my eyes, too blind from the light of hell to see
pray for you to choke the blasphemy out of me

ave maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, iesus. sancta maria, mater dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae

you misread my plea and loosen your holy grip
and more sins spill from my ****** lips

ave maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, iesus. sancta maria, mater dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae

my tongue is heavy with heresy
but still i babble hypocrisy

ave maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, iesus. sancta maria, mater dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae

amen

Hey Mr Tui Bird where do you go?
I wish I was like you.
Able to fly away across a sky so blue.
Maybe then she'd smile at me too.
The way she smiles at you.

Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in

(O Fortuna! had re-gained popular attention when it was chosen as the theme song for the film, The Omen, the story of a child who was the Anti-Christ.
The entire performance of Orff's Carmina Burana is gripping and spine-chilling. I had the pleasure of watching it from a box seat the the Broward Centre for the Performing Arts back in 1999, played by the Florida Philharmonic (defunct) led by maestro James Judd--it terrified me so much I couldn't sleep for days!-D)

1. O Fortuna (Chorus) (O Fortune)

O Fortuna O Fortune,
velut luna like the moon
statu variabilis, you are changeable,
semper crescis ever waxing
aut decrescis; and waning;
vita detestabilis hateful life
nunc obdurat first oppresses
et tunc curat and then soothes
ludo mentis aciem, as fancy takes it;
egestatem, poverty
potestatem and power
dissolvit ut glaciem. it melts them like ice.
Sors immanis Fate - monstrous
et inanis, and empty,
rota tu volubilis, you whirling wheel,
status malus, you are malevolent,
vana salus well-being is vain
semper dissolubilis, and always fades to nothing,
obumbrata shadowed
et velata and veiled
michi quoque niteris; you plague me too;
nunc per ludum now through the game
dorsum nudum I bring my bare back
fero tui sceleris. to your villainy.
Sors salutis Fate is against me
et virtutis in health
michi nunc contraria, and virtue,
est affectus driven on
et defectus and weighted down,
semper in angaria. always enslaved.
Hac in hora So at this hour
sine mora without delay
corde pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem since Fate
sternit fortem, strikes down the strong man,
mecum omnes plangite! everyone weep with me!
____

About:
"Carmina Burana is a scenic cantata composed by Carl Orff in 1935 and 1936. It is based on 24 of the poems found in the medieval collection Carmina Burana. Its full Latin title is Carmina Burana: Cantiones profanæ cantoribus et choris cantandæ comitantibus instrumentis atque imaginibus magicis"

"Orff first encountered the text in John Addington Symonds's 1884 publication Wine, Women and Song, which included English translations of 46 poems from the collection. Michel Hofmann, a young law student and Latin and Greek enthusiast, assisted Orff in the selection and organization of 24 of these poems into a libretto, mostly in Latin verse, with a small amount of Middle High German and Old Provençal. The selection covers a wide range of topics, as familiar in the 13th century as they are in the 21st century: the fickleness of fortune and wealth, the ephemeral nature of life, the joy of the return of Spring, and the pleasures and perils of drinking, gluttony, gambling and lust."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CarminaBurana_

As I lay beside my darling
On an early Sunday morn,
I could feel her rounded softness
Sleeping under blankets warm.
My mind caroused the memories
And loitered on it's way
And found itself deliciously,
Immersed in golden play.

I remembered something special
In the way my little boy would look
As his eyes rose up in wonderment
When I read  his favorite book.
And the joy involved in feeding
A hungry little mouth
When the porridge spooned all over
From the eyebrows heading south.

A tantalizing moment
On the beach down by the sea,
In the warm December sunshine
With my happy family.
We were running in the black sand
Drawing circles with a stick
As the surging waves approached them
Laughing little boys were quick.

Laughing, happy moments
And some sad ones like the day
When dear old Meg, our Labrador,
Got sick and passed away.
Young Boaz in his sadness
Climbed the big tree to it's crown
And it took a lot of pleading
To persuade him to come down.

And young Solly played the taniwha
At the Cornwall Park school play
And a better taniwha has yet
To grace the stage today.
A natural in his element
This young comedian
So hilariously funny
As he drew the audience in.

