via Daily Prompt: Deny

Don’t you dare deny that you are sly, underhand and mean
Cruel and brutal, at times even obscene
You paint that face for others to see
Of happiness, joy comfort and peace
But for those of us who know you well
It’s a different side of you that we see

That side that likes to compete, defeat, undermine and destroy
To rob us of our joy
You categorize and label, and say we won’t be able
Never will we achieve, that which it is that we seek
To put us into boxes, and label us strange and bizarre

You never let up
How come you’re such a social failure, How come you don’t ever go out
Does no one like you, is that the issue
Please stop Father, you are only confirming my very own self doubt
Why can’t you be more successful, why can’t you be more impressive
Your not a child I wish to acknowledge, look at you, cant even make it to college
Your depressed you say, why don’t you confess
My evidence and judgement complete
Then I can rest easy, as I watch and silently laugh
As you squirm and look so uncomfortable in your seat
My never ending mission to seek and destroy
One step closer, towards being complete
As I categorize and diminish from my position up above
The labels and judgements I hand out to others
Are brilliant. They enhance my sense of self love, and self esteem
To the zenith of my happiness, You know what I mean

I push others down, stamp them into the ground
Because it raises me up to some higher ground
So brilliant am I, never can I do wrong
I leave a trail of damaged people and wrecked self esteem in my wake
Well these people will just have to find a way
To get themselves better for goodness sake

You commiserate with others, how tough it is for you
Having to deal with our unstable, unpleasant  personalities
Oh dear, what is it a man like you is supposed to do
Is it fair that you dare project your narcissistic characteristics
On those that are close to you

I can see what’s wrong with them, you scream
They are evenious, jealous, socially inadequate and unclean
It is like some nightmarish daydream, I must suffer for my sins
If only they were better, how easy my life would be
But all this time you never look within
To where the root of your unhappiness begins
Try looking inside yourself, maybe ask God to forgive you for your sins
If he has any sense, he won’t let you off that easily

For acting like a bastard, to some of the children who call you Father
Those you look to you, for sustenance, support and happiness
What do we find, but a man with a mind intent on pulling us down from grace
Who likes to compete, knock us off our feet, repeatedly
Until we can take no more, and really want to shut that door
We gain pleasure in finding ways
To seek revenge and settle old scores
If God won’t or can’t control this man, we’re gonna have to do
What it is what we can do, maybe try and wipe the slate clean

We will step back, step away, from people such as you
To those who like to tear us down, destroy our sense of self
They love to get inside our heads, and batter us near enough to death
Never happy are they, until they have spread their vile malicious ways
Onto others, and see them suffer too
Then they have reached their ultimate goal, this is what they do

So I say to any out their, in situations such as this
Realise that not all parents are well rounded individuals of sound mind, and good intent
Raising a family in an ocean of bliss
Many are vile, unpleasant individuals, incapable of looking after their young
They will destroy and tear you down, then act all innocent and clean
Deny the words they used, ever had any intent to be cruel and mean
But don’t you stand for that, don’t believe a word
It will just ease up for a week or two, and the cycle of abuse will begin again

Walk away, cut them out, if you can
Seek revenge if you must, you will be a stronger man
But don’t ever let them deny, that they are sly, underhand and mean
Psychotic, dysfunctional individuals, with a streak of nastiness
That has to be seen to be believed
Will I forgive…. sure eventually, for my own benefit
Will I forget, never. I will forever be on my guard
For such people who treat others with such disregard, for their mental and spiritual health
May God have mercy on them, for their sins.



Was it real ?

via Daily Prompt: Interest

He passed her on the street. In the mid afternoon, the warm breeze uncharacteristic for this time of year. Global warming, he put it down to . She smiled , then looked away. He wanted her immediately, what man wouldn’t. The clear skin, the tousled light brown hair, that slim body. The tight, well fitting clothing. That way she had of moving, so attractive. A man magnet.
Would he be good enough. Would he be attractive enough. A woman as good-looking as that, surly she was already taken, Most probably she already had a rich well to do husband, or lover. He lusted after her, big time. Viewing her for only a few seconds. Already he was congiruing up images of making love to her, and proposing to her. Getting married, and the children thay would bear together. The future life they would share together.

