tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-276634052024-03-07T15:54:58.067+11:00I didn't really say that, did I?Poetry and commentTony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-61031983477227589832023-10-29T20:09:00.003+11:002023-10-29T20:09:32.584+11:00Fire and Celery<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My heart beat</span></p><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">but no-one heard,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">celery and zucchini</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">in the shop,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">but no-one knows,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I <span style="font-family: inherit;"><a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit;" tabindex="-1"></a></span>cooked with love</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">but only you know.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">I heard there's war</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">and my heart beats,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">as innocents die,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">but still my old heart beats</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">as wind blows hot</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">and trees bloom.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Flowers sing in the breeze,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">as children die in fire,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">stock markets play their usual</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">games,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">grass grows and birds sing,</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">as children die in fire.</div></div>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-13032061228010904342023-02-06T12:08:00.004+11:002023-02-06T12:08:57.286+11:00Amber<div style="text-align: left;">When enclosed in amber</div><div>you may feel restricted,</div><div>a few million years lying dormant</div><div>waiting to be found.</div><div><br /></div><div>The coffee shop buzzes</div><div>with steam and chat,</div><div>young women</div><div>young men</div><div>waiting to be found.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trenches are cold</div><div>deadly</div><div>with rockets falling and</div><div>mortars blowing,</div><div>corpses, frozen,</div><div>waiting to be found.</div>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-79840983333211165152023-02-06T12:06:00.003+11:002023-02-06T12:06:58.434+11:00Political Tango<p> Let's do the political tango,</p><p>choose your partner</p><p>or let them choose you,</p><p>make the moves</p><p>a dagger in the back</p><p>helps get the feet moving,</p><p>and the backers wary.</p><p><br /></p><p>Political waifs turn your heads,</p><p>this is only for adults.</p><p>A politician only achieves power</p><p>if they are ruthless,</p><p>if they play a tough game,</p><p>if they are willing to be</p><p>elastic with the truth</p><p>if they throw both enemies</p><p>and friends</p><p>under the bus.</p><p><br /></p><p>But then, what is truth?</p><p>Do we read it in newspapers?</p><p>Do we see it online?</p><p>Does it miraculously spring into</p><p>your head?</p><p>Do you think you have the numbers?</p><p>Do you interpret the numbers</p><p>without hatred, or bias.</p><p><br /></p><p>Let's do the political tango,</p><p>choose your partner</p><p>or let them choose you,</p><p>make the moves</p><p>a dagger in the back</p><p>helps get the feet moving,</p><p>and the backers wary.</p><p><br /></p><p>Political waifs turn your heads,</p><p>this is only for adults.</p><p>A politician only achieves power</p><p>if they are ruthless,</p><p>if they play a tough game,</p><p>if they are willing to be</p><p>elastic with the truth</p><p>if they throw both enemies</p><p>and friends</p><p>under the bus.</p><p><br /></p><p>But then, what is truth?</p><p>Do we read it in newspapers?</p><p>Do we see it online?</p><p>Does it miraculously spring into</p><p>your head?</p><p>Do you think you have the numbers?</p><p>Do you interpret the numbers</p><p>without hatred, or bias.</p><p><br /></p><p>Are there other interpretations?</p><p>Does the world of politics</p><p>twist your head?</p><p>Does it make you rage?</p><p>Do you really think you can</p><p>do better?</p><p>So what are the lies they tell?</p><p>Do we choose the lies which</p><p>suit us?</p><p><br /></p><p>Do we have enough knowledge,</p><p>enough information,</p><p>to make a truly informed judgement?