Scraps of rhyme .....

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

I found an old book of verse that belonged to my Grandmother, while leafing through it, I found this poem. It brought back memories of nights down at their farm. I would sit beside the fire and my Grandmother would read from this book.
The following poem was (and still is) one of my favourites ......



THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE.

There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope,
So, try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.

It lives on weeds and wattle gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty. and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare
But when you look for it again you find it isn't there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.
So, try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.

It trembles when you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you sneer at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing wax and soap.
So, try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.

But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.
For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle-green.
It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.
Oh, try:
Try!
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.



I can still remember the flickering of the flames, the smell of the redgum logs burning and the faint night sounds as the darkness came down.

This poem is by C.J Dennis an Australian author (naturally ;D). There is a website about him and other Australian poets/writers if anyone is interested.

Great for the kids, a little bit of nonsense to spark their imagination

:)T.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

Imagination allows us to escape the predictable. It enables us to reply to the common wisdom that we cannot soar, by saying. "Just watch!"

Bill Bradley - "Values of the Game"


:)T.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

THE LORDS OF TIME.

Along a pond’s edge,
Curtains of willows hang,
Quiet and still.
Only the dragonflies are moving,
They thread the air,
On cellophane wings.
Their slender bodies flash,
Shards of garnet, jade, turquoise,
Enamelled jewels in the bright sun.
Worshipped, revered, reviled,
Oftimes misunderstood,
Stuff of legend, folklore, nightmare.
Their eyes, opalescent pools,
Misty and deep,
A fortune-teller’s crystal ball.
Looking into those eyes,
Colours flash,
Time fades.
I am a newcomer,
The dragonflies were here,
Before the ancient mountains.
Before the birds,
They flew with the pterosaurs,
Fossils record their glory.
Humbled,
Fascinated,
I watch their aerial display.



:)T.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

This is another of my Sister's poems...

HISTORY [Cultural Threads]

I am an Australian.
merino clad
roast dinner on Sunday.
I have an Australian history
The fabric made from threads
trailing across two centuries.
I have followed those threads
through my grandparents eyes and voices
I have been with them in the mines
and on the farm
I have pioneered the land,
lived in crowded city streets,
and felt the pencil in my hand
on racetracks where John Wren’s
name was only whispered ----
--- With their history woven through me
I have travelled the world over
three decades
I have seen the Mona Lisa through
a child’s eyes
and known I was Australian
I have felt the Chinook winds
on glacier snow
and known I was Australian
I have gazed at the moon
from the top of China’s Great Wall
and known that Australia was
with the sun.
I have sat entranced in
crumbling ruins
touched the Druid’s stones
and realized the youth of
Australian history
of my history
But the history is alive within me
The spirit directed and heartened
by it
The fabric enriched and realized
And through it all,
and because of it all,
I know that ----
I am Australian.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

Here's one for the kids


WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill and just for fun,
To see how the Daisies bloom in the Sun.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill to where I can lie,
And there listen to Larks singing on high.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill where I just might,
See a Unicorn, all shining white.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill and to follow the clues,
To find out how Eskimos build their Igloos.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill then down the way,
To watch the big Draught-horse pulling his dray.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill where the bird sings,
To see a rainbow of Butterfly Wings.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill and in due course,
Take a ride on a bright blue Seahorse.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill and past the stream,
To drive an Engine, all smoke and steam.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill then down to the Sea,
To swim with a Whale as big as can be.

- Where are you going?
- Over the hill and if I leave soon,
I am going to fly a Rocket Ship to the Moon.

- Next time you go, can I come too?
- If you want to, of course you can,
To go with a friend is a really great plan.

- Where are we going?
- Anywhere that we want, because the destination,
Is only limited by our Imagination.


T.

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

"We cherish our friends not for their ability to amuse us, but for our ability to amuse them."

:)T.

[Dream Loxley]

Must be a kid at heart ... loved that one...Where are we going

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

Glad you enjoyed it Dream

This next poem is by Max Ehrmann, who also wrote "Desiderata"

You with the Still Soul

Maybe you have a still soul that
goes murmurless like water in the deep
of rivers;

And perchance you wander
silent amid the din of the world's
grinding barter like one
journeying in strange lands.

You, too, with the still soul,
have your mission, for beneath the
dashing, noisy waves must ever
run the silent waters that give the tide
its course.


It comes from his book - "The Desiderata of Happiness"
I find his poems have a peaceful quality to them.

:)T.

[lordAbiyownah]

*warm smile* Tis thee good sir that doth have a peacful quality about thyself.......for thy words..tho mayhaps written by anouther.....after touching your heart come fresh unto us.......and lift many a spirit...

speaking for myself good friend.....I admire what thee do write....and know thee art a viracious reader.....and things that do touch thee so..thee feel compelled to so bless us with it as well.......I do bow to thee....and pray always thee will bless this board with thy presence...

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

To be able to share my writings is a joy and a shared joy is a double joy I thank thee most humbly, Abiyo

"A bird a nest, a spider a web, a man friendship."

T.

[Dream Loxley]

Ahhhh... now you are speaking my language Thorgrimm........I adore this one, and have it well placed in my home. Words to live by I feel.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.


Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.


Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.


Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.


You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.


Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.


With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

[Halethala]

*Peeks back in for her "poetic fix" again . . *

Loved the Lords of Time, and TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE and History are fascinating glimpses into your nation's culture . . what better way to do so?

*Wistfully* Thanks for sharing the Ehrmann quotes, both of you . . such lovely inspiration and truth . .

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

Here's another to keep your 'high' going, 'Letha


TOAST.

An afternoon sundream of the days,
Back to a time of simpler ways,
Down on the farm the encroaching night,
Heralds the passing of the light,
On the hearth gum logs are burning,
Mountain Ash to cinders turning,
Expectant children freshly bathed,
In dressing gowns so tightly swathed,
Embers glowing in the night,
Slices of fresh bread cut just right,
Beside the Mantle from their nook,
Long toasting forks come off their hook,
From their tines the bread is slung,
And towards the fireglow carefully hung,
With breathless will the task commences,
Smells tickle the nose and pepper the senses,
The golden slices on plates are gathered,
Then with butter thickly lathered,
Only fresh - churned butter from the crock,
Would satisfy this youthful flock,
And how our grandparents would frown,
As from our chins it dribbled down,
Fire - toasting bread is quite an art,
Taught by heat but learnt by heart,
And each child would proudly boast,
That they could make the perfect toast.


Ahhhh ... the scents of memory

:)T.

[Dream Loxley]

Wonderful.......delightful images and memories

[Thorgrimm Halfdane]

When I was at school (somewhere in the dim hazy past ) This poem seemed to keep popping up on the curriculum. For some reason, it has always had a special meaning to me.


MY COUNTRY

The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance,
Brown streams and soft, dim skies -
I know, but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me !

The stark white ring-barked forests,
All tragic in the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops,
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country !
Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us
We see the cattle die -
But then the grey clouds gather
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country !
Land of the rainbow gold,
For fire and flood and famine
She pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze . . .

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand -
Though Earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.

DOROTHEA MACKELLAR.(1885-1973)



Maybe it was sowing the small seed of national pride in a young heart


:)T.