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Song Lyrics & Poems - by Alan Wright
          Email - ajwright@clear.net.nz

      
 All songs and poems listed here are original, and are automatically subject to copyright.

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   A Pair Of Spectacles     
   A Path Among Flowers     
   Australia Looked At Us Back here ...     
   Back Pain?     
   Building On A Swamp?     
   Buzz Words     
   Charles Darwin Wrote As He Saw Fit     
   Climate Change     
   Cover My Defenceless Head     
   Dog    
   Don't Wait Up For Me Kid!    
   Each Precious Little Rain Drop     
   Eeyore?  He Stands There With The Mighty      
   Eulogy To Our Faithful Ozzie Mates    
   Evolution?     
   Expert Advice     
   Fish And Chips ... When Shared By Two In Love     
   Flockton Basin     
   For One Wee Five Year Old!                  
   Founder Of The Firm     
   From Brethren Tripe And Illiterate Fools     
   From The Summit Of The Bridle Path     
   From Some Moronic Thesis     
   Give Kids The Credit They Deserve!     
   Goodbye My Sweet Daughter    
   Great God Of Creation - A hymn for our times.    YouTube Clip    
   Hello Or Goodbye    
   I Ain't No Famous Rugby Star     
   I Bought This Little Lifting Thing     
   I Can Face Up To This World With A Grin     
   If They Dropped The Drinking Out?     
   I'll Just Sit Here And Think     
   Just A Humble Fart     
   Laugh Like A Socialite Fool    
   Life's Great Song     
   Light A Little Candle    
   Little Scruffy McSporrin     
   Love Like A Glimmer Of Candlelight    
   Mahogany Drum Table                          
   Match Fixing     
   My Boy-racer Glory Days    
   My Friend Robin Sides    
   My Latest Job Dissolves    
   Nerves Of Stainless Steel     
   No Regrets    
   No time For Reflection With Birthdays Approaching     
   Oh The Joy Of Every Day    
   Once In A Lifetime     
   Two Weeks After 'The Quakes' - 2011     
   Padraigin    
   Perfect Body Tone     
   Put Your Arms Around Me     
   Rise (And Fall) Of Kim Dotcom     
   Road User Charges     
   Sam Hodson     
   Sexual Frustration     
   Shades Of Christchurch Grey     
   Shakespeare Would Have Groaned Out Loud     
   Strength And Fortitude     
   Such Pleasant Days We Well Remember   YouTube Clip    
   Talk To Us In Music    
   The Older I Get - The Better I Used To Be     
   The Famous Painting   YouTube Clip    
   The Four Little Piggies    
   The Hammer Is Poised On The Striking Plate     
   The Job Is Just Too Big     
   The Kindness Of Strangers    
   The Kiwi Arrived In New Zealand On The Back Of A Hippopotamus     
   The Light Left On At Night     
   The Luck Of The Irish     
   The Mountaineer     
   The Universe Was Created By Canterbury University!    
   The World Is Closing In On Me     
   There's Only Just Us Kids!     
   This Place And Me     
   Those Who Prosper From A War     
   Today I Remember     
   Visited By The Royal George!     
   We Had No Choice At All!     
   Whatever Fate Offers From Coffers Of Diamonds    
   What I Get Up To When My Wife Is Away     
   Words Hide In Silence     
   When I Married Your Sweet Mum     
   When Rabbit Things Get Done     
   When You Were Just A Tot     
   Who Decided That Kiwis Were Humble?     
   You Kids Are Just The Greatest     
   You Really Are Quite Cute     
   You're One Helluvver Beautiful Girl!    


A Pair Of Spectacles - Alan Wright - Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Two Redwood trees are all that’s left,
Of Grey’s once proud estate
The property is now bereft
Of flowers to contemplate.

The muddy creek was once alive
With laughter and good cheer
There is no sign along this drive
That children once lived here

The white glass-houses have all gone
The cabin painted grey,
The macrocarpas, pines and stone
Belong to yesterday.

A gentleman once farmed this land
And here he brought his bride
A slender lass with wedding band
Who worked here by his side.

When quite a child I knew this place
And played among the fronds
I paddled in the water-race
And splashed in all the ponds.

To build a church this land was sold
And there it sits today
A monument to a story told
When years have passed away.

One tiny slip, a moral lurch
Would turn to tears from laughter
The proudest family in the church
Would face a pregnant daughter.

A little girl was born that year
In sorrow and in shame
The elders sought to calm the fear
And save the family name.

The little child was taken to
A catholic church retreat
Where servitude and faith were true
But love was obsolete.

The sullen face, the skinny frame
The sickness and the fears
She didn’t have a real name
She didn’t count the years.

Her near blind eyes, a curse from God
Wrenched deeply in her soul
She couldn’t read, could only plod
Through pictures on a wall.

No mother's love for this sad brat
No friend in all those years
Her only game, to watch the mat
Absorb the silent tears.

For twelve long years the child with-stood
An urgent wish to die.
In twelve long years of pain and blood
She’d forgotten how to cry.

But conscience smote an elder priest
Who saw the starving waif
Should the child at very least
Return to family safe?

So little Moa went back home
But not to welcome arms
You filthy bitch, a bastard come
To spike religious qualms

A servant girl is what we need
We’ll say we did you kind
We took you in, a Christian deed
Because you’re nearly blind.

Moa now reached twenty years
And met young Bertram Grey
He noticed not her near-blind eyes
Her smile lit up his day. 

His kindness to his little wife
Made life for her more easy
But dirt with which the house was rife
Made visitors feel queasy.

Moa’s days just drifted by
She didn’t see the sneers
She didn’t see the filthy sty
She didn’t see the leers.

She didn’t see the tattered rags
She didn’t see the grass
She didn’t see her filthy skin
Or see the broken glass.

My mother was a tender girl
And saw poor Moa’s plight
My mum set to with loving will
And cleaned from morn til night.

Moa didn’t understand
Why mum was kind to her
The kids were soaped and made to stand
And scrub up in the shower.

Please Birdy dear, please read to me
Explain what all this says
I know you see what I can’t see
God cares in different ways.

Does God gives eyes that see the skies?
That see a loving smile
To see an elder’s face so wise?
Please read to me a while.

Yes, my friend, my God gives eyes
Please come to town with me
A powerful pair of spectacles
At last you’ll get to see.

She tried that pair of spectacles
And looked around in horror
Birdie dear, my clothes, my shoes
Does God hate me even more?

A few days passed and mum went round
To visit Moa Grey
The kids sat quietly on the ground
And Mum was asked to stay.

Bertram led her to the door
Mum looked beyond the sofa
Moa lay face-down on the floor
Hand clutched a bloody razor.

Moa couldn’t see the dirt
She couldn’t see the sneers
Sightless eyes don’t feel the hurt
Of God-forsaken years.

Moa died that day, a broken life
The glasses lay beside her
Bertram lost a loving wife
The children lost their mother.

My mother lost her friend.

That concrete church now marks the place
Of shame where Moa died
A memory to religious grace?
A God who never lied.

(back to top)

 A Path Among FlowersMusic and lyrics, Alan Wright, Christchurch,
NEW ZEALAND - 1998

All that I have is wrapped up in you
Our garden of dreams waves in colours of blue
Old memories like shafts of sun-light appear
And high-lights those flowers we both loved so dear.

Let me walk in our garden and smell the dew
A path among flowers will lead me to you
I will gather those petals of sweet words you told me
And trust they will lead to where you will be.

Soft whispered hopes, a garden of dreams,
A climbing plant cascades in soft gentle streams
A pathway that lies between you and me
I’ll cherish forever the picture I see.

Let me walk in our garden and smell the dew
A path among flowers will lead me to you
I will gather those petals of sweet words you told me
And trust they will lead to where you will be.

(back to top)

Australia Looked At Us back Here ...

 

The brain-drain, strangely, has reversed

And with our country’s poise

We deftly claim how great we are

At playing with our toys.

 

New Zealand is the greatest place

When foreign climes have beckoned

Out of all the countries polled

Australia comes in second.

 

New Zealanders who crossed the Tas

Have since been asked to rate

Accordingly, Australia now

Is past it’s use-by date.

 

For those of us who stood and read

From history’s crystal ball

Naval gazing is replaced

With writing on the wall.

 

Predicting what would come to pass

Is like reporting weather

It might occur, but we get told

We have to pull together.

 

What we get told is what we know

Or so the story goes

The millions spent on hyperbole ....

The endless screeds of prose.

 

Australia spluttered on it’s way

Creating it’s own honours

It prospered far beyond all doubt

Ignoring all it’s neighbours.

 

Such a country is so good

At being quietly prosperous

We never thought Australia would

Adopt schemes so preposterous.

 

Australia looked at us back here

And what we find surprising

They copied everything we did

Instead of sympathising.

 

Everything that happened here

And now they must admit

They copied us, and now their home

Is turning into shit.

 

Everything that brought in wealth ....

By foreign firms acquired

And with it went a special gift ...

The life-style much admired.

 

For expats now the course is plain

Australia’s lost it’s charm?

New Zealand has become, in time

A massive sewerage farm.

 

New Zealand is the place to live!

(It’s all been on the news)

Deadlocked here, or deadlocked there?

It’s up to you to choose?

(back to top)

Back Pain?

 

Respite from turmoil and sadness

In these moments I weaken and sicken

I am forced into going cold turkey

When I don’t even like deep fried chicken.

 

The doctor, supportive and friendly

Kept the appointment on track

I recounted with bitter precision

The reasons for my poor aching back.

 

In other quite common perspectives

A scenario welcome as new

My doctor had little to offer

Or comment, from his point of view.

 

It quickly emerged that the problem

Related to recent events

Panadol used much too often

Can lower one’s body’s defence.

 

So now I am writhing in torture

The soul that screams out in such pain

Addicted to painkilling tablets

Caused by a simple back strain.

 

As if my deep suffering was nothing

As if my addiction was quirky

To get that dope out of my system

Demands that I suffer cold turkey.

 

When all said and done as it was

And professional opinions are heard

When all the factors are processed

I find this all bloody absurd.

 

If I’d known of this factor much sooner

If I had thought of all that’s been said

I could have been saved all these troubles

And fixed them by staying in bed. 

(back to top)

Building On A Swamp?

 

You might perhaps be waiting on

The current news from Christchurch?

Stories steeped in mystery

Required a little research.

 

The Anglican cathedral stands

Forlorn and macabre

Not a single hand to save it

Has been raised so far.

 

Years ago I wrote a letter

After Christchurch Square

Had been revamped the umpteenth time

And left in disrepair.

 

Surely then to save the cost

Preserving such environs

We could shift Cathedral Square

And force a ban on sirens?

 

Close it down and start again

Perhaps much further north?

Perhaps quite close to Rolleston?

Commuting back and forth?

 

There doesn’t seem to be much call

To build the inner city

Most of it has moved out west

With no cash left in kitty.

 

If anyone consulted me

And no one ever will

I say the same thing every time

The road is all uphill.

 

As far as settler’s eyes could see

While standing on some kegs

Our forbears stopped and looked around

And hammered in some pegs.

 

It seems to be a great idea

For each to have his plot

We’ll build a church for worshipping

Upon this very spot.

 

But we now know that no one dreamed

Of buildings 10 floors tall

And down they came, no architect

Had thought of that at all.

 

The city fathers and I say

The mothers just stood by

To build such buildings on a swamp

You kiss your arse goodbye?

(back to top)

Buzz Words

 

The latest buzz words run our lives

Like worshipping an idol

They dictate to us who’s boss

Just like a horse and bridle.

 

Of all the buzz words floating round

The halls of tyranny

The best and latest of the craze is .....

“Knowledge economy”.

 

I am perplexed when these words sound

Out like a clanging bell

The very people who ring forth

Found these strange words in hell.

 

Kids are brain-washed and they will

Eventually believe

That soon the buzz words will become

A trump card up their sleeve?

 

Knowledge is itself a source

Of wisdom and of power

But are the ‘buzz words’ any use

Outside the Ivory Tower?

 

We have the knowledge in our grasp

While buzz words are a trap

Currently we’re drowning in

A cess pool full of crap.

 

Impregnated as we are

With massive education

The kids who cannot find a job

A life of deprivation.

 

Suggestions from the world at large

To end this pointless farce

Take your buzz words by the halls

And shove them up your nose.

 

Put all the Buzz Kings in a row

They lack the common nous

To mount a search for chicken shit

Inside a chicken house.

(back to top)

Charles Darwin Wrote As He Saw Fit

 

The subject of creation rose

And how it all began

With extracts from the common source

The book, “Ascent Of Man”.

 

Charles Darwin wrote as he saw fit

With much quite unforeseen

A single blob of living flesh

“Was only gelatine.”

 

He based so much on factors that

Were subsequently edited

Ideas have since been proved quite wrong

And since been much discredited

 

Darwin’s observations were

The kind that make us snigger

A man is smarter than his wife

“Because his head is bigger.”

 

Chimpanzees begin the trail

Then blacks, then Jews, then Gypsies

Finally, us, with pure white skin

(So that excludes the .... Chinese.)

 

More recently ideas have flowed

And so the pundits sang

Our planet and our universe

Achieved with One Big Bang!

 

Overlooked in this “Big Bang”

That sound does not transmit

Through a vacuum out in space .....

(And no one here to hear it?)

 

A “bang” without a single sound?

Explosions out in space

Generate no sound at all

..... In every single case.

 

Originally, and so they say

From just a timely ping

The universe which wasn’t there

Grew “big” from not a thing?

 

How big is big when we compare

The order so proscribed?

A non-existent nothing made

The bang we have described.

 

Altogether, science proves

How weird we are as humans

It’s not the facts or data here

But silly wild conclusions?

 

Nothing happens by itself

Although accepted wisdom

Proclaims that accidents are caused

There’s no such thing as “random”.

 

Scientists who state their case

Admit they’re only bluffing

Conclusions that are so far-fetched

Just makes us burst out laughing.

(back to top)

Climate Change

 

Our climate has changed now

From rain and strange weather

To rain and strange weather

And then both together.

 

Once it stops raining

We’ll know then for sure

That weather from now on

Is mostly obscure.

 

When times are uncertain

We bask in the facts

We’ll have rain at the front

While sun shines on our backs.

 

Of all that we wonder

We cannot suppose

That weather is settled

In several neat rows.

 

Over time we will cope

With the days of four seasons

When day seems like night

For uncertain reasons.

 

Mankind is to blame

With this climate change theme

I sit here admitting

My part in this scheme.

 

My doctor so kindly

Told me to get out more

And when I got home

I sat out in a down pour.

 

For full half an hour

Of that doctors advice

Getting our more

Was not very nice.

 

My natural guilt complex

Is there plain to see

The next time it rains

You can blame it on me.

(back to top)

Cover My Defenseless Head.  Alan Wright - Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND.

(A story from my good friend ,Wattie Broomhall, a soldier who returned to New Zealand after the end of WW I) 

The orders came through for our line to move up
While the cannons were silent in the dark of the night
The stench of this no-man’s land killing the senses
An enemy silhouette blocking starlight. 

I heard this man praying in his own German tongue
I knew as I watched him, I heard what he said
A prayer of a soldier beleaguered in battle
Dear God, please cover ..... my defenceless head. 

