|
Two Redwood trees are all that’s left,
The muddy creek was once alive
The white glass-houses have all gone
A gentleman once farmed this land
When quite a child I knew this place
To build a church this land was sold
One tiny slip, a moral lurch
A little girl was born that year
The little child was taken to
The sullen face, the skinny frame
Her near blind eyes, a curse from God No
mother's love for this sad
brat
For twelve long years the child with-stood
A servant girl is what we need
Moa now reached twenty years
His kindness to his little wife
Moa’s days just drifted by
She didn’t see the tattered rags
My mother was a tender girl
Moa didn’t understand
Please Birdy dear, please read to me
Does God gives eyes that see the skies?
Yes, my friend, my God gives eyes
She tried that pair of spectacles
A few days passed and mum went round
Bertram led her to the door
Moa couldn’t see the dirt
Moa died that day, a broken life
My mother lost her friend.
That concrete church now marks the place |
|
|
|
All that I
have is wrapped up in you Let me walk
in our garden and smell the dew Soft
whispered hopes, a garden of dreams, Let me walk
in our garden and smell the dew |
|
|
|
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? |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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? |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Cover My Defenseless Head. (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 I
heard this man praying in his own German tongue
Dear God, in this darkness you can see me like daylight I
cannot but see a hand’s width in front of me The
enemy hates me for all that I stand for Not
a flicker of light nor a shadow in front of me I
long for my wife and my children at home
Dear God I have seen so much suffering and slaughter The
soldier’s prayer ended with a silence and Amen |
|
|
|
DOG –
Music and lyrics – Alan Wright – Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND
I remember the days and the nights in those hills
The sheep knew the land more than any of us did
Wide awake and alert, and his ears poised for flight
My photos are stored in an old leather bound trunk
I was sent back to town, and my horse and my dog
But somewhere I feel that the memories don’t match
Such a great dog he is, and so faithful and kind
Perhaps times have changed, and the memories are real |
|
|
|
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 Don’t wait
up for me kid I well
remember the day that I met you You’re
coming home and didn’t let me know Day after
day I would sit there and wonder I’m
thinking now I’ll gather all my friends Don’t wait
up for me kid We’ll sit
there waiting with the Army Band Don’t wait
up for me kid |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
We are so rich and powerful
Not for us to gloat out loud
We know how big your country is
With 40 million sheep to guard
You strapping lads are fighting fit
Each time you fight a vicious war
You rushed the Tas to help us here
To all our faithful Ozzie mates |
|
|
|
Extract From A Book
“He had a face so resolute, and crowned with iron-grey hair
“He walked with manner that commanded
|
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Founder Of The Firm
Rows of dusty stamp books were stacked upon a shelf
The shop was bathed in shadows cast from intermittent light
An Escritoire in walnut caught my connoisseur’s eye
I squeezed between the sideboard and the bookcase made of ash
The glass was of an older type that cast one’s own reflection
The berm was made of cardboard and flecked with spots of brown
Perhaps the frame was worth a bit, but not at all uncommon
Don’t you know you stupid twit that burns are out of style?
You make me sick and all your kind, you think that you’re so great
The Gentleman stared back at me, his gazing did not waver
I stared at him in silence, and he stared back at me,
My goodness me, you photo man, you bloody made me jump!
Being so professional and always in command
I heard you talking to yourself, I think I’ll close the shop
Would you care to sit, kind Sir, I see that you admire
Dad left his country
Emily poured out the tea and glanced into my face
Dad knew his name was Henry, but he lost the other one
Dad worked the wharves of
They caught him stealing water there when only twelve hours out
They would have done that, I’ve no doubt, except for ladies present
The Captain took a golden piece and took dad to a cabin So when my father stepped ashore, the Captain had insisted,
They walked the Path in ninety-two, and made it to the square
Patterson had been a man renowned for formal learning
My father was a clever man and loved a formal lesson
He started works in
War broke out when I was nine which caused such great concern
All the single men had gone, the married now were taken
They said he didn’t have to go, a man as old as him
Never ever see the war? He
realised they were joking!
You’ve heard about the war in
Dad never spoke again of horrors he had seen
Trams were spreading like a net and dad became so wealthy
He kept the house in Sandilands and all the land around
My duties as a Principal had always kept me busy
I cradled Father in my arms and watched the blue eyes sinking
Father left enough for me, enough for all my need
I’m sorry you ignored your tea, I cannot heat it up |
|
|
|
From Brethren
Tripe And
Illiterate Fools
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. |
|
|
|
The world is silent way up here, and seldom does the bellbird call,
They brought to this country the faith of their fathers, The Bridle Path has seen it all, the bullock cart, the tragic cold Would this be home, the question rose within their hearts, and sank
like stone A nation built on iron resolve, and breaking backs, maternal pain, Each passing generation knows, our debt to all who broke this land |
|
|
|
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.
