Tararua District Library has a range of things to help jobseekers. Free high speed broadband via the Aotearoa Public Network Kaharoa (APNK) computers – they have the Microsoft Office suite of programmes, Skype, etc. You can use this resource to update your CV, do remote job interviews, apply for jobs online and more. Our computers are FREE to use – the only cost is printing (20c per sheet).
We also have free unlimited wifi available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. So if the library is closed, you can still use our high speed broadband from outside.
Dannevirke Library also has a scanner, which is free to use – scan documents to a flash drive or to an email address, ready to upload to an online job application when needed. Pahiatua, Woodville and Eketahuna Libraries may be able to assist you with this in other ways.
We also have books that can help you decide what path to take next, how to write your CV, interview techniques, or even how to start your own business or create a website. There are plenty of handy ideas on the internet too:
Careers NZ – advice on job-hunting, CVs, job vacancies
Seek jobhunting site
Jobseeker jobhunting site
Work and Income job bank
Nailing your CV and cover letter are essential if you want to get an interview. Check out how to write a cover letter. There are lots of other tips in Trade Me’s job hunter’s guide to kick you off too.
The library is also a good place to do online course work, or expand your computer skills, or enrol in a MOOC (massive online open course), or simply read. Through the APNK computers, you can also access Press Display (which offers digital newspapers from all around New Zealand and the world) if you want to scan for job advertisements.
Calling all rising writers – here is your opportunity to be a published writer!
The Sunday Star-Times Short Story Awards, one of New Zealand’s most prestigious writing awards, will be judged by leading New Zealand writers. The competition fosters New Zealand writers and has helped launch the career of some of our best-known authors – including Eleanor Catton. Entries are now open until 26 September.
OPEN DIVISION – 3000 word limit
Winner: $1000 cash plus an additional prize package
1st Runner-up: $500 cash plus additional prize package
SECONDARY SCHOOL DIVISION – 3000 word limit
Winner: $1000 cash plus an additional prize package
1st Runner-up: $500 cash plus additional prize package
2nd Runner-up: $300 cash plus an additional prize package
NON-FICTION ESSARY – The New Zealand Identity – 1000-1200 words (no age restriction)
Winner: Story published in Sunday Star-Times or on Stuff.co.nz, plus an additional prize package
COMPETITION CLOSES Friday 26 September 2014. Go to sundaystartimes.co.nz for terms and conditions, and to download required entry form to send with your entry to Sunday Star Times.
Out of the morning light she appeared, suddenly there
On the side of the road, white and clean shorn, she looked
Me straight in the eye, and for a chill moment, unhinged me,
She scared the living daylights out of me, as I drove by.
Just an old ewe, chewing her cud, yellow eyes bold and glassy, defiant,
Head held high, strutting her stuff, there on the side of the road.
“Cheeky bitch”, I could hear some farmer, this farmer, say
Before setting the dogs on her, and for nothing more, for no good reason
Other than for escaping from a paddock bare of grass.
“It had been a hard winter!” but it was always a hard winter
For an old ewe wanting to make milk to feed her lambs,
Twins I knew, tucked carefully away somewhere
Behind a bush out of a bitter cold spring wind
In that paddock bare of grass, of dead and dying lambs and ewes.
“Farming here in this green New Zealand land is just a matter of controlled starvation.”
What can one say about an old ewe, fit for dog tucker.
That she had seen it all, worried by dogs, struck by fly,
nicked in the eye by shearers for kicking back, buggered
and brutalised by farmers, those bush philosophers “Ah well,
she could have lost a tit or been fed alive to the pigs!”
What can one say about this old ewe, defiant still.
That she would escape the butchers, the culling knife
rear her lambs once again, and then leave the flock,
go bush, get through the fence and head for that ridge
that leads deep into that wild and lovely place, Te Urewera,
and there lie down under some noble tree, totara or rimu
and gaze into that far distant place, and quietly leave it all.
