Bri…
Thank You to all the wonderful groups for the features and to those who voted for my work in the challenges. Historic Richmond Bridge placed in Top 10 of Tasmania Challenge Bridge of Tasmania Rusty Wheels placed in the Top 10 of Shapes and Patterns Challenge Patterns on Gates Fences Railings Snowgum Dove Lake Circuit placed in the Top 10 of Australian Native Plants Challenge Plants that are shaped by the elements Carpet Before the Kings featured in Australian Travel Photography and Writing Coiled featured in 3 Groups: / Forests / The Woman Photographer and / The Sisterhood Walk to the Horizon featured in The Woman Photographer Fairytale Fungi featured in Extreme Close-ups Big Red featured in 2 Groups: / I Love Birds and / Country Bumpkin Feathers featured in Abstracts from Nature So very Happy – Marilyn :o)
As well as changing from Blossom to my real name, I have had the honour of being invited by / Kathie Nichols...
As well as changing from Blossom to my real name, I have had the honour of being invited by / Kathie Nichols to join with Shelley Heath in Co-hosting Nature’s Macro Canvas Group / As many would already know, I have a love of creating abstracts from nature, so I’m really looking forward to seeing more of the amazing work that comes through the Nature’s Macro Canvas Group. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Thank You to all the Hosts for the following Features: Writing of my Cape York Adventure – 2008 was featured in / Australian Travel Photography and Writing ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Male Eclectus Parrot featured in Parrots Only (Birds) Banksia Delight featured in Protaceae Family Have a Seat at the Honey Farm Shop featured in Statues and Such Happy as!!! / Marilyn :o)
Sorry I have’nt been around for a while. Appreciate the following features and placements: Inch Worm...
Sorry I have’nt been around for a while. Appreciate the following features and placements: Inch Worm featured in the Top 10 of The Woman Photographer Challenge / Itty Bitty Teeny Tiny ie Very Small Pink Fuzzy Fungi featured in the Top 10 of Fungilicious Challenge / The Colour Pink Coral Fungi featured in the Top 10 of Fungilicious Challenge / Enter Your Best Clavaria or Ramaria Species Moss Covered Myrtle Beech Featured and in the Top 10 of The Scavenger Hunt Challenge / Lets Hunt for Trees Rivenhall Historic Church featured in History Jardine Ferry Crossing featured in Stream Crossings and Featured Member of the Group Twin Beach Lookout featured in Out of the Blue Dog Biscuit featured in Nature’s Macro Canvas Mining Family Statue featured in Goldrush and Ghost Towns Banksia – Australian Native featured in Protaceae Family View to the Torres Strait Islands featured in Far North Queensland The Penitentiary – Port Arthur featured in Prisons Gaols Jails Asylums Iron Bars & Court Houses Dust Dust and More Dust featured in Commercial Vehicles Three Blue Berries featured in the Top 10 of Alphabet Soup Challenge / Best of B Walls of Jerusalem National Park featured in Lakes and Inland Waterways A Days Walk to the Walls of Jerusalem National Park featured in / Australian Travel Photography and Writing View HERE Thank you for all your encouraging comments and support. Marilyn :o)
My picture ” Lap of Nature” has been accepted in “Travel and Adventure”
My picture ” Lap of Nature” has been accepted in “Travel and Adventure”
Many thanks to “Australian Travel Photography and Writing” for the feature of my photo “Low tide”. That’s 3 features now that I have had …
Many thanks to “Australian Travel Photography and Writing” for the feature of my photo “Low tide”. That’s 3 features now that I have had in this great group. I really appreciate your faith in my work and it’s great to be honoured in this way, especially when all the other featured photos in your group, are of such a very high standard. / Thank you. Cheers, / Graham
Through my cyber travels i have come across many photographers work that has been stolen and used without their knowledge / And just recen…
Through my cyber travels i have come across many photographers work that has been stolen and used without their knowledge / And just recently i have found a site that tracks back photos and shows where they are being used on the net / http://tineye.com/ / you simply enter the image address (URL) or choose an image from your HD and the site looks for it in their archives / it even works for images that have been cropped after being stolen or partially photoshopped this is a good example / http://tineye.com/search/0ac89241ed4c8ccd104094f6412ded2e0acfc2d7 / The original is the profile pic of someone who friend requested me on Facebook as something seemed odd/funny about it I put the image through Tineye.com / and you can see the results Another image site which you might like (if you use flickr) is / http://clipyourphotos.com/FP / they serch through the Flickr Front page history for your photos that might have been featured there that you missed any way I hope these are useful for people Cheers Richard
Presenting my new calendar / featuring a selection of wi…
Presenting my new calendar / featuring a selection of wild Australian birds in flight. / Species featured: / Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoo / Sulphur Crested Cockatoo / Black Swan / Major Mitchell’s Cockatoo / Australian Pelican / Australasian Gannet / Pacific Gull / Egret / Whiskered Tern / Royal Spoonbill / White Bellied Sea Eagle / Kite
SOLD 1 Calendar 15 December 2009 Aloha mai e dearest Rosie...
SOLD 1 Calendar 15 December 2009 Aloha mai e dearest Rosie / Thank you so much for purchasing one of my calendars. I cherish the beautiful message you left for me. The calendar you chose is a collection of my personal favourites and I am so happy you enjoy my work. Mahalo for your gift of Aloha. I wish you a bright and beautiful holiday season with much love :))))) / / Aloha e Malama pono, / / Sharon / Mele kalikimaka me ka Hau`oli makahiki hou / E pili mau na pomaika`i ia `oe / Hau’oli, Hau’oli’oli
Hi everyone / You are invited to visit my pbase online galleries to browse the images from our latest road trips. Simply click these links…
Hi everyone / You are invited to visit my pbase online galleries to browse the images from our latest road trips. Simply click these links to access the galleries. Thankyou, and enjoy! Flinders Ranges and Kangaroo Island 2009 and… East Gippsland & NE Vic Dec 2009 ~~ Cheryl Ridge
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