Worst Scenario Case.
I was shaving my legs in the bathroom
When visitors decided to come,
I had to stop what I was doing
As a result I only shaved one!
I’m flying out early tomorrow
What’s the worst scenario case,
The plane falls down, out of the sky
There are bodies all over the place!
They pick up all of the pieces
“But these two can’t be a pair,
This ones shaved as smooth as silk
The other ones covered in hair!”
So don’t worry about visitors coming
Make sure that you shave the two,
Don’t fly in a plane with one leg done
If you want both of them buried with you!
© C. M. Beale
When I was young I’d lots of plans
buzzing through my head.
of all the things I‘d do in life….
I had 6 kids instead!
And when the times were really tough
And I ‘d have no time for me
I ‘d ask myself did I do right?
But then I’d look and see.
The special people my kids are.
their honest upright lives.
The pleasure they return to me.
I know that I lived right.
Because you see my kids are not
just my children dear.
There are my friends and counsellors,
my highly valued peers.
They challenge and support me.
Motivate, inspire and cheer.
Yes, they return a hundred fold
The time they took to rear.
Because of all the lessons learnt.
and the huge responsibility
of influencing peoples’ lives.
I’ve grown my own ability!
Nutrition, gardening, children’s play,
education and philosophy.
They’ve challenged me and helped me grow.
Enriched my life tremendously.
And I know they’ll have their influence
That will weave into our history.
Through the people that they meet…
Their own unique biography.
My challenge to my children
And what I need to hear….
Is to remember that relationships
Are the things to hold most dear.
In our modern fast paced world
Where it gets harder to connect.
I believe its family love
We need to work on and protect.
Families are there for us
through all the years we live.
So,treasure well those special ties
that blood and marriage give.
Birthdays and anniversaries
Are important to remember.
But without honesty and the ”little stuff”
We can rent the bonds asunder.
The little stuff of understanding
our differences and our views.
The ”little stuff’ of acceptance
of the way of life we choose.
The little stuff’ of understanding
of each other’s faults and ways.
The ‘little stuff’ of acceptance
if we ever go astray.
Remembering it’s the ‘little stuff
That sends a message loud and clear.
The smile, the hug, the tenderness
We give throughout the year.
With families, we shouldn’t need
To wear our social mask.
And try to pretend were someone else
When its such an onerous task.
With the people that we love
and who know us through and through.
Let’s cultivate a space that’s safe
To be vulnerable and true.
Let’s tend the fire of friendship
with loving energy and concern
Knowing that every fire goes out
when no one fanes the flame.
© Lyn Charlton
‘Left to their own devices’
Child eyes blank
Expressionless faces pale
Outside
Swings sit empty
Birds tweet
More than 140 characters
As clouds chase them across the sky.
If you told them to lay in a field of flowers
Eventually
They would make flower angels on the ground
Anchored by
Earth. The simple smell of nectar
We would all look up
Squinting at bunny shaped clouds
But
Left to their own devices
They choose screens
Brash, shiny
Alternative reality
Youtubers made famous
For opening blind bags
Shrieking not singing.
Left to their own
De vices…
Vices win
Tell them to
Go outside.
© Vicki Anderson
Roots
I am from
Bob Marley singing
louder than dad’s borrowed lawn mower
that chewed up and spat out
our bit of land in the east.
Saturday afternoon
middle of summer
and I am raised on mud cakes
and electric shocks from the trampoline.
lemon and rusty swingset,
dad built the back deck
but through my eyes it was a shipwreck
and a ‘Lost’ inspired island
my imagination ran as wild
as the weeds I picked and brewed in potions
by the backdoor where mum had built me a shelf
out of two buckets and a plank of wood
for all my concoctions
and I was so proud
I entitled it W.C for Witch Craft
no wonder my sisters entitled me
“The weird one”.
but I embraced it
bare feet, black lace
the sun melts as dad moves on to tearing apart the car
and I’ve dragged my little sister far
enough away from the T.V to join me
in a game of Spy Kids
or tea parties on the washing basket
with lots of sugar and no milk
sitting in our hand-me-down clothing,
surrounded by second hand appliances and motor parts
and the King of the Yard
My dad
this is where I trace back
this is where I’m from
a time when my backyard
wasn’t a junk yard
but a wonderland
and Bob Marley sang
throughout it.