The tender, loving moments
As we both strolled arm in arm
Through the verdant Ferntree Gully
With it's sunlit grace and charm.
And the towering eucalyptus,
Hanging wood smoke in the air
And the whiplash resonation
Of the lyrebird hidden there.

Of Buttercup's wild parties
When fancy dress was king,
When everyone would whoop it up
And laugh and dance and sing.
When mum's and dad's and little kids
All joined the happy throng
With  spud mashing as a ceremony
And a night of fun and song.

Of sitting in the garden
With your feet up and a book
And a cold beer at your elbow
And a barbecue to cook.
With the easy feel of family
As they go about their day
And the joyous sound of summer
When two noisy tui's play.

Memories of yesterday
Moments in the life
Of ecstasy and agony
And wonderment and plight.
And the ordinary ness of everything
And the magic everywhere,
Like the auburn in the sunlight
As it strikes my darling's hair.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 October 2009

Push and pull
Yin and yang
How is this
The only song I sang

Close and far
Wrong and right
How can it be
We always fight

Ups and downs
Mistakes and remorse
Why do we always
Make things worse

Human nature
Wish we were greater.

Push and pull
Love and hate
How is this
My forever mate

Close and far
Pity and war
Why is it always
An ending with a scar.

Ups and downs.
Depression and joy
Oh why do I miss
Being with that boy

Human nature
Wish we were greater

Why don't we begin
Appreciate what's within.

Greetings Sissa,

Sunday morning early we walked along the wild black sand beach at the bottom of our road at Taranaki. For once the sea was quiescent, tranquil even. A gentle surge but the air was freezing. A heavy white frost cloaked our pasture at home and the grazing cows were snorting eruptions of hot breath from their nostrils. Over our shoulder old Egmont loomed, whiter than white with a heavy mantle of fresh snow, the foothills just behind home had a good coating too.

Quite often janet & I will bolt out of the sack, just before dawn, have a quick cuppa & drive up to Pukeiti for a walk through the gardens & the bush. We get the beautiful dawn chorus of the birdlife and it is SPECTACULAR!

We planted out some flowering “Companionata” cherry trees..great for the visiting tui’s in spring. They get highly territorial…my tree!..and have ding **** battles, chasing each other at high speed through the bush. Amazing aerobatics. We’ve got dozens of these trees scattered around the place now…in ten years the spring blossom show will be amazing.

Had a bit of bad luck with the vehicle lately, blew the core out of the radiator & cooked the motor, fixed that, drove 24ks down the road and the motor computer died. These things are like hen’s teeth to replace. I found there is a national waiting list of 11 owners sitting on dead landcruisers waiting for 2nd hand computers for the 93 auto model!!! And the 2nd hand computers here are selling for $3000!!
I even wrote to Greg in the States to see if he could pick one up for me…. Then I happened upon this little Asian bloke, just around the corner, who said”Oh I can fix that for you”!....cost me $196….I nearly kissed him!
Anyway mobile again and the old crate is running ,once again, like ****** clock!....but expensive when she stuffs up.

We are both working like automatons….you and your old man would know ALL about that!
We work 12 hours /day, 6 days/week then we jump in the car and launch off to Taranaki, 5 hours distant, to work our arses off, down there all Saturday, then, the next day, Sunday, pack up and barrel off 5 hours up the road back to Auckland… just in time to ****** a few hours sleep before the coming weeks work!....*******!

Sometimes I wonder what the hell it is all about.

Quite enjoying the new job, I’m the “Plant Coordinator” for the Waterview Project.
I keep track of all the plant scattered over miles and miles of construction site, tabulate plant movements, keep the hire companies honest and keep our operators operating! Involves constant driving from site to site, constant computer entries in my trusty laptop and a hellava lot of vigilance because every ******* is trying to beat the ****** system. Much more interesting than the Storman’s job, much more vibrant, much more confrontational!

Just the thing for an adolescent 67 year old.

That’s it from me…. Hope you are happy and keeping it all together. Hope the kids are doing well… mine are all pretty busy and happy with their lot…. Got a lovely call from Boaz at some unearthly hour on Sunday morning… Looks like he will be back in godzone during August.
Obama’s government is giving foreign workers a hard time in the States….too many Yanks out of work in their own country…so he is awaiting his Visa renewal and is doubtful that it will eventuate. Incredibly, his boss just told him that he would like to keep Boaz there, (In the States) for another five years of the projects life!!
Pretty ****** good for a country boy from National Park!

