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Small Addictions

“Small Addictions” bit by bit the hunger begins, the time when everyone, it would seem, is giving in to those small addictions inevitably they become your sole purpose for living, your entire self turned inside out, those small addictions inevitably grow they leave you on your own, vacant of purpose, tank on empty, considering the cycle of things, the vagueries of a life, it would seem, eternal, on repeat, for wasn’t that the place where the small addictions left him, sitting on the back steps quietly contemplating, each dark night, sucking on his Erinmore, like a child, an adult, chewing on his pipe, considering the inconsiderate larger scheme of things, double entry, questioning the trial balance, of a life where he once was, the smaller addiction, disgarded toxin, relegated to an army home with their strange staunch jangling tambourines with the others, lost small addictions seen but never to be heard, the begotten forgotten, still waiting for the collection, small addictions children passing the plate, forever waiting, warily watching, the joyfully worn false dispositions of the strange others' terrible, hidden, abnormal addictions; a pew away from it all seated on the sidelines seated still, seen but not heard segueing with military precision to the welcome routine, his mission with his small anglican addictions 1, 2, 3, in all, kneeling benedictions on the hard surface of it all missing the 4th always there never seen, yet still heard morning prayers for mourning, the Sunday joi de vie, of it all, a church full of Glennie reprobates and loose arabs one and all “Thurday’s Evensong!”, he admonishes jovially during the return drive, while they argue little bigger things in the back seat of the old Austin, on the way home running up the stairs, following the procession of harridans, those loud rambucious terrors, he laughs and shakes his head, left alone with it all, he yells, slamming the safety screen, with a terse scowl, “home is not a tent! close the ruddy door!!!” listening, then debating rivetting conversations round table over a hot pie, steak n kidney, quartered into 4, with his most adored small addictions, daughters now again seated for the time being orderley and well behaved by the side of him, copies repeating poetic verses, miniature white prayer books the hymns loud and off-key never up for debating sacrifice and largesse two very separate things atonement, the plate is passed each small addiction in a straight line, now before him concentrating, most sincerely, the etiquette and history of tying Windsor knots ne’er a noose around a man's neck ironing shirts and school blazers packed lunches, found days later ne'er eaten, buried underneath the house small addictions concentrating on the larger external, questioning internal things, the purpose of everything, awake and listening to him, every now and then, he wonders, if at all they’ll remember what he’s said, take it all in, if it’s enough to feed his small addictions avidly open to better futures seated with him on the side lines, listening perplexed to the good reverend’s sermon blood and water, seen but never heard 1,2,3 and a promise to the too swift departure, kept with 4, in her gentle words he and his small addictions blood and water seen but never heard (LadyLabyrinth / 2023) vcb, ljb llb, klb, mlb "blood is thicker than water..."

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Timothy Ray

Date: 7/27/2023 11:52:00 PM

a wonderful excursion into a life, i could smell my uncle's pipe herein...a slow walk in a long life filled with poignant moments that erupt along neuropathways at given moments....loved it

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/28/2023 2:00:00 AM

thank you.

Robert Lindley

Date: 7/26/2023 5:18:00 AM

My good friend, you nailed it with this very insightful and qualified poem on the subject of addictions. As a young men I saw almost all the guys I knew were addicted to something , smoking, alcohol, drugs , sex , etc. And seemed to me none of them thought it was an addiction. A brilliant poem. A fav... God bless.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:45:00 PM

Thank you, Lindley, for your keen observation on ‘addictions’. This in fact, is a poem about family, strength of united family, respect, love, loss, and letting go. It is in fact about a father reminiscing on his life as an adult (and as a child), his children and the losses in his life, as well as the blessings. The writer interjects briefly to align her life with that of her father’s. It is an ode to a very ‘good’ father. There are good fathers and then there are absolutely wrotten to the core fathers, just as there are mothers. But this is a poem about a good father. A father and his daughters, raised without a mother (due to her early demise to Cancer). Underlying it all, is the ever circling presence of addiction/s. The love of healthy addictions (pure untainted love for his daughters), the ever present unhealthy addiction of sucking on a pipe and roll-your-owns, Erinmore tobacco.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:45:00 PM

It also has the underlying, yet well hidden prevalence of child sex abuse, specifically, that carried out within Religious Institutions. For the father in this poem, was disgarded and thrown into a Salvation Army Boys Home at the age of 7yrs in the early 1940’s, formerly known as Alkira Boys Home, Indooroopilly. This home was run by the 'good' people of 'religion', The Salvation Army. Years later in Australia, there was a government investigation commissioned into uncovering the extensive child sex abuse crimes on children in Religious Institutions (Roman Catholic, Salvation Army, Jehovah Witness, amongst a plethora of others were investigated). Australian Royal Commission findings into child sex abuse within Religious Institutions (link, comment box below).