</p><p>Lies, lies, damned statistics, interpret</p><p>as you will, listen to that inner voice</p><p>and make your choice.</p><p>You'll be wrong</p><p>in the least worst form of government.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-25600470741286332262023-02-01T16:53:00.001+11:002023-02-06T12:09:21.025+11:00Eye of the Needle<p>When we turned back the boats</p><p>and left children drowning</p><p>I made love to my wife</p><p>and slept in a soft, warm bed.</p><p><br /></p><p>When we destroyed the reef</p><p>cut down the virgin forests</p><p>I sipped fine wine</p><p>and made love to my mistress.</p><p><br /></p><p>When the end came and I</p><p>looked mortality in the eye</p><p>fear was my nurse and I was</p><p>alone as she spat in my face.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-4928600585455955672022-11-30T08:09:00.000+11:002022-11-30T08:09:15.780+11:00Dreams<p> Your dreams do not expire</p><p>they don't die</p><p>if they live then</p><p>you find them</p><p>in the light</p><p>or maybe in</p><p>the dark</p><p>or perhaps in</p><p>your morning cuppa</p><p>swirling in the milk</p><p>hot in the water,</p><p>cold day lit,</p><p>or the cat claws it</p><p>or your dog paws it</p><p>or the magpies fly</p><p>off with it,</p><p>dreams on a wing.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-34005661201428038702022-11-08T20:55:00.001+11:002022-11-08T20:55:47.187+11:00V8<p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: mastodon-font-sans-serif, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; unicode-bidi: plaintext; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: mastodon-font-sans-serif, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px; unicode-bidi: plaintext; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Where is the turn?<br />as you blast flowers<br />from dual exhausts,<br />wondering why she ignores you,<br />in fabulous ignorance, hunting,<br />as enlightenment flees<br />to a time without numbers,<br />only grass forever waving<br />across the steppes of our depths.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: mastodon-font-sans-serif, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; unicode-bidi: plaintext; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But when the boy became dust he<br />never thought about beauty,<br />he was beauty in<br />iridescence,<br />a dream on the breeze<br />a flash of colour in the clouds<br />a wisp of fragrance in<br />your hair,<br />but somewhere drifting in his melody<br />you cried,<br />tears watering his bones <br />and raising an orchid.</span></p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-16991079684533621082022-02-25T08:02:00.000+11:002022-02-25T08:02:30.455+11:00Time Traveler<p> If I was a time traveler</p><p>would my heart still beat</p><p>to your tune?</p><p><br /></p><p>If you were a time traveler</p><p>could you still melt my heart</p><p>with your rhythm? </p><p><br /></p><p>When I become a time traveler</p><p>will you follow my tracks</p><p>through the sand?</p><p><br /></p><p>When you become a time traveler</p><p>will you search for the path</p><p>to my door?</p><p><br /></p><p>As time travelers together will</p><p>we love the world we create</p><p>dancing our dreams?</p><p><br /></p><p>When universe upon universe</p><p>is populated with travelers will we</p><p>have enough time?</p><p><br /></p><p>I thought I was a blink of</p><p>your eye but tears</p><p>washed it away.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-27204808030878270742021-10-12T07:07:00.000+11:002021-10-12T07:07:32.603+11:00Becoming Dust<div style="text-align: left;">When the boy became dust he<br />never thought about beauty,<br />he was beauty in<br />iridescence,<br />a dream on the breeze<br />a flash of colour in the clouds<br />a wisp of fragrance in<br />your hair,<br />but somewhere drifting in his melody<br />you cried,<br />tears watering his bones <br />and raising an orchid.</div>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-12805369647988165602021-07-15T08:20:00.005+10:002021-09-06T09:41:54.850+10:00Almost Shot a Rabbit Once<p>Almost shot a rabbit once<br />when I was ten years old,<br />a city kid staying in Wangaratta <br />with some lovely country folk.<br /><br />Almost shot a rabbit once<br />when the menfolk took me hunting,<br />a city kid in tangled bush<br />the men wore hunting gear.<br /><br />Almost shot a rabbit once<br />it was sitting near a gum tree,<br />I was handed a .22 calibre rifle<br />the men carried shotguns.<br /><br />Almost shot a rabbit once<br />the hunters told me to shoot,<br />I looked at the unsuspecting prey<br />then shot a branch instead.