Dear God, in this darkness you can see me like daylight
You know every flaw in my weak shattered brain
I didn’t start this war, why did you choose me
To join in this madness, the carnage, the pain. 

I cannot but see a hand’s width in front of me
Yet I was sent here to guard the left flank
I have at the ready my rifle and bayonet
And if I survive this I’ll know who to thank. 

The enemy hates me for all that I stand for
Arrogance, cruelty and leaders insane
I long for my home, as does the other guy
We never belonged to this carnage and pain. 

Not a flicker of light nor a shadow in front of me
Just thousands of acres of foul-smelling dank
Even now I can sense I am held in his gun sights
To die in this mud as befitting my rank. 

I long for my wife and my children at home
Just one single shot through my head will suffice
I can’t see him out there but my instinct kicks in
Is taking my life such a great sacrifice? 

Dear God I have seen so much suffering and slaughter
I wonder at evil that possesses mankind
Do you listen to prayers from the likes of this soldier?
Do you care about fears in the sub-conscious mind? 

The soldier’s prayer ended with a silence and Amen
When a shout came from both sides, in German and French
As if like an angel a flare climbed to heaven
The bloody war’s over, return to your trench.

(back to top)

DOGMusic and lyrics – Alan Wright – Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 2012

I remember the days and the nights in those hills
And the bite of that southerly through my skin chaps
The horse’s sweat stinging the skin and the eyes
And that dog by his instinct avoiding the traps.

The sheep knew the land more than any of us did
And the beggars knew just where to hide
That faithful old dog with the skill of his kind
Could bring up the strays alongside.

Wide awake and alert, and his ears poised for flight
And his eyes on his master forever unchanged
Awaiting the whistles his master commands him
His job is to bring in the sheep as arranged.

My photos are stored in an old leather bound trunk
And record all the moments we find
But in an old album we see that fine dog
That DOG is the best of his kind.

I was sent back to town, and my horse and my dog
Have become a far memory like strange distant cries
The boss on his horse in his raw leather cladding
Has found a new job herding clouds in the skies.

But somewhere I feel that the memories don’t match
To that object I see on the mat
Asleep in the warmth of a soft cushioned bed
Is something resembling a cat.

Such a great dog he is, and so faithful and kind
I can see his great floppy paws hiding his shins
But where he is lying not easily discerning
Where hearthrug has ended and that dog begins.

Perhaps times have changed, and the memories are real
Humankind has a mate to the end
From dogs bred for looks or for rounding up sheep
A man knows his dog is his friend.

(back to top)

 Don’t Wait Up For Me Kid!  Melody and lyrics by Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 1997

You didn’t tell me you were coming home
Maybe I heard it through a mutual friend
Don’t think I care where you decide to roam
I don’t care for you at all and nor will I pretend

Don’t wait up for me kid
You know how it is kid
Time and countless times again I heard the same refrain
Won’t accept the mundane
Living in the fast lane
You were gone again

I well remember the day that I met you
Tall dark and handsome with manners to match
All those connections and friends to see you through
Even then I thought you were a catch.

You’re coming home and didn’t let me know
Whatever’s changed for you it isn’t that
Why did you leave me when I loved you so
Why should I begin to care because your plans have fallen flat?

Day after day I would sit there and wonder
Why you decided to just walk away
Heaps of excuses and lies without a deter
I never thought I’d see this day.

I’m thinking now I’ll gather all my friends
Come out and meet you with a bell to ring
Dressed up to greet you sparing no expense
Blow my whistle ring my bell and then we’ll start to sing

Don’t wait up for me kid
You know how it is kid
Time and countless times again I heard the same refrain
Won’t accept the mundane
Living in the fast lane
You were gone again

We’ll sit there waiting with the Army Band
Ten famous singers there to do their thing
When you appear I’ll quickly raise my hand
Blow my whistle, ring my bell, and then we’ll start to sing.

Don’t wait up for me kid
You know how it is kid
Time and countless times again I heard the same refrain
Won’t accept the mundane
Living in the fast lane
You were gone again.

(back to top)

Each Precious Little Rain Drop

 

“The best of times and worst of times .....”

Punctuated with flashes of brilliance

But most of the time it stays like this

A test of human resilience.

 

It is beneficial to contemplate weather

We have plenty of time to do it

Although keeping it positive no matter what

Underneath we know we will rue it.

 

There has to be here a strange secret to this

Each precious wee rain drop will state

That safety in numbers is a time honoured method

Such as used by Alexander the Great.

 

Put all those tiny wee rain drops together

And meld them into a close working force

The power to destruct and finally triumph

Will just be a matter of course.

 

Each time we all sit at the table and view

Those rain drops which fall by the hour

With the help of these cunning wee rain drops we get

To enjoy a hot bath or a shower.

 

Compound the scenario another step further

When all these wee drops cause commotion

Put them together in one single place

And we get ourselves one mighty ocean.

 

Trying to put on a nice cheerful slant

When it’s been raining for many days straight

I love all those rain drops when they do what they do

It’s the water I’m getting to hate.

 

It often strikes me, we can learn from those rain drops

If you meet one single drop at a time

Like our law courts can cope with one single thug

But collapse under organised crime.

 

So far in our history it seems no one has noticed

That the rain drops we drink for our health

Are the same kind of drops that can sneak up unnoticed

And drown us so easily by stealth.

 

At some point in the future I hope I will see

The next time I’m in for a rush

I’m grateful these rain drops can work holding hands

Or we can’t get our toilet to flush. 

(back to top)

 Eulogy To Our Faithful Ozzie Mates - Alan Wright - Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND
       
(Please note – the opinions expressed here are not necessarily those of the person who wrote them.)

We are so rich and powerful
Compared to you Oz guys
Our footy team tore you apart
Before our very eyes.

Not for us to gloat out loud
And prance around in glee
It just so happens we’re the best
At everything we see.

We know how big your country is
Compared with us out here
But we have earthquakes you don’t have
So stick that up your gear.

With 40 million sheep to guard
By government decree
If we hold hands around the coast
They won’t fall in the sea.

You strapping lads are fighting fit
For breeding, nothing finer
But what we done to save our race
Imported kids from China.

Each time you fight a vicious war
With all them foreign powers
We rush across the globe in time
To help with planting flowers.

You rushed the Tas to help us here
As mates when all else fails
Another thing we’re grateful for
The cops from New South Wales.

To all our faithful Ozzie mates
From Christchurch crazy paving
Zero in on Mount Cook Peak
And there you’ll see us waving.

(back to top)

Extract From A Book - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

“He had a face so resolute, and crowned with iron-grey hair
A body built in paradise, a most professional air
A suit that fitted like the best
No doubt a cut above the rest.

“He walked with manner that commanded
Respect that naturally demanded
Attention, and it’s all because
We should have noticed who he was.”

 I read this extract from a book
Wondering why that’s all it took
To make an old guy sound so great
A good old yarn to contemplate.

 I often wonder what we think
To put such words to pen and ink
And read about THIS guy so bold
When all I look ............... is just plain OLD!

(back to top)

Evolution?

 

I was talking to this farmer guy

About species evolution

He carefully explained to me

We have to stop pollution.

 

Imagine if, and he began

You were a butter-fly

When all the things that you love best

Were now in short supply?

 

This little bug goes buzzing by

It's called a Flappus Wappus

Once upon a special time

It bred with just some kisses.

 

But times have changed for this wee bug

As he goes buzzing by

I hear him mutter to himself

I really want to try.

 

Bad for me to stay around

These humanised effects

For me to keep my kind alive

I must indulge in sex.

 

So this wee fellow oh so brave

His problems now confronting

Mustered up his tiny strength

And spent much time on hunting.

 

But woe for him this Flappus Wappus

As he reared his head

He was the last of all his kind

For all his mates were dead.

 

He crawled into that farmers barn

And hid among the sheep

He tucked his head beneath his wing

And cried hinself to sleep.

 

It breaks your heart to hear this tale

This story so distinct

He died last night all by himself

His kind is now extinct.

(back to top)

Expert Advice

 

One thought that alarms me

Along with some others

The past is the past

That one simply smothers.

 

Yet that is so clever

Considering the story

We like all the tales

That will add to our glory.

 

I have tried and worked hard

To be good at most things

But I find quite elusive

Some ideas that life brings.

 

The problem I found is not

What my school taught me

But heaps of strange problems

That life simply brought me.

 

It wasn’t the past I say

Bothered me most

Predicting the future

Is something to boast.

 

I wondered at learning

What everyone knew

I soaked up that knowledge

By joining the queue.

 

But tackle the problems

Of life day by day

And the world remains silent

With nothing to say.

 

Knowing so much about

What’s gone before

Isn’t much help when

Fate knocks on my door.

 

I’m not into using

Those great heaps of knowledge

And nor do I need help

On how to make porridge.

 

When honours are passed out

They go to that set

Who memorise facts that can be

Found on the ‘net.

 

I know I do need

When I stare at the task

Expert advice

Without having to ask.

 

What someone else did once

Is no help whatsoever

Knowing what I should do now

Is what I call clever.

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Fish And Chips ... When Shared By Two In Love

 

Nothing here about mum’s car

The weather won’t be mentioned

Workshop stuff is put on hold

And science won’t be questioned.

 

TV programmes as they are

Will not be torn to pieces

I’ll not complain or criticise

And not be so facetious.

 

Holidays are on my list

A most important item

Brochures touting such that I

Might even get to like them.

 

Even boring days like mine

Are full of joy and wonder

Memories built on fish and chips

In Edmond’s Band Rotunda.

 

The greatest day I think of how

When mum and I were courting

In pouring rain we changed a tyre

And mum was really sporting.

 

The meal I planned to celebrate

Did not work out as planned

Both of us completely soaked

And so our date was canned.

 

Instead we stopped in Armagh Street

And bought some fish and chips

Two hot patties topped it off

And tasty bacon strips.

 

We sat inside the warm confines

Of Edmond’s Band Rotunda

We watched the storm pass overhead

And marvelled at the thunder.

 

It would be great to have a lot

Of money and resources

But fish and chips are always great

With gourmet Chinese sauces?

 

Considering important things

When storms are high above?

Fish and chips transcends it all

When shared by two in love.

 

Tycoons and millionaires may find

That nothing can eclipse

The secret joy when lovers share

A meal of fish and chips.

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Flockton Basin

 

When my parents came to here

In 1943

They rented rooms in Flockton Street

Amid much revelry.

 

I was born into that house

Of course I don’t remember

I was too little on that date

The 18th of December.

 

On some conversations since

The woes of Flockton Street ...

Abandoned houses as the people

Voted with their feet.

 

The first cold winter of that time

Brought with it freezing storms

And tragedy wrought havoc there

In many varied forms.

 

The snow lay like a freezing blanket

Photos have been taken

Snow up to the window sills

(That’s if I’m not mistaken.)

 

If that was not enough to bear

The next sad story ranks

After snow storms disappeared

The Waimak broke it’s banks.

 

The levies that we see these days

That keep the floods in check

Did not exist, the river drowned

The Flockton bottleneck.

 

Water up to table height

Our family couldn’t move

Stranded without power and with

A useless submerged stove.

 

Two days later there they were

With two kids and a baby

Until the council tractors came

To take us all to safety.

 

From that time our family group

Moved in with Grandpa Herd

We rented rooms, and then the tale

Becomes a little blurred.

 

Conflicting stories passed my way .....

When all their hopes were flattened

Dad qualified for settlement

I don’t quite know what happened.

 

 

Although the scheme was for those men

Who served us overseas

Somehow dad was classified

And qualified with ease.

 

And so the history fades away

Until the wheels have turned

Once again we see those floods

When best advice was spurned.

 

To this day we wonder why

Without due consultation

The madness of the early folk

Who built in Flockton Basin.

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For One Wee 5 Year Old

 

Once again the brain cells tick

In time with nuclear motion

Little cesium atoms check

The speed of locomotion.

 

Brain waves flutter like a cloud

Of elephants with wings

And dance across our mental stage

Like marionettes on strings.

 

Tantalising shapes appear

That challenge life’s rapidity

I need to trim creative urge

To suit my cash liquidity.

 

However, in the best of schemes

Unless there is a trend

I can’t barge into making stuff

Unless it’s for a friend.

 

All resources must remain

Within my meagre budget

If mum spends money that is hers

Then who am I to judge it? 

 

But then this little job appeared

For one wee 5 year old

Who gets himself involved with tools

And needs to be controlled.

 

Brilliant schemes of great designing

Hurtled through my space

A wooden bench just like the best

Made for the human race.

 

And so I proudly send this snap

Attached with great sensation

If you can, I hope you will

Admire my great creation?

 

I love this strength in one so young

With purpose interstellar

I am reminded of myself

When just a little fella.

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Founder Of The Firm - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Rows of dusty stamp books were stacked upon a shelf
And a beautiful old oaken chest was standing by itself
Encyclopedia Britannica had seen some sweeter days
Surrounded by the china-ware in colourful displays.

The shop was bathed in shadows cast from intermittent light
And the sinking sun returned its mark on silver burnished bright
Relics from a grander time in leather-ware abounded
While ghosts of ancient travellers in photographs surrounded.

An Escritoire in walnut caught my connoisseur’s eye
With carving deep and beautiful, and brass from days gone by
Mahogany and tortoise shell in patterns, made me start
Whoever built this priceless work was master of their art.

I squeezed between the sideboard and the bookcase made of ash
Beyond the peacock feathers and the stained glass window sash
Among the wall’s great photographs I saw this gilded frame
Who was here depicted?  Who had this claim to fame?

The glass was of an older type that cast one’s own reflection
And so I moved much close up to read the old inscription
The writing was quite flowery, quite small upon the berm,
“Henry B. Lloyd-Patterson, Founder of the Firm”.

The berm was made of cardboard and flecked with spots of brown
The inner edge was bevelled back, the top was sloping down
The frame was oak and painted gold, prepared with expert care
What was this relic worth today compared with other ware?

Perhaps the frame was worth a bit, but not at all uncommon
The glass could just be chucked away or used with less pretension
The photograph was worthless, a faded piece of junk
With a stupid dumb inscription, what a load of bunk.

Don’t you know you stupid twit that burns are out of style?
Double-breasted coats like that have sure been gone a while.
If someone saw you in the street still sporting that moustache
They would turn away in fits, enough to make them laugh.

You make me sick and all your kind, you think that you’re so great
Brought up in luxury no doubt and never known defeat
You stand so straight you might have been an English toffee nose
Born to wealth and privilege, and mansions grandiose.

The Gentleman stared back at me, his gazing did not waver
There was something in his kindly face that made me start to wonder
He wasn’t condemnatory, he didn’t seem to care
Perhaps my weak opinions were another cross to bear.

I stared at him in silence, and he stared back at me,
I wish I knew what you were thinking, Mr Henry B.
You might have known my granddad here, and he’s been gone a while
Why did you turn you head around and look at me and smile?

My goodness me, you photo man, you bloody made me jump!
Are you alive, or are you dead?  You made my heart go bump!
And as I stared into the glass I slowly saw reflected
An image of that gentle smile so beautifully depicted.

Being so professional and always in command
I slowly turned around to see her holding out her hand
It wasn’t just that smile of hers, the smocking work inlay
Said, “Emily M. Lloyd-Patterson, M Sc.  B.A.”

