I was teased horribly as a child and beaten up a lot.
quote by Wayne Brady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Ward Sister
Be careful, mister!
She'll have you in her ward, her web,
The Big Ward Sister,
She'll have your soul for breakfast -
She's a giant Spider
And her words are poison
And she likes to watch you suffer -
She'll take your dreams away
Till you are horribly normal
And insincere like she is,
Fit for the world again,
Castrated, unable to feel any pain,
Horribly healthy, horribly sane! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Song Making
My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.
One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew --
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.
Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long --
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Beaten To The Punch
You say that you can and then you run to get your mummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Looking for the man who sold you the dummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Laughing at the older guys who say its just as well
Saved by the wedding bell
Almost beaten to the punch
Youre looking for somebody new that you can knock around
You are almost beaten to the punch
If youve got a head for figures then youd better count me out
You were almost beaten to the punch
You pulled the piece but you soon called it love
You go hand in glove
Almost beaten to the punch
Your body speaks much louder than your voice
You let it do the talking so I dont have any choice
Now you find the younger guys are putting up resistance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
You better get out now because youll never go the distance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Youll find a girl and youll promise her anything
Even a wedding ring
Almost beaten to the punch
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children Reflect Those Ideals Projected
Children,
Reflect those ideals projected.
With a caring less,
Of how their wants and needs are met.
And a child caring less,
Of how their innocent desires are met...
Will do his or her best,
To express no regret...
In the showing just how much they are upset.
With a display of embarrassing tantrums,
A parent tries hard to minimize and suppress.
A 'child' grows up to expect,
That a loud voice heard in protest...
Will get as demanded,
What is wished with no exception.
A child never forgets,
Who promised what and when...
The day and hour,
That promise was mentioned.
Regardless of the dust that may collect in pockets.
Or the emptiness in each corner of a treasure chest.
A child,
Raised to be a 'child' teased by success...
Will never be satisfied by just a taste of it.
Since to sacrifice is not,
A conditional part of a child's mindset.
A CHILD,
No matter how old that child gets...
Will demand what is wanted,
Caring less who pays for it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Woman, Made a Punching Bag of Man
A woman, beaten by the cruel hands of her man
Beaten as she raises her voice to challenge his words
Beaten as she goes out to celebrate her freedom
Beaten as she refuses to do what he orders and wants.
And the battered woman accepts her tragic lot
Bearing the marks of violence on her own body
Longing for golden days of love and romance
Lamenting on her destiny as punching bag of man.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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For Every Child
For every child who cries at night
Alone with shame in pain and fright
For every child who wants so much
To only feel a gentle touch
For the beaten child, who cries in pain
Whose tears run silent, like the rain
For the child used to satisfy lust
Who never learns to love or trust
For the child taken from her home
And made to feel so all alone
For the child whose home is just a shell
Where life becomes a living hell
For the child who smiles but cannot feel
Because of scars too deep to heal
For every child who yearns for love
I hope and pray to God above
To hear your cries and heal your pain
And give you back your life again
poem by Ashleigh Gaffney
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There's A Clock
There's a clock in my head,
Tells the time.
I could stop it,
Freeze the moment.
I'd stand,
Work out when,
Things went
So horribly wrong.
I've glimpsed your smile.
Cried all your tears.
Felt all your fears.
And still,
Don't know,
Where it all went,
So horribly wrong.
May your dreams,
Show you the way.
Take you to that place,
Far away,
Where the clock in my head,
Has,
Stopped time.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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W.w.j.d.
I saw a man today
he was dirty and cold
W.W.J.D.
There was a child on the street
she was beaten and scared
W.W.J.D.
A woman was sitting in her car
hurt and crying
W.W.J.D.
We have all forgotten how to be human
we no longer feel sympathy
have we forgotten what a man did for us
He was beaten, bloody, and hurt
but He carried His cross
He took away our sins
so the next time you see someone
be they hurt, scared, hungry, or cold
just for an instant think
W.W.J.D.
poem by Sierra Morrow
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Beaten Into Sweetness
Beaten into sweetness.
Like grapes to produce,
A fine wine sipped.
Beaten into sweetness.
To allure and maintain,
A sizable profit held in a firm fist.
And every whiff of it sniffed,
Satisfied to the very last drop.
Beaten into sweetness.
Although a sadness carried,
Inside would not stop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1
We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?
There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Leave It As It Is
Diffuse it.
Refuse immediately to be teased.
Recognize when you are being baited.
And do not premeditate,
A nibbling of it to taste...
To eventually become displeased.
Leave it as it is.
There is no need to hesitate in waiting,
Wondering if the one who baits...
Will come to realize,
You are someone to prize...
And not one to foolishly waste.
Diffuse it for that which establishes value.
Refuse immediately to be teased.
