There’s no one here; break the mirror
God alone is, the all there is
Love and light is the true shearer
Sparking in heart, rapture’s bliss fizz
The path is easy, make thoughts slow
There’s no one here; break the mirror
Innocence then reveals its glow
Truth about Self becomes clearer
Surrender: God is soul’s steerer
Let the flag of love be unfurled
There’s no one here; break the mirror
Know earth life is but a dream world
God is the light that lights all lights
Soften touch that love draws nearer
Light the lamp of bliss that delights
There’s no one here; break the mirror
The elephants and asses are battling again.
To maintain power over the masses.
We the people, on the verge of colossal collapse.
These beasts (of a forgotten Eden).
Have ceased working for (we the people).
They've forgotten virtue and oath.
They bleed us dry and parch our throats.
We the feeble are far beyond bloated.
With government doublespeak dope.
Handouts galore to pacify the freeloader...
The media slinging race baiting trope.
While careening down the slippery slope.
Our forefathers taught us to fish and pray.
We've forgotten how to tie knots and fold our hands.
Now we lay down in the wrong shade of meek.
Awaiting the blade of the mad shearer.
Beside the green and flush meadows, Lies a pen of sheeps, grazing around the green grass, where the kind shepherd lives.
Wandering in the nearby hills, I found a wooly sheep,
Hasn't been sheared for years I think, it's wool was dense and thick.
Took it to the caring sheperd,
To get rid of its weary wool,
Awestruck was the shearer then,
When he saw the loads of wool.
Delighted with the wooly deal,
He sheared it with the tool,
I felt relieved for mighty sheep,
And so was 'Mr WOOL'
Philip heard an angel say,
“Now rise and go!”
And so he rose and went;
He did not know
Whom he would meet
Along the road that day.
Ahead,
An Ethiopian,
a man,
Riding in his chariot,
Coming from Jerusalem,
An open scroll in hand.
So Philip asked him,
“And do you understand?”
He said, “How can I?
I need someone to explain.”
So Philip climbed aboard
And joined alongside him.
“Like a sheep to the slaughter
Or a lamb before its shearer,
He opened not his mouth.”
He asked,
"Does he speak of himself?
Or of another?"
And starting from this point within the text,
There Philip told the man
About the Christ.
And behold!
There was some water
Just off the road.
Look!
Here is a nice pool!
What keeps me from being baptized also?
And so they stopped,
Went down into the water,
And he was baptized there.
Then, in the Spirit,
Philip was carried off.
The Ethiopian
saw him no more,
But continued on his way,
Rejoicing.
And Philip,
Headed to Caesarea,
Stopped in at every town along the way,
And preached the Christ.
(From Acts 8)
Lucifer is his name,
Full of wisdom and perfect in beauty
Dazzled with brightness like a burnished gold
Holy and undefiled, he was first of the covering cherubs, precious and magnificent.
Stood beside the great creator..
Almighty God rested upon him..
Honored above the Heavenly host,
Not content with his position,
Disposition and dissatisfaction,
Clouded with envy and self exaltation.
The light bearer,
throne attendant
Shearer of God's glory
became Satan..
Indulge in rebellion
and cast out in Heavens.
Satan's enmity found a new field,
He plotted the ruin of human race
Great is his power of deceit..
cloaked in falsehood
perfect in disguise..
incite disobedience..
He infused the guilt and penalty of sin.
Man fall.!
Life in toil
Cursed of sin
Deception employed..
Satan flattery and ensnare
For followers he seek, to settle in eternal
Hellfire in anguished and torment,
ceaseless gnashing of teeth with endless suffering..
Are the exploits slowly fading of the folk who forged this land?
Are there more important factors, today for us to understand?
Are we prepared to lose our national character?
Erase our borderlines, and forget about Australia,
where squatter and selector, fought fire, flood and drought …
the Shearer and the drover helping cut the wool clip out.
Self-reliance in this dry land; suspicious of authority,
physical and mental toughness, laconic humour tempered eagerly.
The exploits real and fabled, our robustness could quite relate,
so in our generation - old qualities are ours to celebrate,
for the musterer and stockman on a cattle or sheep run.
The swaggy and the bagman tramping 'neath the burning sun.
The diggers and the miners. with their quest for precious ore.
Bushrangers and the troopers who were the lawless and the law.
The footsteps of explorers and those who died in war.
Bullocks and the Walers; axe ring and crosscut saw.
'T'is for the struggle of our pioneers,
and who's souls we can’t restore,
that we must preserve the heritage,
of Australians who have lived before.
I used to be a dreamer
until I fell for a dream crusher
I used to be very optimistic
until I met miss negative
I used to have beautiful wings
until I ran into a shearer
I used to be a lovely garden
until someone planted weeds
I used to see vibrant colors
until I came across mr.dull
Beware of such folk.
