The Purple Lady
A welcome Christmas break.
Half a week off the turps.
Time for wine, whiskey, gin,
vodka, sambuca, ouzo and peach schnapps.
Or peach schnapps vodka ouzo combinations.
But what is the exact formula
for Helen’s secret recipe?
A really well mixed purple lady?
Sixty percent meths
to forty percent
straight orange juice.
Or meths seventy thirty
to get really spacy
before getting drunk.
Helen said getting back
on the meths
is like
‘holding hands
with a long lost lover’.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Turps and Meths – both are colloquial New Zealand kiwi
terms for methylated spirits.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Deportee (solo Demo)
In the Arrivederci Roma nightclub, bar and grill
Standing in the fiberglass ruins watching time stand still
All your troubles you confess to another faceless, backless dress
Schnapps, chianti, porter and ouzo
Pernod, vodka, sambuca--I love you so
Deportee
There's a tatty beauty talking in riddles
Rome burns down and everybody fiddles
Deportee
But a thousand dollars won't buy you a Yank, you wife, alas
There's a thousand years of history ground in this chaser glass
And how I wish that she was mine
I could have been the King in Six Eight Time
Deportee
Oh, it's a brittle charm, but she's had enough
Still she wrote her name upon his paper cuff
And you don't where to start or where to stop
All this pillow talk is nothing more than finally talking shop
When I came here tonight my pockets were overflowing
They took my return ticket without me even knowing
Well, I pray to the saints and all the martyrs
For the secret life of Frank Sinatra
But none of these things have come to pass
In America the law is a piece of ass
Deportee
So it's Schnapps, chianti, porter and ouzo
Pernod, vodka, sambuca--I love you so
Deportee
Deportee
Poor Deportee
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Deportees Club
The demo of deportee has essentially the same lyrics as this earlier version of the song
In the arrivederci roma nightclub, bar and grill
Standing in the fibreglass ruins watching time stand still
All your troubles you confess
To another faceless backless dress
Schnapps chianti porter and ouzo
Pernod vodka sambuca I love you so
Deportee
Tatty beauty talking in riddles
Rome burns down everybodys on the fiddle
Two thousand dollars for wife and some class
A thousand years drowned in a chaser glass
How I wish that she was mine
I could have been a king in six eight time
Schnapps chianti porter and ouzo
Pernod vodka sambuca I love you so
Deportee
Its a brittle charm but shes had enough
Still she wrote her number on his paper cuff
You dont know where to start or where to stop
All this pillow talk is nothing more than talking shop
When I came here tonight my pockets were overflowing
They took my return ticket without me even knowing
I pray to the saints and all the martyrs
For the secret life of frank sinatra
But none of these things have come to pass
In america the law is a piece of ass
Im a deportee
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anything To Rhyme Is This Me Can Anyone See Can I?
can anyone understand can anyone see
can anyone know me
can i even take this task
if i ever find the answer i savor it yet i will still ask
is this really it... we always think we are more then we truly are so important...
are we not? to ourselves it seems we focus too much on 'me' such a portent
that foreshadows demise
pride before the fall eh cant you see it in my eyes?
but honestly i find myself just asking away
every single day
i cant escape the question looking at the mirror or simply staring down...
is this me is this the same me they really see? how can i truly be sure?
such things just make me frown
trying to understand just trying to figure something out.. is the truth pure
right there? in the mirror is it me can i look down deep into the very depths
dare i go so far with me or anyone else to what would i find sometimes
i wish not to know others i want nothing but to know, Like an addict with meths
meths are like alcohols that cannot be drunk, i describe in rhymes,
they cannot be drunk because of added ingredients and violet dye
i hope to answer this question i do not have to die....
maybe one day someone maybe even me can see truly who is here
poem by David Knox
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Last Supper
For this meal.
Just one glass of wine.
Helps to ease Mine Mind.
Later a bottle of meths.
Will put Head to Rest.
All. One glass of wine...
Remedy. Salve. Readily... Feel... Fine...
Problems flutter... Escape... Evaporate mind...
Contentment cementment... Peace plastered... Blind...
Hands now Cease to shake.
Cut free from Inhumane human Race.
For this meal. Must always Common Sense steal.
Drunken driver. Wilt sit Soon. Behind spinning Wheel.
Just one glass of wine.
Instantaneous intoxication. Sprung sponged mind.
No more Found troubled times.
With pain Could not confine.
Upon alcoholic Joy chance wilt dine.
Until shall Hell leave Troubled sober mankind?
Any found tavern Wilt be mighty fine.
