Home > Research and Publications > Student Writing > From Nga Poupou - Our Members

Student Writing from Ngā Poupou (Literacy Aotearoa member providers)

Click on the title of the writing you wish to view.


Tell Someone who Cares Disenfranchised Juggernaut	Poetry from GM Clegg, Literacy Aotearoa Dunedin
Living with an Abusive Partner	By 'Kia Kaha', Literacy Whangarei
The Great T.A.B. Robbery	From a student at Buller Adult Reading
A Way of Thinking	Simon Bradley, Literacy Wairarapa
Go With the Flow. Use the Ink.	Student writing booklet published by Adult Learning Support [ literacynelson@xtra.co.nz ].
National Student Writing Booklet	From the Literacy Aotearoa National Planning Hui Student Writing Event

Tell someone who cares

I haven’t always been glad.
Sometimes I’ve been sad,
So sad it’s driven me insane.

I would howl at the stars,
With emotional scars,
Yes, sometimes wishing I was dead.

A reason to be
Is so hard to see
When darkness covers your sight.

You’re at home on your own
Feeling alone
Each and every night.

This pain will end -
Have faith my friend -
Light the light that is within.

For when the light’s bright
It drives out the night
And you’ll find a new day begins.

Don’t worry, don’t frown
As you travel through town
A bad day seems never to end.

But if you grin
Like you have just sinned
Don’t be surprised if you make new friends.

The light in your eyes
It hides no lies
It shows you’re well on the mend.

If you’re stuck in the house,
Then surf the net with your mouse.
Write a letter to your family and click send.

Disenfranchised

Hiding in the mountains there is a little pub.
I thought I’d drop in and have a few suds.
At the end of the bar I saw a pathetic-looking man,
Hunched over the counter clutching a beer in his hand.

I offered my name as a way to greet -
Getting a response was like pulling out teeth.
Not being put off I pulled up a seat,
Ordered a beer and waited for him to speak.

This is the tale the old man told.
More of a horror, it made blood run cold.
He leaned in close and his voice was quite hoarse.
It was about his wife, his life, and his divorce.

These stories I know always have two sides -
Both of them claiming the other one lied.
This one was different-he didn’t offer proof.
The way he told it, it had a ring of truth.

“I smoke and I drink and was never at home.
She was unfaithful ‘cause she was always alone.
Hid away money in her own bank account
For quite a few months before she threw me out.

How did that happen? I was in a hospital bed,
Double pneumonia and feeling near dead.
My wife came and visited as a matter of course
The words out of her mouth were, “I want a divorce.”

What do you say to a man twice your age?
I’ll admit that despair comes just after rage.
Trying to think as I looked down and around,
This is what I said when I looked up with a frown.

“My father left when I was just a lad.
When I got older I went looking for my dad.
Finally we met again and tried to make amends,
Honestly, when he died, we were best of friends.”

I advised, “Write a letter every Christmas
Put it in an envelope and seal it with a kiss.
Go to the store and buy a glory box.
If you’re inclined, put on sturdy locks.

Fill it up with nice little gifts,
Thinking of children that you really miss.
Don’t worry that they don’t get them here today -
Your children will come back looking one day.

Honestly, face it, you might not be around.
The way you’re drinking you’ll soon be underground.
As long as you remember the envelope and key.
Put it in a trust with your attorney.

Do you know what I’d think if I opened that box?
That mum lied to me. That you never forgot.”
The old man looked at me with quite a surprise,
“How did the young suddenly become so wise?”

I remember that day now while here with a crowd.
Best man is beside me looking real proud.
My instincts tell me to run far and hide,
While the organist plays, “Here comes the bride.”

Juggernaut

Three tons of steel, plastic rubber and glass.
Can’t take the bend ‘cause it’s going too fast.
Every corner, lamp-posts stand out like masts,
Wire rigging, like a ship from the past.

Another white cross is placed on a fence.
A message for all who have any sense.
Don’t drive too fast or you’ll end up past-tense.
Remembered by tears and sticks of incense.

I’ve walked away from a crash, I recall.
Crashing my truck, into a concrete wall.
When I think of it now, I was such a fool.
Lucky to have walked away from it at all.