<br /><br />Almost shot a rabbit once<br />but hit the target I aimed for.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-70844011686779659902021-06-26T08:37:00.001+10:002022-11-21T06:28:23.455+11:00On Those Roads<p>On those roads<br />those endless roads<br />warehouses and factories<br />on those roads<br />white lines leading<br />down those roads,<br />lives living dreams<br />along those roads,<br />me a pinpoint moving<br />on those roads<br />breathe deeply and find peace<br />pain<br />you think blood pools<br />in pans?<br />wrong<br />light skewers hope<br />bright<br />wrong<br />you think the world works<br />as an oiled mechanism?<br />no<br />it's a ramshackle jalopy<br />puffing smoke<br />leaking oil<br />love bleeds<br />on those roads<br />those endless roads.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-60419179569262665372021-03-24T09:06:00.000+11:002021-03-24T09:06:00.469+11:00The Imperial Pilgrimage of Yuan ShiKai<p>If you stare long enough at another's face<br />it shifts,<br />changes,<br />flows like melting wax,<br />becomes another face,<br />another person,<br />you feel an itch at the base of your skull,<br />there is something wrong.<br /><br />You are not yourself!<br /><br />You feel inconstant desire,<br />a tidal surge ruled by the moon<br />like your face is ruled by eyes,<br />eyes gazing across a plaza littered with bleeding statues<br />see completion in rubble,<br />totality in entropy.<br /><br />Can you ever understand another's emotions?<br />ever know the deepest content of another's thought?<br />You grasp at symbols as a drunkard grasps the bottle,<br />hunt for archetypes in bewildering fecundity<br />under the canopy of world jungle.<br /><br />You awake as Yuan Shi Kai on a cherry blossom morning,<br />but the Imperial pilgrimage has ended<br />and you will never occupy the Dragon Throne,<br />you are the skeleton of a warlord,<br />with vacant eye sockets which never see the lotus;<br />an insect skimming across a stagnant pond,<br />separated by surface tension from the muddy depths,<br />above divided from below,<br />the face in the mirror is not yours.<br /><br />You pluck pieces from a mosaic created by unknown hands,<br />your fingers bleed,<br />cut by splinters of worthless glass,<br />a window closed to that distant world,<br />once so near,<br />now lost to your mind,<br />you are not me,<br />I am not myself,<br />not yet,<br />not in this fragment of feeling.<br /><br />Perhaps you are Akhenaton replying to the mayor of Byblos,<br />Eternity waits for you to die the true death,<br />misunderstood,<br />forgotten even by the pale rays of dawn.<br />But no!<br />you are not Akhenaton,<br />he has long become one with the dust of millennia,<br />you are not Akhenaton.<br />You are not yourself!<br /><br />The vine hangs heavy with sorrow,<br />your instinct is to hack and slash,<br />money is your machete,<br />your structure is a complex problem in organic chemistry,<br />your creed an open-cut mine,<br />a containment pond overflowing with the last flood of misery,<br />your tears are sulphuric acid,<br />your saliva strontium 90,<br />your heart is public property,<br />there is leprosy in your soul.<br /><br />Your life is a flowchart with branches always leading to the negative,<br />avenues of negatives lined with crucified dreams,<br />the no, no, no, of yourself,<br />endless denial of yourself,<br />infinite reflection of infinite regress,<br />bottomless pit of Being.<br /><br />Is it ignorance or complicity which attracts punishment?<br />If despair has many faces can innocence sleep in peace?<br />You, me, and a song on the breeze,<br />a name called from dreams,<br />is this a foretaste of pain or the lick of astringent pleasure?<br /><br />If the promise of the future is a poisoned apple,<br />can you identify with a grape?<br /><br />You must stay in a difficult equilibrium,<br />buoyed by the minor victory of life<br />and the absence of personal death,<br />then slink back to that unearned solitude,<br />relieved of responsibility,<br />free to be nothing but the scent of a rose,<br />the hum of a bee.<br /><br />You are the winds of change,<br />the mind of God,<br />a journey without purpose,<br />the destination without substance.<br /><br />If you stare long enough at another's face<br />it shifts,<br />changes,<br />flows like melting wax,<br />becomes another face,<br />another person.<br /><br />You are not yourself!<br /></p><p>*Note* Yuan ShiKai was military governor of Beijing at the fall of the Qing dynasty. He assumed the presidency of the first Republic, then attempted to proclaim himself Emperor through an 'imperial pilgrimage'. He died in 1916 after completing three of the four traditional pilgrimage stages.