Until will. Incinerate. Sloshed. Body shine shrine?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Faith Outlawed Political Oppression
enduring political oppression
without resurrection fibre faith
this then was thorny problem
splinter within pastoral Russian
psyche splinter within rustic mind
an issue not with vodka drunk blind
but appeasement flooded loss of faith
drowned as testament escapism time
that was the point under Communism
during war devastating invasion Nazism
vodka seemed to be fluid Russian soul
without faith cry liquid vodka tears
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crying Vodka Tears
those vodka weeping
Russians
those vodka weeping
Russians
crying vodka tears
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faith In Vodka Tears
'those vodka weeping
Russians
those vodka weeping
Russians
crying vodka tears'
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in communism
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in orthodox religion
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in devastated souls
will Russian soul thaw regenerate?
socialist history of faith
under Lenin Stalin Communism
under suppressed orthodox religion
devastated souls did not regenerate...
vodka soothed Russian soul
crying vodka tears
defensive history of faith
under aggressive invasion bestial Nazism
vodka seemed to fire the Russian soul
crying vodka tears
without faith they cry vodka tears
with faith they cry vodka tears
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Peach Tree On The Southern Wall
The peach tree on the southern wall
Has basked so long beneath the sun,
Her score of peaches great and small
Bloom rosy, every one.
A peach for brothers, one for each,
A peach for you and a peach for me;
But the biggest, rosiest, downiest peach
For Grandmamma with her tea.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A woman gets thirty percent of her beauty from nature and seventy percent from makeup.
Cultural Heritage Nurtured
quality not quantity
wisdom not trivia
take time
break
new ground
for planting
to plant
acorns
wisdom
budding
enlightenment
thriving into
generations
forthcoming
growing into
forest giant
kauri or
totara
varieties in
Aoteaora
water
seedlings
well
a great forest
is grown
over generations
centuries
millennia
life
is far
to short
to make
a joe
of
yourself
generations lost
are not soon
not easily recovered
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Aotearoa (pronounced [aoˌ teaˈ roa]) is the most widely known and accepted Mā ori name for New Zealand.
Kauri an evergreen tree native to New Zealand. Latin name: Agathis australis
Totara Podocarpus totara (tō tara) is a species of podocarp endemic to New Zealand.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Drunk Weather (Life Poem)
An altitude of ale
A barometer of beer
A circulation of champagne
A depression of damassine
An equilibrium of eau de vie
A fractus of fenny
A gust of grappa
A hail of horilka
An isotherm of icewine
A jet stream of jenever
A kilopascal of kirsch
A layer of limoncello
A metamorphism of mead
A nocturnal of nuvo
An overcast of ouzo
A persistence of porter
A reaction of rakia
A storm of sake
A torrent of tequila
An updraft of unicum
A vortex of vodka
A winter of whiskey
A disaster of drink.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Sister I'm A Poet
All over this town
Yes, a low wind may blow
And i can see through everybo...
With no reason
To hide these words i feel
And no reason
To talk about the books i read
But still i do
That's 'cause i'm a ...
Sister i'm a ...
All over this town
Along this way
Outside the prison gates
I love the romance of crime
And i wonder
Does anybody feel the way i do ?
And is evil just something you are
Or something you do ?
Sister i'm a ...
Sister i'm a ...
All over this town
All over this town
They pull over
In their citroen vans
Not to shake your hand
With meths on their breaths
And you with youth on your side
A plastic bag stranded at the lights
This once was me ...
But now i'm a ...
Sister i'm a ...
All over this town ...
Oh, oh, oh
All over this town
All over this town
Oh ...
I still cannot speak french ... i am very lazy
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Train
She was waiting for the last train,
under the lamp light.
The rain drizzled
and the lamp made shadows
on a damp grey wall and as it did
ghostly figures loomed,
spookily, highlighting
the loneliness of the night.
Passing the time, she read posters
‘drink this beer, buy that car,
holiday in Spain.
She shivered, wet, tired,
no umbrella, wearing a
thin plastic Mac.
As her train pulled away,
she snuggled up inside a carriage.
Looking out of its window,
there, against the damp wall
was a tramp, dirty, ragged,
silently swigging Meths,
no coat, no train ticket,
drinking his damnation.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Growing Up Before Time
You stood outside
the ABC cinema
with Helen looking
at the framed photographs
of the stills
from the film
then showing
she clutching her doll
Battered Betty
you standing there
pointing out
the main characters
my old man said
he'd take me
to see this
on Saturday
you said
Helen rocked Betty
in her arms
I hope our child
doesn't call you
old man
she said
maybe he won't
you replied
it might be a she
Helen said
sure it might
you said
you gave Betty a look
as she hung there
in Helen's arms
you looked back
at the photo stills
putting your hands
in the pockets
of your jeans
maybe
you can take me
to the cinema
when we are older
Helen said
and we can sit
at the back
like those grown ups do
and kiss
you sensed her hand
touch your arm
and rub it up
and down
Betty moving
as Helen's arm moved
sure
you said
long as I can still see
the movie
Helen handed you Betty
and you took
your hands out
of your pockets
and held her gingerly
like she might go
crap on you
and Helen put
a hand in her pocket
and pulled out
a few coins
I might have enough
here for some fries
she said
ok
you replied
and you walked
beside Helen
along the New Kent Road
to the Neptune's fish shop
holding Battered Betty
carefully against
your cowboy shirt
the one your mother
bought you
for your birthday
the year before
Helen talked
of children's names
and you thought
of the Wild West
and cowboy games.