Older and wiser, I now have slowed down,
And count white crosses pegged into the ground.
People going faster yell, “YOU OLD F’’N CLOWN!”
But death waits at corners, you can’t get round.

Living With an Abusive Partner

Hi my name is Kia Kaha (This is a pseudonym name). I live in Heke Street. I have lived here for 30 years. I was happily married, with 7 children, lost a set of twins, which turned my world upside down, so I started drinking ’n’ smoking cigarettes which I thought was cool, this was going to help me ease the pain. My kids watching me, what’s going through their minds, anyway you know how they talk about abuse, the hitting, punching etc.

20 years of my life was wasted living in that dark side and waking up see the light. Go to the bathroom, oh my gosh, what a mess again. Cut lip, so ugly, too sore to do anything. Can’t go anywhere, looking like a bruised black plum.

He was an angry husband. So I thought, new day, wake up and smell the roses. For myself and my kids, who comes first, the abuser or you and the kids? It was time for me to stand up and take aim, so that is what I did. I will tell you of the last happening.
Off he goes to the pub, time to get the kids out to my sister down the road. Time to cook him some food to eat, still over the stove, oh no here he comes, swearing. Yes, it’s nearly cooked, both standing at the stove, the swearing. Next thing I find myself gasping for air, stop I try and yell, at the same time I have enough energy to grab hold of the fry pan. I did it. Hot food and hot fry pan, with one hard kick.

I was gone to where my kids were, at my sister’s house. Three days later I had to go home, wow what a mess. Where was he? Gone. Wow what a mess, my sister was so angry. What’s been going on here? I thought I’d told her.

So me, my kids, and my sisters cleaned up the house and everywhere else, got my windows fixed. Yes it looks like a house. As we were on the last of the cleaning, the kids are yelling, Mum the police are here.

They wanted to know what happened, they had told me that he had gone to the police station in Whangarei to give himself up. Oh, so he should, my sister says.

Anyway he ended up in court, did 9 months in jail, which was the best break I needed. Me and my kids lived in happiness, freedom. Until he came out. I accepted his apology and so did the kids. So he had learnt a thing or two while he was away for that 9 months. We ended up going to church with my sons.

Three months later his mum came over from the Islands to stay. I ended up helping her get her ‘resident’s’ to stay in NZ. I was not going to let her go. Yes, one month later it came. She was so happy that she got her ‘resident’s’ to stay here with us, for old me. She was the only one that could talk to her son. And it did work. It was every day work, then home for him. No beer for him.

He was without alcohol for so long. But then he became a better person for me, our kids, and his mum. So I ended up going out to look for a job for me. So I was lucky, because I got in on the shut down, at Marsden Point. That job lasted for 3 months. But me and 2 other girls got to stay on. After being there for 2 years I ended my job, to be a mum again.

So everything was going well, me expecting, him going to work, kids getting big and enjoying every moment with their nani. Until he ended up going out one night and never came back till the next day. And man, did he get into trouble with his mum. He got the broom ’cross his back. But sadly, 4 years later his mum passed away.

But by then everything had changed; the lifestyle, the kids were getting older. We were getting on. But now life is good, kids got their own kids, I just love it. He is still working. We both go out together now. I was working, until I ended up in hospital with a stroke, which set me back quite bad. But hey; I thought, don’t let it get to you. I am still a bit slow, my hearing is a bit poor, so is my eyesight, but I’m doing just fine sitting here in my chair learning computers. And it’s just so cool. So look ahead and don’t linger in the past.

I thought it was too late for me. But it’s not. We are all a close family. Shame it took all the bashing, the smashing, the breaking of windows, the mess, crying, yelling, screaming and the rest to finally have a happy family. Be 31 years this April we have been married, and we have 10 grandchildren. It’s just so great walking with the mokos to the bus stop. Listening to them tell one another their own stories. It’s just so great.
COME OUT OF THE DARK AND INTO THE LIGHT. To end my worst fear; I have conquered it.

KA KITE ANO.

