Previous Poems of the Week

 

Nature has a wisdom

Beyond the realm of science

That permeates all living things

From ants to forest giants

 

From mighty whales to fungi

From bugs that crawl and creep

To jungle vines and mountain goats

Or sponges of the deep

 

From garden plants to blossom trees

From cacti to wild cats

From fish to dogs to bumble bees

Baboons to bears or bats

 

From birds that soar the open skies

From slugs to modern man

There is a web that binds us all

Its universal span

 

Extends beyond the physical

And strict constraints of time

For nature is a poem

And life itself a rhyme

 

 

Time spent in a garden

Will help you to relax

Growing things like lilies

Lox or flox or flax

 

Or you could grow chrysanthemums

Rhodo’s or azaleas

Begonias or geraniums

Daffodils or dahlias

 

You could grow new potatoes

Sprouts or leafy greens

Turnips or tomatoes

Parsnips peas or beans

 

You could grow either fruit or nut

Or ornamental trees

You could grow a thousand things

And all of them would please

 

But in gardens there are just

Two ‘absolutes’ to grow

And they are old and happy

As all good gardeners know

 

You could grow old and bitter

Or tired it is true

But in a nurtured garden

That’s really hard to do

 

To work with nature’s cycles

Its force its ebb and flow

Is to find understanding and

Contentment as you grow

 

Appreciate the beauty

The bounty for the table

And stop to smell the roses

Whenever you are able

 

In any garden there are just

Two ‘absolutes’ to grow

And they are old and happy

As all good gardeners know

 

 

 

We’re in the cricket final

That news is really grate

We could wind-up as champions

But just a minute wait

 

It’s not hard to imagine a

Scenario where-in

The Black Caps post six hundred

For six and then begin

 

To scalp the other’s wickets

And force a follow-on

Then take another nine before

The final pair hang on

 

To claim a Clayton’s draw but with

A faster over rate

The ICC officials

Will then have a debate

 

Innings played and wickets lost

Will count for sweet FA

As those imbued with wisdom

Will have the final say

 

The sage-like ICC will then

Award the test match to

You guessed it – not the Black Caps

No, that would never do

 

The Black Caps will be given

A cruel kick up the colon

The title and the trophy just

Like last time will be stolen

 

 

Orion lies on night’s horizon

Whilst the Milky Way

In an arc across the dark

Puts on a grand display

 

It is the roar and stags ensure

With their nocturnal cries

Survival of their species

Beneath the naked skies

 

In daylight too they billet-doux

As hunters lure them in

To a game where in their aim

Determines who will win

 

Across the land with guns in hand

Men stalk and seldom slumber

In a push to save the bush

By knocking back their number

 

Some think that cash should be phased out

Like postage stamps and cheques

Bank branches and post offices

They all should become ‘ex’

Like local shops that can’t compete

With on-line retail giants

Like people-focused services

That struggle with compliance

Like petrol-pump attendants

Tennis courts of grass

Like common sense and manners

Milkbottles made of glass

Like books made out of paper

Like poetry that rhymes

Like vynil discs, CDs and tapes

We must move with the times

Some think that cash should be phased out

But to ‘coin’ a phrase

Businesses should all take ‘note’

That’s how the damn thing pays

 

It’s bad news for all Aucklanders

And not just in this case

Since those down south have been locked up

Despite no Covid trace

 

The principle’s established

The president’s been set

So sometime in the future it’s

A guaranteed sure bet

 

That should there be an outbreak

In Stewart Island, say

Then all of Auckland will go in

To lockdown straight away

 

And even if it doesn’t spread

Beyond the island’s shore’s

Unless it doesn’t work both ways

There’ll be a two week pause

 

 

 

Donald the president packed a sad

And said goodbye to the Whitehouse

Off he went with a bit of a hump

Trump, trump, trump

 

The head of the house was calling

For him to be impeached

She met one night

With the left and the right

But no deal could be reached

 

So

Donald the president packed his trunk

And said goodbye to the circus

Off he went with a bit of a hump

Trump, trump, trump

 

Come on twenty twenty-one

Show us what you’ve got

A winter that’s too wet and cold?

A summer that’s too hot?

A water-roiling, hydro-foiling

Fifty-five knot yacht?

A Japanese Olympics in

Its time-allotted slot?

A worldwide vaccine programme?

A new strain of the ‘bot’?

A real conspiracy theory with

A Machiavellian plot?

After twenty-twenty

You know there’s not a lot

Of ways you could surprise us

But give it your best shot

Bring it on we’re ready

Happy days or not

Come on twenty twenty-one

Show us what you’ve got

 

Can the Pommies do it

Like they did in sixty-six?

Win a football final

With style and skillful tricks

 

Can they get the better of

This top Italian team?

If so then from New Zealand

You’ll hear them cheer and scream

 

There will be tears at Wembley though

Come this time tomorrow

But will it be Italian fans

Or Poms consumed by sorrow?

 

Higher, further faster

To overcome and master

And triumph are their aims

 

Faster, higher, further

With fever-pitch and fervour

And passion for the games

 

Further, faster, higher

The sporting world’s desire

For true Olympic flames

 

Higher, further faster

An imminent disaster

As covid takes a hold

 

Faster, higher, further

The ticketed observer

Is left out in the cold

 

Further, faster, higher

Some say we should admire

Their blinkered lust for gold

 

Gold medals for our women

Gold medals for our men

And all praise Lisa Carrington

For doing it again

 

But if we are pretending

Men’s and women’s are the same

It follows, Sophie Pascoe – who

With nine golds to her name

 

Is actually New Zealand’s ‘goat’

Or greatest of all time

Unless there’s someone-else somewhere

Who’s even more sublime

Another comic genius

Passed away this week

A consummate professional

Who’s talent was unique

The great Sean Lock has sadly died

No more his cheeky grin

Or honed dead-pan delivery

While taking people in

For repartee and ready wit

He was among the best

An undisputed master

Of laughter now at rest

Sometimes a simple smile can be

All the lift we need

So to lose such talent is

A sad, sad loss indeed.

 

 

Fresh flowers flown from Florence

To grace the Golden Globes

Nothing but the best for those

Dressed in their finest robes

 

Eco-woke celebrities

Instruct the doting hoards

On how to save the planet

While accepting their awards

 

Limiting their travel to

Occasions such as these

They ease their carbon conscience with

A pledge to plant some trees

 

 

I may not be clairvoyant, yet

But still I’ll make the call

Predictive text will never change

The writing on the wall

 

For I foresee that prophesy

Will come back into style

As will immortality

But only for a while

 

To have your finger on the pulse

Is not enough you’ll find

That being but two steps ahead

Still leaves you one behind

 

And even being prescient

These days is so last week

And if it’s not it will be soon

Just mark the words I speak

 

 

Despite vocal minorities

Like the far-left woke

Proclaiming doom and gloom

The British people spoke

 

Democracy delivered

After three long years

After temper-tantrums

Peevishness and tears

 

After rifts and wrangling

Disruption and delay

Self-determination

And sovereignty held sway

 

The union is flying

A party’s under way

The Brexit boat is sailing

It’s Independence Day

 

You can claim that there are ghosts

Or bases on the moon

But nothing stirs up skeptics

Quite like a Geller spoon

 

While there have been inquiries

By those with open minds

At research institutions

All one ever finds

 

Is scientific puzzlement

And those who want to vent

Frustrated skepticism as

They tell him to get bent

 