© Narena Olliver
An entry in our competition
She walked many and long
in the garden of her childhood
gathering lilac in her arms
ducks eggs in her apron
and seeing angels in the snow.
She remembered her father
shaking the cherry tree
to make the blossoms fall
and skating on the icy pond.
These were her memories
recorded for others,
but for herself she kept only
filling her heart with their pungency.
haunted by their spiced scent
of the broken flowers
staining her lost youth.
© Robin Winter
An entry in our (now closed) competition
Oh my haunted Jerusalem, will you ever know joy?
This bloody July, jeopardizing all judgement
Judas and Jesus, Jews and Jihad.
Is it justice you strive for? Playing out morbid jokes?
Are you angry, thirsty,
breathing in jealousy, bleeding out fiery jewels,
your jaws drooling human juice?
Jury of this cruel jungle
crying silently, witnessing from your hidden jails
how this juxtaposition
She wanted to divorce
the hot water bottle
a crimson red tail
in the vast autumn field
under her belly
devouring her desires
sharing her breaths
puking smiles at her
she wanted to break it
she would not mistake it
she just could not take it
the very last noodle
left on her plate
her tears, her lovers,
her burning cascades
© Edna Eled
Two poems that were entered in our competition
Sideways on the corner
Inside front up in the air,
BDA is screaming
Gravel flying everywhere
Pedal to the metal
Camber-dance along the ridge,
Down a twisting valley
Watch out! Narrow bridge!
End of Stage and Time Control
Oh man, that stage went fast!
One more long one before service,
You hope the tyres will last.
Service, Refuel, and quick gossip.
It seems Joe’s out, he’s rolled.
The grizzled Veteran’s leading
Even though his car is OLD.
Screaming through the forest
On a slippery logging road,
Someone’s gone off down a steep bank,
He’ll be needing to be towed.
Sideways on the corner,
Inside front up in the air
BDA is screaming
THERE’S A RALLY ON SOMEWHERE!
© Gayle Cresswell
An entry in our [now closed] competition
© Rowan Swift
Lying on the lawn, watching the stars
Listening to traffic, distant cars
All those people in steel death traps
Back ‘n forth, time relapse
The noise in the wind the only proof
That they were there, that’s the truth
Only they can prove their being
To the rest of us, they aren’t worth seeing
Just travelling through this hard old land
Leaving petrol fumes like footprints in the sand
Slow down my friends,
Death’s coming for you
Slow down my friends, God’s watching you!
© Rowan Swift
Walking the streets, forgetting my past
Living alone, a simple outcast
Nice white skin, but dark inside
Burying thoughts of suicide
My sinful mind, playing tricks
Confusing, like religion and the crucifix
Sorry to you all for the trouble I caused
That’s my sense of humour, stuff remorse
The girlfriends I’ve had are all the same
Living life like it’s one big game
Making me sad, and I’m to blame
I’m better off with a dog I can tame
Getting on my nerves when I try to drink
I’m not listening to you, I’m trying to drink
I’m drinking everyday to celebrate
Being above ground, ain’t life great?
Made of Ice
© Rowan Swift
Always on my mind, I want you instead
Sooner than later, before I am dead
My memories of you drive me crazy
I need you now, the image so hazy
The games we play are so nice
Which isn’t easy when you’re made of ice
The most beautiful woman, you I desire
With your cold blooded heart, eyes of fire
Women for me should only be fun
It’s hard for me, when I find that one
I can’t get her, she doesn’t want me
Let yourself go, together we’re free
Therapy for me is what others call love
I’ll report in when you give me a shove
Heaven is a word I never use
But when thinking of you, what else to choose?
Smiling as a flirt, thinking of you
Begging to be hurt, do what you do
Hit me with that look, eyes so cold
Another chapter of the book, this one’s old
That might sound obsessive, that might seem mad
I’m just possessive and I want you bad
Well, now Winter’s over, and Summer is near
I wonder if you’ll notice, or even care
See what you had,
Ignore what you’ve got
Be happy with what you have?