© Moana Jayne
The Great Sacrifice
Strong and true
From the farm
For honour and duty,
His parents knew,
He would follow their eldest two
From the land at home,
So long a fine keeper,
To fields of fire,
Barbed wire and mire,
Now the grim reaper
Mates new and old,
Brothers’ in arms,
Forever scarred by shells,
A living hell
Those who remain,
At the eleventh hour,
Say their prayers,
For the heroes laid to rest,
Our youthful best
Strong and true
Statues stand
Across our land,
The flags fly free.
© Phillip Scott 2017
Unconditional
I fell in love with the real you, the Angel inside your heart.
The part of you that could do no wrong-Indescribable light of God-sung songs to my soul and quickly we became one.
But too soon the benevolent light stepped aside, knowing darkness was to take its turn, and to its poison I succumbed.
It tore through me, and scattered scars across my heart.
But I fell in love with the real you, the Angel inside your heart, that is who I choose to remember, that sacred soul I loved from the very start.
© Nikki Collett
Ode to a Wet Afternoon
So here I am, and you have come again
Wet afternoon; and I so welcome you –
You’re timeless, always bringing with you rain,
grey clouds, and heavy skies, no sign of blue.
You wash away the dust and factory fumes.
You cleanse our world of grime and clammy heat.
You always come with water, sometimes thunder
Which beats aloud defiant drummers’ tunes,
with sparks of lightning fireworks can’t beat.
And me? I sit here, I admire, and I wonder.
I wonder how you know when you are needed.
You disregard the seasons, time or place,
weather forecasts people have not heeded.
But here I am, admiring what I face.
I sit here by my window, looking out
and listening to the sounds of you, at work,
refreshing all that grows out in the gully.
If I peer down, I see our water spout
gushing with your rain into the dirt
and mixing, making everything muddy.
I raise my eyes, and look across the space
and over there are flecks of gleaming gold –
You’ve washed the gorse and broom flowers’ faces,
as to your shower their heads they turn and hold.
Down my slope, ponga, pu-riri leaves now shine
like emerald, newly freshened where they grow.
They are the brightest green I’ve ever seen.
So thank you for this view, it’s only mine.
You’ve helped them to display their greatest show.
My heart is full of love for this, your scene.
The traffic sounds are muffled by the air
and by the music of your welcome rain
carried by the heavy clouds you bear,
tap-tapping on my open window pane.
Through the open window comes the song
of tuis, who have come to nectar sweet.
Wings they flutter, and they chuckle, sing.
You know this is the place they do belong.
here in this open space where they can eat
their fill, and mate and nest, and spread their wings.
And I? Again, I thank you – just for this…
A wet afternoon, some quiet, time for peace.
My spirit soars to feel such luscious bliss.
I wish this afternoon could never cease.
You take a rest, let sun beams break through clouds.
Sparkling di’monds from the rain drops shine
in manuka. See the show of shining stars of white?
Your work is done. You leave – but do be proud
of this gift you’ve offered. Its memory, mine.
And I shall dream of it for many nights.
© Lynne McAennyl
Joy in Thoughts Black On White
William James saw the mind as a black box.
Mother said my mind was filled with wind socks.
Who was right? Open sesame, knock knock.
Oh, look, thoughts black and white
those of certainty posing as right
and those floating around, just might
lack substance in the day, but at night
form shadows, unearthing grave fright.
Mind traveller, that’s me in my head campsite
eating brown bread, cheese and marmite
thinking of taking a break. They call it respite.
Curiosity the friend of my head invites
thoughts of joy and understanding, seeing the light
from unravelling synapses for neurons to take flight.
I need a break, this is doing in my head home site
making a thought list lacking eloquent bite.
What could I expect from thoughts ghost like,
maybe a big can with words inscribed, dynamite.
Now that would be finite.
Mother with her look of frostbite
would put out the fire of my appetite
and suggest I be more polite
with those matches. Made the cat rewrite
the direction it was going. Took to the air like
a kite.
William James, philosopher, psychologist, physician
looking in black boxes doing some fishing
would probably agree, something was missing
in my black box of wind socks. He died 1910 reminiscing.
© John Priest
When I was 22, I read my first Stephen King book. The title was “It”. And it absolutely terrified me. I remember reading late into the night in a desperate race to reach the end, as surely the characters would triumph and it would be OK? Because it certainly wasn’t OK at the bit I was up to! By the end I was apprehensive about drains and plug holes, dubious about clowns, and never wanted to read a King book again (but I did). I was also disappointed in the ending, which didn’t seem to reach the climatic conclusion I was expecting.