Thirty days has September

April, June and November

All the rest have thirty-one

Bar February which for fun

Has twenty-eight plus something queer

Twenty-nine in each leap-year

 

Most leap-years fall four years apart

Starting at the century’s start

A century though that cannot be

Divided up numerically

By four hundred is I fear

Not an actual leap-year

 

Reality is sinking in

The world we knew has changed

With borders closed and games postponed

And concerts rearranged

 

Commemorations cancelled

Down-sized and relocated

Kiwis stranded overseas

Tourists isolated

 

Financial markets plummeting

Shares are being sold

And drive-through visits to GPs

If you’ve a cough or cold

 

No handshakes, hugs or hongis

Instead it’s elbow bumps

And always keep your distance

In case the virus jumps

 

Industries are shutting down

Schools are not yet closed

But should there be a case confirmed

The question will be posed

 

There’s jobs and income on the line

So much will soon be gone

Until that time if you feel fine

Keep calm and carry on

 

For now it seems the only way

To save our sorry souls

Is wear a mask and wash our hands

And buy more toilet rolls

 

The latest stat is showing that

This virus can be beat

Baldwin Street is back on top

As the steepest street

 

And two tuatara too are

In the news this week

Their discovery – a recovery

Where things once were bleak

 

We had a Dad-dance winner

From somewhere down near bluff

And an East Otago farmer’s

Doing lock-down in the buff

 

So don’t fixate on doom and gloom

In these uncertain times

There’s lots of good news stories still

Down here in southern climes

 

 

At our driveways

At our gates

Waiting for the sun

We stand in isolation yet

Our nation stands as one

 

Remembering the fallen and

The sacrifices made

This year though

No dawn gatherings

No soldiers on parade

 

Denied our ANZAC services

By lock-down rules – and yet

In our own strange adversity

A stronger bond is set

 

The south is soaked in autumn

Cloaked in auburn gold

The treasure trove of turning leaves

A pleasure to behold

 

Trees aglow with sunlit tones

Shed their skins like snakes

And stand like threadbare skeletons

Amidst the fallen flakes

 

Backlit leaves illuminate

With their fleeting glory

A metamorphic metaphor

A rags-to-riches story

 

Oaks of ochre slumber as

Burnt umber is revealed

While pools of liquid amber are

A flaming burnished shield

 

Copper hues and ruby reds

Blaze like fiery flares

The richness of their colours

Makes us all vermillionaires

 

Is it the fear of going out?

Or ‘FOGO’ as it’s known

Or ‘JOSH’ – the joy of staying home

That keeps me here alone?

 

I’ve been confined in lock-down

In a bubble for so long

That now I am reluctant to

Go out and join the throng

 

It’s like my home’s become a boat

And I’ve been out at sea

And now that land is back in sight

I want to just stay free

 

I want to just keep going like

Some bloke behind the wheel

A woman in an argument

An interest only deal

 

A Reader’s Digest lottery

A degustation meal

A snowball down a mountain or

Or a sore that will not heal

 

I simply want to hunker down

Remain a happy hermit

In splendid isolation

With no-one to confirm it

 

 

We’ve now moved into level one

The country’s feeling great

We smashed the covid virus

It’s time to celebrate

 

This time no yellow underarm

No sneaky hotel Suzie

No unacknowledged forward pass

No biased reffing doozie

 

No winning sailing race cut short

To fit in TV ads

No extra runs awarded to

Deprive our likely lads

 

No dodgy bent road measurements

To steal our steepest street

This time we were not cheated and

We got the virus beat

 

We all deserve a drink, a hug

A big bouquet of flowers

Twenty-two sad losses but

This victory is ours

 

 

 

From tomorrow-on each day

Grows warmer, brighter, longer

The golden orb climbs higher

Its presence ever stronger

 

The winter solstice has been reached

The nadir point’s been passed

The dark of night now shortens

With every frost that’s cast

 

The solstice ice is scattered in

Fine splinters on the lawn

Crispy sunlight shattering

The cold reluctant dawn

 

Crunchy prints are crimped into

A track across the grass

Compressing shards of frosted flakes

That gleam like crystal glass

 

The stiff clothes on the laundry-line

Hang frozen to the core

The question is: to take them in

Or leave them out to thaw?

 

 

Don’t assemble in a throng

Don’t dis’ the flag or national song

Don’t cause a diplomatic pong

Don’t tell the world there’s something wrong

 

Don’t beat the freedom drum or gong

Democracy’s gone on too long

Might is right and we’re too strong

For any ding-dong in Hong Kong

 

 

In the queue are

Those who view our

QR codes as crap

For how much longer

Will they linger

Fingering their app

 

Still others say a-

–nother way they

Could go is a trap

And cards with chips

That map our trips

Won’t fill the tracing gap

 

Technology

May be the key

If it falls in our laps

Or could it be

Our apathy

We need to change – perhaps?

 

 

Remember in the olden days

How voices sounded fine

When international interviews

Came down a copper line

 

When via our valve radios

Discussions could be heard

No fading out or breaking up

On every second word

 

But now we’ve Skype and mobile phones

And radio streaming too

And progress has deprived us of

That clarity we once knew

 

Where’s the snow we waited for

All this season long?

Where’s the winter wonderland

The sleigh-bell jingle song?

 

No fairytale-like landscape

No trees with cloaks of snow

No picture-perfect postcard scenes

Everywhere you go

 

No children making snowmen

No all-in snowball fights

No families enjoying

A snowy slope’s delights

 

No fields of fluffy whiteness

No drifts in which to play

Instead it’s just another boring

Blue-sky sunny day

 

Giving is the greatest gift

So when you feel you are adrift

Give yourself a little lift

By giving lots of smiles

 

Though at first it may seem strange

To force your face to re-arrange

You will soon feel an inner change

As you forget your trials

 

When you think you’ve got the knack

Give to those whose faces lack

A smile and you’ll find they’ll give back

The sunshine on their dials

 

 

‘Tiger, tiger burning bright

In the forest of the night

What immortal hand or eye’

-But that was all in days gone by

 

 

Now puma, puma burning black

Somewhere off the beaten track

Still no mortal’s camera yet

Has framed more than a family pet

 

 

The Collins – Ardern catfight

Billed as a debate

Show how low they have to go

In order to relate

 

It wasn’t only Judith

In spite of what they’re saying

When Donald caught the virus

The whole world started praying

 

Covid nineteen may have lain

Him low for just a while

But now he’s back campaigning

With his infectious smile

 

 

 

There’s something sad about a man
Who knows the bottom line
Better than he knows the taste
Of fear or summer wine

Better than he knows the sound
Of children on a beach
Better than the lessons that
The little ones can teach

There’s something sad about a man
Who dresses to impress
And bought his house because he thought
It had a good address

Who watches what the market does
And follows all the trends
But keeps a little cash on hand
So he can buy some friends

There’s something sad about a man
Who can’t see passed the price
Of the entry ticket or
The cost of being nice

Who never gives to charity
Without a photo shot
Nor visits with the elderly
Despite the time he’s got

There’s something sad about a man
Who says he only knows
The sweet smell of success and yet
He can’t describe a rose

And when it comes to going wild
He wears a paper hat
I think there’s something really sad
About a man like that

 

They tell me there’s a test match on

And our home team are playing

A welcome taste of summer

If you know what I’m saying

 

But –

 

No commentary on radio

No coverage on TV

They sold the rights to Spark and now

It’s on-line for a fee

 

It’s called ‘progress’ by those who say

We’ll like it if we lick it

But it don’t taste like summer and

It certainly ain’t cricket

 

That’s it, we’ve had the solstice

The summer’s all but gone

Everyday get’s shorter

And darker from now on

 

Each daybreak brings more trauma

An ache in every joint

It isn’t even Christmas yet

But frankly, what’s the point?