<br /></p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-60073292722454397682021-03-18T10:03:00.000+11:002021-03-18T10:03:00.221+11:00American Rally 2018<p>Crowds screamed love<br />as a toxic eruption burst through<br />his intestinal walls,<br />toxic person poison man.<br /><br />He loved a swirling symbol at the<br />end of the hall,<br />half crosses flipping endlessly<br />his cross, his creed.<br /><br />A river bubbling with sealed lies<br />fled beneath a tattooed bridge,<br />he swam with skeletons and<br />blood and pastiche of flesh.<br /><br />Stars cuckolded by lies<br />spat dark matter venom,<br />half crosses linked and swirled<br />around his ankles, cold.<br /><br />Light in the White House<br />extinguished,<br />our world sighs with the<br />frozen lies dark truth.<br /><br />The crowd screamed love<br />as vultures swallowed hope.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-16792453893046402992021-02-16T08:23:00.001+11:002021-02-16T08:23:12.749+11:00Valentine's Poem<p>Why does love consume you<br />when you consume love?<br />Love is your breath<br />your blanket<br />the tears you shed<br />as you sleep with your one,<br />sharing pain.<br /><br />Come to the bleak crossroad<br />where crows pluck your heart,<br />say it isn't a place you've been<br />and you lie,<br />or are confuddled by a <br />mirage of clowns<br />juggling mirrors.<br /><br />I love<br />like galaxies swirl,<br />like stars explode,<br />like your smile is<br />my universe.<br /><br /></p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-47155357973225239562021-02-09T07:18:00.000+11:002021-02-09T07:18:04.401+11:00Sunset<p>When I wrote about love<br />it rose like the sun above <br />blue misty mountains,<br />a glowing tapestry blinding<br />in the brilliance of your smile.<br /><br />When I saw your smile<br />I thought of love,<br />how it crossed the sky<br />lighting my life,<br />warming our hearts.<br /><br />When my heart warmed<br />I caressed you,<br />bathed in your smile,<br />as we watched stars sparkle<br />and the sun set across our plains.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-63780523586847534252021-01-14T07:45:00.000+11:002021-01-14T07:45:17.129+11:00Inauguration Day, 2017<p> If he was a better person</p><p>we would not live in fear,</p><p>if he was kinder we would</p><p>live in hope,</p><p>if he was brighter </p><p>we would be confident,</p><p>if he was not president</p><p>the world would not end.</p><p><br /></p><p>There are too many what ifs</p><p>for us to make sense,</p><p>of a world where insanity</p><p>is truth everyday,</p><p>eaten with cereal and</p><p>your news with toast,</p><p>serial mania and</p><p>presidential boasts.</p><p><br /></p><p>The drones will fly</p><p>where ever he decrees,</p><p>friends and enemies will</p><p>come to see,</p><p>the final flash of death</p><p>as fire rains down,</p><p>your last sight that of</p><p>a manic grinning clown.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-980042061692091732020-09-12T07:27:00.002+10:002020-09-12T07:27:57.081+10:00Love is a Sea<p>Her sigh is a breeze</p><p>rippling leaves,</p><p>her smile is laughter</p><p>trailing dreams,</p><p>her eyes are mirrors</p><p>scintillating sorrow,</p><p>her love is a sea</p><p>drowning horror.</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-16690133287733195832020-09-08T07:33:00.000+10:002020-09-08T07:33:02.512+10:00They Came<p> I heard a cry from a leaden sky</p><p>but there was no-one there</p><p>I stood for a while and felt nothing </p><p>a drifting cloud</p><p>the cries were muted, muffled</p><p>gagged with silk scarves</p><p>while kittens mewled and</p><p>puppies snuffled</p><p>nowhere could I see the harpies</p><p>screeching</p><p>people shuffling awkwardly</p><p>life paths lined with dripping tears</p><p>eyes in clouds judging</p><p>ears in trees hearing</p><p>your confession</p><p>your collaboration,</p><p>as they came for us and</p><p>we knew, we knew</p><p>but what could we do</p><p>as leeches sucked our blood?</p>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-52000989652341301972020-06-25T15:16:00.000+10:002020-06-25T15:16:30.684+10:00The Silence of Poetry<div>When poetry is silent</div><div>you can't hear it with your ears,</div><div>you don't hear it when you're kind,</div><div>you never hear it with your philosophy,</div><div>you can't hear it with your mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>You won't hear it in a song,</div><div>or find it in a breeze,</div><div>it will hide from your sight</div><div>like an eel in the sea.