Anyway, as the new ‘It’ movie is releasing later in 2017, I thought I would re-read ‘It’. So I girded my loins, stopped up the plug holes and dove in. And you know what? It didn’t scare me at all. In fact, I saw it in a completely different light, re-reading it over 20 years later.
Not being petrified allowed me to appreciate the skilful writing of the author. The characters burst into life with greater complexity, and I could imagine the story more fully because it wasn’t blurred by a layer of fear. And most surprisingly, the parts of the story that I remembered the most – such as blood spurting up out of the bathroom sink – didn’t make so much of an impression. On second read, the horror scenes are a side-effect of Pennywise, the representation of evil, and the storyline really is more about facing fear and defeating evil with love.
I can’t believe that I didn’t recall so many dramatic and pivotal scenes, such as the 12-year-old female character choosing to lose her virginity with each of her five young male friends to cement their friendship, or a young boy’s arm being ripped off. Or the extreme elements of bullying, abuse, prejudice and racism that permeate the whole novel. And that Pennywise the Clown is some sort of metaphysical being that feeds on fear and manifests as it chooses in a way to maximise that, and has been around for millenia.
Being curious, I also rented the original ‘It’ mini-series, which might have been scary back in the day, but now felt woefully inadequate. Many scenes from the book were cut, or slightly altered, which in my opinion did not advance the story. Although the acting was fine, especially Tim Curry as It, in my opinion it didn’t do the book justice. But then, as a librarian, maybe I’m biased! Fortunately, the new movie has been split into two – the first part focuses on the characters as children and their experience with It ; the second part will focus on the characters as adults facing It once again.
I’m still not sure that I understand the deeper meaning of the novel, but at least I now realise that there is one. And whether you’re experiencing it first as a horror story, or as a novel reflecting on the nature of evil and the power of love, it’s still a really good read either way. Read It … if you’re brave enough. Dare you.
Natalie
Forest fungi
I amble
through the forest
inhaling kauri and kawakawa,
brushing fingers with
harakeke,
when my nostrils alert me
to mushrooms –
that concoction
of dank earth
and fungus.
I recall my first bite,
the assault
on my tastebuds –
atomic.
Malodorous
and acrid, like
bleached-almond-meat.
Stooping,
I see
repugnant gills
sweat
under domed caps,
amanita phalloides
lurking in deadly disguise
(standing motionless
they pose
as the
common
straw).
Spurred on
by the stench
of deceit,
my wellied foot rises.
Smoosh! Mush! Crush!
Eradicate all fungi!
But, nature resists –
dispersed spores
defend
their forest floor.
© Amy Phillips
Calling all Trivia buffs – our 9th annual Trivia Quiz is
on 6th September 2017, 6.30pm.
Team “The Four Horsemen of the Potato Chips” (Dannevirke) hold the trophy for this hotly contested event.
The 4 Horsemen of the Potato Chips
Can a team from another town win the title?
Even if you’re not competitive, it’s a whole lot of fun!
The (optional) fancy dress theme is “Bad Family Portraits”. Prizes for:
District Champion
Highest score per town
Best fancy dress
Spot prizes
Light refreshments provided.
Join in the fun!
Get your team together and register/pay by 5.30pm Friday 2nd September. Receipts available on request.
Teams can consist of up to four members, aged over 18 years.
PRINT THE ENTRY FORM HERE : Entry Form Adult Quiz 2017
You can collect an entry form from any of our libraries.
Go on.. join in the fun!
This is such a heart warming story which is actually true, making it even more special.
James Bowen is a recovering addict trying to re-build his life. Living on the streets, busking for food, he overdoses and is fortunate that his sponsor pushes to get him into sheltered accommodation. A street cat creeps through his window and changes his life. If angels exist, then I am convinced after watching this that Bob, the cat, is an angel.
A must for young adults and adults alike to watch (PG). The movie is based on the book of which we have several in our collection:
- A street cat named Bob/Bowen, James
- The world according to Bob : the further adventures of one man and his street-wise cat/Bowen, James
- Bob : no ordinary cat/Bowen, James
- A gift from Bob/Bowen, James
I rate this film 10/10. Truly inspiring, and sure to please whether you are a cat lover or not!
Pamela
Tararua Library