 

You never get the gifts you want

The kids will all be screaming

The turkey will be tofu and

All sports confined to streaming

 

The crackers will be full of crap

Bad jokes and plastic trash

And something that you’ve eaten will

Bring on a nasty rash

 

The artificial Christmas tree

Strung up with flashing lights

Will be about as festive as

A shift-worker on nights

 

The weather will be miserable

The outlook will appall

And so I say sincerely

Bah humbug to you all

 

Whither will we go this year?

Centre, left or right?

And how will we be influenced?

And who will call the fight?

 

The ‘ups and downs’ and ‘ins and outs’

Of politics persist

And so the often ‘off and ons’

May yet provide a twist

 

But if the varied ‘pros and cons’

Are all to be brain-stormed

The answer surely is that a

Committee should be formed

 

 

Another ‘Python’ has passed on

His legacy remains

A triumph and a treasury

Of tears from laughter-pains

 

Thanks to all the comedy

And mirth that he created

The genius of Terry Jones

Will long be celebrated

 

 

 

 

We need to dumb down RNZ

Our youth must be appeased

And automation’s cheaper so

Bean-counters will be pleased

 

No other station plays the type

Of music that youth like

So Concert FM has been told

That it can take a hike

 

We need to be inclusive so

Elitism is out

Conforming and diversity

Is what it’s all about

 

Of course free speech should not be banned

Just carefully rationed out

Based on ideologies

We want to bring about

 

Free speech for those who think like us

And tow the party line

Who think that censorship of those

We love to hate is fine

 

Free speech for those whose politics

Coincide with ours

And want to grant the thought-police

More draconian powers

 

Some still don’t see the irony

But I find it absurd

That those who are against free speech

Insist on being heard

 

 

 

Cyclists must wear helmets due

To how car drivers drive

They may not be the culprits but

It helps them to survive

 

But if they rode on footpaths and

That reasoning holds true

Then surely all pedestrians

Will have to wear one too

 

If fifteen ‘Ks’ is safe for them

Then that should be the bar

At which to set the speed for cars

And leave bikes where they are

 

Then walkers too could use the roads

With cyclists, cars and busses

A simple quick solution

One wonders what the fuss is!

 

 

They say be still and know thyself

But hills and trees and town

All seem unfamiliar now

The world’s turned upside down

 

The autumn sun is shining through

Another lock-down day

The teddy-bears are watching but

There’s no-one out to play

 

The streets have been abandoned

The parks are all deserted

There’s no-one on the harbour where

The hills have been inverted

 

In its mirrored surface

They hang down from the sky

While we watch on from lock-down

And heave another sigh

 

The neighbourhood in lock-down’s an

Extended sanctuary

Its solitude and silence has

A dreamtime quality

 

The hush is not a muffled pall

Like in a library

It has a sharp clean crispness of

Cathedral clarity

 

The harbour grey and languid

Reflects upon the past

A calm envelopes everything

But how long will it last?

 

A two-stroke motor-mower rips

The silence from the sky

Chews it up and spits it out

A trailer rattles by

 

A dog barks in the distance

Beyond the traffic’s drone

A tui in the lancewood tree

Practices alone

 

The water’s still impassive

The sky’s still overcast

The gentle hush though, torn to shreds

I knew it wouldn’t last

 

For containing covid

We all can stand up proud

And yet so many squeaking wheels

Have never squeaked so loud

 

I want to have a hand-out

Not just a helping hand

And compensation for the things

I failed to understand

 

Pick me, pick me

I want to be

A beneficiary

So long as there’s no stigma and

The money’s all tax-free

 

We need to make some changes though

To beneficiary bashing

Now that some of us do not

Deserve a verbal lashing

 

My lawyer says that legally

A subsidy’s my right

So technically on paper

I’m not a parasite

 

Pick me, pick me

I want to be

A beneficiary

So long as there’s no stigma and

The money’s all tax-free

 

So many billions in the cake

For your slice – stand in line

And there the squabbling begins

‘His slice is bigger than mine’

 

I’ll take this cash-for-nothing since

I have been doing it rough

But on the understanding that

I don’t think it’s enough

 

Pick me, pick me

I want to be

A beneficiary

So long as there’s no stigma and

The money’s all tax-free

 

 

For forty thousand years these caves

Revered as sacred sites

Have witnessed all of history’s

Passing days and nights

 

Forty thousand years is just

So hard to comprehend

As is the reason for their sad

Barbaric sudden end

 

The mindless greed of somebody

In Rio Tinto’s pay

To blow them up because a permit

Says that it’s OK

 

Defies all understanding

Affronts all decency

To wipe out forty thousand years

For what? –more currency!

 

What brutal atavistic mind

Devoid of cultured thought

Could contemplate then bring about

The devastation wrought

 

The crime they’ve perpetrated is

Not corporate vandalism

For such a heinous act that term’s

Too mild a euphemism

 

 

 

The world has been divided up

By I.D. politics

The content of one’s character

No longer in the mix

 

The world has been divided setting

Brother against brother

Each one more indignant and

Self-righteous than the other

 

The world has been divide up

Into abusive lists

Chauvinist misogynists

Or fascist feminists

 

Gender-based agendas

And favours curry votes

But also set extremists

At each other’s throats

 

Wedges of division

Are being driven in

To separate and judge each by

The colour of their skin

 

Racists and colonialists

V urban terrorists

And anarchists and arsonists

V white supremacists

 

The content of one’s character’s

No longer in the mix

Now the visionary dream

Is I.D. politics

 

 

No longer grunting cavemen

Clad in skins and furs

We’re now a global species

Of Easter Islanders

 

Technologically advanced

And so sophisticated

How long before we leave the world

Completely decimated

 

One wonders what great monument

Gazing out to sea

Will stand as testimony to

Our own stupidity

 

But maybe in a million years

Without humanity

Our planet will recover

And regain its harmony

 

And for another million years

Soft waves will lap the shores

Sweet breezes sweep the prairies

The mountaintops and moors

 

Fresh springs will feed the rivers

Clean rivers fill the lakes

Great forests ring with birdsong

Each time a new dawn breaks

 

And for another million years

With life co-ordinated

All trace that humans ever were

Will be obliterated

 

The greatest ever structures

Our species has produced

Have lasted but four thousand years

And now stand much reduced

 

All monoliths may well repel

The sun and wind and rain

But in a million years from now

Nothing will remain

 

 

 

 

 

With Walker gone by lunchtime

For feeding media sharks

And Muller forced to eat his own

Disparaging remarks

 

There’ll be some bogus reason why

Michelle fell foul of fate

A smorgasbord of reasons why

She’d too much on her plate

 

It seems the Cock-a-leaky soup

Was one of many courses

The media made a meal of it

But wouldn’t share its sauces

 

So what then are the take-aways?

The learnings and alerts?

You bite off more than you can chew

You get your just desserts

 

 

It’s Fathers’ Day today and so

If Dad is still in bed

Wake him up

With a nice cup

Of tea and toasted bread

 

And let him choose the toppings

Marmalade or jam

Vegemite

Or something light

Or if he wants it – ham

 

Then if he wants to lounge around

Wear track-pants just for fun

Have a beer

Or watch Top Gear

The rugby or F.1.

