Monthly Archives: July 2014

Just Another Hypocrite/Georgina Beyer – JR Murphy

11.   Just Another Hypocrite – Georgina Beyer

I’m the worst sort of lobbyist
According to Georgina
I’m the worst sort of lobbyist
Could the words get any meaner

This worst sort of lobbyist
Has studied and researched
This worst sort of lobbyist
Her humanity she has searched

If I’m judged cause I keep asking
Why the care for me’s so bad
If it means I keep holding leaders accountable
For abused people I’m so sad

That she thinks of me this way
She’s another brick in the violent wall
That treats me and others
As if no consequence at all

If me raging at injustice
Drives me to write and sing
Then going down in a blaze of glory
Is gunna be my thing

This worst sort of lobbyist
Can’t stand by and watch
While people damaged by abuse and trauma
Miss out on lots and lots

With nobody standing up for us
With the media acting dumb
With rehabilitation being denied us
Any wonder we rage or are numb

The irony of course
Is the more that they expose
How none of us should hurt each other
The more my hackles rise

Politics it changes you
She’s become just one of them
Georgina Beyer, transsexual
Just another hypocrite in the system

End

Wasps In The Beehive – JR Murphy

My underwear is old and ripped
My clothes were given and some are split
I’m degraded because work I don’t
Ostracised because cave I won’t

This life society forced me to live
Then turns around, says we won’t give
If you don’t work at those jobs not there
If you are hurt then we don’t care

Point and blame, ostracize and shame
Persecute degrade, discriminate invade

And it’s not just at a national level
It’s in towns and cities, down roads of gravel
It’s people not knowing one another
Focused only on what they can gather

Perhaps I smoke, perhaps I drink
Perhaps I’m brown, perhaps I’m pink
Perhaps my life till now’s been tough
Perhaps I’m sick, have had enough

I see people eating at fancy places
I see those with lots have happy faces
I see cars worth more than 10 years wages
I see biased stories in news pages

When New Zealand was in it’s finest hour
When jobs were many we had the power
Protected from the world outside
By tariffs and state we did thrive

Then the greedy came and raped us all
Took away our assets, said It’s our ball.
When the plastic came and filled our lives
When the wasps invaded the beehive

Now instead of sweet honey made
A paper trail is does invade
Our homes, our lives are empty of
A caring state of unconditional love

End

A poem I have recited under Seddon and in the streets around Wellington, also in the cells at several police stations and organised poetry events many times since I wrote it.  Have chalked it on the footpaths around Parliament and Supreme Court, as well as on the Waterfront.

There is a youtube video of it, google Wasps In The Beehive and you’ll find it.

Freedoms Denied – JR Murphy

Broke my first guitar string
Knockin on Sir Geoffry’s door
Broke my first guitar string
Singing for justice, care and more

Earned my first gold coin
Busking on heavens door
Earned my first gold coin
Singing for justice, care and more

Ascended their ivory tower
Delivered a message from heavens door
Please help me Law Commission
Please help me I implore

Why are basic freedoms denied
In this free country of mine
Why do we only aspire to freedom
When international agreements we signed

Why is there no freedom of speech
Why is freedom of expression denied
Why when I rage at injustice
Is my right to due process not applied

When I dare to make a difference
I dare to stand up for my rights
I dare to challenge the system
I refuse to give up the fights

EnD

Wrote this outside a café in Wellington the first day I had taken my guitar and new songs and busked through Wellington in protest at what was happening to me and other abused people.

Geoffry Palmer was head of the Law Commission then, I had written several letters (and made a couple of phone calls) asking for help with ACC and mental health – they told me it wasn’t their responsibility.  I went up to the Law Society and delivered another letter then went downstairs and sung outside, chalked & taped up poems about injustice and abuse.

Am still arranging the appeal of my conviction for wilful trespass of the Law Society – where I went to protest that I couldn’t get a lawyer to represent me with ACC and mental health on human rights and other issues.  The Law Society bureaucrats refuse to look me in the eye and answer my questions why I have been rejected by so many lawyers and when I am going to get the legal representation I am entitled to and desperately need to get the health care I am entitled to and desperately need.

The Law Society used the police to bully/oppress me and avoid answering my questions why I couldn’t get a lawyer.  Same tactics as ACC, Health & Disability Commission, Ombudsman, Justice Dept, ACC Disputes Tribunal, Human Rights Commission, Human Rights Tribunal.  I can prove that every phone call to police was from an agency I was begging for help from.  Dozens of times the police were sent to my house – and not all policemen are good people – my neighbours saw this, my kids.  Many times I was even more traumatised after dealing with them.  At times I have been very scared of police after a bad experience.

These days the police are not too bad, after a few formal complaints and realising what I am saying about being denied health care is true. Can’t wait to hear what the police come up with after asking ACC a few questions about why I am not getting any care when I should have 12 hours care a week.

Moving again next week – fuck I hate moving – a refugee in my own country.  I owned my first house at 24, lost everything after I was raped – what a shit country I live in. This will be the eighth house I have rented in 12 years, I have never wanted to leave any of them, I have had only one decent landlord. Every house I rented I improved and tidied, mostly the gardens/sections.  Years of taxpayers making landlords and banks rich – why not put the money into me getting a stable home, then maybe I could get better and get on with my life.

