Category Archives: ABUSE

“You will face your greatest opposition when you are closest to your biggest miracle.” ― Shannon L. Alder

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 a3mericanart0whit_0039

 

ANGER MANAGEMENT: A SOUTH COAST FABLE

ALAN WEARNE

His screaming has commenced. The kids are home.
And you are bruised, walking-into-a-door bruised,
like you’ve seen enough before except
now it’s his, his bruise and possible fracture.
You saw the good man (if nobody else did)
the one who rolled you your White Ox,
the one who actually wrote songs,
the man you were loving who disguised
so much (no doubt from himself).
Well it all is out now with a sort of noise
that’s heading to your kid’s guts
to stay for decades. But it’s when
he starts up ‘Don’t you get it, I love kids,
I love them!’ you grab yours and lock away
the three of you, three hearts deranged
with thumping, with him outside the toilet
howling, whilst you phone your girl friends.
Men arrive, and now he screams at them:
the Bowlo band, the cover band, the busking partner
who then reaches for what you never thought
you’d reach with him: cops, their AVOs.
Oh, and you’re reasoning again,
he was never thick, some cops are truly thick
and sometimes we need what the thick provide.
Meantime he’ll be off,
a stocky, perspiring man, making noises no one wants
to understand, getting dragged away.

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poet/item/13652/15/Alan-Wearne

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 am5erica4nart0whit_0039

An idle brain is the devils workshop.

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 am5ericanart0whit_0039

The Inquirer & Commercial News (Perth, WA : 1855 – 1901), Wednesday 8 October 1890

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 The Inquirer & Commercial News (Perth, WA - 1855 - 1901), Wednesday 8 October 1890

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 am7ericanart0whit_0039

Life is like a very short visit to a toy shop between birth and death. Desmond Morris

I knew I was an unwanted baby when I saw that my bath toys were a toaster and a radio.   Joan Rivers1 1 1 1 oldchinatownbook00gent_0049

The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), Saturday 27 June 1891,

1 1 1 1 The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. - 1866 - 1939), Saturday 27 June 1891,

 

1 1 1 1 oldchinatownbook00gent_0177

 

The World’s News (Sydney, NSW : 1901 – 1955), Saturday 23 February 1924,

1 1 1 1 The World's News (Sydney, NSW - 1901 - 1955), Saturday 23 February 1924,

You were given this life, because you are strong enough to live it. Robin Sharma

 

I’m not funny. What I am is brave. Lucille Ball

1 1 1 degas22lafo_0011

 

Coming Home

Jan Oskar Hansen
© 2006

My flat was in mourning, layers of dust were veils
of sorrow, I had been away for weeks leaving
it in darkness and in the melancholy of confusing
half light, not nothing whether it was dawn or
evening. I switched on the table lamp opened
a widow and the room breathed in relief, it was
built to house humanity, had felt rejected and
was beginning to take on the lifeless coldness
museums and art galleries have after closing time.

Opened the fridge two tins of tuna fish, wasn’t
hungry, but to the gladness of my heart a bottle
of red wine; uncorked it, lovely aroma, filled it
to the brim and drank. Shrugged of the nonsense
said at the clinic, where ex drunks who had never
enjoyed wine, tried to convert me to a sullen
existence of meekly accepting the arid life. Took
the bottle into the living room switched on the telly
and we, the room and I, were great friends again.

http://www.writerscramp.ca/docs/poetry_and_alcohol.htm

1 1 1 1 1 1 celticfairytale00jacorich_0045

Poetry and Alcohol

Jan Oskar Hansen
© 2006

The two of us we have lived together long,
she sits in the kitchen watching Brazilian soaps,
I read TLS which gives me an edge even though I think some of the stuff is effete and some of the famous writers and painters are totally overvalued.

I do catch a glance of the TV in the living room from
time to time, a nature program that irritates me, the
Australian hero is actually worrying the wild animals and I hope he will be bitten by a crocodile, or trampled by an irate elephant. No such luck.

Andrew Motion wrote something about oral poetry,
I appeared once at poetry venue, nervously drank
too much, and insulted the organizer. Wish the TLS
would adopt me. Really!  But like late George Best,
I’m a loose cannon liable to tell them to fuck off

http://www.writerscramp.ca/docs/poetry_and_alcohol.htm

1 1 1 1 1 1 Fotor02221238363

Morning Chronicle (Sydney, NSW : 1843 – 1846), Wednesday 19 June 1844,

1 1 1 1 1 1 Morning Chronicle (Sydney, NSW - 1843 - 1846), Wednesday 19 June 1844,

1 1 1 1 1 1 Fotor02221238367

No free woman should be allowed any more than one maid to follow her, unless she was drunk.”    