They bring destruction,
everywhere they go.
2-27-2020
Alexis Y.
Inspired by the “Warning”
contest
Easy ways for me to lose fat
Without the ease, it seems to me
Is the base for me falling flat
Laying bare my hypocrisy
Big as a barn in my mirror
My spun yarn is with disregard
A yard too thick for a Shearer
When I say that it's just too hard!
For Word Morph contest
by Jesse Rowe
3/7/2019
Luck Rides A Stick Horse
Written: by Tom Wright
7/8/2006
If luck is what you’re counting on
A stick horse will always be your steed.
Choose God and a job to rely on instead
Not Casino’s or lottery to fill your need;
You can tell yourself that someone
Always wins and it just might be you.
But a gambler plays the suckers game
Though your reasoning perhaps is true;
People feed quarters into slot machines
And at the tables they tirelessly play.
But most go home with empty pockets
Thinking tomorrow might be the day.
But just as sure as another payday comes
They’re Casino bound and in high gear.
Not seeing themselves for what they are
Dumb Sheep, waiting for the shearer;
Haunting Trump Taunting
Haunting Trump Taunting
And over our heads vaunting
Appearance daunting.
Bad news am shearer
And again the sad bearer
Trump holy terror.
Party inviting
A President presiding
He should be hiding.
Always occurring
Politics and posturing
Some things still stirring.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
It’s wool cried Fred; don’t you know?
My coat is wool? who made it so?
You grew it like you grew your head said Fred
And the shearer comes, it’s Mr. Red
He’ll put your wool coat in a bag
And then you’ll look ugly like a hag
They wash it and then dry the wool
And make yarn like spaghetti on a spool
Yes, they’ll make sweaters, scarves and hats
And maybe make a jacket and a mat for cats
It’s nice and cool when your wool is gone
It feels like spring when summer’s on
All the praises you pick along the streets
Go confirm before a new-bought mirror,
And if those rare glories you all find true
Then know she’s near that beauty shearer.
Who’s time, the unerring author of loss and decay.
And so while you wait for she who must deprive
Learn your immortal splendor to wisely salt away
In shrewd acts that the lay waste of time survive.
Reincarnate in yourself some elegant luster
To represent you in the ageless posterity,
And water with care the shoots that germinate
In the fecund garden of your youthful fertility.
The sagacious mother leaving nothing to chance,
Invest in an eternity of prayer, for if bootless
There’s nothing of yours to lose to time-owned eons,
For this enterprise outlives all, and gives all for less.
With these desiderata carefully appropriated,
Now your chance to savor the trappings of luck and time
With vast unapologetic bites and greedy careless teeth
Till the bells of the end give their long-awaited chime.
Clyde was shocked when he looked in the mirror
His plight he noted clearer and clearer
He was growing balder
Like a leafless alder
He would have no more need for a shearer
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Waltzing Shearer
Out near Dagworth Station during 1894
Where the Waltzing Matilda, Swagman drowned,
Cos he liked them lamb chops nicely browned,
He was only eating the Masters sheep, scoffing em down,
Disgusting said Squatters and frowned, some more,
In 1894,
Great Shearers strike was still happening,
Burned down Dagworth shearing shed, for sure,
Firing guns were the Gun Shearers , ..shore 300 sheep a day..
Fair wages they wanted, some more,
The Shearers strike it got ugly,
The Master brought in the Army and war,
Shearers were using Phosphorous,
Delayed action fires galore,
The master and 3 coppers came along ,
They chased down a swagman, before,
He plunged in the water, the billabong,
And death did come like a whore,
So he goes no more waltzing a Jumbuck,………..…sheep
His ghost lingers still there by the shore,
Was it the Combo, waterhole,
Where he sprang and he bubbles no more.
Don Johnson 24-sep-11
Yes Vom, Gram.
nothing wrong with sweet little whores,
except unless she sometimes snores,
and forgets to pay the rent,
and death is welcome as before,
for this dim malcontent...
Uncle Les
My step grandfather was uncle Les,
Gun shearer of wooly sheep, he was,
Travelled the country, yes I says,
and at crutching, He was beaut,
false teeth of gold his mouth did hold,
just me funeral expenses,
He never seemed to get too old,
The gold the shiny dentures?
He hated scabs who under cut,
The wage of other shearers,
He tried to run one down in Bourke
Wife Tuppy almost had a seizure.
Les wanted his ashes scattered,
over the river Barwon,
daughter Pat flew there, did just that,
at Mungindi, the darling.
31-july-11 GOT SECOND PLACE IN THE COMPETITION
Memories of Grandma or Grandpa or Both
Sponsored by: Carol Brown
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