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:45:00 PM

The extent of child sex abuse in the Alkira Boys Home Indooroopilly was deeply horrific and historically exposed, that many children, after leaving its grounds suffered psychologically and physically, from being sexually abused and physically abused as a child, with some lives resulting in suicide, and many experiencing terrible difficulities in their adult lives due to shame, stigma, lack of family support, community/social support and understanding, religious ignorance and next to no coping mechanisms to survive the inevitable fall-out. Some turned to alchohol and drugs, more than likely there would be extensive homelessness, crime and the cycle of abuse repeated, occurring through the victim becoming an abuser (sexual, or violence; add domestic violence into the fray).

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:45:00 PM

There were too, like echoes, the resounding ramifications of inter-generational trauma carried down through the lineage of children sexually abused in Religious Institutions (let us not forget, the children sexually abused who were not in Religous Institutions, as well). My father had his burdens to bear in life (in this poem, notably from his horrific abandonment and experiences as a very young child, from age 7yrs to release from Alkira Boys Home Indooroopilly at 15yrs; to his tours of duty as an active soldier in the Australian Army serving with the early regiments in the Vietnam War and his return home to Australia; to the death of his wife (my mother) at a very young age (36 father; 32 mother), to raising 3 voracious, strong-willed, rebellious, argumentative and competitive daughters (4.5yrs, 7yrs, 9yrs), with little understanding of females at all – nevertheless, throughout the ensuing years, he would become a staunch advocate supporting womens’ liberation.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:45:00 PM

I am certian he came close to crumbling, losing his mind entirely - as children, my sisters and I witnessed it - later in life I empathise with him; there were times when he could have released his daughters to the care of a childrens’ home, believe me, that came very close; but he didn’t. A good parent, who loves their children, will put themselves on the backburner, you fight for them tooth-and-nail; whatever the outcome, you put your children first. My father was not perfect, he carried quite heavy battle scars on all fronts. To say he came through unscathed would not be accurate nor the truth. He survived, he was a good and decent father, we would berate him for being over-protective; I now understand that over-protective and controlling stance of my father. There are others - parents - that are not so controlling nor protective. My sisters and I were fortunate, on that score. Discipline and routine, is a good thing. Being over-protective is a good thing.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:45:00 PM

When I think about strength of character, morals and respect, and keeping all together in life, and what ‘family’ is and should be about, I inevitably turn back and look at the life of my father as an example of what family is about, what a ‘good’ father is. When there have been losses in my life, as there are bound to be, for many others (including those I do not know, outside of my family, possibly reading), the child in this adult (the writer) reflects on the lessons learnt from my childhood via my experiences with my father. Here is a man, I knew intimately (from a virtuous level between the relationship of father and child, ie daughter), who remains a shining example of strong and decent, committed to family, deserving of respect; to say he wasn’t tainted by his experiences in life, is not accurate and no doubt the inter-generational trauma did not commence with his life alone. And in truth, it follows down the lines.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:44:00 PM

Admittedly, the thoughts behind this poem were inspired by a comment made to me some days back, blithely admonishing me about ‘addictions’ and not having an intimate, nor personal understanding of the plight of others. Perhaps so, but I wouldn’t be too quick to ‘judge’, not having an intimate understanding of my entire life, nor story, though the 'reader', might think in earnest, that they do. My personal experiences at this point in my life, reaching a certain elevation, shall we say, of ‘maturity’ – and compassion (latent), empathise very well and with strong conviction, with many, even those some might suspect I do not empathise with, eg perpetrators, abusers, addictions, the homeless, children, disease, the unemployed, crimes, religion - to name a few.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/26/2023 3:44:00 PM

All of us are addicted to something in our lives. Healthy or not. I have a thorough understanding of addictions. Poetry, uncannily enough is one of them, it would seem; it was my father, who introduced me to poetry through the constant reading of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and other classic poets, authors and musicians. Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner and the Nicene Creed staunchly comes to mind, which in turn was his coping mechanism (instead of alchohol, drugs or tossing it all in...turning one’s back on Life, relationships, family), during a time of great upheaval in our family, the death of my mother. “Blood is thicker than water”. Regards, ‘a loose arab’….so not PC (the apple falls, not far from the tree). I am non-religious. No doubt, there will be an Anglican Church service...

Lady Labyrinth

Date: 7/24/2023 9:19:00 PM

Pachelbel - Canon in D Major

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/24/2023 9:20:00 PM

https://youtu.be/9nX_ReyaetE

Lady Labyrinth

Date: 7/24/2023 7:58:00 PM

https://www.childabuseroyalcommission.gov.au/religious-institutions

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/24/2023 8:05:00 PM

b. 1935. Placed in Washpool, 1942 at 7yrs, later Alkira.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 7/24/2023 8:00:00 PM

ALKIRA. https://www.findandconnect.gov.au/ref/qld/biogs/QE00611b.htm