</div><div><br /></div><div>It will flee from your sight</div><div>a cloud across your brow,</div><div>then confound your expectations</div><div>with flopping whimsy flight.</div><div><br /></div><div>When words are waifs in the wind</div><div>then your poems are fine,</div><div>far better than dusty dreams,</div><div>like mine.</div>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-21632671080146458232020-05-18T12:01:00.002+10:002020-05-18T12:01:52.939+10:00Bronchial Asthma<div>I forgot my life</div><div>left it in some bargain bin,</div><div>a flitter of glitter</div><div>little old ladies ignore</div><div>in their endless opportunity quest.</div><div><br /></div><div>I note each breath you take</div><div>watching the mist seep from your mask,</div><div>somewhere the falcon soars</div><div>but not with me this night.</div><div><br /></div><div>High voices chatter</div><div>deep voices command</div><div>a party envelopes the street.</div><div>What is their essence?</div><div>What the fuck am I doing?</div><div>Why do I question the</div><div>ruckus and rousting of</div><div>folk following their lives?</div><div><br /></div><div>There is a rhythm I follow</div><div>a melody syncopated,</div><div>when true it's good but</div><div>I dread the deadly offbeat.</div><div><br /></div><div>As you breathe deeply</div><div>I worry every second,</div><div>perhaps the snores will stop,</div><div>the rhythm will falter</div><div>and I'll only hear the chatter</div><div>of parties.</div><div><br /></div>Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-85533396124909254352020-04-22T13:37:00.000+10:002020-04-22T13:37:28.321+10:00Sing the SilenceSing the bees<br />
with lemon blossom<br />
finding the sun,<br />
deepest blue sky<br />
quietest days,<br />
with only the cockatoos<br />
making their usual racket.<br />
<br />
Sing the silence<br />
of humanity in our street,<br />
apart from the kids who scoot<br />
up and down outside their houses...<br />
well behaved, good kids,<br />
no back yards.<br />
<br />
Sing the togetherness<br />
as we isolate and vegetate and<br />
bake and love,<br />
we make our lives count<br />
on the couch.Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-39129633548695981242020-03-29T10:50:00.000+11:002020-03-29T10:50:12.103+11:00The Reactor in the Shed<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I was about three when I began to suspect my family
were a bit peculiar. Not that I had much to compare them with, after all, my
cousins and aunt were peculiar too. The neighbours were distant figures, but
those I met seemed quite nice and somehow different to my family. But I was
only a little girl, a toddler, so what did I know? Well, quite a lot really,
since I could read their minds. Most of the neighbours thought my family were
peculiar, but couldn’t understand why. After all, the house and garden were
neat, the nature strip regularly mowed. Dad went to work at some important
secret laboratory, and mum stayed home and did mum things like cooking,
cleaning, and fine-tuning the vortex generator.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s all so long ago now, over a century, but
occasionally I still feel the tingle of apprehension when I discovered dad had
a nuclear reactor in the back shed. It was a beauty, a cold-fusion reactor, so
it was quite safe. But I’m jumping ahead. I should give you some context to the
story, starting with how I came by my name, Lightwings Freestar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This is not the name I was given, that old moniker is
long gone, used now only for legal documents and presented to people who can’t
handle Lightwings. Yes, there are people like that, heaven only knows what type
of lives they lead. Boring I expect. I won’t bother you with it. Suffice to say
the people in my life who count all know me as Lightwings, and that is how I
like it. My family name is irrelevant as it wasn’t their real name. I heard mum
say it once, a gargle of consonants and chirps. She was usually very guarded
but they’d had a few glasses of sherry, at least I thought it was sherry, it
was in a decanter so I couldn’t tell what it really was. It was red, and
smelled strange. Dad brought it out from the shed and it sparkled and fizzed
for a while until it settled into a red sherry-like liquid. They never offered
it to guests, but did enjoy imbibing on the odd occasion, and there were lots
of odd occasions, mostly after I was packed off to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thinking about my childhood bed, it was disconcerting
mum insisted on tucking the sheets so tightly around me I could barely move.