I heard you talking to yourself, I think I’ll close the shop
Would you like a cup of tea, I’m sure you’d like to stop
I cannot leave for some while yet, the taxis all run late
I’ll sit here for an hour at least, they always make me wait.

Would you care to sit, kind Sir, I see that you admire
The photo of my loving Dad, mind if I enquire
Why do you think of him that way?  You think his clothes are bad?
Did you think that pompous bugger could be someone’s Dad?

Dad left his country Ireland in the depths of its decline
He stowed upon the “Ravensdown” when he was only nine.
The captain caught him in the hold and said he’d send him back
But Dad jumped ship at Liverpool by hiding in a sack.

Emily poured out the tea and glanced into my face
Her silvery hair was plaited up and held by bows of lace
Her face was lined but resolute, her eyes were wide and blurred
I stole a glance at Henry B. who heard her every word.

Dad knew his name was Henry, but he lost the other one
Thought it might have been McGuire or maybe Donaldson
She shrugged in distant memory and I knew that I was fading
This little girl was holding hands with someone she was loving.

Dad worked the wharves of London for another single year
Then stowed on “Cartheginia” without a single fear
He knew too well the consequence of being there espied
But knew as well it bothered no one if he lived or died.

They caught him stealing water there when only twelve hours out
Passengers all gathered round him, when they heard the shout!
A stowaway, an Irish bum, the curse of all things British,
Let’s just whack him on the head and feed him to the fishes.

They would have done that, I’ve no doubt, except for ladies present
They beat him up and let him go, they said now that’s sufficient
An English man named Henry Lloyd, insurance I believe,
Stepped forward with a bag of gold, and stuffed it in Dad’s sleeve.

The Captain took a golden piece and took dad to a cabin
He shared it with a kindly man, by name of Bernard Patterson,
And that’s how father got his name, from these two kindly men
Who both had known the hardships of the life where dad had been.

So when my father stepped ashore, the Captain had insisted,
That this boy was registered as a “Passenger Assisted”.
His papers stated who he was, his name was written down
Henry B. Lloyd-Patterson, Protected by the Crown.

They walked the Path in ninety-two, and made it to the square
And Henry Lloyd took care of him until the passing year
Patterson involved himself in Canterbury surveying
And let my father hold the staff they use while they are working.

Patterson had been a man renowned for formal learning
He loved the times he spent with dad because this boy was yearning
For the knowledge he could use to get himself ahead
To teach this eager little lad was privilege indeed.

My father was a clever man and loved a formal lesson
He studied engines at a works across from Christchurch station
The maths involved in bending rails appeared as his forté
He started up his bending press in Woolston, New Year’s Day.

He started works in Melbourne, and moved to Adelaide
He made a lot of money, he knew he had it made
He married Emily McNaught, a slender girl from Dublin
He brought her home to Christchurch here, and built a house in Brighton.

War broke out when I was nine which caused such great concern
Young men died on the battlefields and we were shocked to learn
That Railway workers from our shops had joined the volunteers
Just one more ghastly piece of news confirmed my father’s fears.

All the single men had gone, the married now were taken
Then the married with one child, those dreadful words were spoken
Father as an older man could have been stood down
They needed railway engineers, and Dad was in renown.

They said he didn’t have to go, a man as old as him
But he became an officer when things were pretty grim
They said he’d never see the war, just build the Railway lines
Take charge of men with building skills, and supervise machines.

Never ever see the war?  He realised they were joking!
The Germans pulverised the land, Dad knew what he was facing
No railway line was ever built, the orders were quite blunt
They shoved a rifle in his hand and sent him to the front.

You’ve heard about the war in France, and other points of battle?
Well, Dad got caught in seas of mud and men were killed like cattle.
A sniper got him in the leg while fighting on the Somme
He lost his leg below the knee and so they shipped him home.

Dad never spoke again of horrors he had seen
He made a little copper plaque with names of all his men
He knew of all the men he trained, the truth he couldn’t hack
Out of thirty engineers ....... only six came back.

Trams were spreading like a net and dad became so wealthy
All those lines in Christchurch here had made his banking healthy
When mother died he sold the works and took up cabinet-making
The Escritoire inside the door?  You saw as you were browsing?

He kept the house in Sandilands and all the land around
But thieves broke down its stout front door and burnt it to the ground.
Father wouldn’t start again and came to live with me,
I must confess I found it sad, he could no longer see.

My duties as a Principal had always kept me busy
But Father never interfered, he never was that fussy
Then one night I heard him say, Emily my dear
Please come and sit and hold my hand, I know my end is near.

I cradled Father in my arms and watched the blue eyes sinking
I felt his gaunt frame heave a sigh, I knew what he was thinking
For seventy years he’d hid his hurt, and now this little lad
Would soon be back in Belfast Town, alongside Mum and Dad.

Father left enough for me, enough for all my need
He was a man most generous, not a man of greed
I knew the massive wealth he’d had, and I would like to say,
Just like that Lloyd and Patterson, he’d given it all away.

I’m sorry you ignored your tea, I cannot heat it up
That’s my car outside the door, I’ll quickly wash your cup
You are most kind to hear me out, you understand the term?
Henry B. Lloyd-Patterson, Founder of the Firm.

(back to top)

From Brethren Tripe And Illiterate Fools

 

 

Life’s a great adventure if

One’s point of view depends

On more than waiting day by day

To find out how it ends?

 

It is with heartfelt gratitude

I get to spend time drinking

With pleasant wine and company

I coast along unthinking

 

A cheerful attitude precludes

I ache in every joint?

What God is teaching me right now?

..... I might have missed the point?

 

The greatest asset life can give

To live one’s days unfettered

From brethren tripe and illiterate fools

I yearn to live sequestered.

 

The greatest gift for me today

For that I have my reasons

That time has seen me live again

And freed from childhood demons.

 

I write, and no one reads my stuff

I teach, and no one tries

I dance, and no one wants to know

I make, and no one buys.

 

I study and I can’t make out

Why so much seems insane ......

At any time I find the strength

To get through once again.

 

When I rest I find that peace

Where quiet is experienced

To live a new life, now I know

The demons have been silenced.

 

When I pray, I do thank God

That wonders never cease

The gift that God has given me .....

To live my life in peace.

(back to top)

 From The Summit Of The Bridle PathMusic and lyrics, Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 1987

The world is silent way up here, and seldom does the bellbird call,
The tufted grass and rocky crags, bear muted witness to us all,
The distant mountains stretch away, like guardians clothed in majesty,
And sacred gems of snow and light, reflect the hopes they longed to see.

          They brought to this country the faith of their fathers,
          And hopes for a new life across the sea.

          They thought we would value that hope of theirs,
          "Lest we forget!” - their price to be free!

The Bridle Path has seen it all, the bullock cart, the tragic cold
The bleeding feet, the crying child, the widow now, just twelve years old.
And here they came from worlds away, they left their homes with great relief
They clustered at this rocky crag, and stared in heart-felt disbelief!

Would this be home, the question rose within their hearts, and sank like stone
And loneliness too cruel to feel, would freeze each mortal to the bone.
They were our people, we are them, those first four ships, and many since
With babes in arms our people stood, and from this point was their first glimpse.

A nation built on iron resolve, and breaking backs, maternal pain,
They worked for us, their blood and sweat, and gave their all so we might gain.
They were the bravest of the brave, and we just called them mum and dad,
They drained the swamp, and ploughed the land, and gave us everything they had.

Each passing generation knows, our debt to all who broke this land
Our peace, and all we know is ours, was won by those who made a stand.
For us they slogged, for us they died, they fought on many a foreign shore
The sun sinks low, I stand in awe, to honour those who’ve gone before.

(back to top)

From Some Moronic Thesis

 

Ridicule and poking fun

And streams of strange bemusement

Scientists accomplish both

Creating great amusement.

 

Apparently two scientists

Were digging for our history

Israel seemed to them and us

A place to solve the mystery.

 

Why not dig just over there?

Beneath those shady trees

Although we dug there years ago

We’ve both renewed our fees.

 

So let’s get going with our stuff

For marking out our claim

Each of us is furnished with

Our laptop user-name.

 

And so they dug and here they found

Beneath the sandy soil

Camel bones of vintage kind

And wrapped them in tin foil.

 

Back they went these scientists both

To use their carbon dating

It seemed that all these animals

Were occupied in mating.

 

Results came up on camel bones

And sure enough they noted

Camels never came along

Until these two were quoted.

 

Glassy eyed and armed with facts

And screaming out ‘Eureka’

They named that heap of camel bones

From biblical ‘Rebecca’.

 

We now know from what they claim

With research now enlisted

That camels came from these two heaps

And never pre-existed.

 

Now it’s a fact beyond a doubt

That text and pictures lied

Abraham’s chronology

Can now be shoved aside.

 

Historical accounts we know

Of camels, ....... with surprise

Scribes who wrote so faithfully

Wrote just a pack of lies.

 

 Herein there lies a stunning truth

If you want bullshit muck

You’ll get it from a guy like this

An academic schmuck.

 

We can wonder what goes on

When science is employed

What is science really worth

When logic is destroyed?

 

If anyone requires the truth

Assembled from small pieces

There is one place it won’t be gleaned

From some moronic thesis.

(back to top)

Give Kids The Credit They Deserve!

 

Everything has turned out well

Another day got dayed

A sleepless night, and cold mince pie

I’ve really got it made.

 

I had a little money left

I couldn’t get to bank it

I curled up tight in my wee bed

With my electric blanket.

 

Winter blues have set in strong

And Phillip helped me through

Brave lad he is and bright as well

In French .... a deja vu.

 

Phillip has a happy knack

Of heating last night’s mince

He knows about the microwave

And gives the plates a rinse.

 

Amazing how the kids today

Embrace such modern spaces

He knows about those cell phone things

And how to tie his laces.

 

He stunned me when he knew about

The scriptures and John Wesley

He knew so much about the world

And songs by Elvis Presley.

 

I am quite secretly in awe

That Phillip knows so much

He should have been my dad instead

And we could keep in touch.

 

Every now and then I could

Accost him in his chair

And ask about the world at large

And teach him how to swear.

 

I am so very grateful now

Each lesson I have followed

My frailty lies in one small thing

That all I know is borrowed.

 

I could perhaps attend a course

That could just make me smarter

Maybe use a planning guide

Perhaps a study charter?

 

These kids are bright there is no doubt

That kids are better served

If parents learnt at school and gave

Kids credit they deserved.

(back to top)

Goodbye My Sweet Daughter Music and lyrics by Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 2002

The grass, as they say, is much greener by far
In a place full of promise, beneath the North Star
The yearning for mystery, a future secure
The longing for romance in a mind more mature.

Goodbye my sweet daughter, I bid you God-bless
I wish you God-speed on your road to success
We worked and we watched you, we loved you each day
I know why you’re leaving, and you know why I stay.

I remember the little things, we both watched you grow
The problems before you have melted like snow
If only your mother could see your bright smile
How proud she would be of her little girl.

Goodbye my sweet daughter, I bid you God-bless
I wish you God-speed on your road to success
We worked and we watched you, we loved you each day
I know why you’re leaving, and you know why I stay.

The call of the future is strong in your breast
Another voice calling will guide your life’s quest
The music of romance has made your heart glow
As your mother and I heard it so long ago.

Goodbye my sweet daughter, I bid you God-bless
I wish you God-speed on your road to success
We worked and we watched you, we loved you each day
I know why you’re leaving, and you know why I stay.

(back to top)

‘Great God of Creation’   YouTube Clip

Copyright – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND, 2015

 

Great God of Creation, the work of Your hands

Is timeless, eternal, and wondrous to see

Though proof of Your power Immutably stands

You still found a small place in Your heart just for me.

 

Chorus : Great God of Creation, still, You are calling

I hear Your soft voice by day and by night

Jesus, my Saviour, who loved me so freely

To Him be the honour, glory and might.

 

Great God of Creation, my Shepherd, my Friend

You chose to redeem those who heeded Your call

For You are so strong I can’t comprehend

Whenever was mankind  worth saving at all?

Chorus:

 

Great God of Creation, the power of Your love

Is shown in the free will that brought me to see

Though mystery surrounds Your throne high above

You still find the time to come and talk here with me.

Chorus:

(back to top)

Hello or Goodbye - Music and lyrics by - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

You turned and you waved after we said goodnight
Your smile so enchanting beneath the street light
Like ships in the darkness emerge and pass on
And as the night deepens  I know you are gone.

Forgive me my dear friends, I care for you all
Your faces that wake me demand my recall
Hello or Goodbye, what are those words for
I don’t know the difference between them any more.

A sea of bright faces surrounds me at night
I lie there awake greeting each one on sight
Those people I knew secret thoughts occupy
Will vanish like smoke at the blink of an eye.

Forgive me my dear friends, I care for you all
Your faces that wake me demand my recall
Hello or Goodbye, what are those words for
I don’t know the difference between them any more.

Out there from the headland each flickering light
Identifies ships that will pass in the night
But each is recorded in logbooks with care
And so I remember the day you were here.

Forgive me my dear friends, I care for you all
Your faces that wake me demand my recall
Hello or Goodbye, what are those words for
I don’t know the difference between them any more.

(back to top)

Eeyore?  He Stands There With The Mighty

 

One person has been idolised

And in his famous travels

His attitude to life by him

Is where this tale unravels.

 

He knew a guy who took the care

To see that he was loved

Molly-coddled all his life

And never pushed or shoved.

 

He had so many friends around

He heard such great opinions

But on the eve of fame it seems

He much surpassed companions.

 

You might have thought that he was fine

Pretending to be human

His best remark I am convinced

Became my leading rumen.

 

Amid the bantering he heard

He stood the test of greatness

Not diverted from his cause

By being downright famous.

 

It left a deep impression when

He took the care to note

He looked around at all his friends

And slowly cleared his throat.

 

“Friends,” he said, as he turned back

And thought of what to say

He uttered then these famous words,

“I’ve had enough happiness ...... for one day.”

 

Eeyore might have been depressed

Because he was a donkey

But when his tail is tacked on straight

He stands there with the mighty.

 

True greatness can be kept in check

By many things we see

That famous comment Eeeyore made

Reverberates in me.

(back to top)

 I Ain’t No Famous Rugby StarMusic and Lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

The Pirates of Penzance is a great and worthy play
Where I find it interesting, the General has his say
The words he sings in that great play are worthy of a pat!
But he weren’t no famous rugby star!  Can’t compete with that!

In my own case I sing out loud my own celestial praise
I think in rhymes like Socrates with each sweet turn of phrase
Poor Plato looks along side me a weak and childish brat
But I ain’t no famous rugby star!  Can’t compete with that!

I try to shovel my own opinions down another’s neck
I keep on talking all the time while you’re a nervous wreck
I could have been a great MP or famous diplomat
But I ain’t no famous rugby star!  Can’t compete with that!

I have a great physique, you know, with muscles all around
I take the steps in dancing classes, in a single bound
My diet’s so immaculate, like that of old Jack Sprat
But I ain’t no famous rugby star!  Can’t compete with that!

My sexiness is known afar, and you are just so sweet
When it comes to wives like you, you sure are hard to beat
I might be on the chubby side, attractively quite fat
But I ain’t no famous rugby star!  Can’t compete with that!