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Goodbye My Sweet
Daughter – Music and lyrics by Alan
Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND - 2002
The grass, as they say, is much greener by far
Goodbye my sweet daughter, I bid you God-bless
I remember the little things, we both watched you grow
Goodbye my sweet daughter, I bid you God-bless
The call of the future is strong in your breast
Goodbye my sweet daughter, I bid you God-bless |
|
|
|
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: |
|
|
|
Hello or Goodbye
You turned and you waved after we said goodnight
Forgive me my dear friends, I care for you all
A sea of bright faces surrounds me at night Forgive me my dear friends, I care for you all Out there from the headland each flickering light Forgive me my dear friends, I care for you all |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
The Pirates of Penzance is a great and worthy play In my own case I sing out loud my own celestial praise I try to shovel my own opinions down another’s neck I have a great physique, you know, with muscles all around My sexiness is known afar, and you are just so sweet So when I know you think of
me, my fears are soon expressed |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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? |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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? |
|
|
|
Laugh Like A
Socialite Fool –
Music and Lyrics
- Alan Wright,
Christchurch,
NEW
ZEALAND - 2005 In all the
wide world and places to be But life is
made up of great stepping stones So - grap a
nice partner, for dancing galore Stick with
a mutter that loosens your soul For well do
we know when arguments start There’s
hope for the future whatever it brings |
|
|
|
Life’s Great Song
– Music and lyrics -
Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND, 2006
The passing seasons weave the greatest song
Dreams are so real inside this song of time
Our special place may often seem
obscure
The blaze of triumph, deep and sombre tense
The greatest part enclosed in life’s great song |
|
|
|
Light A Little Candle
I read your Grandpa’s letters, the ones that I could find
Your Grandpa never knew the time he’d have to say goodbye Light a little candle and put it in the window
Through years of war and servitude he had the right idea
Light a little candle and put it in the window
I never thought the time would come when we would say goodbye
Light a little candle and put it in the window |
|
|
|
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 |
|
|
|
Love Like A Glimmer Of
Candlelight 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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
No Regrets
The little fellow smiled as he walked across the street,
He didn’t see me standing there, observing how he moved, I followed him into his house, he never saw me there,
I’ll just sit here quietly, you’ll never know I’m here, I visited my brother at his home the other day, You cannot see me sitting here, and listening to these prayers,
Your father and your mother, will teach you all they know,
So here’s your bedroom up these stairs, with hessian on the walls,
To see into the future now, is more than you can fathom,
If I can help at all, it’s this, don’t think it’s only them,
Perhaps you’ll think it all too strange, that dogma rules the world,
Is it you, or is it them, this question you will ask,
Each and every one of us, presumes that we’re important,
While I’m here, I’d like to see, the backyard as it was,
But that will change, my little friend, you’ll learn to keep away,
When you start to make a life, of what you want to do,
If we could see our enemy, we’d all know what to do,
Look around you, then you try, to work out who’ll say, “No”,
Take my advice, my little friend, conform in every way,
It’s time to go, my little friend, my dream begins to fade,
Be yourself, you little rat, you’ll win in better ways, |
|
|
|
No
Time For
Reflection With
Birthdays Approaching
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.
|
|
|
|
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
Oh the pain of
knowing how exactly this occurred The guilt of knowing that
the good of others here and there
Pluck great names
from here and there, and that’s OK for some I‘m so glad for all the
facts, and there are lots of those
Pluck great names
from here and there, and that’s OK for some |
|
|
|
Once In A Lifetime
- Music and lyrics by – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND The planning of angels is work of the skies
Who would have thought that we should have met
Once in a lifetime, my angel has planned The future is told by the prophets of old Once in a lifetime, my angel has planned |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Padraigin
One lone girl was seated, not far from the bar
She sat at that table, her eyes were on me
She asked me my name and responded in kind
The days weeks and months grew to memorable times
She stayed here and told me she stayed here for me
But then came the rumble, the nightmare, the screams |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Put Your Arms Around
Me – Music and lyrics – Alan Wright
Our seasons are changing, the chill in the air
Tricks love likes playing are so often unkind
But time moved you on and I’ll never know why
There’s no special heartache, there’s no special pain |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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! |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Sam Hodson –
Music and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW
ZEALAND
The fence between their place and ours became a battle zone
Poor Mama Hodson doomed in life with 16 kids in tow
When seated in the schoolroom class Sam Hodson next to me
Dunnah lah to me, ya toad, ya grubby li’l brat
I met Sam Hodson many times with work and CMT
Dunnah lah to me, ya toad, ya grubby li’l brat |
|
|
|
