Auckland Poetry

I’ve always had a thing about punk garage bands.
My best friend at age six was Benji Matteucci, he had older brothers and sisters. They have American and Chilean heritage. The older siblings of Benji use to give us pocket money to run to the dairy. Most of the time it was for their tobacco or cigarettes. It was back in the day when a 6 year old could still buy cigarettes. The older siblings were like a type of Spanish mafia, they had outrageous haircuts, wore trench coats, smoked and drank
One of the older brothers got expelled from his school for taking a 38 calibre hand gun to class.
Back then I thought they were pretty cool I still think so now. It was the 1970’s and Punk Rock was exploding over the planet. A band called the Sex Pistols had started a new fashion. Benjis older brothers started a band, they practiced in the family garage.
One day Benji and I were chasing each other through the garage, Benjis dad Juan grabbed me aside and said I want to give you a “music lesson”. He took me to the drum set and showed me a series of ones and twos using one hand. He then gave me the drum sticks and told me to have ago, I took the drum sticks from him and tried the same with a drum stick in each hand. He angrily took my left drum stick and put them both in my right hand
This happened about three times he made me remember it using my right hand. I knew Juan had a career in music but I didn’t know what he did exactly. The first day I meet Juan he told me he was a conductor and he showed me how I should hold the baton and mentioned about how it was also the way to hold a glass of wine. When I got older and started to appreciate music more I was always fonder of the Punk genre when I turned 20 I started going to bars and gigs and by age 25 I was involved with the POD niteclub a music venue playing predominately alternative music, hence I was associating with many muso’s. I never played or created any music but I was defiantly in the scene. The lifestyle I was living then caused me to get sick I had had a dysfunctional sleeping disorder since I was a baby and by this stage it was becoming a problem in my adult life.

After a stay in hospital I found myself at Simon’s place, Simon was a skinhead he was in a band and had a drum set in his lounge. He had many visitors mostly muso’s everybody who was there were talking not direct to me but about me the theme of their conversation was about me doing something musical this was not my intention but it was what they were talking about. Simon’s band had a practice one night and their conversation was the same. When they left I was thinking about what they were talking about I had forgotten about Juan but I sat on the couch and traced back through my life thinking of all the times I had done something musical which didn’t amount to much. I sat there and traced back through my life until I remembered the only music lesson I had ever had the one from Juan. I sat at Simon’s drums and tried to play the series of ones and twos but I had forgotten about my right hand and was trying to play the routine with two. I could not get the routine I sat there for about 40 minutes trying I stopped and thought deep until I remembered what Juan did I put both sticks in my right hand and got the routine instant this is when I dropped the punch line “in my sleep” I had the routine simple but only using my right hand not both. Flashes of nostalgia filled my head it was then I realized just how important Juan was and what he had done and what it meant to me, for the first time in my life I had an inclination of who I was it was at that point I broke down and cried.

It starts by sitting in its allocated slot.
Then pushed into the inside of the carriage.
It spins and spins in its berthed slot.
It has encrypted data saved to its edge.
The drive of the motor engages its data.
The laser reads what secrets are held on the device.
The encryption flows through to the wired speakers
And out comes music it fills the void of empty solace.
The CD plays song after song, melodies not too long.
One by one till all gone.
When it’s finished its time for a new one,
Eject the old and in with the new.
Start the process again like something blue.

She reminds me of somebody I grew up with. To tell the truth she is a dead ringer for that object of my affection. My childhood friend is older now but this girl at work is a younger image of her. I’ve been spying and stutter to think what she would say if she new what I mean. She’s very attractive and I’m keen. But yes I know I’m a little green.
I ponder the courage to speak I hope it doesn’t come out as a squeak. I’m really attracted to her I just need to show her how much. There is a line from a song “if you can’t be with the one that you love, love the one that you are with” that seems to sum up my situation. I let go of the hopes of an arranged marriage and embrace what is in my real living world. She is an excellent example of what I need and can help me get to the next step where I need to be. I am the “alpha male” type and I find it easier to bleed. So today a new born need is coming from within to find my future partner that’s what I need. I am a co-dependent person I work and perform better as two, I need a friend and lover she’s compatible indeed. So my dear wife I ask in need will you ever forgive me for what could be.

Sound is at its best when in the form of music
Beats, rifts, melodies and tunes
I love all music in what ever form
Rhythms of music stir my moods
It leave’s me elevated when I’ve been listening to tunes.

Don’t get me wrong I have a day job
No music in my day job though
It makes me sad
A job in music would make me glad.

I must tell you though
There is a party going on in my head
It’s what I see when the lights gone dead
It’s not darkness but colours instead
Combined with music is an excellent thread
I express it when I’m in bed
Probably something I will do till I’m dead
Twisting, shaking moving to the beat
Sleep and slumber music is the engine
It must be time to do this on my feet
Bring on the crowd it will be sweet
The colours are electric especially with beats
An audience I will greet, singing and dancing
I’m a one man show, even with my devils glow
Some how I need to graduate this show
Tell them I love them I hope she knows.

Waiting patiently,
Thunder is powerful.
Its teaming a stream of rain,
I sit under cover smoking a cigarette.
Flashs of thunder light my skin.
Its almost time to go.
The target should be ready.
I have the tools to do the job.
I self-talk the plan,
I must go straight in and straight out,
Cant get caught, remember the gloves.
An instrument of death I have learnt to be.
One two three time to go time to speed
I walk straight up Queen st with my head facing the ground on the right hand side
I turn left into Fort st and pace to the bottom of the stairs I got followed from one summers night.
I stand straight facing the street and raise my arm diagonally right
Pistol in hand I scan from right to left
“Thump Thump” target hit twice!
I turn to my left and walk further down Fort st
I light a cigarette as I am walking
I turn and stare into the camera and as I flick the cigarette I give “the Bird”.
That’s the signature, I turn and walk the rest of Fort st with my head facing the ground
There is a taxi waiting for me its time to go home.