Gotta go, luvya Siss, love to Royboy & a big smootch for the girls.

M

"O Fortuna
velut luna
statu variabilis,
semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis
nunc obdurat
et tunc curat
ludo mentis aciem,
egestatem,
potestatem
dissolvit ut glaciem.

Sors immanis
et inanis,
rota tu volubilis,
status malus,
vana salus
semper dissolubilis;
obumbrata
et velata
mihi quoque niteris;
nunc per ludum
dorsum nudum
fero tui sceleris.

Sors salutis
et virtutis
michi nunc contraria,
est affectus
et defectus
semper in angaria.
Hac in hora
sine mora
corde pulsum tangite;
quod per sortem
sternit fortem,
mecum omnes plangite!"

Daydreaming of quality time, alone.
Diving into bush pools and rivers,
sun-soaked,
wet rocks under-***,
hair slick down back,
drip on shoulders;
stronger now there’s nothing
holding me down.

Down I dive,
further- deep into peace.
I’ll eat air and drink my own laughter in gulps until I’m drunk
and fall off my rock
right back in the water-fallen ripples
again.

Let the tui talk and the fantails walk
behind me,
as I make my own naked trail
through fairy-forest vines,
over moss-mounds and thick roots.

With no cars, I can climb,
every tree is my castle,
every branch a limb
to protect me.

I’ll barefoot tumble down a Pinetree *****,
carve my poems into soft-bark trunks,
let the wind fuel my fire.

Old friend, that shot is picture perfect. Your place (The Gebbie Compound)

is indeed heaven on a hill. You did a fine job in planning and execution. I'm

so happy for you and your lovely wife, you guys deserve what you have created.



Old son, I think we both have found what we have looked for all our lives.

**** good on us! They say; "Good things do come to those that wait".

(Sure, as long as we work ****** hard to get it while we wait.) What we have

earned and our kids make old age bearable.



Steve



A perfect, cold and frosty mid-winters day. Air is biting crisp, sun, warm on my back. Old Egmont towers behind the house gleaming with pristine snow and ice. The tui’s are cavorting in the trees ******* nectar from the early fuchia flowers with their long curved beaks, a flash of green iridescence as they fluff their neck feathers. Mother is cooking something great in the kitchen, she is about to call me in for hot coffee and cake….Life is great Stevo, could not be better.



Like minds-different hemispheres-same world.

Regards M





But for starlight, the night is black, no moon

on the rise. My porch a stage to the music of

crickets and frogs in the summer grass. A gentle

breeze touches me like a lover in the dark, caressingly

cool in my July heat of peaceful repose.



The scents of gardenias and honeysuckle drift

in on the currents and far off up the hill a Coyote

calls to his friends. Cooing night birds mummer.



The barn cats come to join me, silent and careful.

One onto my lap, the other to lay down beside my

chair. Soon the purring of a feline mixes with the

music of the grass and the air. Together we all peer

out into the peaceful void, perhaps thinking the same

thoughts, living fine, being in the moment.



These small perfect bits of time come and go. If only

I could string them all together, like rubies on a chain,

what a priceless necklace they would make and yet,

they cost me nothing and once collected, are not for sale.



© 2012 Marshal Gebbie


  Author's Note


Exchange between two old codgers situated in opposite hemispheres, in opposite seasons, but with a remarkably similar take on the quality of their individual lot in life.

has delicious flesh
New Zealand's national bird
boisterous tui

Sanctus satanas, sanctus                                                                         Dominus diabolus sabaoth                                                                                    satanas-venire                                                                                            satanas venire                                                                                                                         Ave, satanas, Ave satanas                                                                                                                       Tui sunt caeli                                                                                                                        Ave satanas.