 

Or a film with Scharzenegger

Willis, Depp or Cruise

Remember: hey

It’s Fathers’ Day

He gets to pick and choose

 

But as for pricey presents

Here is my advice

A power-tool

May make him drool

A card though will suffice

 

 

 

THE ‘STRONG TEAM – MORE JOBS – BETTER ECONOMY’ SLOGAN DECODED

 

Take away the ‘M’, ‘J’, ‘O’

The ‘E’ and ‘O’, ‘M’, ‘Y’

And you’ll reveal the hidden truth

Behind each brazen lie

 

Take away the ‘m’ from ‘team’

And anyone can see

That what you’ve got is not‘strong team’

It’s clearly just ‘strong tea’!

 

Then take the ‘j’ and ‘o’ from ‘jobs’

Though this may cause distress

You’ll find that what you’re left with

Is simply ‘more b s’

 

Take the ‘E’ and ‘o’, ‘m’, ‘y’

From ‘Economy’

And what you’ve got is ‘Better con’

For all to clearly see

 

The secret message reads ‘Strong Tea’

‘More b s’, ‘Better con’

The hidden truth revealed

With surplus letters gone.

 

 

The minor parties with ideas

Want to have a voice

And give the voting public more

Than just a Hobson’s choice

 

The big two though don’t want to share

Their air-time on TV

With those who may take votes off them

Under MMP

 

A two-horse race is what they want

To offer you and me

The lesser of two evils is though

Is poor democracy

 

At a time of innocence

Ignorance and fears

We judge and pass self-sentencing

Upon our coming years

‘Don’t let me live past forty’

But as that deadline nears

Our old youth-centred worldview

Matures and disappears

We recognise we’re needed by

Our kids and parents too

And that we live for others

To help them all get through

It’s surely not worth living with

Grey hair and wrinkled skin’

‘Don’t let me live past sixty where

Senility sets in

Forgetting what you’ve said of course

Is really not that bad

And forgetting what you’ve said of course

Is really not that bad

‘Don’t let me live past eighty

I don’t want to be ancient

A burden on society

A grumpy bedbound patient’

It’s not until you get there though

And recollections stir

You realize just how naive

And ageist you once were

I’ll live to be a hundred and

I’ll get that telegram

I’ll live to be hundred and

I’ll have champagne and ham

I’ll live to be a hundred though

The candles on my cake

Will add to global warming

And the party cause a quake

I’ll not let others tell me what

I should and shouldn’t do

’Cause fuck it at a hundred you’re

One of the fearless few

 

Christmas is coming

The goose is getting fat

But the vegetarians

Are having none of that

 

They want a tofu turkey

With pumpkin humus stuffing

But if you haven’t got one

Don’t fret you’re missing nothing

 

Only honest vegans

Will openly admit

They have a healthy diet but

Their meals all taste like porridge

 

 

With twenty-twenty hindsight we

Review the year just past

Had we but seen it coming

We would have been aghast

 

There were fires, floods and droughts

Cyclones and tsunamis

Devastating earthquakes

The calling out of armies

 

Coups and insurrections

Protests and defections

Champions and villains

Extinctions and elections

 

Celebrities that passed away

Sporting wins and losses

Unprecedented challenges

For workers and their bosses

 

We all went into lockdown

Or social distancing

As Covid nineteen overshadowed

Almost everything

 

So farewell twenty-twenty

Good riddance, no contrition

We will not look back fondly on

Your dystopian vision

 

But looking to the future

What does the New Year hold?

Will global warming burn us up?

Or leave us in the cold

 

Will fracking crack our planet?

Will plastics choke our seas?

Will greed and hedonism bring

Our species to its knees?

 

Will vaccines conquer covid?

Will Charles attain the crown?

Will Trump concede defeat?

Will house prices come down?

 

Will we win in the cricket or

Retain the America’s cup?

And what is going to happen when

The one-eyed woke wake up?

 

Will all the virtue signalling

Continue to appal?

Will measures for equality

Extend to include all?

 

Will fake-news and hate-speech increase

Or simply fade away?

Will male netballers ever get

Respect or equal pay?

 

Will Christmas bring us insights

Into the joy of giving?

If we knew all the answers

Life wouldn’t be worth living

The old year has departed

From places near and far

Around the world with fireworks

It blazed its last hurrah

It followed in succession

As every old year must

Consigned now to the history books

Where headlines turn to dust

The old year has expired

Its numbered days all spent

A new one has replaced it now

Chock full of good intent

Stepping up to take its place

All primed and set to go

A naive thing with bright wide eyes

How little does it know!

New Zealand’s future leaders

Have once again returned

To saunter through Dunedin’s streets

On line and unconcerned

Sucking on their water bottles

Earplugs in both ears

Eyes fixed on their handheld screens

Conversing with their peers

Walking into doors and signs

Bumping into poles

Tripping over kerbs and steps

Or falling into holes

Pausing as they cross the road

To read some vital tweet

Or view the latest image of

What someone had to eat

Putting into practice

Evolution’s latent thrust

Of natural selection

As another bites the dust

Perhaps they have a need for speed

Perhaps they’re running late

But now they have Lime scooters

To accelerate their fate

Best wrap them up in cotton wool

So they come to no harm

Or better yet a fadge of wool

Underneath each arm

Are these our future leaders?

Are these the best we’ve got?

These lemming-like automatons

Dear God I do hope not!

What would you be needin’

In a flat down in Dunedin

Other than a beer fridge and a bed

With a safe place for your stash

And a floor to store your trash

Then you’re housing needs are met it could be said

 

With ceilings insulated

And the walls well decorated

With student art and traffic signs and cones

A kettle for a kitchen

And the pool when skin starts itchin’

You’ve a home away from home with undertones

 

You’ll need somewhere to study

In the morning or the nuddy –

’Cause it’s not as cold down here as some folk think

And if down-load speed’s essential

With our Giga-town potential

You can surf away each day from link to link

Where do true competitors go

For perfect line and length

They learn to go within themselves

To find their inner strength

What did Trubridge do to bridge

The fear of being crushed

He dived to depths within himself

Where all self doubt is hushed

Mr Millennial had to re-boot

His hand-held device while out for a scoot

He had no crash helmet or hooter to toot

But took out two walkers, a bike and a ute

His front wheel locked up like a cat in a chute

And he flew through the air like a tossed piece of fruit

His injury list was described as acute

With a bump on his head that came up a ‘beaut’

The scooters were banned, the company got cute

As other Lime cities were following suit

An e-mail campaign turned out to be moot

As it wasn’t addressing the problem’s real root

For some it’s a laugh and a bit of a hoot

But A.C.C. compo is coughing up loot

And Mr Millennial, poor Mr Millennial

Mr Millennial still has to re-boot

 

Despite the daily dosage

From places overseas

Of shootings and of bombings

And of vile atrocities

 

Despite the part they know they play

In dealing the fear

The media seem quite surprised

That this should happen here

 

They interviewed an expert

Broadcasted his advice:

‘Not to name the shooter’ but

Deemed that too high a price

 

Complicit as a platform

With which to create fame

Each channel wants to be the first

To name the killer’s name

You can’t shake hands with others

When both your hands are fists

You cannot bridge a schism

When your ‘ism’ still exists

 

 

Racism and sexism

And ageism persists

Along with other ‘isms’

On ever growing lists

 

