Life is full of colour and sound,
To such phenomena people gather around,
Easy to escape the noise I’ve found,
But rainbow products just confound,
Life has air and acres of ground,
With grass and trees in summer browned,
Creeks and rivers with fish abound,
And I love this beer I have downed,
Life has friends and people profound,
With the family cat and a loving hound,
A wife and children love renowned,
And I love this beer I have downed.

And there you sat, contemplating that leap,
From atop a bridge so high,
City lights beyond beckoned you to come back,
But you believed you could fly
All you said was that you loved her,
She found your interpretation confusing,
A friendship now totally ruined,
But you are prepared to die for your own fault,
She intends to live her life.

Look beneath the footpath,
And tell me what you see,
Do you see the earth as it was?
I mean, how it used to be?

Stand still for this moment,
And take a little time,
For just a quick glance around you,
If you think the earth is fine.

Explain to me those cigarette butts,
That plastic bottle over there,
Tell me it does not concern you,
Go on say you do not care.

And years before you trod this path,
Something green did grow,
On the very spot you are standing.
Vegetation that nature would sow.

And if you took one more step,
Where extinct animals once grazed,
Yes, just move that pile of litter,
You’ll be totally amazed.

Look at the bitumen and the concrete,
Concealing the history of earth,
Where rain did not run into gutter traps,
That devalues all it’s worth.

So look beneath the footpath,
And shed a little tear,
For all the plants and animals,
That disappeared from year to year?

A female I can’t forget,
Lives nearby,
But loves so far away, another,
I’m pondering the complications of love,
The weariness of it all,
What is the heartache, that befalls me,
For one I love so much,
No loyalty to me, she never had time,
I wipe a tear and often think,
Of a lost puppy so fine.

If not Rupert Brooke, then who,
Would maketh strong the futility of war,
A fine English son who beat fame to heaven,
Just before deserved encore!

At a sermon in St Paul’s,
A genius exposed to rapturous applause,
A soldier and a lover, an Englishman,
Blood poisoning one of his tragic flaws.

Sadly, Diggers gone to heaven,
Whilst the possum purveys the wall,
And Trev’s still standing in the Red Square,
Often getting higher, than the hedge is tall.

The home brew is still cooling,
Efficiently below a bench upon the floor,
And as quick as Trev will bottle it,
He seems to drink much more.

The old brown car is nervously waiting,
Poised, pondering in the drive,
Will it be an easy trip to the meat works?
Or a challenge, to keep the boss alive?

It’s a special place the Red Square,
You must find time to wander in,
And have a home brew with good ole ’Trev,
As well as all his kin.

Let that mind of yours be loose,
Pick up the conversation from here,
Sit back; crack up if you wish,
But together lets have a beer.

Life’s not all that bad, young lad,
Why are you feeling drear?
And your girlfriend is anorexic,
Perhaps that is your fear.

Your Mother raised you well I thought,
But my absence has paid a toll,
You were obviously struggling my boy,
When I thought you were on a roll.

So where to from here lad,
You’ve got excess baggage to burn,
Maybe I can help you big time,
If you just take the time to learn.

Dads are mighty special son,
They can help to lighten the load,
When their boy is sad and lonely,
It’s an already traveled road.

One doesn’t reach this age,
Without having already felt your pain,
And that’s why dads are here for you,
Through the sunshine and the rain.

There’s an infamous bloke from Maketu,
Who occasionally drives too far?
On rare excursions from the Red Square,
In his equally infamous old car.

Once upon a hapless trip,
He displayed to me his skill,
And I very quickly realised,
“Oh Dear” I have not left a will.

Traveling atop the nature strip,
Traffic lanes flanking left and right,
White knuckle and stage fright nervous,
I pondered my sanity that night.

Would it be wise to use the bitumen?
Came my thoughtfully deft question,
And when he sped up someone’s drive,
I made a fairly rude suggestion.

“No worries” mate, he said,
Needn’t panic Bro,
Destination just around the corner,
Reverse and here we go.

Trev, I said nervously,
I’d really rather walk,
And before I bloody knew it,
He missed another fork.

This could have been America,
As we dominated the right,
I sat shaken, ashen and terrified,
Whilst other’s swerved in fright.

Then out aloud I heard the words,
“Hey Bro” we’re here!
Let’s find a parking space,
Then go in and have a beer.

But when he missed the driveway,
And without so much as a blink,
Sharp turn right across the strip,
Then turned and gave a wink.

Finally stopped and safe again,
I offered the Lord a shout,
My only trip in the old brown car,
And my prayers had all run out.

You did not get to meet Arnold,
My wonderful green tree frog,
Befriended him in Queensland I did,
When we shared a sodden log.

When I stood up from my seat,
On that rain forest walk,
Arnold seem to look at me sadly,
I thought, If only he could talk.

He never took offence,
That I laid him on my palm,
And when I tried to place him back again,
He jumped upon my arm.

The hushed voice that I used,
To make him feel ok,
Seemed to have a calming effect,
He wouldn’t go away.

He challenged my love for him,
But I knew he was just a frog,
For I couldn’t keep him as a pet,
As you would a dog.

I placed him high up in the tree,
Self assured that he was home,
Insects to whet his appetite,
And moist branches for him to roam.

He disappeared so quickly,
Into a sea of brilliant green,
That I felt so good I had helped,
This gentle amphibian live his dream.

For years I’ve thought about Arnold,
Contemplating chances he must take,
To live a long and happy life,
And with luck, avoid a hungry snake

Fairly happy with his lot,
And least likely to complain,
It’s that eccentric man from Maketu,
Who makes home brew sweet as rain?

With an office down the yard,
Ocean views from the hill,
His Red Square guest centre,
Is a tourist spot to kill?

Tobacco plants dance in the breeze,
In a garden tilled so well,
And although not lung friendly,
The leaves are nice to smell.

Facilities that match the Hilton,
On the pleasant side of rough,
But at least it’s all there,
You just have to do it tough.

And the company is fantastic,
You’ll probably meet some kin,
And get to have a drink with Trev,
Relax, have a win.

The Red Square is famous,
Best plot in the land,
A famous New Zealand landmark,
Where life is just so grand.