Light and deep shade dancing
As I stride the mountain pass
My fascination prancing
As appreciations bask.
There's a tui in the cherry
And a magic song he sings
As he annoints the morning air
With the joy a summer brings.
There's a vibrancy a-hovering
And a crispness to the feel
A clarity so scintillating
One might, actually, doubt it's real.
A sky, so blue to be azure,
Extends across, on high,
Cloudless with a baking sun
Impaling you and I.
These old volcanoes soar aloft
They, now quiescent, stand,
Clad thick in stands of Kamahi
And towering Rimu, grand.
Great Egmont with her snowy crown
Rears high above it all
To dominate the beautious-ness
Of ***** and waterfall.
A tiny fantail flits about
And so entrances me
With aerial bombardments, flung,
In near impossibility.
The song of rivers plummeting
Down ferny glades and stone-
Causing me to laugh aloud
In serenade of home.
And sauntering through this wonderous-ness
Of magnificence in green,
This glory of New Zealand,
Is, indeed, the very best ...I've seen.

M.
Midsummer Taranaki, NZ
30 January 2021

adde me vobis summo futurum varius tui, animam tuam in respirare

Hatchet nose and hooded brow
A wisp of white hair, wind blown now,
Two hawk, blue eyes which see within,
Bush bred, gaunt and pig hunt trim.
Old now in his senior years
Missing June with hidden tears,
Saw Hiroshima's atom death
With tommy gun and sake breath.

A legacy on freckled brow
In melanoma's tumors now,
Lives alone on simple fare
With Smoky cat and favoured chair.
In Wanganui, coastal town
Loves fish and chips and Tui brown.

Hard hands reflect a life of graft
His good firm grip in handshake grasp,
Trialist of some All Black fame
Bread maker in the baking game.
Shearer,farmer, fencer, Dad
White baiting always made him brag,
A dead shot across hills of green
Where hinds would pause to graze unseen.

Daughters fair pursued by some
Who walked the gauntlet of his gun,
Taught the grand kids natural skills
Like setting traps for possum kills,
Shoot a rabbit, catch a fish,
A fry up of my favourite dish.

Missing mates who chose to die
Requiring friends to mourn and cry,
Missing Brian, his only son
And June, his wife,the special one,
Leaving life a vacant space,
A colourless and pallid place,
Except in his emphatic way
He looks at me and stands to say...
"Life must go on my son"
Go mount your bike and pack your gun
And head up to yon wooded hill
To stalk the stag and make the ****.

Staunch, *****, a man of men
Is Verne Bell who I call my friend.

Marshalg
Tauranga
8 November 2009

this poets soul
is sowing seeds
for loved ones lost
for unseen deeds
in the quiet times
dappled with sighs
dusted in pale light
are pre dawn skies
Mr Tui sings
he spreads wide
his wings
in upward flight
to the Puriri tree
I think of you
I dream you are free
toes mulled
in a turning tide
undertow pulled
the tears we cried
for you
I glimpse your eyes
crystalline blue
so briefly seen
caught in sea foam
sands washed
renewed pristine
I let go like the sun
& long for home


J.C.

Red dragon
Black sea

White chip
Crested Tui

Blue Stilton
Green tea

(That was Sunday afternoon for me)

J.C. 23/05/2019.

before the pale winter sun
has entertained thoughts
of pushing
its watercolour light
into the unfolded corners
of  this long cold night
a solitary Tui
perched
in the highest branches
of the ancient Puriri tree
outside my sleeping windows
sings
searching out his mate
serenading in another
distilled day
and filling my weary being
with little droplets of joy
the white tufted bird
is just being a bird
for him
nothing extraordinary
for me
his complex trills
clicks whirs
interspersed
with melodic bell like
bursts of song
cast out
into the monochromatic dawn
seeming to bleed colour
into the grayscale
feeding my poets soul

© J.C.

without
these walls
red fired dawn
burns into
shimmered lucent light
dancing brightly
against a
slow warming horizon
within
these walls
windows opened wide
Tuis morning song
and warm bright light
spilling into the room
I ache on
stretching my limbs
as if doing so
will find you
beside me
pressing your belly
(how I love your belly)
against mine as I stretch
your hands
(how I love your hands)
holding me
at my waist
your generous mouth
(how I love your mouth)
dusting my face
with kisses
and whispered growls
of love & tenderness
I keep my eyes closed
knowing
the moment I open them
the spell will break
within these walls
I stretch
in the hot summer morning
alone
without these walls
you are too far
from my touch
from my kiss
sultry droning cicadas
Mr Tuis ardent
morning serenade to Mrs Tui
the rising heat
serves only to feed this ache
settled deep in my belly
the pull in my ***** to
wherever you are
palpable

