One more statistic
A random act of violence,
An unpremeditated blow
which devastates two families.
A difference only of degrees
Because a drunkard took offence
against someone he did not know.
Another of life’s tragedies
The victim gone beyond recall
and his assailant locked away
for years behind a prison wall.
That is the price he has to pay.
More victims added to the toll
that’s yearly claimed by alcohol.
27-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Locked Inside Your Prison
Your love is like a prison wall
And its getting higher
I get so far and then I fall
I cant get through the wire
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Its as though Im doing time
And you wont free me
Let the punishment befit the crime
And say you need me
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Save me save me cant you see Im innocent
Turn the key that will set me free
Please let it end oh let it end
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Save me save me cant you see Im innocent
Turn the key that will set me free
Please let it end wont you let it end
Ill dig a tunnel to your heart
Let me remind you
Even gonna tear the walls apart
Until I find you
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aint No Drunkard
Baby I aint no
Drunkard I've got
Self-control
Baby I aint no
Drunkard, I'm just
Addicted to alcohol
Baby I aint no
Drunkard on alcohol
I don't depend
Alcohol is just
My best friend
Baby I aint no
Drunkard its just
That simple
Baby I don't need
No crutch
Because I aint
No cripple
poem by Dorsey Baker
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Cyclic Tragedy On Ramadan's End Roads
departing families mass homeward migrations
yearly at Ramadan's end journey Indonesians
2012 officially 824 were killed on inadequate roads so poor...
why are Indonesians dying trying to visit get safe home?
too tired car drivers running over crashing on cell phones?
kill but a score lethal pot hole roads kill mass more...
who will tragic die on these yearly mass ill fated journeys?
families cage traffic jam grid locked on mammoth journeys?
on little scooters with little tyres are most ill fated families!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Blow By Blow
Written by dave mason, john cesario, and mark holden.
Its always something
Or it aint nothing at all
Its feast or famine
Too hot or out in the cold
So here we stand
Alone together
Our backs against the wall
If my heart wasnt in it
I wouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Coming off the ropes
And fighting for the hope in us all
Are you in my corner
Or playing both sides of the wall
So make a stand
Its now or never
Cause life is much too short
And if your heart isnt in it
You shouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
Im back on my feet again
(Im back on my feet again)
Well its blow by blow
I can almost see through the tears
And Ive got my pride
The dreams that Ive hidden for years
Just wont be denied
So here we stand
Alone together
Our backs against the wall
If my heart wasnt in it
I wouldnt be here at all
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
And here we go again
(here we go again)
Well its blow by blow
Blow by blow
Well its blow by blow
Im back on my feet again
(Im back on my feet again)
Well its blow by blow
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alcohol
Here is a story about a sinner,
He used to be a winner who enjoyed a life of prominence and position,
But the pressures at the office and his socialite engagements,
And his selfish wifes fanatical ambition,
It turned him to the booze,
And he got mixed up with a floosie
And she led him to a life of indecision.
The floosie made him spend his dole
She left him lying on skid row
A drunken lag in some salvation army mission.
Its such a shame.
Oh demon alcohol,
Sad memories I cannot recall,
Who thought I would say,
Damn it all and blow it all,
Oh demon alcohol,
Memories I cannot recall,
Who thought I would fall a slave to demon alcohol.
Barley wine pink gin,
Hell drink anything,
Port, pernod or tequila,
Rum, scotch, vodka on the rocks,
As long as all his troubles disappeared.
But he messed up his life and he beat up his wife,
And the floosies gone and found another sucker
Shes gonna turn him on to drink
Shes gonna lead him to the brink
And when his moneys gone,
Shell leave him in the gutter,
Its such a shame.
Oh demon alcohol,
Sad memories I cannot recall,
Who thought I would fall,
A slave to demon alcohol.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Answer to all questions
Alcohol is not the answer
To all questions
Stated by Mahatma Gandhi.
Alcohol is not the answer
To all the questions
But if you do not get the answer
It helps you to forget the question
Stated by Vijaya Mallya.
Gandhi and Mallya
Two poles of alcohol
Life style of both are
Like alcohol but with
Difference to those
Who know alcohol and those
Who do not know alcohol
Both the persons are
Irrelevant and meaningless.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Victims
Who are those that stand by the pillars
Of stop signs or in front of liquor stores?
Are they the forgotten heroes who were once
Served and sent to wars for this country?
Or, are they the victims of social users incense
Of illegal drugs, alcohol, or sex for money?
Who are they?
Are they the victims of our country's economy,
Who lost their jobs outsourced by their company?
Or, are they the victims of love losing their sanity
By rape, battery, or purely the victims of poverty?
Who are they?
