April 6th 2019

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Articles from this issue:

COVER STORY The NSW election and our incredible shrinking farming sector

SOCIETY The pervasive and pernicious online porn epidemic

CANBERRA OBSERVED Coffers are full but Treasurer will take spending cautiously

OPINION Judge treats Cardinal Pell to a spot of 'open justice'

NATIONAL AFFAIRS NSW Liberals re-election gives a boost to Morrison

ECONOMICS The Great Dragon uncoils all around the globe

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS President Donald Trump: an unlikely promise keeper Part 2

REFLECTION On the conviction of Cardinal Pell

FICTION Orange Years: The Japie Greyling Story

TERRORISM Lessons from Christchurch

ASIAN AFFAIRS Xi's imperious play prompts U.S. to repair Asian friendships

YPAT Getting with the program: one young person's story

MUSIC To market, to market, to sell a good song

CINEMA The LEGO Movie 2: Building a world

BOOK REVIEW A template for living alongside the world

BOOK REVIEW Catholic Maryland and early tolerance



THE BUDGET Take your tax cuts and be merry, for tomorrow ... is another day

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News Weekly, April 6, 2019

Reflections in Seasonal Mirrors

A spring that sprang
Like yin and yang
Or food to fang
And a tune that rang with tonal pangs
Like one to sing or the choir that sang

And mellow bing that follows bangs
Unlike ol’ lang syne
Or a note to smote
Perhaps learnt by rote
Or even sung sotto voce

And think of a moat that surrounds like a genteel coat
Reminds of incense you haven’t seen since
Your Grandma left a world bereft
Of light and shade, and both made bright

Oh what a sight, that surely might
evince or convince
Not absent of reason, lest imagine the Ephesians
Seeing skyward freesians, as if by lesions
Like dijon mustard amid the custard

Or fronds of palm, in a pond becalmed
That adorned frilliness among the stillness
Along for the ride from no tide
Beside nature’s way, that has its say
On this here day and amid the fray.



I Am

I am the breeze that blows
A thousand trees to crescendo
And the bird that sings
A thousand verses, pleasing in the tempo.

I am the snow that falls
On ancient peaks so tall
I am the rain that glows
Incandescent, flow to woe.

I am the ocean that nourishes
A thousand rivers and streams
Like rousing dreams deliver
A flourish and a quiver.

I am the match of tranquil pyres shining till the dawn
And the plough that binds and never tires, so new seed be born
I am the nightfall of filling darkness whose glimmer is unshorn
And the noble deed awakening, and ushering in the morn.

I am said he what I wish to be
That raft on sea and homeward thee
From first to last and slave to free
Like in the past and for eternity.

Peter J. Talbot

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Last Modified:
April 4, 2018, 6:45 pm