poem by Terry Collett
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To Escape The Voices
I wrote a dedication
to Helen with love.
A lady who proclaims
with pride
while smiling
to drink varied options.
A lady who drinks
to escape the voices.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Week On: News Coverage
Questions
of respect
perspective
videos news
coverage
was straight away
on television
in New Zealand
not even covered
bodies are shown
in Indonesian
straight into morgue
in your face detail
in full graphic horror
in New Zealand
one week on
at the moment
the earthquake
struck
two minutes silence
observed in solemn silence
throughout entire country
nation wide united in
remembrance
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hey Hey Helen
So at last youre free
Its the way you wanted it to be
And the price you pay
To become a woman of today
Is it worth the pain to see the children cry
Does it hurt when they ask for daddy
Hey hey helen
Now you live on your own
Hey hey helen
Can you make it alone
(yes you can)
So youre free at last
And beginning to forget the past
Does it make you sad
When you think about the life you ha-ha-had
But youre right, you had to take a second chance
So you fight to find your freedom
Hey hey helen
Now you live on your own
Hey hey helen
Can you make it alone
Hey hey helen (hey hey helen)
Whats the matter with you
Hey hey helen (hey hey helen)
Dont you know what to do
(yes you do)
(ahah, yes you do yes you do)
(ahah, yes you do yes you do)
Hey hey helen
Now you live on your own
Hey hey helen
Can you make it alone
Hey hey helen (hey hey helen)
Whats the matter with you
Hey hey helen (hey hey helen)
Dont you know what to do
Hey hey helen (hey hey helen)
Now you live on your own
Hey hey helen (hey hey helen)
(fade)
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Japanese Cars
I want
my money back.
I Don’t Want
a Jap death trap.
I Want To
get There and Back.
Looks Good but what’s that.
Six Foot under Potato Patch.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem reflects reported media concern with regard to vehicle safety standards, during the period of its composition in April 1991, over the safety of Japanese’s cars when crashing on New Zealand roads. Design adaptations to suit the demands of kiwi roads and driving habits solved these problems and Japanese cars soon dominated the market. Japanese vans were an even greater danger with unprotected support when rolling and were recalled and redesigned. See also ‘Responsibility In The Workforce’, ‘The Art Of Gift Giving’ and ‘The Art Of Word to gain a realistic insight into true Japanese sense and sensibility.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dire Tribe
Hello
Feel much better on hashish or efedrine
Feel much better when Im smoking a lot
Feel much better on acid or mescaline
Feel much better though somebodys not
In their kitchens and ballrooms and boardrooms and chairs
Theyd have to pop up to the ceiling for someone to get high
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing
If you really need to know, everybody cry
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing why?
Lord try and suffer this hole, try
Feel much better on meths or on windowlene
Feel much better when Ive had my line
Feel much better on amil or ketamine
Feel much better though somebodys not
When theyre hepped up and paranoid with lithium lights theyll have to drop an ebeneezer to get a first class flight, now
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing
If you really need to know, everybody cry
Everybody wants to know everybiody singing why
Lord try and suffer this hole try
Dah, da da dadada da da - kind of stuff
Feel much better on night nurse, amphetimine
Prozac is better, viagra I got
Feel much better, paractemol, a codeine
Feel much better, on heat, I get hot
With wine gums and diesel, pot noodle or fries
Id rather die from emphezima than learn to just get by, and
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing
If you really need to know, everybody cry
Everybody wants to know everybiody singing why
Lord try and suffer in this, try
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Erskine
Champagne, Schnapps and Wine;
The art of drinks to celebrate an occasion,
But do wake up to the facts before you are drunk,
And like the nakedness of your love in the bush.
From sundown to sunrise,
And with the hunger in Africa on the horizon;
But my faith will lead me on to meet Erskine my lover,
And like the sweet words of love offered as a gift.
Fresh from the barrel and straight to the mouth!
But do not expose your nakedness because of drink;
For uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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