Gambling Losses.

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Photo Credit : https://pixabay.com/en/las-vegas-night-time-neon-lights-599840/

Gambling losses, making me right cross
I won a stack of cash the other week, thinking my luck was in
I kept upping the stake I was using, hoping for a bigger win
It did not take long for that same sorry song to appear
I watched in despair as my bank went all the way down to zero

I could not help myself, it was like I was possessed
I could not put that cash back in fast enough
Now I am stuck and skint
In a city I don’t want to be, cant even afford a writing class
A swim in the pool, not available with my financial agenda
Sports classes or nothing, this what life is like currently
Human contact and interaction is missing, and that’s bloody hard

But I’m glad it happened, cause psychological pain such as this
Is hard
Because the riches I was expecting have gone amiss
Events such as this are really teaching me a lesson here
That the riches I desire and seek, are not going to emanate from the casinos
I visit week after week

I have said to myself, that’s the finish of it now
That’s a line I will no longer cross
This kind of nonsense has just got to stop
This is a period of time I will not forget
The futility and pointlessness of believing gambling
Will sort you out, once and for all
Financial stresses diminished
Wealth and riches by your door, don’t you believe it, mate
You’ll soon get to know the score

The only people making money from gambling are the people running such ventures
In my view they are nothing more than criminals, who prey on lonely, unhappy people
They who are seeking some respite, and hoping for a better life
But the odds are so tilted in there favour, those of us drawn in, have little chance of a win
As the owners swan around in there fancy cars, and live it up in hotels with five stars
While we the fools, who play by the rules, believing we have even a chance of a win
Are only adding to their wealth

For those others, afflicted with this addiction, I hope you too, soon see the light
Hit your rock bottom with all of your might
Then you perhaps you too can see the futility of gambling
That it will never lead you to where you think it will be
It only leads down that road of anger and despair
That will be familiar to the many who gamble to excess
Hopefully the pain of gambling and continually losing, will soon put you right.

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Wellness.

ill health

Photo by ANMOL on Unsplash

Have you ever being in that hell, when you doubt you’ll ever get well
Do Doctors seem like a waste of time even trying
Offering you poisons that will likely destroy you body and your mind
Is their discomfort and restriction which ever way you move

Is your body up the creek, are you searching everywhere
For the answers that you seek
Is their even a slight glimpse of good health opening up its door
Or perhaps you are locked outside, wondering will it be like this forever more

Will that pain subside, just a little, giving you hope
When will you  move onto an incline to health
Or do you sink back down, with a tailspin and a rapid slide
The road to recovery blocked once again

Is your body in some pain, as you breathe and you strain
Trying to remember what it was like before
Trying complementary, spiritual medicine to see you right
Healing foods, to help alleviate your moods
Make that damn pain go away

Are you now saying Hello to God, asking all those relatives who’ve gone before
To put in some good words, with the angels, to direct some healing energy your way
How’s that working for you, or maybe your just being a fool
Are you holding onto that memory from before
When dancing, swimming and exercise, were a welcome interlude
Not the impossible chore they would be now

Do you dream of health, and the freedom to move
Do you promise to be more grateful, like maybe you should have been before
Do you regret that cavalier attitude you had towards your health
Taking it so much for granted, like you did not even care
Putting your body at risk, maybe just for kicks
How foolish do you feel now, I ask of you

Does the future seem so bleak, is it even worth trying to seek a cure
For what ails your body at this time
Does it seem an impossible dream, to hope that one day
All of this might seem like a bloody nightmarish dream
But now your awake, and positivity reigns again
How good is that

Were you not cured yesterday, how come today aint the damn same
The pain and discomfort returning from out of nowhere
Do you secretly welcome it back, at least it’s familiar
There’s a lot to be said for sympathy and care
That’s what some decent people will offer to those in need

Are you  a psychological mess, in some real distress
Who needs counselling more than healing
Are you one of the many, fed up of rhyming poems
Which may flow easily for the author, but are a bit too trite and smalchy for the reader
But this is the way I roll, as they say in the music industry
If you don’t like it, dont read it, and don’t come here no more

Anyways, I’m off now to change my damn bed sores.

 

Gambling.

Casino unsplash.Photo by steve sawusch on Unsplash

Gambling.

