Garry Moss (born 5 July 1988) is an Australian rules footballer formerly with the Hawthorn Football Club in the Australian Football League (AFL). Attended Newman College in Churchlands, Perth, Class of 2005. Drafted by Hawthorn with 56th overall pick in the 2006 AFL Draft from East Perth in the West Australian Football League (WAFL), he is a midfielder who was on the Hawks’ senior list for two seasons before being delisted, but then re-drafted at the end of the 2008 season.
After making his league debut in 2007, his 2008 season was wrecked by injuries, but he managed to play several games for Hawthorn's Victorian Football League (VFL) affiliate Box Hill Hawks. He then played his second AFL game against the Sydney Swans in round 2 of the 2009 AFL season. In Round 5 he was awarded the AFL Rising Star nomination following his four-goal and 24 possession performance against the West Coast Eagles.
He is the nephew of the 1970 Brownlow Medallist, Peter Bedford.
Mosses are small flowerless plants that typically grow in dense green clumps or mats, often in damp or shady locations. The individual plants are usually composed of simple, one-cell thick leaves, attached to a stem that may be branched or unbranched and has only a limited role in conducting water and nutrients. Although some species have vascular tissue this is generally poorly developed and structurally different from similar tissue found in other plants. They do not have seeds and after fertilisation develop sporophytes (unbranched stalks topped with single capsules containing spores). They are typically 0.2–10 cm (0.1–3.9 in) tall, though some species are much larger, like Dawsonia, the tallest moss in the world, which can grow to 50 cm (20 in) in height.
Mosses are commonly confused with lichens, hornworts, and liverworts. Lichens may superficially look like mosses, and have common names that include the word "moss" (e.g., "reindeer moss" or "iceland moss"), but are not related to mosses. Mosses, hornworts, and liverworts are collectively called "bryophytes". Bryophytes share the property of having the haploid gametophyte generation as the dominant phase of the life cycle. This contrasts with the pattern in all "vascular" plants (seed plants and pteridophytes), where the diploid sporophyte generation is dominant.
Mossé is a French family name:
Mossø is Denmark's third largest freshwater lake and Jutland's largest, as measured by surface area. The lake is located just east of the city of Skanderborg in east Jutland, but is part of both Skanderborg Municipality and Horsens Municipality. Mossø lies in the middle of the area and landscape known as Søhøjlandet (English: The Lake-highland).
There is a small lake named Mossø in the forest of Rold Skov in Himmerland.
Both ospreys and white-tailed eagle is regularly observed at Mossø and the later have recently established here as a breeding bird, which is rare in Denmark.
Mossø is part of the 4,470 ha Natura 2000 protection area, designated as number 52. The lake is also designated as an international bird protection area, with number F35.
Land of treason-waste no reason-
we are breathing fire
We're packs of dogs-
we're enemies of men-we are not desired
Our face show-
we've grown cold-but
have not conspired
Old hearts gone-
the future's on-mother nations mired
I like a recepticle for the chosen dead,
we find our bodies clawed
And with the scent of death,
we find that we are not so very awed
Loyalties burned-
the words our blurred-overturn your own
Walk like dogs and watch the doors-
have your other stone
Stop the toys that match disordered-
calculate the thrones
Feel the pulse descending-
decaying hallowed tomes
In the starving sense you worship-
the nations of debris
You wear a cost of sewage-
that you've never ever seen
The time is now-the vicious here-
a stolen dinner code
The license of the savage land-
that you've always sold
So bite the hand that needs you
and bless another coal
The virus never issues-
from a cotton so very old
As the lights come down
You wash your hands and start to climb
the ladder that you stole
Slip the hatch-and spin the sword-
the money lords are poor
Push the tan-that rolls downhill-
their sense of dream absorbed
Still the cat that breaks the night-
tie him to the core
Chase the viruses that believe-
that what's right is scored
It's a senseless cash in of right for right-
what's wrong is never gone
And left is just a bassion for the fools