Bernie Kyle

RETRIBUTION.
BY
Bernard V. Kyle
[C 2007]


After the fray, there cometh the day
To silence all Oz, & the mockers,
For the ABs & Ferns, have both taken turns,
And triumphed all over the 'Ockers.'

Now coming up, there looms a World Cup,
When poor play, just wont have the clout,
For no prize, is awarded for second,
And that's, what it's now, all about.

So gird up the loins, protect, chest & groins,
And with support from pakeha, whanau, & iwi
Play to your best, when put to the Test,
And give them a touch, of real Kiwi.

Jan Oskar Hansen

Yesteryear’s Summer

Rusty, padlocked gate, trees in the big garden need
trimming, on a swing, two rusty chains, it lacks
a seat. Autumn and there are apples unpicked on
the ground, fine rain has fallen, drops drips from
trees and glint on tall grass. Soon winter storms
will come rattle the gate and the derelict house-
unlit- will have to shoulder nature’s irate violence.

If you close your eyes and listen, can you not hear
laughter and see a child sitting on the swing?
Ice-tea and lemonade anyone? July 1956, no one
knew this was their last, a family was about to be
overtaken by life; ruin and scandals, “got what they
deserved,” the hateful said. The child, on the swing
disappears in the mist, rolling in from the sea. .

Jason J Page

Is Nothing Sacred

Three years and no phone call
let alone a knock on my door
I am lonely still
right down to the floor
For me it doesnt exist
thats why I didnt answer a brewers call
for me it means nothing at all
A sleeper I remain
working for sombre
I believe not anymore
she changes her view
my history no more

Nicholas Alexander

History Walk

the walk through the hallows saw storms brought
into gardens that tore limbs from living wood
ancients as large as buildings now lay on fences
cordoned off with tape to keep the public safe
from its own curiousity

when the mess was cleared what was missing
now relied upon memory except for the tree
that was cleaved clean in two. Its left side
was torn asunder by the terrible winds

its right side stood and watched its heart exposed
and the giant Totara that had grown from
a stump from the forgotten ages
perhaps two hundred rings and its entire
root structure lifted history lost

Gmail - Poetry submission

THE STORM.

By

Bernard V. Kyle.

[C] 2006

It's a threatening, grey, winter's day,
There's that leaking, window pane,
The gale is screaming,on its way,
And flinging, sheets of rain,

The trees bend forth, and back & forth,
The leaves, fly out of sight,
There's not one bird, seen, or heard,
Contesting, Nature's might.

The deluge seems, to never end,

The threat of flood, abounds,

So farmers haste, to move their stock,

Up to, the higher grounds.

The sea becomes, a foaming mass,
Waves race, before the storm,
While we just stay , & scan the scene,
And thank God, we're dry & warm.

But thoughts go forth to travellers all,
And those , upon the sea,
We trust good fortune's guided them,
To some place, of great safety.

The lightning sets, the sky alight,
Loud thunder's, close behind,
How near that last strike must have been,
Engages, every mind.

For in the path, of Nature's wrath,
With the chaos, seen this day,
The call is there, for care, & Prayer,
Till this storm, is on its away.

Scoop: Poetry in the city

Scoop: Poetry in the city

Bernard Kyle

You Win Some..... !
By
Bernard V. Kyle.
[C] 2007

There's a state of National mourning,
In response, to the grief and the woe,
For the ''Auld Mug'' is now but a mem'ry,
And that All Black loss, was a blow.

Now ''Old Nick,'' & mischance, had colluded,
And joined, in an unholy pact,
While Murph' & his Law, had come to the fore,
And hastened, to get in, on the act.

Yet one should recall, that despite, ruck & maul,
With no matter, the tears, and the yearning,
Though one be forlorn, the day will still dawn,
And the jolly old world, keeps a'turning.

So Please, don't remain, too downhearted,
Take pride, in achievements, to date,
For this Land, with just four million people,
Punches right out of its weight...

Jason J Page

Juan’s Anthem

“They” asked him to do
It
His homeland unsafe
Our haven here
He felt “impolite”

He was an import
But one of our best
And he had a gift

With me
He killed two birds
With one stone

All art is beautiful
All art is a gift
Art is the creation
Of what makes us tick

The words of a Nation

has all played a part in this

a long time coming
Let Me have My GIFT

COPYRIGHT 23rd June 2007

Bernard Kyle

A REQUIEM FOR A BOAT.

