~The Dragon Flies' Lair IV~

November 7, 2003 | bentfeather

[Soaring Feather]

My Dragon Fly and Me

If I could be a Dragon Fly
and wing my way through the sky
I would never be shy
just me and my Dragon Fly!

By moonlight we ride the wind
chase the comets tail for fun
by day we would hide from the sun
our fragile wings would come undone

On darkest nights we would use
fireflies as our guide
we would dip and we would glide
through the heavens open wide
and scatter diamonds in the night sky
my Dragon Fly and I...

And we would wing past our lovers
silent in the night...
to kiss their face in our flight
much to their surprise and delight
my Dragon Fly and me in sight...

Such a view do we share
away up here in the air
of breezes soft through our hair
my Dragon Fly and me a pair...

bentfeather©

[Soaring Feather]

LOL

Yeah, puters can do that!!

I know sure as I live and breathe.

So can sloppy workmen!

[Soaring Feather]

Run With His Stars

Tonight fire planets

crashing loud

crossed heaven

tingling a watcher

to love life with calm

and run with his stars.....

******

bentfeather

a/k/a MHL

Copyright © 11/19/2003

All Rights Reserved

[Soaring Feather]

Good night Poets.
Click the pic for Phil Collins, radu.
The song is "You'll Be In My Heart"
Happy Anniversary, girlfriend.

[radu]

Aaaaaaah, thank you for the dose of Phil, ms. feather! A perfect ending to a nice evening.

Thank you for the anniversary wishes. :-)

[Darksheare]

Found that particular image while trolling around a site a few years back, liked it enough to save it.
And now I found a reason to post it...

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone!

[snippy_about_it]

Good morning feather.

[Soaring Feather]

That's a goodie for sure. Here's one you might like too.
I like MACs so I don't care for this one. LOL

[Darksheare]

Technology and I do not mix well.
MACS and I are worse yet, So I've basically seen both things in that gif happen..
There was one instance where the Mac fried itself right before I touched it.
The owner said It heard I was coming and got scared...
Seemingly, it may be true.

[Soaring Feather]

What !!!!! A fried MAC?? Never heard of such a thing! Really, I suppose they do.

[Darksheare]

I hadn't heard of one yet at that time either.
At least until I got within 3 foot of the poor thing.
I seem to be quite cursed with technology.

There's a poem in there somewhere..

[Soaring Feather]

What is it Dark????? Bad vibes??? LOL

[Darksheare]

Well, I much prefer the evening to the day, have dark hair and eyes, short, and generally seem to be invisible even in plain sight until I move.
So the joke goes that I am either a vampire, or my bio page may be more fact than fiction.
*chuckle*
It may actually be bad vibes, or just plain bad luck.
(If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.)

[Soaring Feather]

Sometime things have a way of going blotto.

You are here today!! Hooray!!

[Darksheare]

I'm happy.
I just need to be patient and await the arrival of a new floppy drive.
Seems my initial BIOS update went bad due to a bad floppy drive.
So I need to replace a floppy drive.
They go bad rarely, but when they do go bad they go bizzak extremely bad and there's no in between.
*figures*
Once I have the floppy drive, I will have everything I need to complete the BIOS recovery.

[Soaring Feather]

Ahhhhhh good, I'm glad a solution is in sight.

[SAMWolf]

Good Morning Everybody.

You Know The Drill
Click the Pics

Coffee & Donuts

[SAMWolf]

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER



There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedybeast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least -
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt hispower to stay,
And the old man said, 'That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop - lad, you'd better stop away,
'Those hills are far too rough for such as you.'
So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend -
'I think we ought to let him come,' he said;
'I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
'For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

'He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'

So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -
They raced away towards the mountain 's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, 'Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.'

So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, 'We may bid themob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.'

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

A.B 'Banjo' Paterson

[snippy_about_it]

Songs. Blue, red, rings, circles, what a mixture!

I enjoyed reading about the ride, what a thrill it would be to be able to ride unabated, in open spaces. Of course you'd have to own your own horse because owners don't care for folks runnin' their horses and understandably so.

Then again a nice ride down the trail is better than no ride I guess.

[Darksheare]

In sight, but not yet done.
*sigh*
But the end of THIS journey is in sight.
And then the next one begins.
;-)