 

Ode To A Select Committee – JR Murphy

6.   Ode To A Select Committee

Two sentences was all you sent
What an embarrassing disappointment
The education and science committee
When asked for help turned out to be

The oppressive ruling classes
Least that’s the view from here
No-one to help me back to school
Or listen to my fear

So far all I can see
From political bullshit that I read
Are words with no substance of note
Just hypocrisy and greed for votes

A casualty of abuse was I
No fault of it was mine
But to be denied proper care
Is more serious a crime

Our stats for cancer of the bowel
Are reflected in your appraoch
NZ doesn’t deal with shit
They act as if a joke

If you take no responsibility
For care in education
Then you’re a catalyst for oppression
Of the most damaged in our nation

Abuse, violence and crime
The most serious social issues of our time
And yet all you can think to do
Is deny its victims what they’re due

And as my poems usually do
I’ll end by saying – FUCK YOU!
This will never end you arrogant ones
This will never end until JUSTICE REIGNS!

Never EnD

Journalists Are Maggots – JR Murphy

Journalists are maggots
That’s what I see ‘fore me
Leading us down a hell highway
Not telling the whole story

Journalists are maggots
Feeding off the puss filled sore
Created by the system
Neglecting traumatised and poor

Journalists are maggots
For blood they have a thirst
While ignoring all the evidence
Most crims were victims first

Journalists are maggots
Keep hidden those screwed  and me
And shut me down when I need a voice
Telling me there’s NO STORY
NO STORY, NO STORY, NO STORY

NO STORY in a clever kiwi
With life-threatening mental health
NO STORY in what she uncovered
When she educated self

NO STORY in what she has done
With lyrics, poetry and paint
NO STORY in her pleas for rehab
Or the 10 year wait

Journalists are maggots
Make it worse is what they do
Regurgitate the crap they’re fed
Then vomit it on you

If journalists weren’t maggots
Then I wouldn’t have to write
And I wouldn’t have to fight
And fight & fight & fight & fight

Journalists they are maggots
And their bosses they’re blow flies!
Blow flies, blow flies, blow flies, blow flies

End

Written after a telephone discussion with a Dominion Post Journalist and further dedicated to Tracey Watkins and Bernadette Courtney.

Turned this into a punk song when I was working with a band a few years ago – never got to sing it in public.  Was handcuffed and arrested for the first time in my life while chalking this poem on the Times Age building in Masterton.  Another newspaper outlet who refused to tell my story.  Was also forced to take all my clothes off that day, nutted off at mental health & was let go by police after about 3 hours.  Was humiliating & traumatising, they’ve never got my clothes off me again however even though they have threatened it a few times.

Was thinking the other day how many times I’ve been arrested for my protests, must be 6-8 times now.  Plus another 20-25 visits from police since ACC stopped the 12 hours of care I was receiving in 2009.  Wonder how much that has cost those arseholes – I think it would have been better spent on providing me the health care I know I am entitled to under the law rather than me fighting for my life and rights to this care.

NO STORY aye Sunday  NO STORY John Campbell  NO STORY Stuff – I can feel a poem coming on.

Sunday news team had my emails begging them for help and to tell my story blocked, so did John Campbell. WTF is wrong with our gutless media.

Ruth Dyson’s Whipping Post – rock song – JR Murphy

I been run down, I been lied to
Don’t know why I let that mean woman make a fool of me
She took all my money, wrecked my new life
Bet now she’s with one of her bureaucrat buddies
Drinkin in some upmarket bar

That’s why I feel, that’s why I feel
Like I’ve been tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post, tied to the whipping post
Oh God I feel like I’m dying

They all tell me, that I’m being such a fool
And I have to stand by and take it lady, all for needing you
Drown myself in sorrow, when I look at what you’ve done
But nothing seems to change, the bad times stay the same
and I can’t run

That’s why I feel, that’s why I feel
Like I’ve been tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post, tied to the whipping post
Oh God I feel like I’m dying

That’s why I feel, that’s why I feel
Like I’ve been tied to the whipping post
Tied to the whipping post, tied to the whipping post
Oh God I feel like I’m dying

End

Re-wrote the lyrics for the Allman Bros Band song Whipping Post – sing it like a demon 🙂

Thanks for nothing Ruth Dyson, every suicidal sexual abuse victim being screwed by ACC thanks you for the hell they are in as well.

Labour don’t give a shit about abuse victims like me, with no stable housing and being put in bad situations due to lack of financial assistance and a home, with lack of support from family and few friends.  They also don’t care that I am an artist, poet and playwright, often ostracized for my political viewpoints and blunt hardhitting criticisms of ACC, mental health services, justice system and policitians.

I am also an amateur historian, puppeteer, I have written a historical radio play, I publish my own hand made & illustrated books of beautiful poetry about the Wairarapa.  I have sold my poetry at Wairarapa markets.  Last week I spoke at Probus in Carterton, reciting my poetry and recounting what I knew of my late great aunt Dulcie Routhan, a generous benefactor of Carterton.  A woman with 32 houses, where she often took in alcoholics – but would never give my daughters and I a home when we desperately needed it.  Something that makes it difficult for me to talk about her, but I didn’t share this aspect of my relationship with Dulcie.

Currently I am working on four plays, one about Minstrel the Morepork and forest birds, a stage play (perhaps outdoor play).  Second one is Boarders Bladers & Bikers about a big race between Holden Harrier, Ford Falcon and Hawk Subaru.  The track starts at Lake Ferry, through the pinnacles, sweeper of Palliser bay out into cook strait, the harbour hairpin, over the wainui hill, through the orongorongos.  Set at local skateparks with live musicians & DJs.

Third is a play based on the personalities of dogs, dog and human behaviour, set at Sparks Park in Carterton.  A stage play.  Fourth is a play based around my activism and poetry over the years.

Am unable to do any creative work at the moment as my housing situation is so stressful and mental health not good.  Hopefully moving back to the Wairarapa soon and once settled will write up the plays and finish my Shakespeare research.  Working with Richard on a daily basis is going to be amazing – we have such a good rapport.