© J.C.

i mean: how would you feel? living in a society... with these other people, being hell-bent on ensuring you are to be... made extinct? would you captilute for "western"... "secular"... "sensibilities"... what sort of ****-erosion of an argument is this... this Chamberlain's effort to wave a promise on a piece of: ******* toilet paper... wipe your *** with it... ****** implored... but no... no no... it has to be celebrated... this lost event in the periodicals of time... so imagine living among these ****** riddled half-breed Muzzies... imagine living among people that are parasitical in the economic sense and predatory in the actual sense of wanting to **** you... hagel dauer! it just takes one Norwegian-Nigerian to laugh in the night to think my writing is bogus... but there will come a time when this writing with be remnant of the times: and i... i? i'll be dead.

no, i wouldn't call it a bad reading habit:
the fact that i'm "currently" engaged in about 3 to 4 books
that i started and haven't finished,
not when i give a timeline outline of how far apart
i am in getting through each book or,
for that matter: when i started each...

for example Knausgaard's Min Kamp vol 6
i've been reading for almost 3 years...
maybe longer...
the entire collection was the last books my grandfather
gave me as a present:
he died by the time i reached vol 3... or 4...
i remember my first encounter with the work:
"impossible", or rather: dull to have read the works
in English: so i said to myself:
i'll give it another try in another zunge: namely ******
and how glad i was since Norwegian translated
better into ****** than English...
some historical travesty of the Polish state being
allied to the northmen via trade
and the amber road or something: or how English
was partially moulded by the nordzunge...
either way... i'm still to get to the juicy bits
of vol 6 where ****** is discussed and i too wanted
to buy a copy of ******'s mein kampf for
posterity but that's: ******* unavailable as a historical
artifact but i'm pretty sure that if Genghis Khan
wrote a book it would be freely available
and perhaps even venerated
because i, am... some ******* secular "prisoner"
while Muhammad's Quran is venerated:
although i suspect, with him being illiterate
which is twice-dyslexic removed from a first cousin
****** marriage... was written by his literate and
other acumen pronunced first older wife: Khadijah...
notably: he didn't have so many followers
petulent and shy and half the mad of Beelzebub's
(mucha: fly... in Polish)...            conquest of the desert...

why O whimsical sly whiskers and Why
would i care for slander
given the prancing pony parade of disgust after
the Magdeburg attack
like the media imposed this reading of 'terrorist attack'
somehow hailing the culprit
as a savior, in a weird, twisted way:
because he was a firebrand on some internet
forum hailing the death of Europe and calling it
to do more to emancipate Arabian women
from all that dough cash flow from the secret
pseudo harems of Ha Ha H'arabia
because all the European chicks like a bit of kink
when rich gluttons of the sand
ask them to perform inverted ****** on their
faces while taking a **** into their mouths:
or so the urban mythos goes:
no need for a trip to Thailand and the Kentucky
fried mouse...

                     so that's book one... i'm yet to finish...
another is Heidegger's ponderings VII - XI...
but that doesn't really count: no book of aphorisms
and nota bene "apostrophes": anecdotes blah blah counts
as something you might read unlike a newspaper:
skimming, tossing pages around like a wind...

    which also includes Masudi's the meadows of gold...
there is no real narrative to the work so i can "cheat"
on that reading...
        yet starting Jan Fosse's septology was a big mistake:
thinking: ooh: a Nobel Literary Prize laureate could:
but couldn't... the prize was awarded
a bit like how H'american elections go...
the popular vote of the people is worth zilch and nada
because there's the College vote and that matters more
so it's almost as if democracy is a fakery
of arithmetic: bad count... bad grounds for shadow
governance...         and this was worth a Nobel prize?
i think is dropped so many times
there is no punctuation
     it's like the advent of the printing press whereby
ink and paper were expensive and there could be no
poetic cascade
   just the myopic paragraph fudge and inorganic chemistry
of stones...
saving money and ink and paper condensing
paragraphs without spacing indicators
beside the 💊𓄿
                              (¶) - which borders on cyrillic in
the mirror with N and И
R and Я
                                     so someone once said
that most of the time, in the realm of poetic:
we write about what we're reading...
                       but not so much about the simple fact
of the per se: writing per se: reading per se...
it's a simple fraction...
    i always adored the equilibrium of:
            not writing more than i read
and always reading more than i write...