Zaleucus, 7th century BC greek law code.

1 1 1 1 1 1 Fotor02221238369

The cut worm forgives the plow. William Blake.

1 1 1 1 1 1 e2meraldcityofoz00baum_0121

 

later,
& like any poet
avoiding myth & message
to fake a flashy ode, consider
what model of Australia as a nation
could match the ocean, or get your desk
to resemble a beach /
it would have to function
like Tom Roberts’ Opening of the
Federal Parliament
, our nation being
a sort of awkward, academic machine—
can’t you see the feathers in my hat
& my gold striped pantaloons
as I jot this down
in the open-cut sestina form,
developing like a back-yard vegetable bed
bordered by upturned bottles,
nostalgia for a national style?
‘Oh, my hat!’ said the ADC.
‘If I hold this pose much longer I’ll collapse!’

les Murray

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/12304

1 1 1 1 1 1 emeraldcityofoz00baum_0121

Advocate (Burnie, Tas. : 1890 – 1954), Saturday 7 July 1945,

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 Advocate (Burnie, Tas. - 1890 - 1954), Saturday 7 July 1945,

I am going insane. Yes. That is what´s happening. Good. Insane. Suzanne Finnamore

1 1 1 1 1 1 acrobatsmounteba00lero_00872

 

You had control of my body now, and if I didn’t choose you,
you made me feel so sick to where I was helpless not knowing what to do.

By now I started doing the things I swore I would never do,
lying and stealing off the people who didn’t mean a thing to you.

You had me convinced that throughout my life you were determined to stay, that I did not have that option of turning and walking away.

Source: Addicted To Heroin Poem, Dear Heroin http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/dear-heroin-addicted-to-heroin#ixzz2syT8xCKQ
Family Friend Poems

Hey, bartender, a thousand pints of light! Second City Players

http://infohost.nmt.edu/~armiller/beer/beersay.htm

1 1 1 1 andrew-loomis-creative-illustration_00172

 

When you’re the most happening person at the party, it’s time to leave.

― Kelly Cutrone, If You Have to Cry, Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You

1 1 1 1 andrew-loomis-crea2tive-illustration_0017

I don’t think I’ve drunk enough beer to understand that.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

1 1 1 1 andrew-loomis-creative-illustration_0017

But the men were still full of drink at Sæbol and did not know what ought to be done; this caught them unawares, and because of this nothing was done that was either fitting or useful.

http://www.hotsdots.com/poetry/author/mduwell/

1 1 1 1 1 banjotalks00culb_0033

People who drink to medicate their pain are bad enough, but ‘party’ drinkers who get drunk for ‘fun’ are the worst because they only think of their own pleasure. That would be fine if they were alone, but they almost always involve someone else. They don’t really care what they do to their children, spouses, lovers, relatives, friends or total strangers they may maim or kill on the roads, as long as they’re having fun.

Duane Alan Hahn

http://www.randomterrain.com/favorite-quotes-alcohol.html

 

Warriors should suffer their pain silently.” Erin Hunter, Into the Wild

 

1 1 1 1 1 1 amongwomenofsaha00pommuoft_0273_Fotor_Fotor_Collage

Warrior’s Journey

Father dies
mother leaves
sisters taken away.
Helpless, defenceless.
No hand to cling to,
Welfare Property
Ward number 77318
another number, another mouth,
another body, another untouched soul,
another heart to be healed,
another shadow in the dark of night.
She is two years old.
From one dwelling to another she is sent.
Disconnected, her child’s heart broken, the need for love
Unquenched.
A vacuum for her confidence and sense of self;
anxiety and anger her constant companions
she struggles to belong, she doesn’t belong.
Hands shake, body trembles,
cries unheard, muffled under bed covers.
She is ten years old.

She thinks of death to escape the anguish.
She believes she has no right to take up space,
to breathe air.
She believes there will be rejoicing at her passing,
a problem solved.
She releases the genie in the bottle,
life goes on about her,
she closes her eyes and waits.
She is marked. She is spared.
Like the first born of the Israelites, the Angel of Death passes her by.
She is twelve years old.