That I can no longer pull change from my coin tray;
That I can no longer look at them with eye to eye;
That I can no longer put faith or minute of honesty;
For I was also their victim of their luscious trickery.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Soul Violence-Tina's Story
I am Violences' Victim
which scarred my soul
slammed it down
to earthly hell
seared it;
burned it;
made it cry
It shriveled
to a gnarled
stunted hulk.
There is no greater pain.
But I endured the pain.
I lived with the pain.
The pain became me'
dominated my life.
I struck out at others.
Cursed others
Wronged friends
who tried to help.
My victim violence
raged against them too.
Yet
over time despite all that
I nurtured my soul.
Gave it milk,
walked with it day by day
toward recovery.
Made it smile once a day
til a little of its pallor came back.
I was Violence's Victim
until I realized
that one has to be willing
to allow the Soul to live
again
if not
then to die
is anti-climatic.
I used to be Violence's Victim
now it runs away
having no more power over me.
And my new power
is not over violence per se
but the power
not to let it
carry forth
from me
to others
another
singe
day.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Locked in a Box
I'm in a locked box
and I'm searching
for the key.
The key that
will set me free.
But wait this locked box
is like no other...
the locked box I'm
in is not made from
cardboard, glass,
wood, plastic or
leather.
The locked box I’m in
is made by an alloyed created
by my own hands.
My mind is the locked
box that I'm in.
The bottom is made from
the ghetto streets
I grew up on.
And one side of the box
is made from the violence
and abuse I suffered
at home.
Now another side is made from
the drugs and alcohol I used
to escape.
While another side is made of
my own self hate.
Now the last side of the locked
box is made from the things
that used to be my hopes
and dreams,
and the lid of this locked box
is made from my nightmares
and screams.
Now, I’m scratching the walls
trying to set myself free.
Because I can feel this
lock box closing in on me.
Closing in so tight it is taking
away my breath.
This locked box is becoming
my resting place after my death.
Wait a minute death may be
the key.
For if I die I will be free.
I'm in a locked box.
I Have Not Been To Oxford Town
Baby grace is the victim
She was 14 years of age
And the wheels are turning, turning
For the finger points at me
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the prison priests are decent
My attorney seems sincere
I fear my days are numbered
Lord get me out of here
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
This is your shadow on my wall
This is my flesh and blood
This is what I couldve been
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
If I had not ripped the fabric
If time had not stood still
If I had not met ramona
If Id only paid my bill
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
This is my bunk with two sheets
This is my food though foul
This is what I could have been
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For decades, the violence in the Middle East has claimed a multitude of innocent civilian victims: Men, women and children, Arab and Israeli.
quote by John Conyers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Victim
Between right and wrong
Black and white
War and peace
Perpetrators and victims
Passive aggressive
She is always the victim
He is always the victim
They say they are always right
Every relationship ends with being the victim
The abused one, the controlled one
Totally black and white
They hire psychologists to reinforce their game
Never have to take responsibility
They are always the clear good one
They never really stare into the mirror
Their own arrogance is never looked at
Their own violence is covered
Sexual manipulation
Black and white
Right and wrong
Gossip and slander
Poor little innocent victim
How easy we demonize one another
How easy we take the role of the good guy
How easy we make everything black and white
Make everything completely wrong and right
Pull people into our charade
Stereotype and profile
Sure some people really are extreme
Yes, some people belong in prison
But so many times we play the victim
We make the other person BAD
We do not forgive or let go
We bring our baggage into all our relationships
We profile
We play the wronged person to the hilt
We make the other person EVIL
We make ourselves GOOD
No shades of gray, no soul searching
No reality and we go looking for perfect people
No forgiveness or negotiation and compromise
We are the victim! We are completely innocent
I broke up again he abused me
What’s that now 6 in a row?
Yes! And I am so sweet and innocent
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Dan And Nora Sullivan
They lived in the cottage by the gate to Tubrid Well the Sullivans Nora and Dan
For at least three score and ten years in time a lengthy span
Till failing health and the wear of age on them both did take toll
And the turning back of the hands of time is beyond human control.
The brother and sister Dan and Nora Sullivan I never more will see
They were claimed by the reaper the one who will claim me
But memories of them till my end with me I will retain
And each time I look back on my past they come to life again
I do recall at Christmas time Nora always remembered me
A greeting card from a dear old friend beyond the northern sea
She outlived Dan by six or seven years and news of her death reduced me to tears
For a mentor and role model of my long gone childhod years.