So when I know you think of  me, my fears are soon expressed
If I had been a millionaire you’rd really be impressed
But in my heart I know I’m beat, I’m just a dumb old bat
And I ain’t no famous ANYTHING!  They CAN’T compete with that!

(back to top)

When I married Your Sweet Mom

 

Today is such a special day

We might have turned the corner?

Mother’s Day is here, and now ....

I thought I’d better warn her.

 

Mum seems happy in her world

She’ll always persevere

Carefully juggling work and play

And caring for us here.

 

I notice sometimes that mum goes

A little bit too quiet

Perhaps it might help if she could

Expand her meagre diet?

 

We need those special vitamins

And healthy additives

We get to choose our friends ourselves

But what about our relatives?

 

Now here is what is great to me

Along with natural growth

When I married your sweet mom

I clearly managed both.

 

I wondered in the early stage

If mum could cope with me

She never had the attitude

Of ..... “I’ll just wait and see?”

 

There never was a doubt with mum

Although some people tried

To talk her into leaving me

She stuck here by my side.

 

The point of such a thought as this

That when your mum was tested

Everything was centred on

The vows our marriage rested.

 

I know the worth of such a mate

Who stuck through thick and thin

She always tries to help me through

Whatever shit I’m in.

 

God has showed me from Himself

And this He will commend

When it comes to relatives

I’m married to my friend.

 

From sleepless nights to money scares

It is a rule of thumb

This lady whom I most admire

...... This lady ......  is your mum. 

(back to top)

I Bought This Little Lifting Thing

 

I hurt my back in January

I don’t know how I did it

Bending over in the shower?

Or vacuuming the carpet?

 

I can’t recall exactly when

This accident occurred

Not knowing how I hurt myself

Is really quite absurd.

 

Another possibility?

By lifting all my gear?

It’s really heavy and it’s big

And awkward everywhere.

 

William often helped me with

The setting up for dances

Now I do it by myself

I don’t bet on my chances.

 

The upshot of this soulful tale

I lashed out once again

I bought a little lifting thing

That now relieves the pain.

 

I searched for kinds of lifting stuff

On eBay and the net

Then I checked George Henry’s lists

It seemed a better bet.

 

Sure enough I found this thing

That lifts a motorbike

Pricewise seemed quite reasonable

With pedals and such like.

 

I took this little lifting thing

To my friend Tony Thorpe

And asked him to replace the top ....

That really made him gawp.

 

Tonight I go to pick it up

He is a long-time crony

And when I need some welding done

I can rely on Tony.

(back to top)

I Can Face Up To This World With A Grin

 

Delight in the day and prospects galore

I can gloat in my future because

...... “Are moff to see the wizard

The wonderful wizard a Fozz.”

 

Such a delight to consider such musings

I hear myself singing for fun

I’m scarecrow and tin-man, lion and Dorothy

Delightfully rolled into one!

 

All the creaks of those tin joints, the brain of a scarecrow

These notions are joined in a twirl

A lion that’s scared of each moving shadow

And inspired by the voice of a girl.

 

Time will be able to prove we can make it

Considering the facts as they stand

No matter how complex, each part of the weaving

Is made up from one single strand.

 

Life does not ask us to be clever or bright

We do not rub shoulders with martyrs

Our world is so quiet we spend our time eating

With an entree of sea food for starters.

 

If I decide that I’d like to go swimming

When thoughts of my fitness prevail

After the school kids have left, then it feels like

I’m swimming in warm ginger ale.

 

Enough of the negative, look on the bright side

There must be one there if we search

Advice from the experts who repeatedly say

That it’s time to get down off our perch?

 

Just a brief flutter, a new heart perhaps?

Though I do think the prospects are thin

Just a sharp word from the Wizard Of Oz, and

I can face up to this world with a grin?

(back to top)

If They Dropped The Drinking Out?

 

Time for news from home again

And you have me to thank

Due to nothing being here

Those lines completely blank.

 

Notice how I have contrived

To keep you in the picture

One blank line is like the next

Excepting for the mixture.

 

The city re-build is no more

The finances have snapped

No silly grandiose designs ....

The plans have all been scrapped.

 

It seems to be a problem that

The lies and half-truths spun

Have sapped the people’s inner strength

And will to get things done.

 

Every question in the news

(And if it wasn’t, .... ask it)

Were impolitely brushed aside

Into the ‘too-hard’ basket.

 

Romantic notions of night-life

Attracting lots of tourists

A row of brightly lit gay bars

Was much too much for purists.

 

What about a theatre here?

A beautiful dance hall?

If they dropped the drinking out?

..... The notion hit the wall.

 

Lots of booze barns well concealed

Attracting near and far

They say that booze barns don’t exist

... But that is what they are.

 

The city took so many years

To build and put in place

And now “the rebuild”, puts us in

Some idiotic race.

 

Everything presented now

Whatever way you think

Vested interests plan around

The endless sale of drink.

 

The answer came as silent clues

The city moved out west

We really don’t care what they do

And that is for the best.

 

The number one priority

The founding fathers gave us

That family life and steady jobs

Will be the thing to save us.

 

The drive to build another place

A replica in transit

A cold grey city as we knew

That no one wants to visit.

 

A cold grey city built on swamp

Where tourists stand and stare

Admit the facts, and I for one

Will never walk through there.

(back to top)

I’ll Just Sit Here And Think

 

Our dancing studio at our home

Has taken many changes

And what I get to see right now

Is what your mum arranges.

 

The thing that used to be in reach

Is now placed over there

The chair that cradled my repose

Is now considered spare.

 

The chest that wasn’t used for much

Has taken pride of place

It used to be where people sit

Where now there’s just more space.

 

The little thingy-bob I made

For mum’s delight and pleasure

Is now placed opposite the books

A worthwhile countermeasure.

 

Light streams in and castes a glow

Upon those things I’ve made

And each reflection does it’s job

Creating light and shade.

 

It seems quite odd when we recall ....

Before our dancing club

Progressed to what it is today ....

That dance room was the hub.

 

Thirty hours a week or more

From which our club evolved

I toiled with private lessons there

And office work involved.

 

I guess the floor remains the same

It’s just like yesterday

Although it never seems to age

It’s tough, that wood parquet.

 

I know of something that won’t change

I’ll get an ice-cold drink

Surrounded with the things I love

I’ll just sit here and think.

 

How did all this come about

And why was I selected?

For blessings of the strangest kind

Was not what I expected.

 

The songs I wrote, the dancing steps

The ethereal charmed existence

My extra special dancing room

...... Is now preserved in silence.

(back to top)

Just A Humble Fart

 

Is there such a mighty void

Between things tried and true?

What is great depends upon

One’s narrow point of view.

 

This starry eyed young gentleman

Accosted me quite freely

Drinking in my every word

I took him in completely.

 

I was indeed quite taken with

His youthful skill and ease

Plainly he was stocked up with

A burning urge to please.

 

I kept my face as one concerned

To serve my race untainted

By the time he heard me out

This poor young kid had fainted.

 

Y’know, I said, that we are strange

We have this dream-like picture

This influence from head to toe

With passages from scripture.

 

When one loves and fights his best

He brings strange things along

I often felt of so much more

Than romance proved in song.

 

My first experience of this ‘thing’

Based on some famous notion

I am a single drop of pee

In life’s great rolling ocean.

 

As a boy I couldn’t help

When praying with affection

My basest instincts stung me with

An embarrassing erection.

 

Over time when romance bloomed

I came to with a start

My humanness would leave me with

A strong desire to fart.

 

Instead of all the silly words

The gifts, the flowers, and smiles

Affliction of the human state

Will add to other trials. 

 

I always said that love is found

And this is true in essence

You haven’t really loved until

You’ve farted in her presence.

 

The strangest contradiction here

When love is such an art

One’s love is joyfully expressed

With just a humble fart? 

(back to top)

Laugh Like A Socialite Fool Music and Lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 2005

In all the wide world and places to be
You won’t find it better I’m sure you’ll agree
You might think if only we’d stop this baloney
That life is a sure guarantee.

But life is made up of great stepping stones
That tip without warning and we break our bones
Excuses are told and warnings unfold
While we follow our latest hormones.

So - grap a nice partner, for dancing galore
With Rumbas and Cha Chas and Sambas, and more
Forget all your troubles when life’s little bubbles
Go pop with a splat on the floor.

Stick with a mutter that loosens your soul
That won’t cause you trouble in life’s rigmarole
Avoid all the clatter of dignified chatter
And laugh like a socialite fool.

For well do we know when arguments start
That we’ll stay together, and we’ll never part
But are we that stupid just waiting for Cupid
To throw us a heavenly dart?

There’s hope for the future whatever it brings
Through thick and through thin the warning bell rings
So don’t be immersed when something’s reversed
It’s all over when the fat lady sings.

(back to top)

Life’s Great SongMusic and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND, 2006

The passing seasons weave the greatest song
A mix of memories to us each belong
The harmony, still searches every soul
As life creates it’s own unfurling scroll

Dreams are so real inside this song of time
Each note records our special place, in rhyme
This song evolves whatever we intend
And fate ensures life’s song will never end

Our special place may often seem obscure
And in life’s song we cannot know for sure
Which notes are ours we cannot rightly name
For in life’s song we all have claim to fame

The blaze of triumph, deep and sombre tense
The memories reflect our inner sense
But altogether, when life’s song is played

This work of art with love is overlayed

The greatest part enclosed in life’s great song
Is not to dwell on what is right or wrong
As simple as our life’s great song can be
With love becomes a mighty symphony.

(back to top)

Light A Little Candle - Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

I read your Grandpa’s letters, the ones that I could find
Bundled up in boxes with bits he left behind
A story from another time, from half a world away
People we will never know, ghosts from another day.

Your Grandpa never knew the time he’d have to say goodbye
The sea and sailing were his life with danger ever nigh
Together they would stand up there and look across the bay
He’d kiss his sweetheart on the lips, and then she’d hear him say

Light a little candle and put it in the window
The window of the little room that faces out to sea
When my ship beats ‘round the heads
I’ll see your little candle
And know my little lady-love is waiting there for me.

Through years of war and servitude he had the right idea
Those letters to your Grandma always hide his inmost fear
He’d write what he was doing, then describe his love for her
And add that little paragraph ……….. please.

Light a little candle and put it in the window
The window of the little room that faces out to sea
When my ship beats ‘round the heads
I’ll see your little candle
And know my little lady-love is waiting there for me.

I never thought the time would come when we would say goodbye
I tried to love you every day and you would ask me why
But you have gone ahead of me you never gave me time
To add that little paragraph ……….. please,

Light a little candle and put it in the window
The window of the little room that faces out to sea
When my ship beats ‘round the heads
I’ll see your little candle
And know my little lady-love is waiting there for me.

(back to top)

Little Scruffy McSporran

 

Many’s the stories I could tell of the family

The memories still crowd through my mind

When our children were little, before Phil was born

This story is henceforth enshrined.

 

We had a good dog that was cared for and loved

And he was friends with the dog on the corner

Whenever their paths crossed the usual repartee

Was enhanced by a clash at the border.

 

This little dog played in our driveway at times ...

And his owners were definitely foreign

He loved to be cuddled and pampered and patted

We all loved little Scruffy McSporran!

 

One day our friend Scruffy arrived at our home

And I heard while he scratched at our door

I opened to let the wee fellow in

And he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

 

I picked up the trembling body and held him

And something was breaking his spirit

His wee heart was thumping as if it would burst

And he cried with his snout in my armpit.

 

A knock on the door and the neighbours were there

And they picked up their pet little dog

They scolded wee Scruffy for running away

And that ended our short dialogue.

 

A few days had passed and I noticed that house

Was empty with For Sale signs nailed to the fence

No people, no Scruffy, so what had become of him

And my sense of his loss was immense.

 

I didn’t think much of it until a week later

The neighbour from just round the road

Mentioned that new people were taking that house

And tomorrow would see the first load.

 

So what happened to Scruffy I enquired with good reason

Well his owners were returning to Poland

Wee Scruffy was surplus with nowhere to go

They had made no arrangements beforehand.

 

But Scruffy, I asked, and the neighbour looked down

They weren’t going to find him an owner

They used their gas oven to kill that wee dog

Poor Scruffy was a definite goner.

 

I couldn’t believe it, but the truth began sinking

That kind little dog in his cute tartan sweater

Could have moved in with us, but they killed him instead

Surely ..... Scruffy deserved something better?
(back to top)
Love Like A Glimmer Of Candlelight - Music and Lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Love like a glimmer of candlelight
Burns deep in your eyes
Sweet joy when two hearts combine
Your hands gently clasped in mine
Love when it came to us
Came oh so softly
So let our love-light shine
Shine, little candle
The love-light that holds us
Your hands gently clasped in mine.

Shine, little candle
The love-light that holds us
With joy from depths divine
Love in it's greatness will bind us together
Your hands gently clasped in mine.
Let me see it!  Let me see it!
Let's see that love shine
A light your eyes enshrine
Let me see it!  Let me see it!
Let's see that love-light
Your hands gentlyclasped in mine.

Love like a glimmer of candlelight
Burns deep in your eyes
Sweet joy when two hearts entwine
Your hands gently clasped in mine
Let me see it!  Let me see it!
Let's see that love-light
A love two hearts combine
No words need I utter
Your eyes say it for me
Your hands gently clasped in mine.

Love like a glimmer of candlelight
Burns deep in your eyes
Sweet joy when two hearts entwine
Your hands gently clasped in mine
Love when it came to us
Came oh so softly
So let your love-light shine
Shine, little candle
I love you little love-light
Your hands gently clasped in mine.
                                                                                                                                               (back to top)

Mahogany Drum Table

 

Every now and again it would seem to appear

That outlets for pent up frustration

Are fruitlessly creamed into collecting up money

To stave off impending starvation.

 

The silly old wife’s tales are bandied at length

As if wisdom was stored in the ground

As they say in the pubs while choking on beer

“What is round, is made to go round.”

 

So by this token I took heart to construct

Something aligned to this generous theme

Although it looks great and took skill to design

It’s my way of letting off steam.

 

The riddle contained in a message like this

Is to test one’s own methods of thinking

Come up with the answer by seeing the jpeg

To make sure your brain isn’t shrinking.

 

This strange little object is the same as before

But with one vital aspect abolished

If you take careful note of the width and the height

It has all been professionally polished.

 

Yes, it’s that drum table I made, replete in it’s splendour

And parked in a significant place

It stares quite belligerently expecting attention

And dominating all of it’s space.

 

Mum is delighted with her new wee drum table

It glows with an aura of wealth

It seems odd, looking back, that I made this wee table

Purely for the good of my health. 

 (back to top)

Match Fixing

 

It has appeared and so it seems

That cricket has evolved

Fixing matches takes the news

Until this crime is solved.

 

Why should any one object

To team mates making money

By playing badly on demand

..... Especially when it’s sunny?

 

Apparently they take their turn

To try to hit the ball

We must admire them if they see

An object quite that small.

 

Hurtling at a staggering speed

They keep their eye upon it

Then with ease, a willow bat

Connects like nail to magnet.

 

Then they run, and that’s a laugh ....

