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When I drink coffee I roll it over my tongue and remember how I grew the beans myself on my own plantations in Guatamala. I hope my secret family there is doing well. I captain this battleship in tight formation with destroyers and frigates. My contemporary dance company is in constant demand. I am a busy man but I sleep well.
Jill Allan wants to see good stories in circulation. As she holds a book in her hands she asks herself, 'Would a child want this?' She's been a children's librarian for years, she's read the research. The number of books in the home is a crucial factor influencing language and literacy outcomes.
The struggle of workers has changed a lot since the 1850s, when stonemasons won the right to an eight-hour day. With the rise of contract work and the hustle of the gig economy, a lot of the fights won by workers don't even make much sense. Consider the following Facebook ad an outer Melbourne resident: FREE ROOM IN EXCHANGE FOR HELP.
Dialogue plays a role in how we create meaning. When we have true dialogue we create a flow of meaning: between us, and between us and everything around us. Laudato Si' invites us to be mindful of the dialogue that's happening at a human level, at a cosmic level, and with the creator God.
Fondly I remember Evie, aged approximately one, pumping her short, sturdy legs along the shore at Watson's Bay ... Now that you're 12 you lope on long, lithe legs, bronzed by the northern sun; you leap across the ballet stage in grands jetes, you dive and swim; on sports days, fleet as Atalanta, yours is the athletics track ...
Family and friends gather to wish happy birthday to the boy who does not speak and whose hearing and seeing are easily overloaded. The headphones are designed to cut sound out not bring it in. Even before his diagnosis at 18 months, Jack's parents were translating the world to him. Since then they've been translating him back to the world.
The world is often characterised as porous and easy to manoeuvre in this age of unparalleled technology and a globalised economy. But it's only ever been this way to people who have a combination of a particular passport and cultural heritage, particularly in settler colonial nations such as Australia.
The embroidery on the Gospel stories shows that, like the painter and the refugees treading through the dust and heat of the road to Egypt, God dreams of a peaceful world in which people and nature live at peace, villages are well watered, trees cared for, grapes hang in bunches, refugee children are fed, and angels help make art.
These seven poems were written by students of the Fitzroy Community School in Melbourne. They were among the many submitted to the Dorothea MacKellar Poetry Awards, the oldest and largest annual national poetry competition in Australia. This year's subject was 'All Over the World'.
Think also of you, my father, tending to aircraft engines, or helping out on black-market runs in small cargo planes ... No action as such, though early in the war you crossed submarine-haunted seas on a troop ship, and patrolled a jungle aerodrome ...
It’s Monday, 24 September. The equinox passed a few days ago; the last of the monsoon showers seems to have gone. After Mass on my pre-breakfast walk, I notice the difference: the air fresh without the monsoon humidity, the lush green paddy crops, the dappled green and yellow of the early morning sun on the Sal trees. Out beyond the back of the parish is an unsurfaced road, good for stretching out. I first pass the houses of some of our Catholics, pukka, brick and cement, the fruit of their hard work and years of government employment.
I am, of course, a spider: my obstinacy, a viola; my gossamer back-and-forthing, woven ruminations of a violin. Watch me, busy always to continue a spider's life. All things love the little kingdom they inherit. This is home, intricate with fetched fidget, this scratchy bow-flight is a busy cello urging me to tracery, all tossed about in winds of orchestra.