I knew them in my younger years from the same Townland as I
Two people I looked up to when I was a school going boy,
Dan and Nora Sullivan they could not live with a lie
And it truly could be said of them that they would not harm a fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Incarceration Cause And Effect
bad choices usually
have bad outcomes
cause and event
crime and time
everyone is innocent in prison
is the perpetual not guilty plea
blame it on de man who taught
blame it on de man who fought
blame it on de fool who wanted to be cool
blame it on de location of a bar room stole
blame it on de hard drug pushed or alcohol
blame it on de police sting or sell out mole
prison incarceration in punitive prison
result of poor self choice made decision
locked inside can result in fatal incision
from this education few great have arisen
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The fight for justice against corruption is never easy. It never has been and never will be. It exacts a toll on our self, our families, our friends, and especially our children. In the end, I believe, as in my case, the price we pay is well worth holding on to our dignity.
quote by Frank Serpico
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now Is Your Finest Hour?
This year is done
never to return?
What was achieved
what did we learn?
Decide about your years?
What judgement will mean?
When score years tilled end
what next around the bend?
All those amassed years
you have within your power?
When God takes your time
will it be your finest hour?
Within beloved God’s arms
do you wish to be taken rest?
Ultimately when race is run
who truly wisely lived for best?
If exhausted relax
upon what laurels?
Honour victory now achieved
tastes of thorn worn morals?
You have we know already
paid a steep high price?
This life price will you really
live it but once or twice?
If you are squeezed
if you lack life energy?
From where do you energize
from alcohol drugs revitalized?
You need peace now?
What do you need now?
This is your last hour?
Where go you now how?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Hungry Sea
The Hungry Sea.
The fog descends and spitefully blots out the harsh reality.
Of the hidden rocks and shoals that lie in wait to drown poor souls
Who are familiar with this coast which has claimed now more lives than most
When the sea fret hides the sea, the sad foghorn sound dismally.
The local fishermen are wise, but can be taken by surprise.
The dense fog muffles the warning sound and fishing boats can run aground.
The sea fret and the cold North Sea can work together readily
Malevolence personified they seem to take a perverse pride
in drowning honest sailor men for reasons far beyond out ken.
Despite modern technology.The sea fret and the hungry sea
demand their yearly sacrifice, and sailormen must pay the price.
It has been so for centuries recorded in the histories
which been written in the past by men who sailed before the mast.
The sea and sea fret are allied and they cannot be satisfied
Until the yearly toll is paid.This will not change I am afraid.
We try but cannot guarantee safety for those who sail the sea.
Along this coast where dangers lie.The ancient rules will still apply.
The sea won’t curb her appetite for she believes she has the right.
To take the sailor lives she takes, by forcing them to make mistakes.
The sea fret and the hungry sea will always win it seems to me,
4-Oct-08.
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Animal
Bound to a table
Poked with a stick
Treated like an animal
Treat for a trick
Disturbed thoughts rumble
Transcending instinctual ties
Madness binds with us
Each of us live our lives
Days turn to years
Fire turns to ash
The forest meets you at the piers
With your soul in its grasp
Forbear the brittle
And carry on strong
For life comes not to those who are little
But abounds for those whose stride is long
Victim for victim
Blow for blow
How much of the animal in you
Will you allow to show?
poem by Andrew Wucherer
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Learning from the Good Friday
Animals do not cry over death and loss.
Death and loss are not avenged by them too.
Prosecutors, victims and rescuers unheard,
Sins and punishments are man's handicrafts.
Forgiveness is the man reasoned virtue.
The forgiver does not feel a victim
And preempt the possibility of
Making the forgiven a victim in turn.
Jesus has forgiven the prosecutors,
Who ordered Him to be crucified.
He held no more himself a victim
Nor were the prosecutors made victims.
06.04.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Furore In Class
Yesterday I demythologised the concepts of
victim and aggressor, claiming women must
accept responsibility for the reaction they elicit
from men, as my classmates still clamoured
about the poor innocent victims who wear mini-
skirts à la haute couture then endure the un-
wanted attentions of amorous men because
women must be free to express themselves
at the cost of everyone around them, wear
revealing or seductive clothing while men
are demonised for lack of decorum
I insisted women enjoy their power over men
and are accountable for the consequences if
they cannot stop their victims from turning on
them - all shocked in class - I added a lot of
people deserve to be killed, including myself,
we should accept responsibility for providing
provocation to the killer instinct, it is a mercy
we don't kill each other more often - there
rarely is such a thing as an innocent victim
once people are grown - what a furore in
class, everyone exclaiming in shock
If we continue to put the blame on the people
who are goaded beyond endurance, we shall
be stuck with a dysfunctional society forever -
oh wait, we ARE stuck with it, no reason to
fear anything will change, provocation will
always be called innocent victim and thus
we are assured of the status quo - what
a lovely prospect since society defends
the true culprits and punishes victims,
let us rejoice in nothing changing…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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