When they decide to switch

They cross the finishing lines at once

At opposite ends of the pitch!

 

The only weird and curious sport

That matches three day cricket

Is rugby watched by all those fans

Who bought a season ticket.

 

Is it really such a crime

To use those curious skills?

To supplement one’s meagre cash

Required to pay the bills?

 

No doubt the hue and cry will ask

On some one’s instigation?

To harvest profits from the sport

Is worth investigation?

 

If a seedy element appears

And tears the sport apart

Then players universally

Are really in the cart.

 

Cornered by perceptions wide

The public won’t take note

Unless the paper prints en masse

The swear words some one wrote.

 

And like an exhibition held

Of wondrous skills extensive

No advertising pays it’s way

Unless that art’s offensive?

 

And so it seems for sports as well

Within this age old trap

No one cares unless they hear

It looks and smells like crap?

 

When seeking out publicity

The boffins know their stuff

The women like to read he got

His girlfriend up the duff.

 

If crime inflicts it’s stories on

The seam, the ball and wicket

They get publicity free of charge

Because that’s the way we like it.

(back to top)

My Boy-racer Glory Days

 

Oh for those days that long have gone by

We never begin to ask ourselves why

When whatever I wanted just seemed to happen

As I charged round the streets in my own V8 wagon.

 

People ooed and they aaad as my Holden Monaro

Took full centre stage in the boy-racer bordello

With each turn of that wheel I roared on like a trooper

I was never referred to as “that party pooper”.

 

It is with a notion of infamous tricksters

History is confined to the records of victors

That my day in the sunshine quickly came to conclusion

As my boy-racer glory simply sank in confusion.

 

Boy-racers today are holding the news

As they drive their cheap Jap cars like wheels on church pews

My 350 V8 cleaned them up in those sweeps

And the cheek of these new-comers gives me the creeps.

 

What makes this boy-racer fame is more than the horn

I was a famous boy-racer before they were born

That pissing people off only starts with the noise

As the world’s first boy-racer I’m still king of the boys.

   (back to top)

My Latest Job Dissolves

 

The budget has been published and

We wade through all it’s contents

How to spend such state largesse?

And squander great abundance!

 

We yawn and wait for powers that be

To give themselves a pay rise

Backdated to the 1st of March

Is what the pundits theorise.

 

Parasites can sometimes be

An asset to their host

But what we see is terminal when

The parasites get the most.

 

The books produced in radiant black

No red ink to be seen

The books now balance and we thank

The clobbering machine.

 

“Middle-class workers will be next”

When tax-cuts get a mention

But how will mum and me survive

When they cut the old age pension?

 

I see myself as highly skilled

And what I do enjoyable

Government has me classified

As patently unemployable.

 

Working hard for all my life

My skills go unreported

How can I make a living here

When everything’s imported?

 

Perhaps if I retrain again

To make my folio vaster

If I add to what I need,

Some pills and sticking plaster?

 

I doesn’t matter what I do

There doesn’t seem to be

A job where I can turn my hand

To feed your mum and me.

 

Everything I learnt to do

That discipline involves

Is handed to another guy

And .... my latest job dissolves.

 

Am I learning something here?

That perhaps a new direction

Might be opportune right now

And not a dereliction.

 

But still I fear that rushing round

In silly pointless circles

I won’t have anything to show for that

Except for age and wrinkles.

(back to top)

Nerves Of Stainless Steel

 

See ... the dearest Mummy

I’ve cleaned up all the mess ....

Washed the dishes with great care

To save you much distress.

 

I know that when you come back home

And see what I have done

You know that educating me

Is conflict fought and won.

 

I love the way you persevere

With loving, kind support

And then I realise once again

You really are a sport.

 

You see I left a muffin there

For you to have with tea

The battle now is centred round

The mental state of me.

 

In admiration of your toes

And other bits of you

I gasp in sacred gratitude

In times I see you chew.

 

So, summing up this little note

Expressing how I feel

Your greatest attribute indeed

Is nerves of stainless steel.

(back to top)

No Regrets - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 1995

The little fellow smiled as he walked across the street,
His little legs were short and plump, and nothing on his feet,
Quite unconcerned with shabby clothes, a joke he’d soon relate,
Deep in thought and humour, as he reached the iron gate.

He didn’t see me standing there, observing how he moved,
The old brown house across from me, was where I knew he lived,
The gate as usual creaked out loud, and bashed it’s usual tome,
Everybody in the house, knew someone else was home.

I followed him into his house, he never saw me there,
His mother and his father could not sense that I was there,
I am you in fifty years, I am what you will be,
I’d like to tell you what it’s like, to know that you are me.

I’ll just sit here quietly, you’ll never know I’m here,
My little friend, there will not be, a change from year to year,
I’m still like you, I haven’t changed, except, I’d like to say,
In fifty years, I guess I wish, I’d found a better way.

I visited my brother at his home the other day,
That’s him sitting on the floor about to have his say,
He hates your guts as brothers do, relationships won't mend,
And so I'll warn you while I can, he’ll never be your friend.

You cannot see me sitting here, and listening to these prayers,
You grew up in this strange church, that plays on people’s fears,
A way of life, that’s all you know, until you reach a date,
When all this strange religious stuff, will turn from love to hate.

Your father and your mother, will teach you all they know,
You’ll learn religious sentiment, and live on straight and narrow,
You won’t have friends, and you will find, that people close to you,
Will become your enemies, but somehow you’ll get through.

So here’s your bedroom up these stairs, with hessian on the walls,
And cracks stuffed up with paper wads, between the rough sawn boards,
The windows don’t fit neat and snug, to keep the weather out,
Was it worth it all this time, to be quite this devout?

To see into the future now, is more than you can fathom,
But I can talk to you right now, because of where I’m from,
Just as well you cannot see, the time span I have seen,
In another fifty years, you’ll know where I have been.

If I can help at all, it’s this, don’t think it’s only them,
Religious cranks who lose all sight, from what good thought will stem,
Wherever you will start to mix, with people in your life,
The same peculiar attitude, will cut you like a knife.

Perhaps you’ll think it all too strange, that dogma rules the world,
It doesn’t have to make good sense, just fit the ruling mould,
Ignore the cries of reason, don’t see the slow decay,
Conform to what the others think, and look the other way.

Is it you, or is it them, this question you will ask,
I can answer for you now, don’t set yourself this task,
The heart of man has never changed, what’s in this for me?
Take it all, or burn it down, with nothing left to see!

Each and every one of us, presumes that we’re important,
Like the sun goes round the earth, we think that God’s our servant,
If your logic pokes a hole, in someone’s self esteem,
Expect attack immediately!  Just leave them to their dream.

While I’m here, I’d like to see, the backyard as it was,
The overgrowing orchard tree, we had such fun, because,
The hiding places that we found, the bugs, the moths, the lice,
To two small boys, and two small dogs, we lived in paradise.

But that will change, my little friend, you’ll learn to keep away,
From people who will look with scorn, on juvenile play,
The next few years you’ll wish you had, and if you wonder why,
The only pleasure those folks get, is ways to make you cry.

When you start to make a life, of what you want to do,
The parasites are out in force, to fleece you through and through,
They might not steal as openly, as German Nazis could,
Make no mistake they want their cut, on all your livelihood.

If we could see our enemy, we’d all know what to do,
He’s much too smart to put a face before the likes of you,
He takes his cut by making laws, you’ll never know his name,
Would we allow a foreign tax?  Results are just the same.

Look around you, then you try, to work out who’ll say, “No”,
Who’ll say, “Yes”, and who they are, agree with both, and so,
Avoid the guy who states his mind in too few words, and rather,
Side with them who drown the truth in educated blather!

Take my advice, my little friend, conform in every way,
Don’t try to be original, agree with all they say,
Don’t use your brain, admit they’re right,
Grow up like them, a bleeding intellectual parasite.

It’s time to go, my little friend, my dream begins to fade,
I’ll soon be back where I belong, and where I should have stayed,
I’m glad you didn’t hear the things, that I have said to you,
It’s inborn drive that leads us all, to do the things we do.

Be yourself, you little rat, you’ll win in better ways,
You don’t need their mindless crap, that wastes our precious days,
Learn all you can, and where you can, and work in life’s own college,
Then you’ll reap the benefit of wisdom gleaned from knowledge.

(back to top)

No Time For Reflection With Birthdays Approaching

 

Birthdays come and birthdays go

And whether they’re coming or going

Is very much left to how any one feels

Otherwise, there’s no way of knowing.

 

In casting one’s thoughts to the issue in hand

We start by remembering still

The reason you were there when you actually turned ONE

..... Your mother stopped using the pill.

 

If dad had been held up at work or some place

On the night you were a glint in his eye

A simple day early or just one day later

You’d have stayed in the sweet bye and bye.

 

The chances are many, the choices are few

That each of us, mocks who we are

Fixed into history, by some remote instances

That started in the back seat of a car.

 

No time for reflection with birthdays approaching

We might try to find someone to blame

We didn’t get asked to be male or female

And we didn’t get to choose our own name.

 

We didn’t choose any of the times that we live in

We didn’t choose brothers or sisters

We didn’t choose sickness or hereditary problems

We didn’t choose bruises or blisters.

 

We didn’t choose parents or church to be part of

We didn’t choose from an ancestral sieve

We didn’t choose any of those schools that we went to

We didn’t choose where we would live.

 

On reflecting on all of the strange factors relating

To how we became such a mixture

Of random and unrelated pieces of puzzle

That make up the bizarre final picture.

 

If we tried to explain how we actually happened

In the stirring of life’s reservoir

The facts are too complex and far too obscure

For our brain cannot extend quite that far.

 

Now that I have reached my own three score and ten

With a few years to add to existence

How I got to be here in the first place, I know

It makes not one iota of difference.

 

With a birthday arriving at the end of this year

As years of experience have shown

Just like everything else that has ever befallen me

I will spend all that day on my own.

 

Is it so bad when we feel walls around us

That protect us from conflict and strife

We can reflect at the marvel of God’s great creation

When he decided to give me my life.

 

I was unable to choose for myself as it happened

But here’s what I have always believed

That God set me up for one special purpose

Before I was even conceived.

 

In spite of the random that seems to dictate

And arguably one dreadful mess

I rest in the confidence nothing is random

In the faith that I boldly possess.

(back to top)

Oh The Joy Of Every Day – Lyrics by Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Oh the joy of every day for what each day is worth
Never thinking for a moment of increasing girth
The scales inviting like a beacon, beamed enticingly
The needle swung around the dial, and slowly stopped on three.

Oh the pain of knowing how exactly this occurred
Nature taking it’s own toll precisely as assured
A little research here and there has brought about the facts
Our genes are more responsible than simple human acts.

The guilt of knowing that the good of others here and there
Badly compomised by me, but then I think I fear
That stats relating to my case resist close scrutiny
I join with all you bigger guys, and stage a mutiny.

Pluck great names from here and there, and that’s OK for some
Winston Churchill ‘way up there, and England’s old Queen Mum
It crossed my mind to concentrate, while aching with the stitch
A lot less time on exercise and more on getting rich.

I‘m so glad for all the facts, and there are lots of those
There is more in healthy living than one might suppose
Of all the famous people that are known for age and health
They had one famous attribute, and that was their great wealth.

Pluck great names from here and there, and that’s OK for some
Winston Churchill ‘way up there, and England’s old Queen Mum
It crossed my mind to concentrate, while aching with the stitch
A lot less time on exercise and more on getting rich.

(back to top)

Once In A Lifetime - Music and lyrics by – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

The planning of angels is work of the skies
And mischief is wrought along with the lies
But this time my angel has uniquely blessed
And singled me out apart from the rest

Who would have thought that we should have met
My angel would give you her own coronet
With all that could happen to me out of the blue
That once in a lifetime, I met someone like you.

Once in a lifetime, my angel has planned
Once in a lifetime, she held out her hand
Power from the skies with her heavenly view
That once in a lifetime, I meet someone like you.

The future is told by the prophets of old
My angel will watch this story unfold
With all that could happen to me out of the blue
That once in a lifetime, I meet someone like you.

Once in a lifetime, my angel has planned
Once in a lifetime, she held out her hand
Power from the skies with her heavenly view
That once in a lifetime, I meet someone like you.

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The Kiwi Arrived In New Zealand On The Back Of a Hippopotamus

 

The weather warnings came through clear

To stay at home and close the shutters

Check out all the drains you have

And clean out all your gutters.

 

Because we didn’t get the storms

We didn’t need our boots and snow chains

Perhaps our little enclave here

Is sheltered by the mountains?

 

Although quite cold and bits of rain

We welcomed dawn and sun’s arrival

Another day has dawned and then

We marvelled at survival.

 

Monday always has this cloud

It has it’s own unique and special features

It follows Sunday, that we know

By listening to our preachers.

 

Fortunately, we have at hand

Heaps of facts from our local iwi

Our national icon used to fly

(Referring to our kiwi).

 

The kiwi flew in years ago

From Southern Africa the scientists preach

They sprouted wings and then those wings

Were shed at Brighton beach.

 

Yes, this little flightless bird

In spite of all the obstacles and trials

Upon it’s flightless wings it managed

To flutter 8,174 miles!

 

The achievements of this little bird

Is blown up out of all fact and distinction

If it sprouted wings and flew again

Would it save it from extinction?

 

If any weird and wonderful ideas

Could propound an absurd hypothesis

The fact remains the kiwi arrived

On the back of a passing hippopotamus. 

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Two Weeks After 'The Quakes' - 2011

 

You might have read about the jams

Inside the city limits

Everywhere where one can drive

Will daunt our bravest spirits.

 

I needed two new three ring clips

For stuff that Ray requires

This time of year I do my books

Before the time expires.

 

Just two new clips from Officemax

Seemed so routine for me

Every year I get these clips

For Ray, unconsciously.

 

My bold attempt to drive my van

To Officemax on Durham

Resulted in these simple lines

Recorded as verbatim.

 

Officemax is on the stretch

Of road that leads to Cashmere,

Durham Street with ‘Roadworks’ signs

Precludes me parking .... anywhere.

 

I finally found a parking space

For PMH’s visitors

And three at least that I could see

Reserved for their solicitors.

 

This ugly guy, in uniform

Loomed large in my rear mirror

Shouting something hard to hear

I realised then my error.

 

I turned the van and drove back home

And noted with a frown

At least I saved myself a walk

Of two miles back to town.

 

All the stories that we hear

Of roadworks high and low

There is a way to get around

For people in the know.

 

I caught a bus in Bealey Ave

On route and headed south

The noise of road works drowned him out

But I could read his mouth.

 

“Hey mate, I know the place you say

Is bound in state of war

Those guys will let me park my bus

Just right outside their door.”

 

 

It seemed too good to get this break

And when I bought the clips

My driver was still sitting as

He tapped his fingertips.

 

It seemed appropriate to say

How glad I was he waited

Decorum of the older style

It almost seemed outdated.

 

The driver seemed to be surprised

At what I tried to say

“Hey listen mate, I know you mean

To make my happy day .........

 

This is the only parking space

Where I can stop this bus

And if I sit here for a time

They never make a fuss.

 

See old Joe who guards that sign?

He looks a real creep

He gets so few cars through here now

He sometimes falls asleep.