 

The fault is always theirs not ours

Everyone insists

And my ‘ism’ trumps your ‘ism’

So say the ‘ism-ists’

 

We all have our own memories

Of the John we knew

The one’s I choose are of a man

With things to say and do

 

He’d set a brisk pace walking

Talking as he strode

Aware of all the noxious weeds

On any given road

 

He’d visit on occasions

Just to shoot the breeze

To share his thoughts on gardening

Or world calamities

 

John would bring the biscuits

I’d provide the tea

We’d pass a pleasant afternoon

Discussing poetry

 

Familiar with the classics

His knowledge outstripped mine

Well read, well bred, articulate

His eyes would dance and shine

 

But even those bright opals

Were outshone by his shoes

That gleamed with spit and polish

Reflecting old-school views

 

Views like common decency

Like helping when you can

Like taking time to spare a thought

For your fellow man

 

Like pride in one’s appearance

To show respect for others

Like sacrifice and service

With a regiment of brothers

 

That customs and tradition

Had meaning and a place

That music, arts and literature

Were where we would find grace

 

We also talked philosophy

Politics and sport

Religion and Theosophy

And lessons history taught

 

Our afternoons flew by – and then

So too the passing years

Bringing us up to today

A time of grief and tears

 

His troubled journey over now

His physical presence gone

But like his eyes and polished shoes

His memory will shine on

 

Twinkle, twinkle little star

How I wonder what you are

Like a luminous cigar

You move at lightning speed

Back and forth across the sky

At first down low and then up high

No one knows quite how you fly

Or what it is you need

You’re not a bird, you’re not a plane

You vanish then come back again

A mystery you will remain

A U.F.O. indeed

 

It’s time to celebrate our mothers

And it seems our motherly others

So-called ‘work-mums’ are in line

For jewellery gifts, bouquets and wine

 

Don’t hug her though or shake her hand

As workplace touching may be banned

Just an air kiss and a gift

Will help us make this mental shift

 

It’s all about inclusiveness

All kinds of mums deserve less stress

So maybe Spark will run some ads

On mother’s day for solo dads

 

Animal extinctions

Global warming, war

Radiation, pesticides

Droughts and floods and more

 

Oceans filled with plastics

Heavy metals too

Should we change or carry-on

The way we always do

 

Some say that we’ve already passed

The point of no return

That judgement day is on its way

We simply didn’t learn

 

We’re standing on the precipice

Of annihilation

Looking at the end of days

For each and every nation

 

Apocalyptic changes

Depletion and pollution

Famine and diseases

And no imminent solution

 

It will be deemed a miracle

If anyone survives

But it’s business though as usual

Until that day arrives

 

 

First the measles vaccine

Ran low when most required

Now the flu-jab stockpiles

Have practically expired

 

This is no coincidence

It’s something more outrageous

I think these vaccine shortages

Have now become contagious

 

 

Another greedy CEO

With money on his mind

Has been found out although in truth

There not that hard to find

 

It seems the millions that they’re paid

Just simply aren’t enough

They want somebody else to pay

For all their personal stuff

 

And down here in Dunedin

Right on the harbour side

A fertilizer CEO

Is trying to decide

 

If rugby players and their park

Should be allowed to stay

Or whether planned expansions and

More profit will hold sway

 

Ravensdown in Ravensbourn

Has ravenous intentions

It wants the use of Moller Park

To build its planned extensions

 

Get used to it New Zealand

In stoushes of this sort

Where big money is involved

Culture counts for nought

 

A word or two of sage advice:-

In life be brave but fair

And whether wealth or problem

Be prepared to share

 

Use common sense and decency

Observe the golden rule

Respect the wise but list to

The poet and the fool

 

Take time to smell the roses

Take pride in all you do

But most importantly of all

Unto thyself be true

 

 

Strapped into a capsule

Atop a Saturn five

Not knowing if they’d make the moon

Or even just survive

 

Ignition of the boosters left

Their very being shaken

As they embarked upon the greatest

Journey ever taken

 

Rising up sedately

Holding straight and true

Shedding emptied fuel tanks

They climbed into the blue

 

Streaking through the atmosphere

Then in to outer space

To travel at phenomenal speeds

Far from the human race

 

The darkened lull of nothingness

As planet Earth receded

The waiting and the weightlessness

Their progress unimpeded

 

The landing module disengaged

Two astronauts on board

Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin

Their future fame assured

 

Descending to the surface

With systems overloaded

Amidst alarms and calls of ‘go’

Their confidence eroded

 

Off course and over boulders

On which they could be stranded

With only seconds left of fuel

The little Eagle landed

 

One small step for man took place

A quote we now all know

That giant leap for all mankind

Gave hope to us below

 

The loneliest man to ever live

Then went behind the moon

Cut off from humanity

Forgotten all too soon

 

Michael Collins was that man

Who circled like a shark

And while his mates made history

He was in the dark

 

Immersed in his own personal

Eclipse of Planet Earth

Watching the horizon

Awaiting its rebirth

 

From the other window

Nothing could be seen

But the twinkling stars

And the emptiness between

 

Lost in radio silence

Completely lost to view

To all of Earth’s humanity

And his fellow crew

 

Who walked upon the surface of

The moon in utter awe

Boldly going where no man

Had ever gone before

 

Mesmerised we watched as they

Set a flag in place

Took photos and rock samples then

Fare-welled Tranquillity base

 

A perfect lunar lift-off

Their docking done and then

Three heroes set their course anew

And headed home again

 

The trauma of re-entry

The splash-down in the sea

And then emerging from the pod

For all the world to see

 

Fifty years ago this week

While handing out cigars

Our species took a baby step

In reaching for the stars

 

Due to our identities

Some differences exist

So if you don’t agree with me

You’ll be some sort of ‘ist’

 

Because Jacinda is a mum

Calling her ‘part time’

Makes Simon Bridges sexist

Grant’s logic is sublime

 

Bridges though is Maori

Grant Robertson is not

So that makes Grant a racist

According to this plot

 

No-one though would call him that

Out of utter fear

Of being labelled ‘homophobe’

Since Robertson is queer

 

And before you shoot me down

For pointing out these views

Remember you’ll be next in line

For someone to abuse

 

I could be older than you are

I could be younger too

So either way you’re ageist if

You slate my point of view

 

 

They talk about it wistfully

The freedom and the hope

The rain, the mud, the music

The free love and the dope

 

I guess you had to be there

But some say those who were

Simply can’t recall it

The whole thing was a blur

 

Woodstock was a happening

A festival so rare

That those who do remember

Probably weren’t there

 

 

Our fathers may be rich or poor

They may be young or old

Our fathers may be close at hand

Or left out in the cold

 

Defined by their careers

Or the sports they play

Or just their generosity

Or the things they say

 

Our fathers may be big or small

No-frills or debonair

But all they want this Sunday is

For you to know they care

 

As stylish as a stylus

On a spinning forty-five

The sound was warm and vibrant

Rounded and alive

 

But music then was digitized

Compacted cleverly

For what they called the C.D. side

Of the industry

 

What goes around though comes around

So the saying goes

And nothing goes around so much

As the record shows

 

As a disc of vinyl

A twelve-inch, grooved L.P.

Turning on the table

At a stable thirty-three

 

 

As temperatures and C.O.2.