Like a lovers quarrel
That never gets settled
Steam suppressed
It’s the lover’s bequest

Our fires entwine
Just like blood red wine
I am the panther and I wait
You are the flower
A gorgeous stake
Like a magnificent country
In your majestic garden
You are queen of this nation
I trust your decision
I don’t understand why
Still seems to bring a tear though
Sometimes to my eye
A breath is all it takes
Time ticks by
And I forget the mistakes
Your still not here
What would it take?

If there’s union
May our heads never hit the pillow
Without resolved words of love and hate
I think you’re beautiful
How about being my mate

12:23am 20/10/2007

Inky Pinky Pooh
Honey I still love you.
You’re a woven ream
Satisfying all my Dreams
A subject constantly on my mind
It eats away at my time.
When can you be mine?
If it be true, put on your shoes
Nothing more to excuse
For we have nothing more to lose.

Music is fluid
It comes and goes
The chameleon shade
Near a fruit that’s always ripening.

I love it
I listen as often I can
Music my greatest love of the land.

Music is fluid
Cd, radio, mp3 and FM
Any format it’s like liquid
That always flows from the top of the fountain
Moving, oozing always to a constant beat.

It scribbles and dribbles the day throughout
Sheets of paper encrypted with notes and symbols
Someone’s message no doubt
It’s the fax machine’s last century clout.
Ring Ring there it goes again
It’s for Jenny in accounts
It’s the man who sells trout.
Jim’s on-line working all day
He answers the phone sounding happy and gay
Jim’s in sales, sales make his day.
The more calls he takes the more he makes
Jim works hard for this pay
Many phone calls make his day.
When he gets a fax call he no longer sounds gay
You can hear him screeching across the bay.
Ring Ring there it goes again
“That bloody fax machine,” Jim is turning gray.
I ask Jenny why she faxes him all day,
He can’t answer his sales that way.
“Jenny how many times do you do that each day?”
She said it depends if Jim has been naughty or nice.
Some days she rolls the dice that’s the number of times
She will spike his device.
Funny to watch Jenny’s little game
Faxing Jim every day.

Through two doors
The graveyard shift
Eleven till seven
It’s something to care for
The end of night
The beginning of day
The shinning bright light
Of another summer’s day
Arriving home after
A solid day’s pay
Sleep and slumber
First I must pray
At least I’ve still got
Some where to stay.

Tama and his mates got raided
It came without warning
An IRA type of war planned
Here in our precious land.

Tama and his mates got busted
No body snuffed it
Body count none
When was this begun?

Tama and his mates got snapped
Road blocks, check points,
Assassins manned the gate.
Is this really a terrorist state?

Tama and his mates got caught
By the strong arm of the law
Come on Judge
This was a mistake
Free Tama Iti, for everyone’s sake.

My Boss’s are probably wondering why I don’t speak
How can I tell them it’s to do with my sleep?
I’m Popeye the sailor man
Sailing all day
Rolling with the high seas searching
How can I tell them it’s kind of neat?
Secretly dancing to a hidden riff
This boat sometimes drifts
Port, starboard, oh my God it’s this
How can I tell them it works for me?
I am going to get down on one knee
I sometimes wonder how that will be
Hey boss I took one of these
How can I tell them what I am?
They won’t ever believe
Make a scapegoat of me
Out the door is where I would be
How can I tell them it’s only little ole me.

Something happened to me when I heard the news the other day
This country has a serious social problem
What has become of our state?
All the drunken boxers and fighters, who hate,
Too much death and injury inflicted
Casualties animate
Our roads our schools our homes our workplaces
Come on NZ we are better than that
Why can’t we get on as if we were all mates?

There is no such thing as an ugly woman
Beautiful curvaceous of all types and sizes
Their walk and talk
Holds me to ransom
I yearn for one to hold my hand
Hunger cringes due to starvation
On goes life and still no salvation
Like the handshake
Between one life time and another
Our seed to pass on
I think its time for Game on
I will deliver under the spotlight
It should be good on the night
For your love it will be a sight
Finally I will make things right

I glanced towards his face
Tumble weeds drifted by
He looked older than before
He’d aged like his brother
His face was drawn
He said my name
I did not recognized him at first
But then the memories flooded back
I asked where he had been.
“Porridge” was the state
It showed in his face
This friend an institutionalized statistic now
Not the fresh faced school boy he once was
I asked him how he got there
“Stupid thing” he replied “I kept getting caught”
We sat down on the bench and shared a cigarette
He explained how he had lost his wife, his children
His past had dissolved within
Yes a statistic now
For him now it is too late
Prison cost him his fate.

NZ Police have discovered a Terrorist cell
Come on! Like the cops couldn’t tell
It’s been happening for years
Why now? All of a sudden something smells
How organized is this Terrorist cell?
Are they going to make out lives a living hell?
Somebody in this cell let the secret go,
Led to discovery of this operating cell.
What kind of weaponry do they have?
Are they qualified to misbehave?
They are not any person’s slave,
Just people with a misguided way
New Zealand is not under threat,
The fact is too many people found out.

Through a candle’s essence
Crimson borders soothe the edge
Pulsating to the beat
The sounds dance on the eyelid
The visions a striking purple
Equally green too
But why the film of the photograph
Capturing inside the minds eye
At time opaque
Even transparent
But always certain
Creation imprisoned
Freedom is a memory
This place can be hell
Convalescence will be
When she finally presides next to me.

8:14am 13th Oct 2007