 

When the supervisor calls

Old Joe will grab his sign

He often gets it wrong way round .....

He really should resign.

 

Over there see those three guys

Decked out in all that gear?

Watch a mo’ and then you’ll see

Them with a jug of beer.

 

Could you pass that thermos flask

We’ll share a cup tea

Wendy from St Michael’s School

Will turn up presently.

 

She teaches cooking to those kids

And due to dug up roads

She hardly needs to work at all

Thanks to diminished loads.

 

Pikelets are the things she makes

And when she sees me here .....

On her bike and down to me

She really is a dear.

 

I would suppose that in my job

I really should stay focused

I am already days behind

And no one’s even noticed.

  

The girls at Officemax are great

It is so bleeding lonely

You are the only guy they’ve seen

In goodness heaven only.

 

The bus is usually quite warm

Those girls who brave the streets?

They have their lunch and coffee here

They love my leather seats ...........”

 

I noted how this driver could

Embrace the situation

A guy with skills of special kind

Had found his true vocation.

 

His wife was off in Hamilton

To lend an extra hand

A son down south in farming there

Another in a band.

 

In retrospect It might seem clear

This service should be honoured

The driver pleased his bus was used ...

(I was the sole one on it.)

 

In time I guess that horrors pass

In time I will forget

I’ll just get Ray to buy the clips

And save myself the sweat. 

(back to top)

Padraigin - Music and lyrics by - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

One lone girl was seated, not far from the bar
With her pack on the floor, near her classic guitar
Her bush shirt and boots from worlds far away
How strange we should meet there on that fateful day.

She sat at that table, her eyes were on me
Like a creature in nature that yearns to be free
Her startling blue eyes and flaming red hair
It somehow seemed right for us both to be there.   

She asked me my name and responded in kind
With a name from antiquity, history would find
A name pronouncable only to kin
Just call me Padraigin, she said with a grin.

The days weeks and months grew to memorable times
As we wandered together throughout southern climes
The mountains and plains had said from the start
I love you Padraigin with all of my heart.

She stayed here and told me she stayed here for me
She had lost in her heart her desire to be free
She made her own home and settled down here
We told her own folks in her country back there.

But then came the rumble, the nightmare, the screams
On that day when our great city shattered our dreams
Our love, our secret world torn right apart
I miss you Padraigin with all of my heart.

(back to top)

Perfect Body Tone

 

I’ve found a new and novel way

To keep myself amused

I climb the stairs, and then climb down

Feeling battered, torn and bruised.

 

My professional athletic skills

Are sadly on the wane

I climb the stairs right to the top

And then climb down again.

 

Perhaps the story of the Duke

Pretender to the crown

Inspires me with a chance to rest

When half way up or down.

 

I think he had the right idea

When checking all the facts

The duke had hatched a plan on how

To best avoid his tax?

 

Each of these great people that

Inspire me now and then

I lie awake at night and think

Of plans of mice and men.

 

I have no lack of will and guts

To get the climbing done

I recommend you think on this

It can be loads of fun.

 

Above the rasping gasps of breath

Each wracking sob and groan

I have the greatest formula

For perfect body tone. 

(back to top)

Put Your Arms Around MeMusic and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Our seasons are changing, the chill in the air
Is now leading my soul into thoughts of despair
But if everybody changes and this world seems unfair
My thoughts are still with you, I still love you, my dear.

Tricks love likes playing are so often unkind
No-one reasons with such love in their mind
All our common sense values will be left far behind
When we yearn with our heart, for a lost-love, whom we know we won’t find.

But time moved you on and I’ll never know why
There was never a chance of us saying goodbye
Only images of your sweet smile are left in my mind’s eye
When hopes of me holding you again finally die.

There’s no special heartache, there’s no special pain
There is no special sorrow nor hoping in vain
Every longing in my dreaming is asking our love chain
Please put your arms around me and love me again.

(back to top)

The Rise (And Fall) of Kim Dotcom

 

Politics is on the go

With Judith Collins shrieking

I hear that she said something wrong

Though trained in public speaking.

 

Kim Dotcom, is adding to

The mix of strange manoeuvres

He advertised his party with

A team of sexy groovers.

 

His party claims to represent

The poor and disaffected

Underneath I sometimes think

He might end up rejected.

 

The problem is that common folk

At home with local gentry

Are lacking in a range of skills ....

The kind to run a country?

 

It seems that history proves the point

When failures get reported

Mentally and physically .....

The best of us are thwarted.

 

The kind of problems that we face

Requires some great endeavour

Should we solve these one by one?

Or lump them all together?

 

Dad explained his point of view

When great ideas collide

He always tried to wash each piece

In carbon tetra chloride.

 

This might have worked on simple tasks

Involving lots of bugs ......

Modern breakthroughs changed all this

With shrewd designer drugs.

 

Perhaps the future might evolve

If voting drops a bomb

Our history will applaud out loud

The rise of Kim Dotcom.

(back to top)

Road User Charges

 

The world is raining down on me

With virtual animosity

All that changes for me now

Is nature’s own velocity.

 

Perhaps by now I could expect

While putting up a fight

Can I not expect to get

A little bit of respite?

 

Oh ... but no!  It starts again

From where it joined the last

Until I get it back to back

And getting mighty fast!

 

A nasty letter came to me

From Transport User Charges

Numbers on their data base

Have proved my debt enlarges.

 

Hey you ... out there!  We got you stuffed

Your diesel miles are over!

See the limits we allow

Attached to this enclosure!

 

I lay awake all night again

And noting how life crushes

Hot and worried and disturbed

By bouts of guilty flushes.

 

Come the dawn at 4 am

(The time is not exact)

I may have fallen off to sleep

When wakefulness attacked!

 

Now here’s the strangest thing to me

With all that cash to pay

I checked my cards within the van

And they all seemed OK?

 

I’d better get along to check

With Airport Brent’s Toyota

I may not have to pay a cent

While well within my quota.

 

Numbers there, and I’m convinced

That I am up to date

In fact I have some room to spare

....... Served on a silver plate. 

 

I know by now, though rather trite

I should have more reliance

On a more aggressive stance

And positive defiance.

 

Next time I think of how it goes

With every tiny twist

I’ll keep my cool and laugh out loud

And shake my puny fist!

(back to top)

My Friend Robin Sides

 

Yesterday, a big surprise

I received a worthwhile phone call

A bloke I met when I was young

When doing my “trade technical”.

 

This guy was tutoring in my class

His name was Robin Sides

Pleasant and informative

Within the night school guides.

 

He seemed to notice my strange ways

Our friendship seemed to strengthen

He asked about me, then explained

His wife had been a brethren.

 

Over years of trade encounters

Robin touched my life

He seemed to understand how I

Was constantly in strife.

 

Conversations made their mark

And every year or so

We would accidently meet

And stop and say Hello.

 

Years have passed and Robin Sides

Is nearly 85

I’m at 70 years of age

We both are still alive.

 

It is refreshing all this time

To know of someone there

Who understands I need the help

And strength of constant prayer.

 

And so it was with this encounter

Robin seemed quite well

He gave me boxes of veneers

Before he said farewell.

 

Years have scattered everything

Mangled, broken, and twisted

My buckled family, now long gone

As if they..... never existed.

 

I don’t expect that things will change

Although my God provides

I’m on my own without a friend

...... Except for Robin Sides.

(back to top)

Sam HodsonMusic and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

The fence between their place and ours became a battle zone
The 16 kids of Hodson tribe had claimed it as their own
While on their turf the Hodson kids would fight without a reason
But then that screech would rend the air let loose from Mama Hodson.

 Dunnah lah to me, ya toad, ya grubby li’l brat
Them fancy words are more akin to feed a starvin’ rat
Ya got the angels buzzing round in all a steam and lather
Ya goin’ to hell that I’ll be bound just like ya bloody father.

Poor Mama Hodson doomed in life with 16 kids in tow
How she controlled those 16 kids perhaps we’ll never know
But strangely when we met each kid at school or at the sports ground
We got on fine all us kids did without parental rebound.

When seated in the schoolroom class Sam Hodson next to me
Just us two kids attending school, and it was plain to see
Whatever Hodson bore in life compared with that of others
That screech that echoed through that fence was like so many mothers.

Dunnah lah to me, ya toad, ya grubby li’l brat
Them fancy words are more akin to feed a starvin’ rat
Ya got the angels buzzing round in all a steam and lather
 
Ya goin’ to hell that I’ll be bound just like ya bloody father.

I met Sam Hodson many times with work and CMT
Then later on at business school, the High School Jubilee
I could not help but envy him that he turned out successful
That quiet grin he’d give to me, and then he’d sing this earful.

Dunnah lah to me, ya toad, ya grubby li’l brat
Them fancy words are more akin to feed a starvin’ rat
Ya got the angels buzzing round in all a steam and lather
Ya goin’ to hell that I’ll be bound just like ya bloody father.

(back to top)

Sexual Frustration

 

‘Treasure Island’ made it’s mark

The author had excelled

Unleashed a form of writing on

An unsuspecting world.

 

Sure, books like that are not discussed

In circles of the great

It has no naughty bits in there

To make one’s eyes dilate.

 

How can a book like that for sure

Be recommended reading

The kids today would look askance

And want a book on breeding?

 

Are we so sure that kids would care

Where naughty bits should be

They see their teachers as obsessed

With sexual fantasy.

 

No doubt the drive to educate

Our kids in all things sexual

Originates in crass ideas

And not from intellectual.

 

“Get yourself a well paid job!”

Is now a known quotation

Thrusting sex upon our kids

Is born of mad frustration.

 

It isn’t kids who want this stuff

With innuendo slanted

They didn’t choose to get obsessed

They take it all for granted.

 

We say it to those teachers who

Invade our private zone

Live your own frustrated lives

And leave our kids alone!

(back to top)

Shades Of Christchurch Grey

 

It might not seem remarkable

That once again the skies

Are grey with strato cumulous

Surprise, surprise, surprise!

 

A letter in the paper claimed

That grey was Christchurch colour

It didn’t seem to make a point

No grey is like another.

 

Studying the differences

Between the various greys

Is the popular pastime here

And it whiles away the days.

 

On a brighter note from me

And all the latest news

Opinions on the shades of grey

I now express my views.

 

Morning grey is so much like

The afternoon variety

And sometimes is mistaken for

Those greys of notoriety.

 

If we were able to discern

How grey can glow or deepen

Carefully studying how this works

Is why we tend to sleep in.

 

Stimulating is the word

For lunch time shades of grey

It glows from all the concrete here

In states of slow decay.

 

The happy greys are here again

Young William came to visit

Just three nights and off again

Now that’s not long, ..... is it?

 

A few more variations show

How truly we recall

The darker grey is used to guess

Just how much rain will fall.

 

Mid-Canterbury got a lion’s share

Of flooding deep and sinister

The news we got about the grey

Came from our local minister.

 

We take for granted that this grey

Serves mankind very well

It serves to keep me on the ball

But only time will tell.

 

Flooding is a small moot point

And no one needs a permit

Flooding is so common now

That even ducks pooh-pooh it.

 

The sun is shining brilliantly

The weather map explains

The only problem I can see

Clouds hide it when it rains.

 

Summing up, .... the winter styles

In all the latest fashions

Christchurch greys have certainly

Become the latest passions.

(back to top)

Shakespeare Would Have Groaned Out Loud

 

Philosophers have often said

In deference to humanity

The line is often blurred between

....... Genius and insanity.

 

That picturesque illusion points

The way for me to go

I try to keep myself amused

By hopping to and fro.

 

Consider all the options here

I trust on self-reliance

Experts tell me that I need

A stronger grip on science.

 

I can see that narrow line

Is stretching straight ahead

What I would like to mention now

Is better left unsaid.

 

That narrow line is often used

It’s easy to distinguish

A common ploy, it mostly is

A gross misuse of English.

 

Future academic pros

Will puff importantly

And suffering students will be told

To judge impartially.

 

Write your essay on this man

300 words at least

Take no account that time has shown

This man is now deceased.

 

For better marks you need to show

How prose is used with skill

Criticise the writing here

Then move in for the kill.

 

Judge this writer’s state of mind

And make a cryptic comment

Marks awarded at the top

For unsuppressed excitement.

 

Shakespeare would have groaned out loud

At what the experts teach

Just as well that Shakespeare’s gone

And safely out of reach.

 

Genius and insanity

Are frequently confused

At least this stuff exists to keep

Some other crank amused. 

(back to top)

Strength And Fortitude

 

It is so sweet to contemplate

How great I could have been

Apart from being rather short

I look like Charlie Sheen.

 

The mirror tells a story line

Of truths I love to hear

When I comb with extra zeal

What’s left of my white hair.

 

My rounded features beam with pride

The way my face is tilted

The strength of character precludes

The fact that I have wilted.

 

A man has strength and fortitude

Life’s struggles make him stronger

As he ages girls flock round and

He pretends he’s younger.

 

Is it true that women find

An older guy attractive

Have I passed that vital point

Or should I be more active?

 

It might be just a passing phase

I cannot quite discern

Am I there, or have I passed

That point of no return? 

(back to top)

Such Pleasant Days We Well Remember     YouTube Clip

- Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND.

Such pleasant days we well remember
Shaded grass and wild flowers
Breezes drifting through the valley
Huts and tents among the bowers.

All so far from strife and pressure
So remote from works’s  commands.
Secret worlds, idylic beaches
Pleasant breaks from life’s demands.

We used to wander by the river
Pause and talk to passersby
Sit by trees of weeping willow
Watch the boats at mooring lie.

Through those years we spent together
Thinking of our life’s ideal
Moving on from youthful dreaming
Time has proved that time can heal.

As long as we can be together
Dream of how things used to be
We accept of what we value
All the best in life is free.

Ruins lie within the cordon
Giving way to trees and grass
Shattered churches razed by nature
Littered by the broken glass.

There used to be such grand old theatres
Over there beyond the fence
Boarded windows stare at walkways
Noting fate’s indifference.

We could leave this place for ever
All our kids have gone away
Something holds us here together
Here is where we want to stay.

We cannot bring back shattered churches
Nor repair the broken ground
Flowers spring above the rubble
Life goes on when hopes rebound

All our loves and lives continue
Way above life’s sad discord
Deep inside fate’s contradiction
Nature has its own reward.

(back to top)

Talk To Us In MusicMusic and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Through one thousand years of conflict, and another age before,
Time begins to blur beneath the weight of constant war,
Although the human spirit still reserves its right to roam,
Every nation wants a place its people still call home.

So you talk to us in music and we try to understand,
Feelings which are coming from a far and distant land,
We share your love of harmony, enjoy a joke or two,
Drink your health and clap and cheer the same as you all do.

We say home is where the heart is and its music calms the soul,
Lifts the spirits higher and its precious notes console,
We have the strangest longings for a place we’ve never been,
Music makes us homesick for a land we’ve never seen.

When the time-worn melodies remind each person of some truth,
Old folks smile and think again of something in their youth,
A wink, a kiss, and more than that, a log-forgotten sigh,
Lost in air-raid sirens and a drumbeat from the sky.

We say home is where the heart is and its music calms the soul,
Lifts the spirits higher and its precious notes console,
So play to us and sing your songs, express your thoughts, feel free,
Know we are your kith and kin from far across the sea.