I seem to have a problem with gambling me, I can’t seem to stop doing it, see
Even though I know I’m ain’t going to win
It’s the light’s the spinning wheels that draw you in
I win a bit now and then, but generally speaking I lose it again
The house always seems to win out in the end

But it’s also to do with the pleasure centers in the brain
The dopamine that’s secreted, help’s hide life’s pain
When you watch the spinning wheel’s on the slot’s
Will you win, will you lose
That’s the hit you’re after, that adrenaline,and that fear
That’s what you hold so very dear
That’s why you crave to try it again
Cause to the brain, it’s now a source of pleasure, and that’s when it gets tricky

Why do I gamble so much, what’s giving me such a rush
The chance to win a fortune, to take me away from here
To make my life seem happier, to make my problems disappear
They may go away for a day or two
But they always show up again, have no fear

I feel and get so angry when I lose, that I jump right back in
Spend even more money determined to win, again I lose, what a fool
But maybe I should go easy on myself, and try to uncover the reasons why
I gamble like I do
To figure out the trigger point’s
When I have them sorted out, maybe I won’t gamble so much.

The trigger point’s as I can see, are boredom, loneliness and angry energy, and uncomfortable feelings
But these feelings come and go, for everyone on this planet
I don’t want to be rushing to the casino, every time I feel this way
Emptying my wallet

How to deal with such feelings, without it costing a packet
Could try alcohol, but that’s a similar addiction
I’ve long since given up cigarettes so that’s a no, no too
As I like to keep my health in check, so that’s not something I will do

If I can see the trigger points that are forcing me to gamble
Sit down and analyze, could try from that angle, for a while
Maybe if I could stop and think about the consequences of that step
If I open up the laptop, and have another bet
But it’s not that easy to stop and think, when your mind is pushing you to gamble
When you get drawn in by the spinning wheel’s and flashing lights
The possibility of a win
But I get so angry when I lose, which is all I ever seem to do
I’m now spending cash set aside for bill’s, that’s a bad sign,and I know that

I did an online quiz the other night, to see if I had a problem
Of the twenty questions asked, I answered in the affirmative to a lot of them
Not all of course, approx fifty percent or so
At the end of the quiz, the computer said gee whiz, you definitely have a problem
I did not like that answer, so I did the quiz once again
This time not being so honest with my answers
But the computer screamed at me, yes man, you do have a problem

That set me thinking, have no doubt
I have bills to pay, ain’t got the cash today, because I gave it to the casino
Usually I’d jump back in, and try to win again
But it’s only myself I’m fooling
At least I’m lucky in a way, having a bit of insight into myself
Not ashamed to say, I may be a gambler today

But I’m going get on top of this, before it ruins my life
Cause it can bring a lot of heartache, to a family and a wife
So I think my strategy for now will be, to figure out the trigger point’s
To turn my mind to other things, when the urges come calling
To let go of the idea of revenge
To make the casino’s pay, for all the cash they’ve had from me
But that’s a foolish way to think
That kind of thinking will only make you sink
To the depths of despair, sadly you won’t be the only one there
With the odds stacked in there favour, that’s a foolish way to think
That’s a hopeless strategy
That could lead to homelessness, bankruptcy,or some other
None too pleasant possibilities

How about losing your wife, your children turning away
Perhaps a spell in prison, would that make your day
Cause these are the end destination’s where you may end up
If you continue to gamble and cannot stop
So it ain’t too funny now, if you look at it that way

I’ll read these gambling websites and see what others do
See their stories, hear their tales
Hopefully it will help me cope, when the urges come calling
I know these urges to gamble will come, but I now know they will pass
Not get drawn in, just keep deferring it for ten minutes
That way I’ll get through the day, without gambling at all
So hopefully it will get better after all

Even on the day I wrote this poem
A few hours later I was back on the laptop again
Badgered by my intuition, or so I thought, screaming at me, now’s your chance
Now is your day, it’ll make all your troubles go away
You’re bound to win, it’s not a sin, so lay that bet, it’ll set you free
It’s your way to freedom, do it and see
Needless to say I did not win, and feel very angry and foolish yet again
But I can see it’s just my mind fooling me
That’s how deceptive this addiction can be

