The Spring has sprung

The grass has riz
the boid is on the wing.
The boid is on the wing?
But that's obsoid!
The wing is on the boid!

Check out the compost bins my Dad built! All made by him, in brick and corrogated tin. Spring is here and it's time to get gardening!And check out the view from my Uncle's bach in Tarawera. We stayed there 4 days. My uncle came up on the last day and gave us a little history tour.

See this little lean-to? (little hut). Well, before they built the bach, my grandma and granddad would sleep in there, and my mum, aunty and uncle would sleep outside on mattresses under blankets and oil-skins! My Uncle (who is now 65) said he didn't know why they put him on the outside, because he was the littlest and right next to the big black bush.

They used to drive there, and when they arrived the kids would be waiting in the back of the Chevy while my Granddad hacked a path through the bush to get there!

The bach they actually have there now was my Uncles first apprenticeship. (My Granddad was a builder and my uncle followed in his footsteps.) My uncle said the ground was volcanic ash and my granddad dug out the gravel by hand with a shovel. I asked if they'd used an architect and he said no, Granddad and his parents had drawn up the plans themselves! That's pretty cool for having no higher education. 

When God wants to drill a man

When God wants to drill a man,
And thrill a man,
And skill a man,
When God wants to mold a man
To play the noblest part;
When He yearns with all His heart
To create so great and bold a man
That all the world will be amazed,
Watch His methods, watch His ways!
How He ruthlessly perfects
Whom He royally elects!
How He hammers him and hurts him,
And with mighty blows converts him
Into trial shapes of clay which
Only God understands:
While his tortured heart is crying,
And he lifts beseeching hands!
How He bends but never breaks
When his good He undertakes:
How He uses whom He chooses,
And with every purpose uses him;
By every act induces him
To try His splendor out-
God know what He's about!

A poem

I write the kind of poetry I love to read. Yummy and morbid...


The sword strikes high, it severs low
Blood gushing from a bitter blow
The sword is life, the victim me
A wounded fool for all to see.

Janet Dick

Alone

Alone! I wish I was alone
(I'm not replacing my lost phone)

In a little shack, I'll do it up
And milk, tea, sugar in my cup
I'll plant some trees around the border
It'll be a mess, but still have order!

A room with canvases and paint
An open window in case I faint...
A sewing machine and stacks of wool
And a little shed, (that would be cool)

I'll be a wierdo, I won't care!
Bare feet and jeans are what I'll wear
And daisies in my greying hair
Listening to birds in my rocking chair

Delicously morbid

I wrote a song! It's based on one of my favourite Psalms. One of the most delicously morbid parts of the bible. I don't know if it was originally intended that way, but some things I still have a taste for and like to interperet a certain way...

here goes.. its got no name yet..


verse 1.
Flowers that fade in the dawn, the dawn
And from the dust we are formed , are formed
The ground remembers no more, no more
the heroes that triumphed before, before

Chorus.
His love everlasting from year, to year
It resonates over despair, despair
His love everlasting from age to age
It resonates on every page yes page

Verse 2
The Lord is compassionate, gracious and kind
Turn to him now and then you will find
That he loves you so much that he gave up his Son
He chose you to love, yes you are the one

CHORUS


I recorded a little clip of me singing it, but I'm not very good. Maybe if I practice it a bit more I'll be brave enough to put it up.

The spring has sprung!

The Spring has sprung

The grass has ris.

The boyd is on the wing.

The boyd is on the wing? But that's obsoyd

The wing is on the boyd!

Social Phobia

Of all my morbid fears and woes
A living nightmare dressed in prose
Reflectied in the face I chose
They lie in ambush as I dose.

In ceaseless discontent I lie
The past and it's sweet by and by
Holy calling, ceaseless fright
Unordered sounds all through the night.

Love a wedding? What's with that?
Hideous laughter like a tortured cat.
Thoughts abound, soon will congeal
Compacted itno a bite-sized meal.

What's the matter? Why the waiste?
Tears fall down on an aging face.
Never laughing? Never mind.
I'm rejecting my own kind.

Terror, terror, discontent
Never ending, heaven sent.

Janet Dick

(Interesting what you come up with late at night, insnt it?)