Tormented by anger, a prisoner of rage.
Her cries for justice, she fights to be heard.
They say, ‘she’s a psychiatric case’
and needs to be medicated.
Silence her voice, dull her mind, and inhibit her strong emotions.
She must endure the rash, the itch, the weight gain, the hand tremors, and the sluggish thoughts.
Now they say ‘she’s boring with no powers of conversation’.
In school she sits, eyes heavy; she drops her head – just for a moment.
She sleeps her days away.
She is fourteen years old

She hears the call of the warrior soul.
She resists sedation; the murder of her spirit.
Pills hurtle across the fence, a cry goes out
‘I won’t do what you want any more!’
Strong male hands force her down, inject her into submission.
They say ‘it’s for her own good and for the good of others’.
She is ‘disturbed’, ‘mad’, emotionally retarded’.
She is fifteen years old.

She is released, pushed out into a world of strangers.
They don’t understand or care about her sorrow.
She must find work, forge relationships, and build a life. There is no help, there is no social net to catch her, and there is no family to
give her connection.
She must find her own way.
She is lost, jobs are transient, and relationships unravel.
Booze is her solace, drugs her respite, madness her rescuer.
The streets her home.
She is seventeen years old.

She is a mother;
frightened, solitary,
how can she care for the infant in her arms?
She needs help, she reaches out,
her children are removed.
She can’t be trusted, she can’t trust herself.
It’s for her own good ‘in the best interest of the children’.
She seeks the comfort of death,
but death rejects her plea.
The ‘Warrior Soul’ calls her to life.
She yearns to be a mother, she craves to do it right,
Her children are ‘restored’,
She is twenty-four years old.

A single mother, living in poverty.
She hears the call of her warrior soul
She needs to dream, she needs to believe,
She needs to hope.
However, she is mad.
Her mind has betrayed her,
what can she anticipate?
The pills, the booze, the violence.
How can she break the will to self-annihilate?
She is determined.
She must find a way.
She is twenty-seven years old.
She treads the road of trials,
She cries out ‘there is no God!’
Lost within her madness,
admitted to the Clinic.
‘What is wrong with me?’ she pleads.
She is thirty-three years old.

The warrior soul is stronger
than the darkness, that binds her.
She heeds its call.
Is there a God? She prays to believe.
She dares for more than mere survival,
she crawls out from within the sewage of her life.
She is thirty-six years old.

Her untaught soul greets the morning.
She discovers she is far more than all her experiences.
More than her illness.
She knows now, in each one of us
there is a gold of great worth.
There is a warrior soul of strength and courage.
Compelled to transform her suffering.
she studies, she learns, she grows,
finds enduring love, personal value.
She connects.
Passes on her hope,
helps others finds their way.
Sometimes death still whispers her name,
however, she grips the hand of the warrior within,
she has learnt to trust.
She has found power and strength within,
She is forty-five years old.

copyright Margaret Spivey 2003

They wordlessly excused each other for not loving each other as much as they had planned to. There were empty rooms in the house where they had meant to put their love, and they worked together to fill these rooms with midcentury modern furniture. (“Birthmark”). ― Miranda July, No One Belongs Here More Than You

image

I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skillful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

Confucius say: Man who drop watch in toilet, bound to have shitty time.

http://www.inspirational-quotes-short-funny-stuff.com/funny-confucius.html

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

SLIM NEWTON

There was a red-back on the toilet seat
When I was there last night,
I didn’t see him in the dark,
But boy! I felt his bite!
I jumped high up into the air,
And when I hit the ground,
That crafty red-back spider
Wasn’t nowhere to be found.

There was a red-back on the toilet seat
When I was there last night,
I didn’t see him in the dark,
But boy! I felt his bite!
And now I’m ere in hospital,
A sad and sorry plight,
And I curse the red-back spider
On the toilet seat last night.

Rushed in to the missus,
Told her just where I’d been bit,
She grabbed the cut-throat razor blade,
And I nearly took a fit.
I said “Just forget what’s on your mind,
And call a doctor please,
‘Cause I’ve got a feeling that your cure
Is worse than the disease.”

There was a red-back on the toilet seat
When I was there last night,
I didn’t see him in the dark,
But boy! I felt his bite!
And now I’m ere in hospital,
A sad and sorry plight,
And I curse the red-back spider
On the toilet seat last night.

I can’t lay down, I can’t sit up,
And I don’t know what to do,
And all the nurses think it’s funny,
But that’s not my point of view.
I tell you it’s embarrassing,
(And that’s to say the least)
That I’m too sick to eat a bite,
While that spider had a feast!