The Great T. A. B. Robbery

A spluttering, smothered KABOOM of an explosion sent me jumping out of my blankets and hanging onto the window ledge alongside my bed. I tried to rub away the sleep from my eyes and clear the foggy mist that seemed to be outside my window as I stared across the drive. Pound and ten shilling notes drifted through the dark mist, swirled up and down between the drive and bird aviaries and drifted into the Long Swamp as the breeze carried them off.

I sat up on my knees, still gripping the window ledge, staring out into the night, wondering what had happened. Dad had raced outside through the door beside my room. My huge dog Dusty, the guard dog of Mum and Dad’s tearooms was barking and snarling at the end of his chain. Dad let him go. I know he got someone, as he returned to dad with a bloody piece of pants leg and we heard a car screeching away, south along State Highway One.

Then I realised it was smoke, not fog, from the smell, and that I couldn’t see the back of the T.A.B. which was across the drive from my window. I was off the bed and outside like a shot, to check out what had happened. Dad came back through the smoke motes and dust, yelling at me to get back to bed, and to tell Mum to ring the police. The T.A.B. had been robbed. I raced back inside, yelling to Mum to do what he had told me. As she rushed to the phone I slid out the back door again and onto the drive, keeping to the shadows and the long grass, watching as other people from around the village came running to the T.A.B.

Pound and ten shilling notes were drifting down and landing all around me. What was that saying? Finders keepers. I started to pick notes up. By this time a crowd of neighbours had gathered around the back wall of the T.A.B. and as the smoke was clearing I could see that half the back wall was gone. I couldn’t see inside as there were too many people in the way. Dad had cordoned off the area, so people started picking up money from the road, the drive, around the bird aviaries and amongst the long grass of the swamp. I was gathering them as well.

That night seemed surreal. Torch beams cut tracks through the low-lying smoke and dust that was slowly clearing. I got my dog and tied him up so he wouldn’t bite anyone and wandered around the back, with handfuls of money piled in the front of my pyjamas. I saw dad and the police from Huntly checking things out. I waited on the back porch, watching all the excitement going on, with my pile of money stacked beside me. Finally my eyes started to betray me by sneaking shut as I leant against the wall. The wet dew which had covered my pyjamas let the cold seep in, so I stumbled off to bed with dreams in my head of the pony I would buy with all the money I had found and so carefully stacked on the porch.

When I awoke I jumped out of bed and raced to check that my saved money was still there and that it wasn’t a dream. As I rushed out to the porch I could see there was NO MONEY! It was all gone. Had it been a dream? But no, there were sheets of iron nailed over the huge hole on the back wall of the T.A.B. and all the long grass was trampled. I went to the kitchen where Dad would be having his cuppa. "Where’s my money?" I asked. "Your money?" he replied. "That was not your money. It belongs to the T.A.B.” “NO!" I cried. My dream of a pony was drifting away just as the smoke had the night before. "I found it in the grass and along the drive", I said. “So it’s mine.” When my little sister had found a five-pound note in the drive a few months before she had got to keep it. So how come what I collected was not mine? “The money wasn’t lost”, Dad explained. It turned out that the robbers had put too many explosives around the safe door and had blown the safe out the back wall.

For picking such a lot of the money up and stacking it so well I was given a pound to go into my bank account. Definitely not enough to buy a pony! I often wondered how many other people returned their piles to the police or T.A.B. One will never know.

A Way of Thinking

A way of thinking? Just like you are what you eat, you are what you think. It’s a funny old saying, you are what you eat. It's all about creating good habits that you will use to benefit you for the rest of your life. Yes I'm writing about the first real look at myself in the mirror, and asking myself some really hard questions.

I had to make a decision to live or to die.

My story starts off three years ago when I hit rock bottom. I didn't know what was wrong, I just felt like shit. I felt like a bit of old rotten wood being pummeled down the dirty swollen river of life - all the ups and downs, twists and turns of its angry, quickening out of control torrent. At that stage of my life that’s how I saw things. All dark grey and no light at the end of the tunnel. One day I woke up and couldn't get out of bed, my mental had caught up with my physical. My way of thinking had got so bad that my body just gave up. I was this thing that people called depressed. What’s that?