But I’ll not get caught again, I’m mad as hell after losing again
I’m now wise to my own mind, and the tricks it plays on me
Their will be no next time, this I swear, I swear to me
The worst that can happen in a casino, is that you win
That’s what keeps drawing you back in
Believing if you were lucky once, you’ll be lucky again
It’s just a matter of getting the timing right

I’m tired of being fooled by this thing, I will not give in anymore
But even as I write these lines, I’m planning when I can get back in
Maybe limit the amount that I play, I’m sure to have a lucky day
That’s how mad this addiction is, in the past six days I’ve spent ninety quid
With very little to show for it, except for the blood pressure rising high
As I watch my bank account sink so low

I don’t know if i’ll ever give it up, as I do derive some pleasure from it
But i’ll certainly cut down the amount I spend
Try to find pleasure in other ways
I don’t feel like gambling when my mind is calm, with life going well and at ease
But how often is that, not only for me, but for everyone on the planet
So we’ll have to see how it goes, this saga of casinos and I.

                                                                                                                                               

Choices.

Particular

‘I am very particular about whom I get involved with now. Although perhaps I may enjoy being with you. I don’t need to be with you’.
Never before had he being spoken to like that. The cheek, the very idea. Who the hell did this woman think she was. The blood surged through his veins at speed, like a wild ranging river. He could feel his face redden, his fists clench, his shoulders tense, and the adrenaline run round his abdomen.
Then with the strike, it was released. The very real sense of peace and physical relaxation most welcoming. His jaw he had held so tightly, now eased. His breathing again became more smooth and easy. His clenched fists returned to the gentle creative hands they usually were. His hate filled eyes now replaced by gentleness, regret and sorrow. He rushed to her side where she lay on the floor, the blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. Her smart business suit, now crumpled and sullied with the dirt from the kitchen floor. Her look of shock, and a little fear, but overall her face portrayed a look of righteous anger and indignation.

‘You think you can do that to me’, her scream loud and embarrassing.

What if the neighbours heard, was his only concern. Would they not know, and think so much less of him as a man, as a human. He had to shut her up, to quieten her. She quickly raised herself from the floor. Now she was the one feeling the strong feelings of anger, and indignation. Her emotions propelling her body’s movements. She ran at him, her screams guttural, inhuman, animal like. Her sharpened fingers reaching for his hair, face, his eyes, anywhere she could reach. Kicking and slapping where she could. But her efforts, wasted and ineffectual, on a man of his size. He pushed her away easily, and pleaded with her to calm down. Apologised for what he had done, and promised it was so totally out of character that he could not understand his actions, at all.

‘ It will nevr, ever happen again, I swear. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Look let’s sit down and have a drink’.
‘Get the hell away from me, you animal’, her voice so very loud. Don’t you ever, ever come near me again’.

He needed her to quieten down, what of the neighbors, his main concern. His reputation and place in the community, at risk. He thought best than to decide to talk her down, he would just be quiet, so as not to make the situation any worse.
She gathered her belongings, threw the half filled glass of champange at him,

‘ I’m very particular about whom I get involved with, you freak’, she roared.

With that she slammed the apartment door, and made her way into cold, rain sozzzled night.

 

Alice.

That was the word that filtered down. That’s what he, she or whatever ‘it’ was preferred to be called. I did not no where to look, or even what I felt. My mind a myriad of emotions, and none of them good. Fear, bewilderment, anger, disgust, mixed with compassion, love and loss. Many deeply felt emotions, too confusing to try and name and describe.

I didn’t want to think, let alone feel. Did not want to see ‘it’. This monstrosity. This God almighty freak, that was now part of this family. Part of the family , that I by some unfair fluke of nature was related to. What in Gods name, had gotten into this person. What madness had somehow seeped into their warped, sick mind. My feelings towards them vacillated between, embarrassment, shame to acceptance and sorrow.
To say peaceful nights and mellow days were hard to come by, would be quiet an understatement. I had not seen him, her, whatever the bloody hell this  monstrosity was, since that crazy statement filtered through all those months ago. Like some sort of sick joke, from the depths of a warped, depraved, and perverted mind.That they had decided they were transitioning or whatever the politically correct term is.
In my own language, they had gone all bloody peculiar and odd. Sick in the head. That’s how I described them. Never mind their transitioning, change or whatever…
How was this going to effect us, as a family. My brothers and sisters. Would we not be the laughing stock of the small town, of the area, if not the whole country. The closed, narrow minds of small town Ireland, would never, could never understand, nor comprehend  something so foreign and alien to them, to their world. Perhaps were we in a large anonymous cosmopolitan city. Perhaps their people would be more accepting and understanding, and could care less. Too busy with their own lives to care.
Through other family members I forwarded my pleading, sensible suggestion. That they move to a large cosmopolitian city, to save us the shame and embarrassment, were this family secret to come to light. I left the small town the very next day. Took my own suggestion and lost myself in that large annoymous city. From that day to this I have never looked back. What became of that family member, I neither know nor care.

