Hitting Home OR Dead to Rights
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Our emotions may not always play fair, but cannot and should not be tolerated once they it starts cutting up rough. Love is no excuse, and has no place in domestic violence.
Indeed, there is no excuse for domestic violence in any shape or form, physical or psychological, and no matter who the perpetrator ;nor is there any shame in facing up to a situation and asking for help.
Victims need to confide in a close relative or friend. Perpetrators need to seek professional advice.
Whatever, no one should suffer in silence out of fear or a sense of misguided loyalty, even love. Get support (various sources available on the Internet) and summon the willpower to walk away from it. Let the abusive partner stew in his or her own juice. Forget the dream and face up to reality.
The only answer to domestic violence and physical/psychological bullying is zero tolerance. My father was a psychological bully, less so than many, I dare say, but it's not always a matter of degree; what matters are scars left on the victim, no less unsightly for being invisible to the naked eye.
Sadly, few family members can bring themselves to discuss such issues, even between themselves, thereby risking any damage being done spilling over into a tragedy worthy of media headlines.
Whatever, people need to speak out before the local coroner gets in on the act.
HITTING HOME or DEAD TO RIGHTS
Flung open the door, smile on the face;
fist at the jaw, fallen to the floor, waiting
for more...
Eyes closed, mind shut tight to it all,
homing in on a single happy time, before
things fell apart
Breaking heart in pieces on the mat,
angry tongue making the lips bleed if only
for a bad day at work
Blows lessen, cease, but not the terror;
left sick with humiliation for this wannabe
love relationship
You go upstairs, slam the bedroom door,
down later for supper, expecting to make up
for temper tantrums
Tomorrow, a rose and any tear but yours
on these so-bruised cheeks, after forgiveness,
compassion or passion?
When I pray, even God asks why I stay,
and if I confess no idea, a dear familiar voice
calls me a liar
Wherever I once found it in me to love you,
I must find much the same to leave you, or be
like your rose...
Left dying, in a smashed vase
Copyright R. N. Taber ,2003; rev.2011
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]
Our emotions may not always play fair, but cannot and should not be tolerated once they it starts cutting up rough. Love is no excuse, and has no place in domestic violence.
Indeed, there is no excuse for domestic violence in any shape or form, physical or psychological, and no matter who the perpetrator ;nor is there any shame in facing up to a situation and asking for help.
Victims need to confide in a close relative or friend. Perpetrators need to seek professional advice.
Whatever, no one should suffer in silence out of fear or a sense of misguided loyalty, even love. Get support (various sources available on the Internet) and summon the willpower to walk away from it. Let the abusive partner stew in his or her own juice. Forget the dream and face up to reality.
The only answer to domestic violence and physical/psychological bullying is zero tolerance. My father was a psychological bully, less so than many, I dare say, but it's not always a matter of degree; what matters are scars left on the victim, no less unsightly for being invisible to the naked eye.
Sadly, few family members can bring themselves to discuss such issues, even between themselves, thereby risking any damage being done spilling over into a tragedy worthy of media headlines.
Whatever, people need to speak out before the local coroner gets in on the act.
HITTING HOME or DEAD TO RIGHTS
Flung open the door, smile on the face;
fist at the jaw, fallen to the floor, waiting
for more...
Eyes closed, mind shut tight to it all,
homing in on a single happy time, before
things fell apart
Breaking heart in pieces on the mat,
angry tongue making the lips bleed if only
for a bad day at work
Blows lessen, cease, but not the terror;
left sick with humiliation for this wannabe
love relationship
You go upstairs, slam the bedroom door,
down later for supper, expecting to make up
for temper tantrums
Tomorrow, a rose and any tear but yours
on these so-bruised cheeks, after forgiveness,
compassion or passion?
When I pray, even God asks why I stay,
and if I confess no idea, a dear familiar voice
calls me a liar
Wherever I once found it in me to love you,
I must find much the same to leave you, or be
like your rose...
Left dying, in a smashed vase
Copyright R. N. Taber ,2003; rev.2011
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]
Labels: abuse, bullying, domestic, family, fear, health, home, human, life, love, mental, nature, partners, physical, poetry, politics, psychological, relationships, society, violence
posted by R. N. Taber | 09:45
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