Time for bed, I hope I sleep
Pray to God, my soul to creep
Yes, I will stir the whole night through
Yearning for the one, that is you.
Sonnet: to care
When bringing up a child
we all intend to do our very best
to find our own unique way
through the trials and tears
to send our child off to live their life
now fully grown
I do this work because ?
I want to make a difference to the lives of others,
To shift from shame,
move away from mistakes,
Build back the confidence due
to Fathers and Mothers
Hope is the currency I use,
the way I move and motivate,
inspire the change which leads away from fear
into a say about how to extend
and grow the range of options,
give more realistic choice.
The future speaks and exercises voice.
© Seona Ashton
An entry in our [now closed] poetry competition
As the earth turns daily
To face the sun
And the light from long dead stars
As the seasons cycle towards rebirth
And small acts of kindness bring hope
May we find ourselves inclined
To look outwards with generosity
And inwards with gentleness
Brave enough perhaps—
To breathe upon cooling embers
Whisper to the departing dark
And share the hearthspace
With the stranger at our door
A friend may need you
Then you too can be an angel
Speak words of peace
Bless and exchange truths
Heal and warm
And then there will be a lightness
in your step
and a joy in your heart
As the heavens lay claim to such treasure.
This business of change
Roll with it
Even towards it
Reach for serenity
Vulnerability fully acknowledged
The other side of anger-
Preparing to arrive
In each others tomorrow
With only a little skin off our hearts.
Wisdom so elusive
Forgiveness chased away
It is judgement on our doorstep
Far too soon
© Christine Kelly [Wellington]
Islays’ sixth and final entry in our competition.
The Witches Competition
One burning lazy summer day
When Angie felt too tired to play
She sat on the grass in the shade of a tree
To think up a game of “What can I be?”
If I sit on that broomstick lying there
And get some wool for long black hair
I could fly up high above the ground
Casting wicked fearful spells around.
She fetched the broom and put on the wig
And grabbed Nibbles the cat who was black and big.
She called to her brother three year old Joe
“Hop on my broomstick and away we go.”
Just then a small black cloud came by
With a tittering, twittering from the sky.
Angie felt it brush softly against her ears
And a whisper said “Come with us my dears.”
The small black cloud then covered them round
And lifted them high above the ground
Nibbles, Angie and Joe sailed away on the broom
With the cloud of black witches toward the moon.
Fifty black broomsticks with fifty black cats
Long flowing hair and tall pointed hats
Laughing and screeching and jumping with glee
As they sped over mountains and rivers and sea.
Soon they came to a forest far down below
Where hundreds of black twisted trees seemed to grow
They dipped down to a clearing – a large murky glen
Filled with hundreds of witches, cackling, dancing, and then
Just as they bumped down hard on their broom
Hundreds of eerie lights lit the gloom
All the witches sat down on their cushions of stones
In front of a stage with red lanterns and bones.
In a long sparkly gown of purple and green
And a tall black pointed hat sprinkled with stars
and her hand held a wand of moonbeams from Mars.
She raised her arms and the crowd was still
Then she spoke to them in a voice loud and shrill
She said they had come to this dark forest dell
To find the most magic witch with the cleverest spell.
The competition began with shrieks and yells
As each witch had a turn to show off her spells
All sorts of magic they did for the queen
Each trying to be the best ever seen.
Then cats and dogs and big white rats
Pumpkins, mice and ugly bats
Were changed to ladies fine and fair
To princes handsome, debonair.
High leaping toads joined in the maze
And flickering flames began to blaze.
The ground became a sea of flowers
And broomsticks changed to high shining towers.
The blackened twisted trees nearby
Became jewelled archways reaching high.
The dark and gloomy forest glen
Now filled with jewels and small men.
They saw a wonderland of lights
Of colours and amazing sights
All ugly, dark and gloomy things
Were silver, gold, and sparkling rings.
“Now come on Angie. It’s our turn dear.”