Recognize when you are being baited.
And do not premeditate a nibbling of it to taste.
To then be left feeling remorseful,
Because of a decision you chose yourself to make.
Leave it as it is.
Save yourself from the crying of tears.
Save yourself from something that appears,
Devoted to commit...
When there is not a hint of any evidence of it.
Diffuse it with a refusing to be teased.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dilemmanized
A choice to pick between happiness,
Or to be slick and wicked.
Dilemmanized am I and teased.
I prefer to keep my peace of mind at ease.
But in these times we live...
One has to be either ambidextrous,
Absorbed with sex and/or on sedatives.
To be alone and happy raises eyebrows.
Only deep depression and stress is allowed.
If I should be seen whistling and humming a song...
I am threatened by stares,
Feeling out of place like I am doing something wrong.
Dilemmanized am I and teased.
Either I am being crotched inspected,
Or reviewed to be sodomized to please.
And if I turn down invitations,
To discuss immoral temptations!
I become scrutinized...
Because my life is not paralyzed,
In filth!
And there is an absence of guilt expressed,
Around me.
Dilemmanized am I and teased.
And I am doing my best,
To rest my thoughts of experimentation!
Believing the end result...
Provides a higher quality of an accepted trash!
And considered by someone's demented determination.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To a Child -- The Thinker
Enraptured child in contemplative
Apollo Pose
Head resting by jutted elbow's knee-supported
hand on chin
Whose world is this anesthetized by wonder's glow
he's looking in
As it so quickly disappears in an
invaded atmosphere
Of delight and pleasure explained
in factual memories
Teased, let go, and returned again
as a whim or metaphor
This visiting with self
and the spirit of the age
What a priceless glimpse of an awakening
to genius's
Path of exploration with this child's
hypothesis, conclusions, returns
In the quiet of the garden's
flowers and urns.
poem by Katherine Young
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We are beaten, we will make no bones about it; but we are not too badly beaten still to fight.
quote by James Larkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A chief is a man who assumes responsibility. He says ""I was beaten,"" he does not say ""My men were beaten"".
quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who is not beaten by the sun or the rain, will eventually be beaten by the hunger.
Old Child
Child. Old child,
No longer wild;
No longer speaking,
No longer beguiled;
I have become
A quiet old child.
Child. Old child,
No longer cold;
Never an old man,
Always too old;
I have become
An old child tenfold.
Child. Old child,
Forever a child;
Always rethinking,
Always exiled.
I should become
A happy old child.
Child. Old child.
Always soft-spoken;
No longer breaking,
Still being broken;
I have become
An old child, unspoken.
Child. Old child,
No longer bold;
By thinking, rethinking
Of stories untold,
All through my childhood,
I've become... old.
poem by Mihai Cosmescu
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Ten Minutes Aint Enough
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To have my needs satisfactorily pleased.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To know what I want before it leaves.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
There has to be a bit of teased acquaintance.
With a chat that sits.
There has to be a bit of teased acquaintance.
With eyes that are fixed.
And not drifting.
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To have my needs satisfactorily pleased.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To know what I want before it leaves.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
Some may wish a quick...
Beginning that swiftly ends.
With nothing to explore.
But an exit out a door!
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To know what I want before it leaves.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
There has to be a bit of teased acquaintance.
With a chat that sits.
There has to be a bit of teased acquaintance.
With eyes that are fixed.
And not just there to lift and drift.
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To have my needs satisfactorily pleased.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
Ten minutes aint enough,
No!
To know what I want before it leaves.
Ten minutes aint enough.
Ten minutes aint enough!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who Will Cry?
Who will cry for the little child who goes for days without food?
Who will cry for the little child who parents beat them?
Who will cry for the little child who is mistreated for being different?
Who will cry for the little child who goes unloved?
Who will cry for the little child whose stomach is swelled up?
Who will cry for the little child who doesn't have clothes to wear?
Who will cry for the little child who is shunned for not being popular?
Who will cry for the little child who is molested every night?
Who will cry for the little child who's parents are not around?
Who will cry for the little child who has to take care of his self?
Who will cry?
Will you cry?
Cause I have.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Give This Child What She Needs
Give this child what she needs
Love
Give this child what she needs
Shelter
Give this child what she needs
Prayers
Give this child what she needs
Some food and water
Give this child what she needs
Good parents
Give this child what she needs
Good manors
Give this child what she needs
A smoke free home
Give this child what she needs
Peace and happiness
Give this child what she needs
To know God
Give this child what she needs
Your guidance
Give this child what she needs
Clothes
Give this child what she needs
Your support
Give this child what she needs
Some family time
Give this child what she needs
A nice bath every day
Give this child what she needs
Some discipline
Give this child what she needs
A warm bed to sleep on
poem by Aldo Kraas
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