Mental illness, what’s that?

I wasn't seeing things I should be seeing…… and hearing things I should have been hearing…….. so how could I be mentally ill? All these questions I was asking myself and I didn't know where to start. The first thing I had to do was to admit to myself that I was sick. Yes, sick, and I had no choice in the matter. The second was that being sick meant I could get better. I didn't know how I was going to or if I could.

I found that looking at the time leading up to ground zero (rock bottom) was a good start. I looked at the events, the way I felt and the way I handled them. I came to the conclusion that my motivation to do things was anger. I had to be the best, or come first in everything. If I didn't I would beat myself up emotionally, calling myself ‘stupid’ or ‘hopeless’. This is OK now and then, but not all the time. Over a long time this way of thinking can become a habit, a bad habit, and like all bad habits very hard to break.

I found that I didn’t get depressed overnight, that I got depressed over a long period of time. Lots of little things happen, and before you can see the red flags (warning signs) you have formed bad habits.

People have asked me what depression feels like.
I say, “Have you ever lost someone that you are close to?”
They say, “Yes”.
I ask, “Could you stop the sadness - the mourning?”
And they say, “No”.

Well that’s depression in my opinion, a never ending sadness, a way of thinking, a habit, a bad habit. But looking back I know that this way of thinking was a bad habit……. and like all bad habits can be broken, just like a person going straight after being on drugs and alcohol, filled with feelings of mistrust and emptiness. It’s funny writing about drugs and alcohol and how these things affect the way you feel and handle things. If you have too much of either you can get addicted. Addicted to the way it makes you feel and think, which can end up making you feel depressed.

I found that my thought patterns had got to the stage where it was affecting everything that I did. My mind would drift off and I would start thinking about bad things and about stuff that hadn't even happened.
On the road to recovery I found that it was one day at a time. I went to the doctor and the doctor put me on anti-depressants (Prozac).

These drugs that the doc put me on knocked me for a six. I could see how they worked, you couldn't drift off thinking about bad things because you forgot. I found that I would start something, forget what I was doing and move onto something else, and move onto another thing… later finding the first thing that I started and finishing it.
I found that I needed to break these bad habits. I started putting things into place. Every time I started thinking about bad things I would try and think of happy things. This became a good habit. I had to make plans and goals to achieve and over time this became a good habit too.

Some of the most important things for recovery I found are to eat well and make sure that you have enough sleep - eight hours at least. You shouldn’t be ashamed of being depressed and you should find someone to talk to about it - counsellor, family or friend.

So in a nut shell, it’s all about retraining yourself, it’s about turning bad habits into good habits.

By Simon Bradley.

Introduction

This is a collection of works from the Men’s Writing Group at Adult Learning Support in Nelson. The group has been together for twelve two hour sessions. We have all written a number of short stories, some fact and others fiction. All of us have put our heart and soul in these written works.
This book is a celebration of our stories.

Merven Harvey

Winter

It’s early in the morning, about six thirty. It is very cold. Poke me head out the door. Frost on the roof next door. It’s winter.

I hate winter, the cold, snow, ice. The house my two boys and I are in has no insulation in it. Not nice. No leaves on the trees. My cat sleeps inside and I don’t blame her. Power bill shot through the roof this month because of winter.
People skiing, ice skating, snow covered mountains, dress up warm with gloves and hats. We have got two more months of winter left. Looking forward to summer, sun, shade, surf and pina colada.

By Merv Harvey

Morning on the Water

Setting out from the boat ramp on a glass flat ocean with a chilly nip in the air. Heading out of the northern entrance and down towards the French pass. There are already half a dozen early starters taking in the good conditions. As we approach our favourite spot we see someone has beaten us to it, we carry on passed to find another spot. Driving up close towards a large rock, the water is crystal clear and the visibility is unreal.

Once stopped we just drift with the tide slowly northwards. The first line goes over the side and within a minute the first legal fish is landed. Without too many issues we have a nice assortment of fish, mainly Blue Cod and Brim.

After an hour or so it’s time for lunch, a feed of fresh fish sandwiches, cooked on the boat. There’s not much better.

Anon.