And sea levels get higher

The voice out in the wilderness

Becomes the mainstream choir

 

The tipping point has been attained

The ‘hundredth monkey’ found

And climate change awareness

Is starting to abound

 

And with it global action

To wrestle back our fate

If only for the children

Let’s hope it’s not too late

 

A Nobel prize for Ahmed,

A typhoon for Japan,

The Turks invaded Syria,

Eliud Kipchoge ran –

 

A sub-two-hour marathon,

The first space-walker died,

In the States a second whistle blower

Claimed Trump lied,

 

More Californian fires

While back here in N.Z. –

The sky is falling in

As cricket goes to Spark instead

 

The arrival of Endeavour was

Accorded no affection,

And half the people voted in

Their local body election

 

Where there’s smoke there’s fire
And lots of water too
As flames leapt ever higher
Each dedicated crew

Kept their hoses playing
Until all flames were quenched
The whole convention centre though
Was caked with soot and drenched

The basement lake of water
Bursting at the seams
Was then flushed down the gurgler
Just like the All Blacks’ dreams

 

The rise and fall of Ffordd Pen Llech

Has been a sorry tale

Of subterfuge and trickery

But justice will prevail

 

At last a level playing field

For measuring two slopes

As Harlech’s lane’s inspected by

Someone who knows the ropes

 

Some say here and some say there

Is where one marks the fall

So, a middle of the road approach

Should be fair to all

 

Champions of Baldwin Street

In truth always believed

The title of world’s steepest street

Would one day be retrieved

 

And now that all the facts are in

I’m inclined to agree

That Baldwin is the steeper street

And by some degree

 

There is a whole fruit salad bowl

Of world currant affairs

To cherry-pick on any date

For use in rhyming pairs

 

The orange man may be impeached

For trying to cut a deal

And plumbing presidential lows

To bolster his appeal

 

Some think this is ridiculous

While some find it sublime

It seems he’s in a jam of sorts

And running out of time

 

I heard it through the grapevine though

Despite appalling folly

He hasn’t been affected by

Remorse or melon-choly

 

They say in love and politics

That it takes two to tango

But if thrown out of office

Then just where will this man go?

 

And at the core of politics

There’s substance to the myth

That some remove the little pips

And some just take the pith

 

 

Central’s lakes cause grave headaches

As water-levels rise

And tourist towns are flooded in

A summer-time surprise

 

The West coast route knocked out by slips

Due to rain and hail

The raging Rangitata has

Washed out both road and rail

 

Te Waipounamu cut in half

The South is isolated

Severed from humanity

The North is devastated

 

 

 

 

Half-drunk cups of coffee

Are scattered here and there

Put down and then forgotten as

My mind moves on elsewhere

 

And overnight the borrowers

Steal things from open spaces

Then cunningly return them to

Most unexpected places

 

I’m constantly reminded that

My memory is going

My whatsit cells have thingummied

Without my even knowing

 

It’s true I get a bit confused

My train of thought slips by

They say I’m absent minded but

Sorry, where was I?

 

Oh yes I was recalling

How things have changed because

Both physically and mentally

I’m not the man I was

 

The best days of my life it seems

Are now all in the past

And notches on my trouser belt

Are disappearing fast

 

My hair has turned a silver grey

My eyebrows have grown thick

I used to look like Jesus once

But now it’s more Saint Nick

 

Yes more like Father Christmas

But Christmas time is fun

No matter what the weather

Be it rain or snow or sun

 

Christmas time is special

And last year for a treat

I invited everyone

To come and share a seat

 

I put up decorations

Festooned the Yuletide tree

I even wore a silly hat

In front of company

 

I had an open fire and

Laid on the whole shebang

Got out the ancient carol sheets

And everybody sang

 

We tucked in to the turkey

Roast veg and Christmas pud’

Then pulled our Christmas crackers as

We dined on all things good

 

Not knowing whether Santa Clause

Had been caught out in drifts

I ladled out the gluhwein

And handed out the gifts

 

Everyone was happy

But simply wondered why

I was having Christmas in

The middle of July!

 

(to the cadence of Fifty ways to leave your lover – with apologies to Paul Simon)

The problem is all inside your Auckland-centric dome

The answer is easy if you’re not prepared to roam

I’d like to help you in your struggle for a home

There must be fifty ways to live in Auckland

Fifty ways to live in Auckland

You just sleep in a shack Jack

Or go open-plan Stan

No need for a roof Ruth

You just listen to me

Say buy a house-bus Gus

Don’t need to discuss much

Just set up a tee-pee

And get mortgage free

Yeah you sleep in a tent Kent

You don’t even pay rent

Or share an apartment

You just listen to me

You purchase a shed Fred

Or an empty plot Dot

Or go somewhere else Else

And get a proper property

 

Though the night was black as pitch

The rain as thick as syrup

We heard a small vibrato voice

A tree-frog’s cheerful ‘chirrup’

Somewhere in a ponga tree

Giving it his all

He bellowed out a trilling song

His hopeful mating call

All night long the rain came down

And all night long he sang

So when the dawn broke cold and wet

I felt a certain pang

For still the frog was calling out

His ‘anyone out there?’ sound

Despite his plaintive plea for love

No soul-mate had he found

Another day of constant rain

Forming garden ponds

Weighing down the bows and leaves

And saturating fronds

Another night of dripping cloud

Obscured the moon’s faint glow

Cloaked everything in darkness

And soaked the world below

Another round of serenades

Filled the neighbourhood

And then his croak fell silent

He’d done everything he could

But nestled in the ponga tree

As clouds began to clear

A pair of shiny tree frogs

With grins from ear to ear

For them no night was now too long

For them no day too wet

For now two little tree-frogs sang

A ribbetting duet

 

Nelson’s tall column of grey smoke

Grows ever wider and higher

While lock, stock and valley and hillside

Are smothered and ravaged by fire

 

Tinder dry grassland and forests

Primed by the wind and the sun

Are snack-food for hungry wild fires

Devouring all on the run

 

Pilots are stretched to the limit

Dousing the flames from the air

While on the ground crews are exhausted

And families are racked with despair

 

Flare-ups and out-breaks continue

No respite as night closes in

But an all-out community effort

Gives a sense that they’re starting to win

 

Embers and ashes and charcoal

And smouldering pockets and seams

Have fashioned a nightmarish landscape

From what once was a valley of dreams

 

The volatile flames – an inferno

Creating a charred and scarred hell

While in Auckland a Burger King fry-up

Is causing an unpleasant smell

Life is so much harder for

Those with more than one front door

Investing in the rental racquet

Trying to make a tidy packet

What could happen? What’s the worst?