A witch voice said in her ear.
“Hang on to the broomstick little Joe.
Hold Nibbles tight while we do our show.”
The broomstick came to life, and then
They swooped and soared around the glen
They somersaulted up and down
And topsy turvied like a clown.
They changed to gaudy birds of song
Swooping down with tails so long
Their feathers of gay orange and green
They perched on the stage and bowed to the queen.
They danced before her and sang so sweet
She clapped her hands and jumped to her feet.
“I do declare, they are the best.
Now change them back and let them rest.”
They sat down with a bump and that was that
Now they were Angie, Joe and Nibbles the cat.
The lights went down, and turned eerie blue
The fine ladies and princes and archways went too.
Then the cloud of black witches raised them up on their broom
They sailed up to the sky and away from the gloom
Once more over mountains and rivers and sea.
And back to their garden and the green shady tree.
“Thank you my dears,” the witchy voice said
And away swept the cloud to the blue over head.
And as the day ended, there they all sat
Just Angie and little Noe and Nibbles the cat.
© Islay Gallagher [Dannevirke]
The remaining four of her seven entries into our competition.
On the crest of a wave enjoying life’s pleasures
The Ogre called FATE laughs and seizes
All that you own and so hard worked for
Now smashed to the ground and stamped on the floor.
So the chips are down and its all over
Like the King and the Pawn go back in the box together
Where do you run, how can you recover?
In despair it seems you’re pelted with rocks.
The wily Pawn sneers, thought you were great,
Join me in the box and await your fate.
Losing a loved one dying of cancer
Lost precious souls in unforeseen disaster
Why them? why me? you cry in despair
Shake fists to heaven, God are you there?
You’re still alive, well and breathing
Don’t let FATE destroy you, rise up and defeat him
Life has its seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumn Winter
Spring beckons you and Summer gloriously brighter
Renew your visions and start again
In the race of life it’s no pain, no gain.
You’re special, unique, RISE UP! don’t stop,
The ebbing tide will change and you’ll get to the top.
NIGHT AND DAY
Moon light, silvery beams caressing earth, wooing, enveloping
her into the pearly light of another world of night,
Charming, soothing, casting her sleep dust on jangled nerves
Drawing the oceans and rivers upward in her magnetic kiss
Scurry around minding their own business.
Too soon Old Sol bids her adieu, she catches a glimpse
of sunrise enveloping earth, another day has birthed
Then sinks into her realm satisfied, pleased with what she had to do.
Old Sol floods the earth with light, painting a
kaleidoscope of colours on trees, plants,
and flowers, generating life, energy and beauty.
The clouds co-operate releasing rain and moisture as their duty.
The wind circles and blows around nature singing her own melody.
Evening and morning, night and day never ceases or comes to an end
The Great Creator sits on the circle of the earth watching men
like grasshoppers and creatures in a daze and loves them all
Ensuring they have NIGHT and DAY, evening and morning without end.
TEARING OF THE FLESH
It is so hard to release a loved one into the adult world away from home
Protected and sheltered all these years to fend for themselves,
Studying, working, striving to succeed in a future yet unknown.
I sit in the empty room, silent, see the things left behind
On the desk, on the walls, smell the perfume lingering in the air.
Then the tears fall and I breathe a prayer,
I’ve taught you all the social graces, kindness and respect
Honesty the best policy to God only accountability.
You will be fine, I’m planning for home-coming, a wonderful time
Fly free, don’t lose sight of home, secure and safe
Waiting for your return precious child of mine.
Sometimes I’m disappointed that man has reached the moon
Because I like to picture the old witch and her broom
Sailing past her swiftly on a cool starry night,
Making all the wee folk run away in fright.
How can there be moon fairies in such an ugly place
No pretty flower to sit on, no nectar there to taste
The hard moon rocks are plain to see, just what man has done
Shattered dreams of fantasy and moon struck days are gone.