           if all should come to a fork in the road
i could condense my thoughts via letters encoding sounds
by isolating letters as if they were not sounds
syllables... ooh... syllables and languages that employ
the antithesis of the atomised tongue
like Japanese and it took me a while to imagine
having my tongue cut out and thus trying to say
certain letters as if i didn't have a tongue
and i could get away with using only my mouth
and lips but i couldn't get away with some of the letters
because they do, actually, require a tongue an the palette
of the upper mouth...
like T...                    counting all the vowels:
5 in English... 7 in Polish...
funny: Polish as a tongue: it has as many letters
as there are teeth in the gob...
unlike English with it's 26 although the 26 are debetable
since C K Q S and q: kw
                              
lips and mouth alone along the aeiou pentragram rubric...
B works fine withot the tongue
C just as well... although hoarse sounding...
D... doesn't... it morphs into G...
since D employes the tongue and the teeth...
so without tongue D morphs into G and the 5 vowels...
vowels don't use the tongue
just the mouth and throat and air...
F requires the tongue...
H doesn't require the tongue...
                 J requires the tongue for the succinct stresses...
K is the crown of the uvula being tested...
    L most certainly requires the tongue...
       K is tricky: but hark like a crow and the tongue
can be abandoned...
          M as: ma ma
  m'eh m'eh... moo...          as long: well put Am Om
and it's a breath closing the lips...
        N does require the tongue...
Q and coo... but since Q is a two vowel letter
it does require the tongue...
T, S, Z... all require the tongue...
   W doesn't...
                  R before the numbing the trill by some vague
"tarantula" bite... did... didn't... let's suppose
the French and the English still trill their Rs like the Spanish...
                 and any other letter i omitted: X?
evidently the tongue is stressor to otherwise
the breath and the lips doing fish Bob's service plunder...

but it feels healthy like that:
a newspaper handy: my my... so the savior of Europe
is some Saudi psychiatrist
Germany is on the poking stick of resurrected Weimar Rep
fuckery
        because now the story goes:
it's no longer a right wing mental health case doing
some scooping for info
like watching ****** speaches on South Korean t.v.
and how sane he almost sounds
when he's not in full glam demonic rhetoric mode...
and to think:
at the time of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth
we were a people known for religious tolerance...
we even managed to found the first Protestant nation:

the devout Catholic king Sigismund I the Old (1506–48)
accepted as his vassal in Ducal Prussia,
the Lutheran prince Albert I, Duke of Prussia,
thus creating the first Protestant country in the World...

oh and with the largest diaspora of the world's Jews...
but then we were taught lessons
for our tolerance...
first the partitions... then the onslaught of the Nazis
coupled with the Soviets...
we were taught a different toleration:
the toleration of: you will not live among us...

it took a month for Poland to be conquered
during world war two... no mention of Russian involvement...
but it took six weeks for Germany to conquer
France... France... a colonial superpower...
versus this newly emerged pauper state
that sent men on horseback to throck grenades against
******* tanks...            irony: history is so ironic...
it's not even on repeat: but how humans interact with time:

if Einstein conjured the space-time dynamic
then i had to delve into a humanism
of a science and call space: architecture...
that the ancient Romans once occupied
the capuccino lands of Plaza Pizza...
with their coliseums and football stadium reinventions...
and time being history: well hey presto!

Horace: quo me, Bacche, rapis tui plenum?
where are you scooping me up with force?

in times of crisis: it is best to leave follies aside
follies of literature / narrative... proper...
so i picked up a Polish translation of Aristotle...
Great Ethic and Poetics...
i never thought i'd come to Aristotle having begun my
journey with Plato...
but hey presto... miracles happen...
and what stood out: immediately...
a correlation between Heidegger and Aristotle...
question-worthiness becomes an answer of worthiness-per-se...