The chain attached via a padlock to the bed frame made it even more difficult,
and although I could squeeze out the rattling and clanking invariably brought
dad into the room to scold me. I thought all little girls lived in a locked,
windowless bedroom and slept in a chained bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-85460723022601913812020-03-29T08:44:00.000+11:002020-03-29T10:51:22.327+11:00Starpainter<br />
<h1>
Chapter 1<o:p></o:p></h1>
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Miko Jōre
stared at the canvas and wondered what the hell she’d just painted? She knew
what she’d intended to paint, a portrait of her beloved husband and best friend
Prog, but somehow a starscape had flowed from her brushes. This was not
unusual. Much of Miko’s art had stellar themes, after all her daughter was a
famous astronaut, but rarely did she deviate from her intended subject.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">‘What is my
unconscious trying to tell me’, she thought. Perhaps it was concern for Sandra
and her husband William, 4.2 light years from Earth, and busy establishing a
base on a moon of Proxima Centauri B. The planet itself was too dangerous to
semi-permanently occupy, but the moon, recently named Gagarin, was like a giant
honeycomb and with some effort habitation could be established in its
voluminous caverns. A red dwarf star, Proxima was erratic, and likely to
unpredictably emit deadly solar flares. The mission had to be continuously on
high alert.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
propensity for extreme solar flares was what rendered Proxima B, nicknamed
‘Smoky’, uninhabitable. Although it was only slightly more massive than Earth,
whatever breathable atmosphere it may have once possessed had long been blasted
away. It was extremely volcanic, so acrid clouds of smoke drifted from
countless locations on the planet, the result of an intensely hot iron core and
thin rocky crust. Despite the vulcanism, and proximity to its sun, Smoky was
still extremely cold. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Miko’s
painting depicted a scene of Smoky viewed from Gagarin, with a blaze of Milky
Way stars forming a halo around the turbulent planet. She’d beatified Smoky,
though once again, she had no conscious clue why. It was like she was viewing
the scene through Sandra’s eyes, which was utterly ridiculous. Countless images
and films had been transmitted to Earth from the mission, but none to her
knowledge resembled this. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She mentally
shrugged and turned from the canvas, leaving her studio to make a cup of tea.
She was alone in the house, her husband Prog visiting his old friend Wayne down
the street. At their age, a home visit is quite the expedition. Once you’re
over a hundred a short walk is a little like running a half marathon. A few
years younger than Prog, Miko was approaching her centenary, and although
painting was more difficult and slower than in her youth, it was still
intensely fulfilling. She made a pot of her favourite strong black tea, brought
it back to the studio, and settled into a comfortable armchair overlooking the
stunning Lake Geneva.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-70722181708158027952020-03-17T13:44:00.004+11:002020-03-17T13:44:47.247+11:00Social Distance Recipe #1 - You Beaut Bread (gluten free)Dry Ingredients<br />
<br />
400 g White Rice Flour<br />
60 g (1/3 cup) Brown Rice Flour<br />
60 g (1/3 cup) Polenta<br />
60 g (1/3 cup) Potato Flour<br />
1 tbsp Guar Gum<br />
2 teasp. Gluten-free Baking Powder<br />
1 teasp. Salt<br />
3 tbsp Raw Sugar<br />
3 tbsp Soy Drink Powder (or full cream dairy milk powder)<br />
2 teasp. Dry Yeast<br />
½ teasp. Caraway Seeds<br />
2 tbsp Linseeds<br />
1 ½ tbsp L.S.A.<br />
1 tbsp Sesame Seeds<br />
1 tbsp Sunflower Seeds<br />
<br />
Mix dry ingredients well.<br />
<br />
Liquid Ingredients<br />
<br />
450 ml (2 imp. Cups) Water<br />
3 Free Range (60g) eggs (or equivalent egg substitute)<br />
1 teasp. White Vinegar<br />
3 tbsp Olive Oil<br />
<br />
Whisk liquid ingredients lightly but thoroughly, trying not to aerate too much.<br />
<br />