There, there…

 Pamper

‘Let me do it’.
‘No, you might only hurt yourself’.

The story of his life. It’s what he mostly remembered from his childhood. The over caring, some would say fawning Mother. Never allowing him the freedom to develop as a human being. To try and to fail. To make those mistakes that young people must do, and then to readjust their settings. Never was he given that opportunity. She was seen by some as a caring , loving Mother, but to others, she was the person who was crippling his ability to deal with the world.

To come to terms with the disappointments , failures and frustrations that life has a habit throwing everyone’s way, at some time or another. But thanks to her habit of making his life easy, and painfree for him, he was left without the tools to deal with life when it did not go to plan, and she was not by his side, to smooth the way.
He began to hate her, from an early age. Her claustrophobic smothering of his freedom, in case he got hurt. Her unspoken use of him as a substitute husband. To compensate for an inadequate, selfish, alcoholic husband. Sharing aspects of her unhappy life and failing marriage, that had no place being shared with a child. She shared with uncontrolled vengeance and bitterness.

Whenever the other boys at school were less than kind. Or girls, not welcoming of his attentions. His Mother was always there to coddle and sooth him, and to make life seem not so bad. To spoil him with gifts, and fine food. To tell him, how wonderful he was, and wrong , foolish and just plain nasty those other people were.
He was turning into a very unpleasant person. Feared and disliked by his classmates. Quick to anger, and violence. Borne out of his upbringing. His lack of tolerance and impatience for frustration. Unable to comprehend that life doesn’t always run one’s way. He thought nothing of walking into the local retail shops, and helping himself to whatever took his fancy, without payment many times. Angrily threatening violence on any who dared try to stop him.

Teachers pleading , and warnings from the local police of a possible future filled with long prison terms for her son, went mostly unheeded by her. She did not need anyone to tell her how to deal with her child. She knew him better than anybody. Was it not he, and she versus the world.
It did not take so very long, for his Mother’s misguided sense of love for a child, combined with her loneliness, anger and bitterness to manifest  itself over time, into inappropriate but unsaid, welcome touches. Welcome to her, and to him. He did not understand what was happening, but he enjoyed the sensations. They both knew it was inappropriate that she still bathed him, at his age. A young fast growing teenager, quickly growing into manhood. Both knew, but said nothing. She enjoyed the touch, and sight of a man’s body, even if it was her son, as she bathed and dried him. Massaging his body, to calm his mind, she told herself. To keep him out of prison. It was not long , before in the darkness of the night she lead him, that first time, and many times since into the marriage bed. They held and pleasured each other as man and wife, as lovers. She guiding his inexperienced hands around her body. She exploring his young body, and he responding to her touch. Their first kiss, she greedily searching out and finding his soft lips, while he recoiled in disgust from such a touch. But in time and with her forceful insistence grew to long for and enjoy, such a touch.
The longer it went on, the more confused, and troubled he became. Whereas she seemed to gain a new lease of life. Never had he seen her so happy. He did not like to see others, especially those close to him , happy, and it angered him. Not when he was so miserable and unhappy inside. It was with that in mind, he visited the school guidance teacher, one day after class had ended, and relayed what had been happening at his home. He overplayed his weeping and upset, to ensure a satisfactory result. The guidance teacher swiftly moved it up the line of command, and events moved quickly.

As he lay on his bed in the care home, contemplating his future. He knew that whatever the outcome, he would never see her again. Whatever was to happen, at least he would be free of her.

The Poem.

Recite

The teacher made his rounds of the classroom as the boys studied and attended to the exercise he had given them. His anger and temper to the fore, as per usual. His sometimes formally normal thinking transformed into anger, paranoia, and victim thinking.  Looking for any, or just one of the boys to step out of line. Silently willing them to break his self imposed rules. Feeling quiet unwell, as a result of the nightly bottle of red wine, which many times had turned into two bottles. Looking forward to the mid morning break, for some badly needed hydration, and rest.