Lost Sunday 5th March 1995, America's Cup, San Diego.

[ with update 15th February 2003 ]

[C] Bernard V. Kyle , 2003.

"Well Bugger me," The Kiwi said,
The Ocker looked askance,
The Pom Sat up and stared ahead,
And the Yank, just did a Dance .

The Kiwi stroked a stubbled chin,
The Ocker didn't cry,
The Pom just had another can,
While the Yankee said, "Bye Bye."

Now this was not a pretty sight,
Upon the mighty Main,
A good ship going to her doom,
Where many Ships have lain.

For with broken back, alas alack,
That Aussie boat did go,
To see old Davy Jones & Co,
In his Locker, down below.

But the Crew all lived, to sail again,
For the Land, of the Young and Free,
By pulling digit, P D Q
And diving in the sea..!

Now Kiwis wept, and barely slept,
To see a sight so tragic,
But fate will have a trick in store,
For that Kiwi boat, "Black Magic."

Update America's Cup, Auckland N.Z.,
15th & 28th February, 2003.

Now Murphy's law, can sure apply,
To make one scowl, or even cry,
For you saw that Kiwi, with his bucket,
Oh 'Bloody Hell,' and 'Goddam stuff it .'
[there's a better rhyme !]

Now I've said before, in sport it's clear,
One day you'll win, and buy the beer,
Then comes the day, the mast gets busted,
Yep, the whole damn thing, just turns to custard !

So it's some day up, and some day down,
When that cheeky smile, becomes the frown,
But whate'er befalls, in that sporting quest,
You can't do more, than do your best.

And after all, you win, - you lose,
You're 'Cock A Hoop' - or got the blues,
But in days ahead, a few, not more,
You may hope to God, they forget the Score !

[Go, The Black Boat...]

Nicholas Alexander

Matriarch


Have we always got to do what we are told? she mutters
as this wind tugged our memory like a sheet in a tornado
and this is something we think we lose
but she left a story behind
that famous past is recorded

Our mothers were taken to safety
while blitz burnt life from the eyes of Europe
they found comfort in the kindness of strangers
as the bombs dropped, children were protected

Her world was burned but she was not
She learned with love in a world of hate
and from this we were all borne
children playing in the garden
watched over by a mother who knew

with our fragile selves exposed
we sense her pointing finger at
our shortcomings
summed in a gesture

Her love leads us to pathways
go down them with mischief in your eye

Nicholas Alexander

Lost Pearl

When she went, she left behind her family of six
Her blanket and bed she lay on for seven years

Old Bentley slept on the well worn spot
and her books lay open in the bright sunlight

but her pearl brooch was nowhere to be seen
Something strong she could take over the end

a grasped for thing that stayed with her
like her accent or that way of looking at you

Bernard Kyle

Ah, FRIDAY !

By

Bernard V Kyle
[C] 2005

This week's been somewhat unpleasant,
With great effort & little to gain,
Nothing's gone right in the workhouse,
So I'm hoping that I stay sane.
My Partner has gone & got stroppy,
And I'm likely to get sacked from my job,
The rates have come due & the insurance too,
So I could certainly use a few bob,
But the weekend is nearly upon us,
Then I'll switch off the phone & play deaf,
And I'll get me a brew & have one or two,
But today - it's T.G.I.F. !

Bernard Kyle

CALLING ''TIME OUT''
By B V Kyle [c] 2006


Deeds are reflective and hence the invective,
With bad mouthing & plenty of smut,
The great innuendo needs diminuendo,
In response to the Nations ''TUTT TUTT !!'

For the Country is in need of attention,
And we don't need any one finger wave,
The whole of the mob should get on with the job,
And the Beehive should learn to Behave.

Jan Oskar Hansen

The Hidden Cove.

I sit in the cove, where
the sea-foam is yellow and hard,
and lazy ripples clean
golden pebbles,
and carve a pipe;

with it I’ll blow bubbles
in the air, see them
soar as they absorb the light
till they are transparent pearls
and burst as bubbles do;

I’ll think of nothing, but
how wonderful it is
to be alive a summer day and
own a pipe that makes dreams
come true.

(from Jan Oskar Hansen's Poetry Chamber)