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Life can be
Such a mess
So get out there
And do your best

You fell down
Well, get back up
I never meant
To be so rough

The world is fast
And it ain't fair
Love is hard
And it's cold out there

Life can be such a mess
It's up to you
To do your best...
And in the rapture
Of those forgotten
The stars shall spark
A final bargain

Within the eye
An eternal light
Beyond the realm
Of wrong versus right

To exist forever
Shall drive our will
Beyond the knowing
Of the subjectively real..
The little towns near Egmont
That nestle on the plains
To gather close the winding roads
The homing trails and lanes,
The little towns near Egmont
That sleep the whole night long
Cooled by the scent of mountain breeze
Lulled by the sea wind’s song.

The little towns near Egmont
Will ever seem to me
Like stars that deck the evening sky
Or isles that dot the sea,
Like beads that sprinkle here and there
On Taranaki’s gown
Like figures in a rich brocade
Of yellow, green and brown.

The little towns near Egmont
Seen through a summer haze
How fair and fresh and free they lie
Beneath the golden days,
Not crowded in deep valley’s,
Not buried in tall trees
But open to the sun, the rain
The starlight and the breeze.

The little towns near Egmont
What busy lives they hold
With happiness and health to keep
Secure from heat and cold,
The comfortable homesteads,
The park like lands so fair
God keep them restful, clean and pure
As Egmont’s snow peak there.

Hanna Hair
Dawson Falls Lodge
Mount Egmont, Taranaki.
January 1926

This poem, hand written and forgotten, was written by a guest of the house, in a thick, ancient tome of comments and articles, secreted in a dusty corner of the beautiful and quaint Dawson Falls Alpine Lodge, nestled comfortably in the dense, high podocarp forest, far up the snow clad slopes of volcanic Mt. Egmont in Taranaki, New Zealand.

From its high vantage point on the mountain looking out toward the curving coastline of the vast Tasman sea, the lodge affords magnificent views of the sparse settlements and farmlands spread widely on the lowland plains before it. By day the smoke rises from farm house chimneys, by night the warm honeyed glow from scattered windows dot like an expanse of fire-flies amidst the velvet blackness extending out to the luminosity of the line of breakers pounding the distant coast.

This delicate work captures the sparse beauty of this magnificent rural place, it further affords a snapshot of that particular era and of the pioneer spirit and rugged endurance of the settlers who made this isolated land home.

Marshalg
Dawson Falls Lodge
26 October 2015
We weather the storms
Standing tall in the wind
Holding tight to our dreams
We break or we bend

Existing is simple
It's living that's hard
We collect life's lessons
And save them in jars

In the heaviness of hearts
We begin to fade
Losing parts of ourselves
Along the way

Still we stand tall
Holding as tight as we can
Somehow growing stronger
In the inevitable end...
Traveler Tim
Re to 02-18
In this new world
We should take up the cause
Of play
Make up a pause
To stay the way of innocence
Not ignorance
But in aw
And be merry
And be playful
Returning to the wonderful
Like the children do
Every day renewed
With adventures
 Feb 2015 Louidjy Francois
Tupelo
She smiled like a fist fight,
Lips curled into an apology,
Sipping on that darkened bottle,
Wishing for the winter,
Fishing for the rain
and spitting away the sun,
Planting all the daffodils
with the sharpest of knives,
She is an island,
Lost at sea,
unaware of the times,
Smiling like a fist fight,
and a garden of knives
The heart is pure
Containing the love
It is born with

As time passes
The mind is distanced
From the heart

The body grows
Distorts and contorts
Moving further from the heart

It is the truth that reconnects
The person to the heart
For them and others
There is a hell
Beyond your worst
A place where living
Becomes a curse

A restless feeling
Trapped within your gut
When you know your time
Is almost up

Passion dies
In the fear of night
There's no comfort
In the struggle for life

The heart sinks
The mind slips
Even the hand
Can hardly grip

The darkest day of my soul
Shines compared to this lowest low.
Traveler Tim
Re-posted to Dec 13-2016
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