Well say the housing bubble burst

And poorer folk could then afford

A home instead of room and board

Attacks on tax are nothing new

It’s what we Kiwis tend to do

Like pointing out the fiscal pains

Of paying tax on capital gains

Consider this though when you sell

There’s lots you can write-off as well

If you get less than what you paid

Just claim on all the losses made

 

We always seem to deviate

From the lives we plan

I wish I’d never sang that song

‘Je ne regret rein’

 

We may regret some things we did

So we could brag or boast

But it’s the things we didn’t do

That we regret the most

 

The path we never travelled

Unravelled or explored

The opportunities we missed

Declined or just ignored

 

The chances never taken

The thing we left unsaid

Now agitated by regret

Plays havoc in our head

I wonder if Brexit

Will take the next exit

Or carry on down the same path

May may be OK

With another delay

But Europe will have the last laugh

 

We just don’t get democracy

Or how it’s s’posed to work

The idea of majority rule

Is such a crazy quirk

 

Just doing what most people want

Is utterly absurd

When only our opinions are

The ones that should be heard

 

You see we’re used to getting

Everything that we demand

Why can’t the voting masses

Simply do as we command

 

We need the whole electorate

To change without delay

Or we’ll stamp our feet and hold our breath

Until we get our way

So many names forgotten

From France’s history

But Quasimodo rings a bell

Now tell me wasn’t he

 

Synonymous with Notre dame

Just like Joan of Arc

And Napoleon Bonaparte

They each one left their mark

 

As has this conflagration

That gutted in one day

Eight hundred years of majesty

Where people came to pray

 

A testament to craftsmanship

Standing proud and tall

For centuries its beauty’s been

A sanctuary for all

 

Consumed in an inferno

Ravaged by a fire

But Notre-Dame is not done yet

Her spirit will inspire

 

A billion pledged to resurrect

This monument to God

Not quite so much for Paris’s

Forsaken and down-trod

Duck shooting season keeps alive

Our yen for killing things

Our semi-automatics are

The wind beneath their wings

Guns and ammo are not cheap

Ducks cost a lot to kill

But you can train a good gun dog

To always grab the bill

 

 

The experts got it wrong again

Regards our nearest neighbour

This time no new prime minister

The Liberals won not Labour

 

What does this mean for Kiwis

Living in the lucky nation?

A fair go or continuance

Of their exploitation?

 

For even-handed treatment they

Can only hope and pray

But it seems ‘tell them they’re dreamin’ will

Remain the Aussie way?

 

 

 

 

They say from little acorns

Mighty oaks do grow

And from tiny tributaries

Mighty rivers flow

 

They say an epic journey

Begins with just one step

And every great adventure

Begins with saying yep

 

 

I spy with my little eye

On something beginning with you

Somebody said that you might be a red

So we’re watching your family too

 

You may be annoyed or bit paranoid

That our little eye high in the sky

Keeps us abreast of the things you like best

Not just what you say, wear or buy

 

We know what you drink, we know what you think

We know that you’re wondering how?

We see all you do, here’s proof that it’s true

You’re reading this poem right now!

 

 

Professionals and amateurs

Went at it head to head

Those on high paid contracts should

Have won, but no, instead

 

The men emerged victorious

Heroes of the hour

So let’s give them some plaudits

Let’s hear it for ‘Boy power’

 

They demonstrated equal skills

On and off the ball

Their pay-gap due to gender though

Still not addressed at all

 

Work of equal value should

Be paid with equal pay

Or do the goalposts shift each time

The gap’s the other way?

 

Where Wisden’s is the bible

A testament-like tome

Some thought our Kane un-able

To guide the Black Caps home

A David and Goliath type

Encounter in the cricket

Saw an Indian exodus

On a sticky wicket

The bookies had the Indians

Well favoured to prevail

Their crunching of the numbers though

Was all to no avail

Their ‘Lords’ prayer’ truly answered where

They’ll face the fancied Brits

Our bowlers though will do the job

And blitz the Brits to bits

 

A hail storm halts the Tour de France

Apparently that’s rare

But is it global warming

Or is it all hot air?

 

It’s heating up in Britain

For most that’s something new

As London topped at thirty-eight

The Irish team did too

 

Plus Boris’s house-warming

As he got his heart’s desire

Would’ve bumped some temperatures

Up a little higher

 

 

While vegans seek to save the world

By cutting out all meat

That doesn’t mean they have the right

To say what we should eat

Admittedly some harm is done

By what we eat each day

But that harm is to others so

In our minds that’s OK

The innocent may suffer sure

That’s well understood

But even if some lives are lost

It’s for the greater good

Their facts are irrefutable

Their arguments make sense

I don’t dispute the science

However, in defense

Let me cite an argument

That has been given voice

Others have no say since it’s

Our body – it’s our choice

Morning’s dawning glory glows

As from the East horizon grows

A sense of light and life that flows

And gently washes over those

Who lie asleep in sweet repose

With waterbottle toasting toes

Roundly curled in foetal form

’Neath duvet womb secure and warm

Snuggled deep in blissful bed

Feathered pillow under head

While outside to the tui’s sound

The paperboy is on his round

 

 

For those in hurricane Dorian’s path

Climate change got real

The Amazon still burns and leaves

A scar that will not heal

 

In Hong Kong protests carry on

Despite a full repeal

In Britain there’s dissention over

Bo-Jo’s no-deal deal

 

The Loch Ness monster’s DNA

Suggests it is an eel

And Team New Zealand’s mono-foil

Had its big reveal

 

A pilot scheme was introduced

To give school kids a meal

While laws to clean up water saw

Polluters squirm and squeal

 

Peter Ellis passed away

Before his last appeal

But there’s good news for the All Blacks

As their game-plan moves congeal

 

The ‘A’ grade rugby world cup

Kicked off this week in style

All other news takes second place

If only for a while

The Russians got the old bum’s rush

Japan put on a pile

The French found Argentina’s team

Something of a trial

The Aussies ground down Fiji

Despite their guts and guile

And the All Blacks beat the Springboks

That’s gotta make you smile

Tuia two-fifty’s here

The boats are in the bay

Let’s get this party started and

Make sail without delay

And let us all endeavour

Each one in their own way

To understand the origins

Of what we have today

 

Let’s value and appreciate

Fine vessels such as these

Their spectacle and craftsmanship

Are guaranteed to please

Replicas of ‘taonga’

That sailed the seven seas

In search of new horizons

And opportunities

 

Tuia two-fifty’s here

It’s time to celebrate

Not rock the boat with xenophobic

Messages of hate

We need not let the separatists

Take over and dictate

A pessimistic outcome from

A negative debate

 

Let’s focus on the positive

The paradise we share

As privileged New Zealanders

Blessed with clean fresh air

Blessed with lakes and mountains

And scenery most rare

Our pristine bush and beaches are

A joy beyond compare

 

We have a can do attitude

With volunteers that care

We have the world’s best sailors

A rugby team with flair

We understand that teamwork

Can take us anywhere

We could be inspirational

If we but only dare

 

We have the means to travel

The chance to work and play

Our health and wealth and wellness marks

Are more than just OK

So let us all endeavour

Each one in their own way

To understand the origins

Of what we have today

 

Far-left fascist feminists

With messages of hate

Have just been told their conference

Will have to relocate

 

Massey University

Refuses to provide

A platform for the bullying

Of those they would deride

 

Their shameful lack of tolerance

Is there for all to see

How does one drag these dinosaurs

Out of bigotry?