No more will little children gaze up at the sky
And point with awe and wonder at the lovely moon so high
And say, “There is the old man with the sticks on his back,
He disobeyed the Law you see and now he can’t come back.”
The moon was such a mystery, beautiful and still
But now that man has gone up there, it has lost its thrill
‘Cause all I seem to think of when I look up there
Is a cold and lifeless planet, horrible and bare.
© Nancy Nina Byrne [Woodville]
The first three of her seven entries into our poetry competition:
FEEDING BOBBY CALVES
It’s that time again, dairy cows are birthing
Calves are dropping night and morning
Feeding new born calves is one mad race
Tired and cold the farmer’s wife
Looks tenderly at each confused face.
She grips a calf between her legs and thighs
Gently pushes his face into the warm fluid
Her milky fingers submerged, touching his mouth.
She smiles as each one learns to suck
And quickly guides it to false udders.
The last victim struggles, wanting mother
She pleads and coaxes the little one
Refusing to follow what the others have done.
In sheer relief she straightens her back
Daylight has gone, how quickly its flown
She muses as she trudges home
Each little calf has a character its own
Her mother heart softens for calf and mother
It must be agony missing each other.
Think positive now and just don’t worry
Like the seasons that come and go
Calving time and bobby calves
Just one of them in the yearly flow of
Birthing, growing, living and dying
But I guess I’m human and do feel sorry
For little bobby calves and their destiny.
IS THERE A POET IN YOU?
There is a poet or poem in everyone waiting to be released
in song, dance, love, laughter, thought, word, sorrow even disaster,
Life is a kaleidoscope of colours and passions, longings
for true love and empathy when things go wrong.
Trouble strikes family and friends and all seem lost in
the tapestry of life, it’s not the end!
Deep down in the living soul springs a search for faith and hope
to lift them above the shadows
The fight for survival and success that surely
TIME the great healer softens and shares the load.
Like a ray of sunshine in winter’s cold
A cool breeze on a summer day
The hidden poet in man comforts him in thought,
audible or written word, vocally in heartfelt song.
The poem never dies, lives on in whatever form it is expressed
Touching those walking life’s highway carrying a basket
of mixed emotions, scars that lighten but never fade away
Tokens and souvenirs, a chapter of life to tell others about some day.
Yes, there is a poet or poem in you, waiting to be set free
To share, to bless, to comfort or to cheer.
The sound of the waves so soothing
Bare feet gripping the sand, tide receding
Piercing the morning stillness he heard
The call of the mating kikau bird
Mesmerised he stared entranced, feeling free
Red morning sun mirrored in the calm sea
Sunshine filtering through the trees
Orange hues tinting the foliage blue
Palm trees gently swayed in the breeze
The scent of white ginger flowers so sweet
In wild abandonment he began to dance
Gliding over the sand into the red water
Crystal clear spilling through his fingers
Gazing at the sky he breathed in deep
Tropical dawn the night wakes from sleep
Sun rays touching heaven kissing earth
The wonder of a new day giving birth.
© NANCY NINA BYRNE [Woodville]
THE PROBLEM SOLVERS
They both smelt gas
And thought what should we do
One lit a match
Together they should go far
You ask are they alright
I don’t know
They should be back soon
Gravity works on all of us
© John Priest [Woodville]
Another entry in our competition…
Big congratulations to Sarah Walsh for her winning poem “Rosa’s Hair”. Our judge, published poet Belinda Diepenheim, loved her poem, describing it as “ original language and premise – and fun”. Well done Sarah!
Belinda also highly commended these poems:
- “The Problem Solvers” by John Priest
- Steven Clarkson’s haiku – Great word choices.
- Muriel Cowan’s “Three’s A Crowd”
- Jeanette Shinton’s “Random Thoughts”
We received over 55 entries to the competition, a fantastic effort. Thanks to all entrants for your wonderful poems. Our library staff have enjoyed reading them, along with our blog readers.
The remaining poems will be published on our blog through Saturday and Sunday (we had SO many!) so keep your eyes open for those.