what begun as an arithmetic of counting
the camel's humps...
like they might be dunes of the Arabian desert
or the raised Alps...
i wonder...
date an older woman: with child...
send the child a parediloia riddle
then get accussed of sending a ******* picture...
and there i was... about to sacrifice
my earnings and tickle of a few more years
on walking on eggshells...
i can be accussed of ****** and of thievary...
but... i can't be accussed of ******* or of ****...
sorry... that's where my love grows numb...
i can no longer love
i am numb with logic and reason...
i will turn to Aristotle concerning the
man of worth and the egoist...
because the man of worth will only be egoistic
concerning moral beauty...
because morality is a beauty unlike anything
stressed by aesthetic...
morality is a trans- (translation) of the arts...
morality undermines art:
or so it should:
call me a murderer or a thief:
but don't call me a ****** charlatan of deviance!
don't jest with asexual reproductive tactics
then start calling it: intact egoism!
egoism is born from both sexes
given that the ego is sexless!
but insinuate that i am more a ******* than a murderer
and you will feed my: wrath...

samolub: egoist...
   man of worth...            who feeds off the privy of power
and wealth... philosophers as surrogate fathers and mothers
to their eldest children...
no... i don't need a psychiatrist to prescribe me
blue pills, black pills, red pills...
i just need a philosophy book and some time
alone and knowing that the time i spent
i was bothered about high brow literature like
a Nobel prize matters when it's not dynamite...

now comes the wrath in writing
because my heart has grown numb from the accusation:
it must be a H'american thing...
i asked AI the dynamic of getting a greed card visa:
sexed up...
works fine if you are an American gent
importing a Thai queen progress...
but reverse that...
i can't imagine sitting on my *** for half a year
until i might get a permit to work...

then again: let's be honest:
beside the fact that i told her:
there is no better brothel... there are no better prostitutes
than in the church of the Savior...
but to be accussed of sending a teenage girl
a picture of my *******?
come on...               there's paranoia and there's
absurdity...
   so philosophy books exist to cling to like
a drowning man might cling to a razor blade...
i don't need a psychiatrist to talk **** over
and to be presribed anti-metabolic pills to fatten
me up...
     plus all the red flags... all her previous boyfriends
were the problem: she wasn't...
if i get accussed of said X...
who is to say i won't be accussed of unsaid Y?

σπoυδαιoς (human of worth)
               is not an egoist (φιλαυτoς)....

                 spoudaios... philautos...

            that's settled: the "ego" in my stomach
overruled the "ego" in my mind and most
importantly the *******-ego of everywhere
that's alias to my body-extremity...

                    i needed the bait... i found the bait...
then i needed the opposite party to trip up
and take the bait...
which would absolve me from feeling guilty
of leaving my elderly parents to fend for themselves:
with only the promise of the greatest *** imaginable
i could hone in on a diet of
just pure wanking
and be content with that...
because the idea of slobbering on a ****
that would be only recreational rather than give privy
to my fatherhood...
well... should you find yourself in a similar situation
with an older woman:
how modern this all is...
fancy how far feminism has come
to ensure that age is only a number
so the medieval times are like the 1960s
in terms of attitutdes toward affairs of the heart
and there was never a period in time
when heretical mouths were not given the slither
of the stiches to shut them up...

i can be accussed of being a murderer...
a thief...
but a pedohpile or a ******?
         you don't get away with that sort of accussation:
i am numbed out of loving her
we invested so much time in discussing
paraidolia that it stunned me:
stunted me: i became a dwarf and a castrato at the same
time...
            
         i don't have time for that sort of ****...
if being alone is my fate:
at least i'll have philosophy books to mind
and none of that housewife *******
of floral arrangements and seeing young Reyla
being disgruntled at a nativity play for the school
not playing the lead role of Joseph that
cuck...

             i hate Christmas i hated Christ the moment
i heard the mantra of: turn the other cheeck...
when oculus per oculus (eye for an eye)
was seemingly erased from our natural ontology...
i hate "christ" on a personal level...
i love the church for how well it organises people...
i just hate "christ": cosmopolitan this ******* figurine
this slaughter piece standard to conquer the north...
while these ****** ****- go lampooing their desert whims
of wisdom like bogus hocus pocus...

**** these desert ******* these camel jockeys...
i've reached a clarity levelling that's
beyond my concern for whatever humpty-dumpty politco
dynamic is left available:
if my ancestors lived through **** Germany
and Soviet Russia: a people desperately willing
with so few quid... you think these Arabs
with their ******* easy money thrill me to scare me?!
really?!
               i'm waiting for martydom.