The alcohol helped him ignore, or in his mind deal with his failing marriage,and impending divorce. Life didn’t seem soo bad. Life didn’t seem that serious through the bottom of a wine glass. His throbbing head. Mouth as dry as could be. A sick, queasy feeling in his stomach. He was well used to such physical effects of his increasing alcohol consumption. Never welcomed, but the expected side effect of his over indulgence.

If he was not the coward that he was, he would have challenged a man of his own size and age to a physical altercation. But he was brooding for a row, and the children in his care would suffice. At the very least they would offer little opposition. Just the way he liked it. He walked around the classroom, with his hands behind his back. Peering over the shoulders of the boys as they attend to the exercise he had given them. Peering, but really looking and praying to find some boy stepping out of line. Looking for an adversary, a victim. Someone to unleash his anger on. Someone to castigate, embarrass and shame. Why not. If it would made him feel better as a man. Some small victory in life. In a life where he didn’t feel such a failure.
Much to his satisfaction, it did not take long, He knew from experience there was always one. There would always be one, among the class. The dreamer. The softly spoken. That gentle, innocent child.
He stopped behind the desk of the young blond boy. Whom he had immediately taken a strong dislike to, when he initially saw him in the class at the beginning of term. The boy he had singled out for special , non too pleasant treatment. The soft, innocent and attractive features, and a permanent slight anxiety and fear, evident his features. The perfect victim.
‘What’, he thundered, ‘is this ? ‘, as he held aloft the few lines of poetry the boy had written. His face red with anger, and delight.
‘What nonsense is this you have written, eh boy ?’
The young boy squirmed in his seat. Not wanting to be the centre of attention, as the whole class turned their attention to him.
The boy shock with fear. His face reddened. His breathing quickened. His legs shock. That sickly feeling arose in his stomach, and how he wished he was anywhere but here. In this place, at this time.

‘What are you ? Who are you ?’, the teacher said mockingly. ‘The next Keats or Shelly ?’
‘You think you can write poetry’, he roared. ‘Here ‘ he said, as he hurriedly scribbled some words on a blank sheet of paper. He handed the paper to the boy, and instructed him to stand at the top of the class and recite what was written on the paper.
The young blond haired boy, read the words at his desk, silently, and at the aggressive insistence of the teacher stood at the the front of the class, and began to read from the scribbled paper.

‘I am an idiot and a fool. Most of the times I actually drool
I have the talent of a newt
I am ugly and thick, to boot
I deserve to die, I tell no lie
I am sorry, for actually being alive
Will you forgive me, for being what I am
I am not, and can never be a proper man.

As he read out the words before him, standing in front of the class. The others boys listened, and then the laughter began. The boys laughed. The teacher laughed, as he insisted that the poem be recited over, and over. Having had enough, the young boy ran from the class. Tears streaming down his checks. But as he ran, the image, and words of his Grandfather, from beyond the grave, stood strong in his mind.
‘Do not allow people to make a fool of you. Be strong. Be kind, but take your revenge if necessary’. He ran past the school car park, and slowed down, as his tears subsided. The silent words and images of his Grandfather encouraging his strength and resolve. With the area near enough deserted, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the penknife his Grandfather had given him before he had passed away. The wooden carved handle, and the sharpened blade. Which he regularly sharpened , and kept pristine and clean. Looking about him, he slipped under the teachers white jeep. Easily recognizable. He began to cut the plastic, mastic covered tubes, and hose’s underneath the engine. Not knowing really what he was cutting. But the act of cutting and hopefully causing some damage to the car and teacher, more than satisfying. He began to snigger softly, underneath the engine. Then he began to laugh aloud. Picturing his Grandpa encouraging and praising his bravery and actions. Feeling and hearing his words and spirit.

Satisfied that he had done enough, He slid out from underneath the jeep, and moved to the edge of the car park. He watched from beneath the tree’s in the late afternoon sunshine as the arrogant teacher sat into the white jeep, started the engine and slowly drove away. He noted the trail of dripping liquid following the jeep, as it exited the school and onto the highway, and he smiled.