‘What are you straing at me for ? losser ?’

Her brutal, cold and less than welcoming response, shock him from his reverly. Perhaps she was not the porcelin princess he had being imaging. Or was it a test. The test that some women throw out to men, to see if they can handle them and would they be strong enough to be a suitable future partner. Strong enough , not to pander to her nonsense.

‘Hey love, no need to get ahead of yourself. You just happen to be in the view of what I’m looking at. If that’s your attitiude, I would never be intersted in at you at all’.

She pouted, she glared and swore in response. Just revealing  more of her unattractive character. What man, aside from a masochist would be interested in getting involved with such a woman.

He passed her by, congratulaing himself on swearving a possible future rather unpleasent relationship, with an ultra high manintense woman, that would only end in heartbreak and hardship. Who needs that, he asked himself aloud.

He carried on down the street towards the open parkland in the middle of the city, welcoming the peace and sustence it afforded.

There, there…

via Daily Prompt: 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.



He wouldn’t have being the first, and rather doubtful he’ll be the last. Many had chosen this hiding place. It was a respectable hiding place, At least in the view of the older people. The true believers. Yeah,those ones with the blinds pulled firmly down in front of there eyes. It wasn’t like it was a prison sentence, although to some it wasn’t far from it. No women. Not much alcohol. A false front, of caring, compassion, and interest in others. But what happens behind the doors of a religious order, never has to reach the knowledge of the outsiders.

    As he lay in front of the Bishop, on the altar. He and the three other victims, or should I say cowards. Well he and the other men running away and hiding from life. From themselves. Their friends and families in the Church looked on with pride. What an honour to have  a family member in the priesthood. Surely that would ease the passage of all associated with the new religious entrant into heaven. Hardly going to work against them.
               As Thomas lay on the altar, while the bishop conducted the very long, drawn out ceremony. Thomas with his arms outstretched to his sides, and his face down in the red carpet. Striving to cope with the current discomfort. The coldness of the Church. The hardness of the ground he was laying on. He reflected on what had brought him to this situation. To this choice. Was it really the only choice he had. Could he yet run from the scene before  it was too late. Before he was inducted into the priesthood.

That Certainly Would Be Unheard Of, And A Total Unforgivable Scandal In 1930’s Ireland. His Mind Turned To Her. She Was Never Far His Mind Now. The Forbidden Love. She Was Older, A Lot More Mature Than Her Fourteen Years. In Looks, Manner, And Outlook. But It Could Never Be. Not Now, Not Ever, He Told Himself, Many Many Times, As He Twisted And Turned alone in his bed at night.
                                 But The Deep Feelings Of Love, Or Was It Just Lust, He Wondered, Were Impossible To Hide From Himself. True Yes She Was The First Female To Show Any Real Feelings Of Warmth Towards Him. But He Had Heard Of How Many Young School Girls Fall In Love With There Teachers, But Very Seldom Would They Fall In Love With A Guard. Solid,Upstanding,Member Of The Community. This Was One Secret He Knew He Could Never Let See The Light Of Day.
                His Mind Travelled Back, How On That Sunny Day, As They Walked Along The Clifftop, Alone And Out Of Sight Of Others. That’s The Way It Had To Be. She Spoke Of Her Wishes For The Future. How Happy She Was, The Prospect Of A Family With Him, A Long Life Ahead Of Them.
           She Reached For His Hand. He Hesitated, And Suggested Instead, She Loop Her Arm Through His.