So you talk to us in music and we try to understand,
Feelings which are coming from a far and distant land,
We share your love of harmony, enjoy a joke or two,
Drink your health and clap and cheer the same as you all do.

(back to top)

The Older I Get - The Better I used To be - Music and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND.

The kids were so eager for latest instalments
Of  life as it used to be
What was it like in the olden days
Of  battles and cam’radarie
   The talent displayed and my mighty success
   How much history is owing to me
   There’s no doubt in my mind, the older I get
   The better I used to be.

Of course it seemed right with these stories to tell
With little bits polished with time
A story that could easily have bored them to tears
With skill it could turn out sublime
  
The talent displayed and my mighty success
   How much history is owing to me
   There’s no doubt in my mind, the older I get
   The better I used to be.

It sort of seemed right to gloss over facts
Unlike the books on the shelf
The Vietnam war was a messy affair
But I won that war all by myself
   The talent displayed and my mighty success
   How much history is owing to me
   There’s no doubt in my mind, the older I get
   The better I used to be.

The day that the satellite landed on Mars
And the NASA team toasted in wine
I explained to my kids that the hardware involved
Was made to my secret design.
   The talent displayed and my mighty success
   How much history is owing to me
   There’s no doubt in my mind, the older I get
   The better I used to be.

To account for the millions I had made and then lost
When it was plain there was nothing to get
It seemed quite apparent when carefully explained
I had lost the whole lot in a bet.
   The talent displayed and my mighty success
   How much history is owing to me
   There’s no doubt in my mind, the older I get
   The better I used to be.

My strength and my intellect put to the test
Impressed all the strong guys around
Whenever they needed great leadership skills
They knew that in me it was found.
   The talent displayed and my mighty success
   How much history is owing to me
   There’s no doubt in my mind, the older I get
   The better I used to be.

(back to top)

The Famous Painting    YouTube Clip

- Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Come sit beside me among the wild flowers,
The soft grass beneath us invites us to stay,
Sunlight is playing a game with the shadows,
And rich textured blossom trees light up the day.

Who knows who planted these trees by the river,
And pictured their beauty full-grown in their mind,
Manicured gardens with roses aquiver,
The school with its mill-stream, and birds of all kind.

      Is that an artist we see here this morning,
      Patient and deft with his sketching so faint,
      Let us just sit here and watch him preparing,
      His canvas and palette for his brushes and paint.

My heart is singing with you here beside me,
I think he’ll paint what I’m wanting to say,
If he has captured this moment on canvas,
I know that his painting will be famous one day.

My world is so joyful when you are here with me,
An object of beauty surrounded by love,
You blend so perfectly flowers gaze with envy,
Trees offer a mantle from their branches above.

My heart is singing with you here beside me,
I think he’ll paint what I’m wanting to say,
If he has captured this moment on canvas,
I know that his painting will be famous one day.

(back to top)

The Four Little Piggies - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Piggy number one was a smart and savvy guy
As far as reproduction goes, then why not have a try
He married in a hurry, he knew what girls were for
He moved to Bexley by the hills and built a house of straw.

The southerly ripped up the plains with peristalitic force
And tore wee piggy’s house apart, which we all know of course
But no one knew insurance claims were really quite absurd
With all the small print piggy found behind the Bold Type word.

Piggy number two had a wondrous great idea
Build a house of weatherboard  ‘cos that would take the wear
Brace the studs inside the walls and line the place with gib
He never knew the building code was one great monstrous fib.

He never knew the land beneath was scarely more than bog
Regulations for the site were legalistic fog
The council made a lot of hoot by taking in the fees
Now poor piggy has a site not even good for trees.

Piggy number three we know, had built a house of bricks
Being clever as he was, he revelled in the tricks
Permanent and spacious and here’s the living proof
Piggy’s house is spacious now he’s lost his walls and roof.

Piggy number four is a new one of his kind
Somewhere there in Merivale, that is where you’ll find.
A smarty guy with all the gear, a house of great tiltslab
He did his homework like a pro, although the place is drab.

For character in dwellings poor piggy number four
Had the taste of who knows what, excepting for the floor
Well, it was made of concrete, and when the quake ripped through
Designer floors are not that strong, the whole place spilt in two.

The moral of the story goes when thinking what they did
Insurances are worthless now, an ever sinking lid.
Four piggies show us how to plan, you might just like to try
Living someplace else is good, a place like Gundagai.

(back to top)

The Hammer Is Poised On The Striking Plate - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

The hammer is poised on the striking plate
And the auctioneer holding his breath
Looks over the top of his glasses
In the silence as still as death.

He lifts his wooden hammer
And utters the time worn phrase
Going, going, gone it is
To this man it is one of those days.

The silence is eerie, not a single sound
And the gentleman bidding alone
Turns to face this beautiful girl
And offers this beautiful stone.

She blushes with pleasure, admires the gift
Polished with such loving care
The workmanship offers a thousand lights
Each facet of skill so rare.

But noone remembers the craftsman
Who created this work of art
Noone cares of the countless hours
Or devotion within his heart.

He spent his life as a craftsman
With not even a penny to save
Among those oaks by the river
He lies in an unmarked grave.

(back to top)

The Job Is Just Too Big

 

First and foremost from this house

Expect the current news

Exciting snippets of the form

Where one can pick and choose.

 

Zero in on current blogs

And if they aren’t enough

To get a little further news

I have a look at ‘Stuff’.

 

Heaps of interacting themes

Parade across my screen

Titillating senses that

Are human, (not machine)?

 

Perusing lots of interface

With gadgets there to use

Each to serve the purpose of

To clarify, not confuse.

 

All this, of course, depends upon

Sufficient content matter

Collated by some editor ....

Mad as the proverbial hatter?

 

If we select some happy tale

Maybe about some puppy

That might have been adopted by

A compassionate modern yuppie?

 

This story might have drawn response

From media’s favourite cup

Such a story isn’t there .......

I simply made it up.

 

That requires that I report

The news in blacks and purples

All the leaders I can see

Are running round in circles.

 

Whatever leaders might be there

If someone wants to dig

The problem with our present crop ....

The job is just too big.

 

In trying to present the facts

Gleaned from some shrewd informant

I need to tell the truth right now

My life is strangely dormant.

 

The challenge of my workshop skills

To make a piece unique

I just accept like things I’ve made

....... I’m just a new antique. 

(back to top)

The Kindness Of Strangers - Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Sunshine belies that the storm clouds are gathering
Puffs of white vapour are turning to grey.
The fishermen stare at the sky as it changes
And notice the white caps far out in the bay
Boats are arriving too soon at the sand bar
The crews apprehensive are racing the call
The birds on the sea wall are bracing for conflict
That lonely old statue is guarding them all.

Greymouth was settled by hardworking coal miners
Familes involved in this life and death game
The fishermen risking each trip on the sandbar
And trusted survival in calling God’s name.
Trusting each other together for honesty
Risked their own lives for their children and wife
A stranger was welcome and here is the story
He saved all those children and lost his own life.

Plaques to remember the greatness of strangers
A fisherman statue with unseeing eyes
Although famous cities contain works of beauty
Much closer to home stories touch all our lives.
Storm clouds pass over, we sigh with conviction
Relate to the people who knew from the start
To people who helped us without any prompting
The kindness of strangers is near to God’s heart.

(back to top)

The Light Left On At Night

 

It must have been a nasty bump

Much worse than I had hoped

Mum’s rear back wheel has hit a curb

But all in all we coped.

 

The rim was slightly bumped and bent

Not much that we would notice

But the warrant guys have had their say

Upholding motor justice.

 

Although the bump is quite obscure

Apparently the warrant

Requires that wheels must do their job

An edict of a tyrant.

 

In hindsight one is easily lead

To think that wheels go round

And when I offered that idea

The Techie merely frowned.

 

By getting technical I lost ......

“We have a law!” (quoth he)

“Thou shalt not drive on buckled rims

That’s how it’s meant to be!”

 

The Techie really did his best

Explaining every detail

It’s cheaper getting wheels repaired

It’s half the cost of retail.

 

And that is why we ventured out

Both sharp at 7.30

Mum took the van, I drove the car ...

(Although the van was dirty.)

 

The little car was left alone

Before the crack of dawn

It always needed TLC

A sight that makes one morn.

 

It made me feel that once again

Although the guys were chummy

That kind of little baby car

Will always need it’s mummy.

 

I am much more the macho kind

When driving on the moors

A hefty van attracts me like

The rugged bold outdoors.

 

A wimpy little motor car

That blubs when time for bed

That needs the light left on at night

To stop it feeling scared!

 

I knew it when we bought that car

The look in mummy’s eye

The molly-coddling that I saw

Would make a grown man cry.

 

Prolonging suffering in this wheel

It makes us all feel faint

All it needs is one good whack

And another coat of paint!

 

At times like this we get support

From family, friends, and public

Cheerful messages of hope

And some plain diabolic.

 

It is with deep felt gratitude

That all these notes are savoured

We’re grateful for the cards, although

The prose is somewhat laboured.

 

No doubt many tried their best

With loving paramount

And though they didn’t write to us

It’s still the thoughts that count.

 

In certainty and trouble times

There are cruel twists of fate

In spite of traffic banking up

Your Mum was home by 8.

 

I stayed to pay the workshop bill

Admiring mum’s fixed wheel

The rim was straightened out again

(It’s made of stainless steel.)

 

From there it was a routine trip

Down Blenheim Road (past Ray’s)

All the usual road works there

Creating long delays.

 

Mum’s little car was driving proud

It’s new repair got noticed

Buses tooted at the lights

At where the fame was focussed.

 

Jeff Gray’s service is the same

We finally got our warrant

And now I set off homeward bound

With all our papers current.

 

To all of you who backed us up

When tragedy had struck

A full recovery from being

Skittled by a truck.

 

So thanks again to all our friends

(Our lives are intertwined)

You have the fate of mummy’s car

...... Constantly in mind.

(back to top)

The Luck Of The Irish - Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

The luck of the Irish, where legends are made
Diaspora filling these shores
No-one could guess that the fate of the Irish
Is summed up by clutching at straws.
   Our first born was Billy, and then we had Gracie,
   Then Winnie and Darcy and Paul
   In spite of the groaning, the heaving and moaning
   We mostly got nothing at all.

The greatest of people, the heroes of men
From Ireland these great people hailed
Leaders of armies, who lead by example
When all other systems had failed.
   Old Ireland is still in a great shocking mess
   Foreign bankers are having a ball
   While millions of euros are drowning the wealthy
   We mostly got nothing at all.

The luck of the Irish, as history records
The ages some families may span
It all seemed so simple when faced with a conflict
We thought that our God was a man.
   We may get excited when thinking of Ireland
  
Our links to that country are small
   When Gaelic and Celtic has finally worn out
   We mostly got nothing at all.

The joy of a song and a joke on the run
We drink to them saving the whales
Smoke screen and mirrors is lining their pockets
With profits from great asset sales.
   The luck of the Irish, though times keep on changing
   As people we proudly stand tall
   In spite of the groaning, the heaving and moaning
   We mostly got nothing at all.

(back to top)

The Mountaineer - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

History has this nice surprise
Of finding saints to canonise
He climbed Mount Everest, through thin air
“Just because the bastard’s there!”

He risked his life and that of others
Climbing with his band of brothers
Is he really just a clown
To reach the top ..... and then climb down?

First to the top, (or so we think),
He coughed and gave this modest wink.
The only reason he could give?
He had no other life to live.

But we the public cried out loud
We canonized him ‘cause we’re proud?
Important people whom we choose
Boost all of us, we cannot lose.

What’s good for them, and good for me
Supports our great economy!
It boosted Auckland firms in general
When we gave him his state funeral.

The Duke of York was more sincere!
Some rhyme records this mountaineer
When halfway up the nearest hill,
He chose both ways by standing still.

I offer this for what it’s worth
We live but once on this green earth
You risk your life for no good reason.
For fame which only lasts a season?

Each day means more than stupid things
No matter what the fame it brings.
I do not see the point of taking
Risks that value life as nothing.

So when I think of brave events
Of heroes, (in the present tense)
When nations need their fool to fill.
A mountaineer just fits the bill.

(back to top)

The Universe Was Created By Canterbury University!

 

It’s time the truth was told by now

The Universe is square

Lots of bits of sand and dirt

With heaps of stones to spare.

 

Speculation mounts the stage

To publish strange conclusions

But when I tell you of the facts

You recognise delusions.

 

Stars and moons and other stuff

Were put in place by ‘progress’

And when the system thought of us ....

Statutory means of egress.

 

It was before my time I know

But all this great diversity

Was created in a bang

From Canterbury University.

 

Nothing happened there by chance

These guys were at a meeting

One bright spark suggested that

“It’ll stop those Christians bleating.”

 

Why not build a universe

Complete with us as gods?

We could keep control I’m sure

By means of flying squads?

 

We could get some clever types

Astronomers with wings?

To roam around the trouble spots

Upon those two wheeled things.

 

Policing our new universe

Might turn out lots of fun

Create in time a lot of tests

And set them one by one.

 

It now appears most obvious

We have to set a boundary

And at the centre of this park

A shrine we’ll call ‘The Foundry”.

 

At the north we have Clyde Road

With Ilam at our back

And by the river we could have

A tar-sealed walking track.

 

In the meantime comb the world

And put out lots of fliers

Fill the seats with eager bums

And engineers with pliers.

 

Roam the streets and drag them in

And scrape the local gutters

Fill our universe with drunks

And trouble making nutters.

 

Cosmic rays confirm this tale

In truth I wasn’t there

And neither were the present mob

In spite of doctrinaire.

 

Our universe just floats around

In mystery like a wraith

Every story told requires

A massive leap of faith.

(back to top)

The World Is Closing In On Me

 

The world is closing in on me

I don't know how to cope

No one seems to care at all

I should have been the pope.

To get a laugh requires some skill

Some say a real art

I crouch my knees and shut my eyes

And hold my breath and fart.

(back to top)

There’s Only Just Us Kids! - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

My mum and dad won’t let me up
At night to watch the news
They’re scared of forrins they both are
There’s such a lot to lose.

So every night the forrins fight
And kill and maim for power
They start to fight at six o’clock
And finish on the hour.

I’m really not quite old enough
To hate the forrins too
And if I met a forrin here
I don’t know what I’d do.

I’m glad our teachers care for us
We’re safe from forrin fibs
We don’t have forrins in our school
There’s only just us kids.

So we’re quite safe with Helga Swartze
Hohepa told me so
And Hein de Zeepa says he’s right
He’s Swiss and ort to know.

There’s Dan O’Keef and Abram Kahn
Mai Lai, Wah Ping, and Chunth
And Rachael Smith the English girl
Who came here just last month.

That little girl with crinkly hair
And skin so shiny black
She’s scared of forrins and she says
She’s been to hell and back.

What dreadful people forrins are
Albanies think I’m right
They came to classes just this week
And huddled down in fright.

We told the Serb kids school’s quite safe
They’re scared of forrins too
We all hold hands and play our games
That’s not what forrins do.

No fear of forrins popping out
When all our desks have lids
We’re safe from forrins in our school
There’s only just us kids.