There was a red-back on the toilet seat
When I was there last night,
I didn’t see him in the dark,
But boy! I felt his bite!
And now I’m ere in hospital,
A sad and sorry plight,
And I curse the red-back spider
On the toilet seat last night.

And when I get back home again,
I tell you what I’ll do,
I’ll make that red-back suffer
For the pain I’m going through.
I’ve had so many needles
That I’m looking like a sieve,
And I promise you that spider
Hasn’t very long to live!

There was a red-back on the toilet seat
When I was there last night,
I didn’t see him in the dark,
But boy! I felt his bite!
And now I’m ere in hospital,
A sad and sorry plight,
And I curse the red-back spider
On the toilet seat last night.

Eggs have no business dancing with stones.

Haitian (on prudence)

http://www.wiseoldsayings.com/wosdirectorye.htm

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

FOTO scrambled eggs at the boiling billy in bello nsw

Hens

by SARAH DAY

I love the way you pose like weathervanes
on the axe handle,
to watch as I wash dishes
how today’s menu, or tonic
is borage or bindweed or dock
that you will strip back
to a handful of cellulose spikes.
The way you share a laying box
when there is one for each of you
and midwife one another
through your confinements.
The way you lay eggs –
those warm white ellipses
on the straw.
Somehow for all the wreckage
the garden was never more alive.

Is minic a bhris béal duine a shrón.

Many a time a man’s mouth broke his nose.

http://www.gaelicmatters.com/funny-irish-sayings.html

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

foto ulmarra pub near grafton nsw australia

 

Adams and Flinders

Marc Glasby

Up in old Port Wyndham
back in the early days
at tale is told about two men
who wouldn’t mend their ways
 
Adams hated Flinders
they were the town’s JPs
They’d love to lock each other up
then throw away the keys
 
One hot and dusty afternoon
while drinking in the pub
insults turned to punches
over some imagined snub
 
Out in to the street they went
with flailing legs and arms
The cops came down and locked them up
before they came to harm
 
Then in the morning sobered up
there was one fact to face
Each would sit in judgment
upon the others case
 
Well Adams was the first to sit
upon the others crime
The gavel fell, the judgment was
a mere five shilling fine
  
Then Flinders turn to sit arrived
He donned his wig and frowned
‘There’s too much of this thing about
the fine will be ten pounds’
 
We don’t how it went from there
or how the story ends
but one thing we can bet for sure
they’d never be good friends

Aug 2000 Brisbane

http://www.wanowandthen.com/Ballads/text.html

every team needs its water carriers

 

z z typicalpictureso00cole_0089

Como el burro del aguador, cargado de agua y muerto de sed

Like the donkey of the water-carrier, loaded with water and dying of thirst

This is said about someone who cannot benefit from the abundance he is surrounded with, either because he cannot see how or because it is not his.

When you are lonely or frightened, talk to your guardian angel.

Joan Wester Anderson

You can do it out loud or inside your head, your angel can hear you. Ask your angel to be near you, to put his or her hand on your shoulder, to give you courage and protect you.

z z worldspaintersth00hoyt_0290

We must not be forced to explore the universe in search of a new home
because we have made the Earth inhospitable, even uninhabitable.
For if we do not solve the environmental and related social problems
that beset us on Earth – pollution, toxic contamination,
resource depletion, prejudice, poverty, hunger
– those problems will surely accompany us to other worlds.

~ Donald G. Kaufman and Cecilia M. Franz
from ‘Biosphere 2000: Protecting Our Global Environment’ 1996 ~

http://www.sapphyr.net/smallgems/quotes-environment-nature.htm

It’s a good thing most people bleed on the inside or this would be a gory, blood-smeared earth.”

― Beatrice Sparks, Go Ask Alice

1 1 1 1 100drawingsphoto00matt_0093

I’ve never read anything about heroin where, yeah, it’s a good experience, and you can do it for 20 years and enjoy it, like having a cold beer. It doesn’t work that way with heroin.
(Ace Frehley)

To call war the soil of courage and virtue is like calling debauchery the soil of love.

German

Z Z Z princess1911tenn_0076

   One of the greatest artifices the devil uses to engage men in 
   vice and debauchery is to fasten names of contempt on certain 
   virtues and thus fill weak souls with a foolish fear of passing 
   for scrupulous should they desire to put them in practice. 

                                                              Pascal