’It Will Look More Innocent’,

She Smiled And Laughed In Response. As They Continued To Walk Along The Cliff Top In The Warm Sunshine. Valuing Their Time Alone Together. He Teased And Chided Her For Missing Out On School To Spend Time With Him. She Laughed At His Mock Teasing, And Ran When He Chased Her In Jest. Catching Up To Her, She Turned And Softly Put Her Arms Around His Neck And Kissed Him Gently On The Lips.
              He Turned Back Towards The Clifftop Path. Feeling He Was Being Watched, And To His Utter Disbelief He Saw, The One And Only, Mrs Delia Murphy. Who Was Better Known As The Local Town Gossip. Standing And Watching Them. With Her Long Three Quarter Way Coat, And Large Handbag, Dangling From Her  Arm. A Small Hat Upon Her Head. She Had Never Married, And Had Taken Her Bitterness About That Situation Out On The World, On The Village By Spreading Scandal And Rumour. Overly Exaggerating Half Truths , About Anyone She Chose Too In The Village.
                                She Very Much Fitted The Image Of A Bitter, Aging Spinster. With A Large Physical Frame, Hair Always Tied Tightly In A Bun, In An Angry Manner. A Plain, Always Stern Face, And Less Than Pleasant Demeanour. She Eyed The Scene Of  Thomas And The Young Girl, And Her Mouth Dropped Open In Shock, Consternation, And Some Envy. But She Also Smiled, Because She Certainly Had Some Scandal To Spread In The Village Now. She Hurried Along The Clifftop Walk Towards The Village.

‘Mrs Murphy’, Thomas Called After Her, Releasing Sinead’s Arms From Around His Neck, As He Followed In The Footsteps Of Mrs Murphy’s.
‘i It’s Not What It Looks Like’, He Pleaded.

She Have Turned To Face Him,

‘Get Away From Me Guard Thomas Brennan, I Know What I Saw, And Soon Everybody Else Will Too…..’

Her Face A Picture Of Triumph, Joy, But Also Envy, As She Again Hurried Along The Path Towards The Village, With Her Self Righteous, Indigent Walk. He Knew It Was Pointless To Reason And Argue With Her. He Returned To Sinead Where She Stood By The Cliff Top Edge.

‘Now Do You See What You’ve Done’, He Voice Raised, And Face Reddened. ’You Know We Have To Hide Away From People. You Know Who That Was ?’

.‘Yes, I Know’. What Can We Do ?’

‘I Don’t Know What We Can Do, But We Have To Stop Seeing Each Other, For One. You Will Just Have To Find Someone Your Own Age, We Cannot Carry Any More’.

With That Sinead’s Face Reddened, And She Hung Her Head. Thomas Reached Out To Touch Her Hand, But She Pulled Away. He Reached Out Again, Again She Pulled Away And Ran. Her Tears Blinding Her View.


The More He Moved After Her, The Faster She Ran, In A Disoriented Manner. He Watched, As If In Slow Motion, As She Got To The Cliff Top Edge. He Looked At The Clear Blue Sky, And Asked God For Help. God Didn’t Answer. He Watched Her Eyes Widen, And Her Lips Parted To Scream, But No Sound Came Out. He watched in the silence, As She Moved Forward Into The Clear Blue Sky. He Ran To The Cliff Top Edge, But It Was Too Late. He Didn’t Want To Look, But Forced Himself. A Quick Glance At Her Broken Body, Lying Bent And Misshapen On The Rocks Below.

       As He Lay Prostrate On The Floor In Front Of The Bishop, Again He Thought Of Her. She Would It Seems Never Ever Be Far From His Mind And Soul……




The Wallet.

The Wallet.

I had a wallet once or twice, and that was all rather nice
All shiny, black and leather too
A gift from a lady I once knew. A lady of distinction and impeccable taste
But maybe she should have known better than to give me something made of leather

It’s soft to the touch, although I never put much in it
I still like to caress, touch and feel it
What’s the deal with that, wonder have I got some kind of fetish ?
Possibly so, I just don’t know

It don’t make me strange or peculiar, although some may choose to disagree
But then they don’t really know me, so I won’t pay much attention to them, you see
Maybe I should just concentrate full-time on leather
Just wrap myself in it, till I know no better

I’m fairly sure I’ll derive a great deal of pleasure from that
Is that so very wrong ? As long as I don’t burst into song
It’s just a harmless inanimate pleasure
It’s only leather after all

It’s just that I start getting strange withdrawal symptoms
If I can’t get near leather. I seem to find myself getting into a bit of a tether
I just feel drawn to it, in a strange sort of way
That’s my lot, that’s the way. There’s really nothing more I can say.


                                                                                                                                                                   OCT-06-2015//  G.

Woman 2.