(back to top)

This Place and Me - Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

The stillness of the sea, and the moon’s reflected light
Are enough to gladden heart of God and man
In the clearness of the night
All the stars are shining bright
With the shimmer of a great celestial plan
Harbour lights are twinkling there
Men arranging fishing gear
And the freighters lying idle from the sea
Soon the cranes will start to swing
All the sea birds take to wing
And the sun will greet again this place and me.

The steeply sloping hills make a natural picture frame
Bathed in light and shadow from a fading moon
Every valley has it’s name
But it’s shadows look the same
All the shadows know they all will vanish soon
Now the early morning breeze
After soughing through the trees
Smells of pinewood mixed with salt air from the sea
In the gently rolling tide
Porpoises will leap and glide
And the sun will greet again this place and me.

Above the watcher’s head shines the brilliant morning star
As the sky begins to fade to pale blue
There is nothing here to jar
From the distant cliffs afar
To a tranquil sun from rising right on cue
Great creation has no fears
What’s another thousand years
Is there anything as timeless as the sea
By the faintest rays of dawn
Yet another day is born
And the sun will greet again this place and me.

(back to top)

Those Who Prosper From A War

 

ANZAC Day has come and gone

And here is food for thought

That wars should not fought at all

But simply sold and bought.

 

There was a doctor named Bethune

Who spoke good Cantonese

When China bore the viscous brunt

Of militant Japanese.

 

Bethune was truly talented

And so the story goes

He loved the Chinese with his heart

And hated all their foes.

 

This man who could have lived so well

If he had stayed behind

Risked all he had and everything

To work for all mankind.

 

Demoralised and leaderless

Untrained and short of ammo

The Chinese had no stomach for

The brutal Japan shadow.

 

This doctor who would learn so fast

Kept troops in constant movement

Just a single night or two

On tactical improvement.

 

The skill Bethune exhibited

That what was thought as weakness

The speed at which the Chinese moved

Became their greatest sleekness.

 

Divided into little groups

With tactics hit-and-run

By the time the ambush clinched

The tiny group had won.

 

Even then no time to gloat

Retreat and hide by day

When the Japan scouts advanced

They were an easy prey.

 

The Japanese became aware

They would be most concerned

The soldiers who had led the fight

Had got their fingers burned. 

 

The most remarkable attack

That Bethune had devised

Everywhere the Chinese troops

Their pamphlets advertised ....

 

“Why do the poor like you and I

Fight and die in pain?

When you get home, that’s if you do .....

What did you have to gain?

 

Were you sequestered for ideas?

Did your opinion count?

Is there any guarantee

Your life is paramount?

 

Your family might receive back home

Your ashes in a pitcher

When you die you understand

You made some rich guy richer.”

 

Bethune was simply well aware

What soldiers would discuss ......

For those who prosper from a war

........ Are not the likes of us!

(back to top)

Today I Remember - Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Today I remember the smile that you gave me
The look on your face when you said goodbye
The touch of your hand and the warmth of your body
Lifted my heart and my soul to the sky.

      No days can diminish how much I have loved you
      No years of distress can pretend you weren’t here
      Forgive me my friend and my lover for ever
      I treasure your memory each passing year.

How could I know that the days would be longer
Turning days into months and years would become
You promised to tell me, you told me you loved me
If only I’d known  you were still coming home.

I cannot believe that I cannot face you
I cannot accept that you sent me a note
I cannot endure the pain of believing
The truth of the words in the letter you wrote

Too late for a new life, too late for beginnings
My life has a husband and family to love
Please don’t arrive on my doorstep tomorrow
Just stay as a memory like a dream from above.

      No days can diminish how much I have loved you
     No years of distress can pretend you weren’t here
      Forgive me my friend and my lover for ever
      I treasure your memory each passing year.

(back to top)

Visited By The Royal George!

 

The Royal Triple came and went

Although I note with interest

Although I wished a chance to meet

I never had the faintest.

 

“Just like us!”, I hear crowds gush

And in their mind I doubt

If any of them understands

What this is all about?

 

The strangest notions of our time

Concocted in weak moments

Miraculously our problems solved

In meek and cheap compliance.

 

A little fella dominates

A group of fellow babies

In he goes and grabs the toys

And shoves aside the ‘zombies’.

 

If any other child had tried

To do what George had done

And poor Prince George got shoved aside?

They’d have shot him with a stun gun!

 

By the time the years have passed .....

And history will disgorge

Endless adulation on

The life of Wee Prince George.

 

Protected and remote from us

Behind that privileged wall

Let’s admit we know for real

They’re not like us at all.

(back to top)

We Had No Choice At All

 

There is no planning that can prove

That life will stay on course

We sense the omnipresence of

Some strange and hidden force.

 

I planned my life as I thought fit

It seemed to be imprudent

To wander aimlessly in life

Like some recalcitrant student.

 

I had a plan that made the point

Of using every moment

And for a time it seemed to work

In each small planned achievement.

 

We’re used to driving past the mess

Of road works where signs swap

The sign at this end says to “GO”

The other end says, “STOP”.

 

The peace of mind is truly great

When making such a choice

When the silent sign says “STOP”

We hear God’s secret voice.

 

The greatest changes in our lives

Are not for us to make

The course of action forced on us

Our God will undertake.

 

We do our best and we must know

Wherever we will find

The safest path to stay on track

...... To keep an open mind.

 

God helps us in our daily lives

In matters great and small

We don’t regret because we know

....... We had no choice at all.

(back to top)

Whatever Fate Offers From Coffers Of  Diamonds Music and lyrics by Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Whatever fate offers from coffers of diamonds
From crowns and rich dresses embroidered in pearls
From so many gifts of rare fruit and sweet almonds
That catch the attention of princes and earls
The moonlight and roses of  romantic stories
The notions of class with it’s fashions and style
The rich and the famous are steeped in their glories
My whole world lit up when you gave me a smile

Our life is so fleeting, we wonder at nature
That curls up so much in a short space of time
Surrounded we are with such wealth in great measure
We play out our strange part in life’s pantomime
It is no delusion that earthly opinions
Are centred on prospects of wealth and reward
Above all the clamour of false hope dominions
There’s something much greater than money to hoard.

Time is important when moments so precious
Are gleaned from a landscape of grass and blue sky
Unravel true stories from happenings outrageous
Admire those great natures of beings on high
From moments recorded from time and eternity
Earthly bound prospects are part of our life
Above all the humdrum of human activity
You’re a safe haven from bustle and strife

Therein lies the story that’s really worth telling
The love that we have for our family and friends
That powerful bonding all strengths far exceeding
Goes on to a future where time never ends.
The smile that you gave me is worth more than riches
Your innocent charm is worth more than fine gold
The way that you look at me, so sweet and guiltless
I’ll say it in song, you’re a joy to behold.

(back to top)

What I Get Up To When My Wife Is Away

 

The night expanded by the hour

Each minute lost it’s length

Time stood still as my clock hummed

And slowly sapped my strength.

 

A man is not designed for this

The emptiness was rife

A man should be attuned to love

When missing his sweet wife.

 

It’s been another dreadful day

I had to heat my tea

I had to make my sandwiches

And check their purity.

 

The firewood bin was empty of

The usual heating fare

No paper used to start the thing

..... That left the fireplace bare.

 

I knew the light switch to the lounge

Was over by the door

But which was which, I didn’t know

I never knew before.

 

In times inflicted with such pain

Just wishing time would move

The house is still and lonely now

Within my normal groove.

 

I cannot take much more of this

I must express my wishes

I hope mum gets to come back soon

We’re running out of dishes.

 

Two more nights before your mum

Returns to get things done

I need another shirt that’s clean

I’ve used them one by one.

 

How could a wife neglect her man

In spite of all research

Men suffer pangs when she walks out

And leaves him in the lurch.

 

Just two more nights of cold and fear

And coping with cold tucker

If mum thinks that I can care alone

She takes me for a sucker.

 

I miss her when I sit alone

And watch chefs improvise

Mum always sat and fell asleep

And lay there catching flies.

 

I guess it’s just so very strange

To suffer such delusions

The aching loneliness is matched

By lamentable conclusions.

(back to top)

Words Hide In Silence - Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

So easy to say in my heart that I love you
Words hide in silence like gold in a stream
Treasuries of thoughts are stored in my memory
Nothing, will ever, shatter my dream.
Sunshine, shadows, starlings, sparrows
Pine trees shelter these quiet gardens
Pathways meandering through the roses
Our little creek glistens.

Beneath rolling branches of grey hanging plumage
Silence resides in this loved little place
Our rustic bridge stares down as St Albans Creek
Bubbles, along at, nature’s own pace.
Play grounds, back grounds, plant mounds, life abounds
Just to be here with you on this day
Shadows playing in the fountains
Sun lights up our pathway.

We stand on the bridge and remember the good times
Voices of nature will call to us here
Holding your hand we watch as the water flows
Ever, together, loving you near
Warm breeze, Honey bees, Pine trees, Blossom trees
Let me whisper these words so true
You are one of life’s great beauties
Joy just to be with you.

(back to top)

When Rabbit Things Get Done

 

There was a story that I heard

From someone in the know

This little girl was occupied

With more than cook and sew.

 

Quite normally wee girls will take

To dollies and their prams

And watch their mummy as she makes

Preserves and pots of jams.

 

Remarkably this little mite

While visiting the library

Proved that little girls can take

A pathway to the contrary.

 

Rabbits were the subject here

And so the questions came

Breeding rabbits is my thing ....

.... (Without a sense of shame).

 

The lady was surprised to find

That this wee girl was asking

Where are all your rabbit books?

(I’m good at multi-tasking!)

 

Over there upon that shelf

Are books on all those rabbits

What they eat and where they live

And all their natural habits.

 

Time passed slowly and the wait

Prolonged the sense of culture

Rabbits breed quite naturally

.... According to their nature?

 

The little girl returned the books

The lady was surprised

Very adult literature

For someone so pint-sized.

 

This little mite just stood her ground

And slowly shook her head

I don’t suppose you might supply

Some other books instead?

 

You see the problem that I have

When rabbit things get done?

But all these books require TWO

And I have only one!

 

This story you have heard before

The point I shall explain

When God made all these living things

He started off a chain.

 

And as that chain expanded out

The truth should be inherent

Every forebear that you had

Was naturally a parent!

 

Male and female down the line

With not a single break

And not a single one of us

Was anyone’s mistake.

(back to top)

When You Were Just A Tot

 

Oh it seems too long ago

When you were just a tot

You smelled quite strange at certain times

And your face was covered in snot.

But who would have guessed

That all too soon  and with every trick in the book

You'rd  get me up and out of my chair

And here is what it took ....

You'rd prance around and sing a song

And splutter with delight

Daddy danced a little jig

And partnered his little mite

Attention from your dad was good

But then you'rd turn to mum

You'rd throw a kiss and spin around

And wriggle your tiny bum.

(back to top)

Who Decided That Kiwis Were Humble?

 

I didn’t mean to start a trend

Of disbelieving science

Scientists now by due regard

Are known for self-reliance.

 

The “humble” kiwi is no doubt

A simple case in point

Can we conclude on humbleness

By looking at a joint?

 

Kiwis are endangered here

Amidst life’s rough and tumble

By using humans we conclude

That ALL these birds are “humble”?

 

I’ve never really had the chance

To get to know a kiwi

The few I know of, hide away

Beneath a shady fern tree?

 

So what is science based upon?

When humbleness is questioned?

Do kiwis have a leading edge

When science is commissioned?

 

Many kiwis blush in shame

When humbleness is quoted

That is, if they think at all .....

(Which science has promoted.)

 

Kiwis have been known to care

When flooded with emotion

They seem to spend what time they have

Avoiding such commotion.

 

The science channels show us how

These birds eat bugs and beetles

Which in turn are feasting on

Some other creature’s fecals.

 

So when it comes to humbleness

These scientists got it wrong

The case of kiwis being very PROUD

... Is really very strong.

(back to top)

You Kids Are Just The Greatest!

 

In a sense of wonderment

I find that life is fed

Not so much from what I plan

But what God plans instead.

 

It seems to be appropriate

In matters of this kind

To keep perspective on the facts ......

That’s good to bear in mind.

 

I’d like to sing a little song

To lift my flagging spirits

And pour my heart into the words

For what the singing merits.

 

Thinking of a theme to use

“Britannia rules the waves ...”?

Maybe an anthem such as Verdi’s

“March Of The Hebrew Slaves”?

 

“Jack and Jill went up the hill ...”

Sung with melodic backing?

Even if I change the beat?

It still has something lacking.

 

It has to sound important and

Attractive to the ear

Brass band music might be right

With violins at the rear?

 

Maybe David’s singing group

Along with his quartet

Performing as they often do

A sacred church motet?

 

It really is a problem now

To find a theme that suits

Radetzky’s March could work quite well

Synchronised to marching boots?

 

I won’t give up until I write

A song that’s really worthy

Words that praise you kids, and I’ll

Avoid the crass and earthy?

 

When it comes to sing my song

Of all you kids in total

No matter what I start to write

I’m blessed with anecdotal.

 

No song can truly tell the facts

No tune can be my latest

Until each line of my new song says ....

“You kids are just the greatest!”

(back to top)

You Really Are Quite Cute Music and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND

Human beings we believe ….. are the smartest thing around
High regarded literature ……. From the world’s best minds abound
Our status as a master kind is not in great dispute
And as a non-descript type speciman you really are quite cute.

In the story as it goes …… as we know we’ve all been taught
Us absorbing all the facts ……. taking notes as pupils ought
But something there is missing still in science I can see
If you’re so smart as they believe it so, then why did you marry me?

Scientific testing schemes ….. always proved beyond all doubt
Humans are the smartest thing …… brains is what it’s all about
As perfect as a creature is, as ever they could find
But when it comes to natural beauty, you will always spring to my mind.

      Somewhere there along the track ….. of this modern reason line
      Scientists explain to us, ….. all those  theories are just fine
      The dumb things human beings do, pure science can’t explain
      Why can’t we do something quite silly and get married all over again.

Maybe there is something there ….. far outside of our small range
That explains my love for you, ….. even now you still find strange
How come that I can look at you, and impolitely gloat
The birds and the bees should all sit back to back and gleefully take note.

      Somewhere there along the track ….. of this modern reason line
      Scientists explain to us, ….. all those theories are just fine
      The dumb things human beings do, pure science can’t explain
      Why can’t we do something quite silly and get married all over again.

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You’re One Helluvver Beautiful GirlMusic and lyrics, Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND.

Words can come quickly, inspired by life’s beauty
Through joy and through love and through pain
I can draw every metaphor
Find words I’m searching for
Summer and through winter rain
Instead of the seasons,
The seas of the nations
Surrendered this valuable pearl!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again
“You’re one helluvver beautiful girl!”

I draw inspiration from people around me
I see a sweet smile on a face
I draw from impression
And make a decision
To believe there is hope in our race
From songs that we sing
And bells that we ring
Mandolin to a bag-piper’s skirl
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again
“You’re one helluvver beautiful girl!”

No shortage of image to lift my heart’s yearnings
To find words to say how I feel
Can I make a pretence
With words so intense
When my longings for you are so real
I ask in advance
To enjoy a close dance
To set up my life in a whirl
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again
“You’re one helluvver beautiful girl!”

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