There was a loud explosion, followed by shouts of glee
The rat-a-tat-tat of gunshot, was suddenly surrounding me
It was much to my horror that my husband bought the game
And to watch my boys playing it, nearly drove me insane.
They blew things up, they shot at them, and they loved every shot
“But it will warp their minds” I said, my husband said “It will not.”
He promised he would sit with them, but that’s cos he wanted to play
And he said he could drum into them that it is just a game that day.
I peered round the doorway, I watched him guide them through
They cheered, and laughed at gruesome bits, my husband cringed a bit too
But as they grew they learned, but I know this is not true of all
Mine are both big wimps, and even husband on seeing blood will fall.
They cannot stand needles, a paper cut makes them cry
They cannot watch the news, when there is death and destruction awry
So in all honesty I don’t agree with violence in video games at all
But I think it’s up to the parents to make the final call.
Children in days of old, shot each other with a home made stick gun
They made swords out of anything, and always fought to the death in fun.
Play has changed they are safer inside, the trouble now I think this is it
Is when they are left to their own devices and the videos are used just to baby-sit.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2013
Unarmed I stood against the beast
Defending what was mine
The theft of my guileless innocence
His most cruel, remorseless crime
Fighting slings and arrows
Words that cut me to the quick
Lifting thin arms in resistance
To his heavy, brutish fists
Sorrow comes in darkness
Arrives without an invite
The moon stares dully at me
No magic will save me tonight
Measured unforgiving blows
He chose where each would land
Dark purple bruises gave away
Where my body had been slammed
With my knack for weak excuses
“I tripped and fell down again”
He sneered that they’re “just love taps”
While I played a game called ‘pretend’
Naked in my bed
Protecting a child yet unborn
Came another beating
From this cur who’d earned my scorn
What cannot be seen in shadows
Can suffocate one’s will
When I reclaimed my spirit
I crawled out of the mouth of hell
Ages have come to pass since then
The fiend at last routed from my life
I’m no longer frightened
Of just being someone’s wife
Copyright © Tess Norton | Year Posted 2014
Spirit broken again
Her spirit was broken again
as the police broke the news!
Her beloved Enrique had just been killed
shot three times,
caught in the crossfire of gang violence
in Toronto's west side.
Helena,35, now was left hopeless, and in despair
how could she care for her 3 children?
You see, Helena was a refugee from war torn Syria. Sadly, she had lost both of her parents about 2years ago, they died when an artillery shell blasted their little apartment in Aleppo. At least they died together in their sleep.
Helena was crushed, obviously,
by the sudden news,
and her spirit was broken.
Her husband, Enrique who was in a settlement camp in Germany, called with the news that he qualified for refugee status and the whole family could start a new life in Canada.
Elated, Helena picked up,
all the little pieces of her broken heart and spirit,
and what was left of her family, and headed for Canada.
Helena and Enrique were so excited to have finished their English course, and Enrique had been working for two months, at a food distribution center in
Brampton. Their new life together as a family had just got started and then this tragedy! Helena was watching the news of a tragic shooting never imagining that it was her husband, who was killed...and then the knock at the door!
God help her!
John Derek Hamilton
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016
So much emphasis is placed today on the role of the wife
She is to be pure, pristine, just, hardworking
She is to imbibe all who surround her with faith
She needs to be able to know everything without ever asking
She is to be the woman behind her husband
The one who would make of him a gem
To be a wife, is surely a complicated state
Acted out badly, one can even be a contraband!
But what of the duties of a man,
Is he as important as the woman
To be a husband requires one only to work and bring money
To care not whether the home is, without him, in harmony
Husbands are in heaven whose wives scold not
Husbands have rights, rights to use words of spite
Rights to beat, rights to abuse
Rights even to cheat, to hurt and bruise
When the woman speaks out, or scolds such a man
She becomes something seen by some as a legend
Seen by others as un-womanly
Whatever, she knows how to protect herself through her duty
What of those men whose wives scold not
Should they be brought back to the pot
To be cooked and simmered
To be brought to the right path
Feminists, equal rights, equal opportunities
Women's places no more being in the kitchen
Husbands, change your mentalities
We, women, we are frail and easily broken!
Copyright © Anoucheka Gangabissoon | Year Posted 2014
I forgot to set the parking brake.
So now my wife's car is in the lake.
You're looking at a man who can never catch a break.
My wife kicked my ass just because I made a mistake.
She broke my left leg and I'm having to use a crutch.
I don't blame her for being mad but coming at me with a chainsaw is a bit too much.
(This is a fictional poem)
Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2015
The way to go out:
Shot by a jealous husband
At ninety years old!
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
Unreported Violence in Vilamoura
The couple was nicely suntanned, but the woman had
a black eye, he was very courteous to her tried to hold
her hand, but she didn´t want to and his face reddened
angrily, so she let him hold her hand. Both were nicely
dressed on their way to a restaurant; no doubt when
meeting friends a droll story would be told how she got
that eye. Polite laughter. Men would believe the story,
women would exchange glances because in the eyes of
the hapless woman they saw the truth. They would find
out- women talk- when they went to the ladies to
powder their noses. The unlucky one would beg them
not to say a word. “ He loves me, but has a bad temper;
and when I nag him he slaps me, it is really my fault for
not understanding him better. He was so sorry for giving
me a black eye last night that he cried, promised not to
hit me anymore.”
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
Pink spreads and swells,
the ink you imprinted on paper.
The writing will annoy you
So you’ll erase it, or at least
But gods of colour are capricious,
it’ll move, but refuse to go.
You can be stubborn too.
Neither will lose
until I do.
Copyright © Nikita Singal | Year Posted 2015
Today he said he loved me
He hasn't said it for a while
He uses his shirt sleeve
To dry tears from his eyes
He said that he forgives me
For all the things I did
Even if it was nothing
In his eyes it was something.
Today he said I looked beautiful
I wore the red dress that I loved
So many reminders of hurt
That fabric held inside it
To sexy, to slutty , go on fix it
I paired it with gold heels
Yes , the ones he bought me
They make me feel special.
Today he said my makeup looks good
Little does he know , it hides the bruises
The ones he left when he smacked me about
Oh what good was it to scream and shout
He pulled my hair, and slammed my head
So many times I wished I were dead
But, today someone took special care
Did my makeup and did my hair.
Today he brought me flowers
The white Lillie's I like
The pain built up inside me
It cut like a dull knife
Slowly , but surely it hurt alright
He couldn't see , it couldn't be
He was taking my life.
Today he kissed my forehead
He has not done that it years
He puts on a show in front of our peers
He cried and bawled, held his hair tight
Played the role of a husband all through the night
I watched from above as the man I loved
played the scene to a capital T
I watched them lay into the ground
My still, white decaying body.
Stop domestic abuse #itsnotalright
Copyright © Makayla Gilchrist | Year Posted 2016