‘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! |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Shakespeare
Would Have
Groaned Out
Loud
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. |
|
|
|
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? |
|
|
|
Such Pleasant Days We Well
Remember
-
Music and lyrics - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW
ZEALAND. Such pleasant days we
well remember All so far from strife
and pressure We used to wander by the
river Through those years we
spent together As long as we can be
together Ruins lie within the
cordon There used to be such
grand old theatres We could leave this
place for ever We cannot bring back
shattered churches All our loves and lives
continue |
|
|
|
Talk To Us In Music
– Music and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch,
NEW ZEALAND
Through one thousand years of conflict, and another age before,
So you talk to us in music and we try to understand,
We say home is where the heart is and its music calms the soul,
When the time-worn melodies remind each person of some truth,
We say home is where the heart is and its music calms the soul,
So you talk to us in music and we try to understand, |
|
|
|
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 course it seemed right with these stories to tell
It sort of seemed right to gloss over
facts
The day that the satellite landed on Mars
To account for the millions I had made and then lost
My strength and my intellect put to the test |
|
|
|
Come sit beside me among the wild flowers,
Who knows who planted these trees by the river,
Is that an artist
we see here this morning,
My heart is singing with you here beside me,
My world is so joyful when you are here with me,
My heart is singing with you here beside me, |
|
|
|
The Four Little
Piggies
Piggy number one was a smart and savvy guy
The southerly ripped up the plains with peristalitic force
Piggy number two had a wondrous great idea
He never knew the land beneath was scarely more than bog
Piggy number three we know, had built a house of bricks
Piggy number four is a new one of his kind
For character in dwellings poor piggy number four
The moral of the story goes when thinking what they did |
|
|
|
The Hammer Is Poised On The Striking Plate - Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND
The hammer is poised on the striking plate
He lifts his wooden hammer
The silence is eerie, not a single sound She blushes with pleasure, admires the gift
But noone remembers the craftsman
He spent his life as a craftsman |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
The Kindness Of Strangers Sunshine belies that the
storm clouds are gathering Greymouth was settled by
hardworking coal miners Plaques to remember the
greatness of strangers |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
The Luck Of The Irish
The luck of the Irish, where legends are made
The greatest of people, the heroes of men
The luck of the Irish, as history records
The joy of a song and a joke on the run |
|
|
|
The Mountaineer
History has this nice surprise
He risked his life and that of others
First to the top, (or so we think),
But we the public cried out loud
What’s good for them, and good for me
The Duke of York was more sincere!
I offer this for what it’s worth
Each day means more than stupid things
So when I think of brave events |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
There’s Only Just
Us Kids!
My mum and dad won’t let me up
So every night the forrins fight
I’m really not quite old enough
I’m glad our teachers care for us
So we’re quite safe with Helga Swartze
There’s Dan O’Keef and Abram Kahn
That little girl with crinkly hair
What dreadful people forrins are
We told the Serb kids school’s quite safe
No fear of forrins popping out |
|
|
|
This Place and Me
The stillness of the sea, and the moon’s reflected light
The steeply sloping hills make a natural picture frame
Above the watcher’s head shines the brilliant morning star |
|
|
|
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! |
|
|
|
Today I Remember Today I
remember the smile that you gave me
No days can
diminish how much I have loved you How could I
know that the days would be longer I cannot
believe that I cannot face you Too late
for a new life, too late for beginnings
No days can
diminish how much I have loved you |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Whatever Fate
Offers From Coffers Of Diamonds
– Music and lyrics by Alan Wright,
Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND
Whatever fate offers from coffers of diamonds
Our life is so fleeting, we wonder at nature
Time is important when moments so precious
Therein lies the story that’s really worth telling |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
Words Hide In Silence
So easy to say in my heart that I love you
Beneath rolling branches of grey
hanging plumage
We stand on the bridge and remember the good times |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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. |
|
|
|
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!” |
|
|
|
You Really Are
Quite Cute –
Music and lyrics – Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW
ZEALAND Human beings we
believe ….. are the smartest thing around In the story as it
goes …… as we know we’ve all been taught Scientific testing
schemes ….. always proved beyond all doubt
Somewhere there along the track ….. of this modern reason line Maybe there is
something there ….. far outside of our small range
Somewhere there along the track ….. of this modern reason line |
|
|
|
You’re
One Helluvver Beautiful Girl – Music and
lyrics, Alan Wright, Christchurch, NEW ZEALAND.
Words can come quickly, inspired by life’s beauty
I draw inspiration from people around me
No shortage of image to lift my heart’s yearnings |
|
|
|
Home | Our Dances | Our Courses | Our Videos | Music | Song Lyrics & Poems | Contact Us
© 2011 Alan Wright. All Rights Reserved |