There once was this woman, right, and man she was well outta sight
With a fine full bosom, and eyes so blue
I mean what in the name of God is a fella to do
I said,’would you mind’, she replied, ‘I’d rather not’,and declined
‘Come on’, I said, ‘Don’t be mean, let’s get dirty and obscene’
I protested, ‘ just give us a go ‘. But she was firm and said no
So being a gent of sorts, I said, ‘I’ll be off then’, in retort
So what could I do. What would any man do
So I said ‘okay then, to hell with you’.

The Beach.


Photo Credit :

She had threatened long enough, although no one had believed her. Just a call for attention. Nothing more, nothing less. they had decided. An old womans empty, and at times, humorous threats.
But obviously beneath the humour, there was hurt, and distress. No one had bothered to investigate. Everyone busy with their own lives. There careers, children, and business. Had someone actually taken the damn time to sit down with her, and sincerely ask her, what life was like for her. Had they show  more consideration and kindness, and maybe spent more time with an old lonely woman, life would have turned out differently. Perhaps many would have spent more time with her, aside from the one solidary visit a week, for the Sunday lunch. Nobody considering how the rest of the week was for her.
It was of course, too late now. The chance had disappeared. She lived for the weekends, and the once weekly visit from her children, and newly born grandchildren. Laughter and energy and happy voices once filled her household, just as it had been, when her own children were grown up. But there were always strains between her and her grown up, and now adult children. Did they really like each other , as people. Would they actually want to spend time in each other’s company, were they not related.

Some had taken sides, when the separation from her husband was first enacted, and then the divorce. Allegations and counter allegations flew between the two parties, and none of it pretty. Lies, distrust, and anger followed. Made up stories of abuse, and cruelty that may, or may not have had a grain of truth in them. Loyalty and kindness to her children, soon forgotten and dismissed by them, as they took the side of her husband.

The final straw for her, was the cessation of contact with her children, who were convinced by her husband, that she was the villain in all of this. That and the denial of access to her grandchildren, that she had helped care for, soon after they were born. No viable reasons given. All the love, kindness, and generosity she had shown them, and their Mother, her daughter, throughout the years. Amounted to nothing, it seemed. Kindness granted, soon forgotten.

It was that dull overcast November afternoon, that she headed to the isolated beach alone. With the tablets to hand, and a last small bottle of whiskey to encourage her bravery, she laid her reading glasses in the sand, and headed towards the ocean, and into the cold, uninviting waves. The mixture of the tablets and whiskey having the desired effect. As she stumbled and swayed, as she walked toward the sea. Her vision blurred slightly, and  feeling quiet light-headed. As a non swimmer she struggled and panicked at first, as the powerful waves, did with her as they wished. The whiskey and tablets helped to quell her rising fears, somewhat. The waves, and weight of her own clothing soon pulled her out and down, to the ocean bed, where she waited for God to take her.
In the cold, dark church, the priest stood at the lectern, gazing upon the congregation of mourners. Having conducted most of the formal ceremony, he could no longer hold himself back. Behind him the magnificent altar, towering upward. To him, they were nothing but hypocrites. He was well aware of the family history, having had been closely and connected to them for years. From births to marriages, to baptisms and confessions. He had heard and seen it all. They were here in this place of worship now to mourn her, with their crocodile tears, and false sadness.

The priest gripped both ends of the lectern tightly. His face thunder red, and perspiring. ‘What does it mean, to mourn someone when they have died. It means very little when you showed them little kindness or understanding when they were alive”. He spoke slowly and loudly. The anger and frustration plainly obvious in his tone. Her children shifted uncomfortably in their seats, as did her former husband. One or two loosening their shirts collars. The females fanning themselves with whatever was to hand. One or two members of her family gazed quietly at the floor.
‘I have very little time for hypocrites like you people, I want you to leave this church now. Get out of my sight. I am sick of the lot of you. Go, and may God have mercy on your black souls. Get out, go’, his voice rising to a crescendo. His booming voice reverberating throughout the silent church. The congregation left the church as directed, for the most part, with their heads held low. In the sacristy as the priest changed from the formal clothing of the funeral mass, he gazed out onto the cold uninviting waves of the ocean, under the dull grey November sky.

Written in response to a writing prompt seen here :