 

Convinced because they’re women

That they’re always in the right

They’re just as bad as those who think

It’s O.K. to be white

 

The hoiho is no tenor

He has no silver throat

And yet he’s on our fiver so

He is a bird of note

 

He needs some real encouragement

To keep his hopes afloat

As his chances of avoiding

Extinction are remote

 

At least he has a poem though

And one that you can quote

So for ‘Bird of the year’ please give

The wee hoiho your vote

There’s never been a seabird crowned

As our ‘Bird of the year’

So vote for hoiho while you can

Before they disappear

 

OK Boomer, settle down

Is how we patronize

Yeah, whatever, if you like

It’s time for beddy-byes

 

OK Boomer take your pills

Before you have a stroke

You’re being old and grumpy

Whereas we’re both wise and woke

 

We need no cogent argument

We’re genuine Gen Zee

And ‘OK Boomer’s what we say

When we disagree

 

We offer no alternative

But can’t be over-ruled

When we say OK Boomer

You know that you’ve been schooled

 

 

In Te Waipounamu

Right on summer’s dawn

Unto Jess and Jessica

A baby child is born

 

Emerging from her mother’s womb

In to the arms of love

Her Dad a doting father

Her Mum a gentle dove

 

Welcome little Isla

A miracle unfurled

Welcome to your family

Welcome to the world

 

Anxious to get started

To meet and see and do

To sample all life’s pleasures

To feed and sleep and poo

 

Then feed and poo and cry a cry

That no-one can ignore

Then feed and poo and feed and poo

And poo and poo some more

 

Welcome little Isla

Your role now understood

And welcome Jess and Jesse to

A life of parenthood

 

Amidst the pall of pain and grief

The questioning commences

The randomness of time and place

Their fate and consequences

 

We live upon the fragile skin

Of a volcanic land

So much beneath the surface that

We do not understand

 

The victims of Whakaari and

Their friends and families

Are in our hearts and minds and have

Our deepest sympathies

 

 

Australia’s on fire

What’s needed is hero

Someone who’ll inspire

Not another Nero

 

Scot Morrison is fiddling

While all round Roma burns

And obdurately piddling

On climate-change concerns

 

He even went on holiday

To get away from journos

A time for him to rest and play

Away from the infernos

 

The people though are trying

To make him understand

That animals are dying

Frying on the land

 

Temperatures are rising

Each day a record high

But there’s no compromising

Though smoke chokes up the sky

 

And where there’s smoke there’s fire

Consuming trees and grass

But this climate change denier

Has his head stuck up in the clouds

 

I know a jolly fat man

Who wears a thin disguise

To break and enter houses

And fill up on mince pies

 

It isn’t just the turkey that

Gets stuffed on Christmas day

We all revert to gluttony

In putting food away

 

From full on breakfast banquet

To Christmas dinner feast

The eating turns a waif-like man

Into a bloated beast

 

Non-stop sweets and nibbles

Nuts to crack and crunch

Followed by a sweet mince pie

Then something light for lunch

 

Champagne ham cooked on the bone

A salad – for a laugh

A creamy avocado, bar its stone

Cut clean in half

 

Lettuce leaves and radishes

Green peppers and shallots

Tomatoes and yes broccoli

And onion dips in pots

 

And then of course the main event

The proper sit-down job

With everything imaginable

Shoved into your gob

 

Carrots, spuds and parsnips

Brussel-sprouts and peas

And turkey lashed with gravy

Is always sure to please

 

Slacken off the trouser belt

To fit another course

Flaming, steaming pudding

With brandy-butter sauce

 

Irish coffee with a nip

Christmas cake with icing

A box of dates or figs on plates

Are all just too enticing

 

Perhaps a chocolate orange

And then a little nap

Before some cheese and crackers

Just to fill that final gap

 

At drinking we’re no better

Spirits, wine and beer

And what will be the outcome?

– Same again next year

 

A time of celebration

And helping those in need

Has turned into an orgy

Of gastronomic greed

 

Conspicuous consumption is

The only way to go

As bank accounts diminish

And our waste-lines bulge and grow

 

We may not have the holly

Or the jolly ‘ho ho ho’

But we’ve all become fat Santas

Waiting for a friendly tow

Water sloshes and galumphs

Against the harbour wall

The jobbled tide is on the rise

And spoiling for a brawl

 

Its brackish voice is guttural

And full of glottal stops

Licking at the slips it sips

And gobbles up the slops

 

Sloshing and galumphing

To a rhythm of their own

Random waves in peaks and troughs

Sigh and snort and moan

 

Their sound – no song of Sirens

’Tis more the haunted howls

Of long disgruntled gargoyles

And the gurgle of their bowels

 

Sloshing and galumphing

Galumphing underground

Gurgling and gargling

Until the tide turns round

This summer’s been a corker

With orca in the harbour

And hottest months on record

According to the barber

 

Who seems to know a thing or two

On stuff that really matters

Like what to name the baby

And Pakistan’s best batters

 

And if we think it’s too hot now

Beware the golden rule

It always gets much hotter

Once the kids go back to school

Around the world stuff’s going down

Just in the week that was

A mass of bombs in Syria

A hot air balloon in ‘Oz’

 

In Taiwan it was buildings

As earthquakes struck again

In Pyeong Yang it’s officials

With a norovirus strain

 

Stocks and shares went plummeting

– Investors sold a pup

Be grateful we live where we do

Where stuff keeps going up

Cyclone Gita ‘gotta’ ‘lotta’

People quite upset

With vengeful, violent, viscous winds

And days of constant wet

 

Seas were caused to lash our shores

Some floods cut regions off

Water, water everywhere

But not a drop to quaff

 

Power lost to many parts

Tourists trapped by slips

Panic buying in the shops

Supplies brought in by ships

 

Frightened at the prospect

Of being isolated

Some found the storm so scary that

They self evacuated

It seems that the proverbial ’s

About to hit the fan

As mayors around the country seek

A comprehensive plan

 

That’s big enough and blunt enough

To knock the you-know-what

Out of every ‘freedom camper’

Whether they’re at fault or not

 

Calling ‘defecators’ – ‘freedom campers’

Tars the lot

And just fining them for sleeping

Shows how mercenary we’ve got

Facebook coughs to garnering

By underhanded means

A pair of has-beens hacks their way

Around the Northland greens

 

Fonterra loses millions

Plunket counts the beans

Middlemore’s new culture

Is causing public scenes

 

Another species goes extinct

No more rhino genes

England out for fifty-eight

Our bowlers were machines

Judged on age, ethnicity

And gender’s just so bad

So much for the dream that

Martin Luther King once had

 

Demographic profiles

That single people out

Avoid accountability

But give the bigots clout

 

Simply crunch the numbers

Big data doesn’t lie

The evidence is evident

And here’s the reason why

 

Those most likely to employ

Prejudicial views

Will work in immigration

Wear ties and shine their shoes

Those whose views conflict with ours

Deserve to be berated

They’re ill-informed and brainwashed

And need re-educated

 

It’s ‘they’ who live in bubbles

Never you nor I

It’s ‘they’ who cannot see the truth

And ‘they’ who live the lie

 

Their discrimination is

Offensive and absurd

Whereas, ours is fine and just

And based on stuff we’ve heard

 

They must be taught to tolerate

And made to understand

If they can’t be inclusive

They’ll be ostracized and banned

 

The trouble with free-speech is that

Free-thinkers may abuse it

I’m all for hypocrisy

Except when others use it

 

Isn’t it funny

How some can hear ‘yanni’

With others it’s ‘laurel’ that’s clear

But rainy or sunny

You can bet for all money

Your forecast’s the one you won’t hear

 

There’s been a debacle

About Mr Markle

Not giving his daughter away

But she, with a sparkle

Explained it’s not our-call

We just hope his heart is OK

 

The outlook looked bleak

For the mild and the meek

With workers unpaid for their time

But the budget this week

Gave wellbeing a tweak

In parliament’s own pantomime

They say today is Gypsy day

And all across the land

With military precision

In manoeuvres all well planned

 

Farmers and share-milkers

Are putting on head scarves

And selling wooden clothes pegs

As they shift their cows and calves

 

They’re setting up their caravans

Where if you’re feeling bold

You can cross their palms with silver

To have your fortune told

 

Tarot cards and crystal balls

Give insights – but beware

Lest mycoplasma bovis is

The only thing they share