Mix wet and dry ingredients well, and when using a Bread Machine, place a handful at time into the bread tin and compact well with a spatula or spoon to eliminate air bubbles.<br />
Set the Bread Machine to 1kg (1,000gram), Basic setting. Yum!<br />
<br />
Mixture can be used to create rolls or oven baked bread. If not using a Bread Machine, continue to mix and roll the dough for several minutes then allow to sit and rise in a warm place for 45 minutes to 1 hour. Place in oven either as rolls or in a bread tin and cook at 180 c for approximately 40 minutes or until golden brown.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-54553895191115720352020-02-25T13:51:00.000+11:002020-02-25T13:51:01.578+11:00The Name Game. By Whitefeather LightWhen a babe is born<br />
you know that it's true,<br />
that the fairies must name it<br />
when the babe's gifts are new.<br />
<br />
The parents to be could not find the name,<br />
so they asked their friends for help in the game.<br />
They looked under pots and pans to see,<br />
in cupboards, tins, and jars of strawberry,<br />
they checked the pillows and under the TV,<br />
behind the curtains and the settee,<br />
around the bushes and flower beds too,<br />
in the letterbox to see if there was news,<br />
then put their heads together that night<br />
to find a name that would be just right.<br />
<br />
The Atlas and Encyclopaedia they read,<br />
tried Gods and Goddesses until some one said,<br />
"Call out some names surely one must be true,<br />
might pop from our heads right out of the blue".<br />
<br />
There's<br />
Bonny and Otto, Ted and Talbrook,<br />
Kerad and Sharod, Sinaed and Shanook,<br />
Harry and Tao, Ninoo and Shi,<br />
Tirra and Tonlar, Kerrin and Ki,<br />
Kiboor and Carter, Talan and Tess,<br />
Rinald and Robik, Borin and Bess,<br />
Berrin and Brais, Daisy and Doa,<br />
Oh heaven knows!<br />
Shola or Sprigs, Aldro or Annette,<br />
Enzo or Elright, Kinto or Kent,<br />
Lauren or Leesha, Miro or Mitch,<br />
Pam or Primrose, Perry or Prince,<br />
Ula or Arie, Aran or Ram,<br />
Dahlia and Driko, Kerra or San,<br />
Sharra and Prenroe, Garth or Jem,<br />
Jedda or Janine, Teemo or Tim,<br />
Preta or Prama, Inu or Illees,<br />
Lara or Lindon, Sharn or Anadees,<br />
Tabbra or Tark, Vreshta or Vorn,<br />
Zerra or Zak, Tirran or Rawn.<br />
<br />
They thought of the elves and fairies' names too,<br />
there's sure to be one they can think of soon.<br />
Well there's<br />
Sprite and Spin, Tribbles and Finn,<br />
Blossom or Tinkles, Tipsin or Twing,<br />
Dipple or Glips, Prip or Glow,<br />
Sprassle and Sky, Jonquil and Snow,<br />
Moondust and Sunglide, Flips and Swit,<br />
Cherrylite and chort, Trickle and Slip,<br />
Sparklet and Belltime and Buttercup Blue,<br />
Swich and Robinsong or Petticoat Moon,<br />
Starlett Dew and Dreaming Ray Rain,<br />
Rainbow Twill or Prism Sain,<br />
Dainty Filly and Dancing Light Bee,<br />
Crickety Toll and Skipping Tree,<br />
Cumquot Jip and Singing Wings,<br />
Mirror Moonbeams and Fiddlety Thrings,<br />
Twinkletoes and Satellite Hue,<br />
and that was just to name a few.<br />
<br />
Well the list went on with the party till dawn,<br />
but alas, no name for the babe to be born,<br />
they shook their heads and departed in despair,<br />
had the Fairies forgotten and Elves not care?<br />
<br />
My heart was pounding, I could say no more,<br />
when I heard Tinkerbell knock at the door,<br />
she said,<br />
"At the end of the garden a bell will be heard,<br />
and your babe will be named by the early morning bird",<br />
...and her name is Bella.<br />
<br />
(c) 2020 Whitefeather LightTony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27663405.post-3014594148883485112020-02-10T07:29:00.000+11:002020-02-10T07:29:05.931+11:00Burning worldWhen summer was consumed<br />
by flames<br />
she froze<br />
in the gum tree,<br />
blackened paws.<br />
<br />
As smoke choked the sky<br />
wind whipped searing wind,<br />
choking hell<br />
limping through<br />
smouldering debris.<br />
<br />
Then the end came to her<br />
as it came to so many others,<br />
alone in an orange nightmare,<br />
and we taste the ash<br />
of her blackened world.Tony Foleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08327882958098181667noreply@blogger.com0