equalities – NOT Just Saying

Things That Were Never Okay

Recently BBC Radio Cambridgeshire reported increased domestic abuse statistics for Peterborough. A local woman was interviewed about her experience.

A man messaged the programme to say that the statistical rise in domestic abuse was just couples not being able to work out ‘tit-for-tat’ arguments between themselves; that, nowadays, anyone risked arrest if they ‘so much as raised their voices’ to their partners; that people are coming forward to report things which he considers trivial.

This is my response.

It was never okay to raise a fist
Or to tell her she was rubbish
Every single day.
It was never okay to force yourself upon her
While she was sleeping. No. Not okay.
It was never okay to try and keep her down at heel.
To tell her what to wear, how to think, or what to feel.
It was never okay to tell her
Whom she could see, and when.
Or, to watch her struggle home with heavy load
As you drove by in your car. Again.
It was never okay to say
That her writing was a joke,
Then pretend in public
To be the ideal, decent, honest bloke.
It was never okay to threaten her,
To laugh in her face, or to put your hands
Around her neck.
It was never okay to make her feel
Day in, day out, a pathetic, trembling wreck.
It was never okay to hide your secrets
And to tell her this was now her life.
To say she’d made her bed
And so must be a loyal, subservient wife.
All these things you said and did were not okay.
And are not okay now
To be endured by those still entrapped
By some mistaken vow.
It is not tit-for-tat, a silly tiff, exaggeration.
It is not okay, and so I WILL speak for those
Still in a world of daily desperation.
I will speak to tell them they can leave,
To help them know there is a way.
I will speak to let them know
Abuse is not their fault.
They do not have to live that life of pain.
Abuse is not okay.

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Winter Bollocks

I thought it was time to circulate this one again, since the #DailyFail is currently lying about ‘Poppy Day’ (aka Remembrance Sunday) being cancelled.

Round here we celebrate Xmas!
Round here we celebrate Eid!
Round here we embrace Diwali!
Round here we embrace each creed!

So don’t go spreading your Daily Mail crap
About things being PC.
It’s a load of winter bollocks
And it doesn’t ring true to me!

It’s a myth put out this time each year,
Just like the April lies,
When you spread the word St George is banned,
With your outraged, bitter cries.

Yes it’s just your winter bollocks:
Like, Nativities being banned.
You’re the perfect type for the EDL –
Too thick to understand.

And you’re spreading your hate on Facebook
All under the guise of your race.
And telling us all these winter tales
From your Fear-Of-Other place!

It was Fifa who said no to poppies
And not our own rulers, you prat.
And certainly not any Muslims I know
Would ever agree to that.

And no one has banned ‘Merry Xmas’
Yes, it’s still an acceptable phrase!
And they haven’t banned Xmas cake, cards or mince pies
And they haven’t banned Songs Of Praise!

And they haven’t banned Rudolph or Santa or Elves
And the pound shops will still sell their tat.
But what would you say if curry was banned,
Yes, what would you think to that??

Yes it’s just your winter bollocks
That you copy and paste without thought.
So go paste it all on a snowman’s ball
Your bollocks is not being bought!

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Links:
My bespoke poetry service, Diverse Verse
About the author
Contact the author
Follow Carol Ann Wood on Twitter
Levelling the Playing-Field: Carol’s football-related blog
Only in Erinsborough Carol Ann’s fun look at the lives and loves of the characters from the Australian soap, Neighbours

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I Must Be Silenced

I must be silenced. How do I know?
The Mail and Express have told me so.
I voted to remain, you see.
And we lost. End Of. History.
I must be silenced, gagged and bound.
Never must I make a sound.
Because we lost. End Of. I must move on.
Accept it. My European status gone.
I must be silenced
Because I’m unpatriotic.
I probably find Corbyn’s beard erotic.
I’m a loony leftie, under your bed.
The sort the Daily Fail wants dead.
I never listen to the Archers,
I’m filthy scum, I’ve been on marches.
My profile picture isn’t ‘our’ flag,
I really am a left wing slag.
I must be silenced, sent to the tower,
And brought out for each witching hour.
Publicly slated, humiliated,
Tortured, laughed at, trolled and hated.
I’m the sort who might say hello
To a Polish woman I barely know.
I must be silenced, my tongue’s too loose.
It’s my own fault if I get abuse.
We lost and I must take my fate.
Stupid whinging reprobate.
I should not be granted the power of speech,
Cos I dared to whisper the word impeach.
Treason! cry the fifty-two.
Name her, shame her. Stone her too!
I must be silenced, my voice annulled,
My thoughts impounded, my senses dulled.
Get on with it. Accept it. Never complain.
Be properly British. But I voted remain.
So I obviously don’t love my country, right?
A traitor to the red blue and white.
I don’t post tales of how Christmas is banned.
I’m stupid, I don’t understand
Why Rule Britannia is still sung.
In fact, I probably should be hung.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.
We’re Enger-land, we won the World Cup!
So what if it’s been fifty years?
That doesn’t matter to Brexiteers,
They are the ones who’re allowed a voice.
They won, you see. They spoke. Their choice.
I’m just a sore loser, a moaner, a whiner.
A radical woman with radical vagina.
I must be silenced, I must bow low.
The Mail and Express have told me so.

Index of Posts:

Links:
Links:
My bespoke poetry service, Diverse Verse
About the author
Contact the author
Follow Carol Ann Wood on Twitter
Levelling the Playing-Field: Carol’s football-related blog
Only in Erinsborough Carol Ann’s fun look at the lives and loves of the characters from the Australian soap, Neighbours

Please note that any advertisements which appear below these posts are placed there by a WordPress algorithm. They are not indicative of any endorsement by the author.

Are you ‘Beach Body’ ready?

beach body, body dysmorphia, sexism, — Charlotte Baring’s change.org petition to remove this Protein World campaign from London Underground stations gained 71,056 supporters in 2015

News that the Mayor of London, Sadiq Khan, has moved to ban from the city’s transport network adverts that promote unrealistic expectations about body image and health, prompted me to post this poem about photoshopped body images. Written a few years ago, it is, sadly, still relevant.

Airbrushed Woman

An airbrushed woman won’t hang about
When your beer gut grows and your hair falls out.
When you’ve lost your job and you’ve got man flu
She won’t be around to administer to you.

No an airbrushed woman won’t soothe your pain
When your life turns crap and you’re feeling the strain.
Cos an airbrushed woman wants an airbrushed man
So I’d hit that gym mate fast as you can.

An airbrushed woman is your fantasy figure.
As your fantasy swells then her tits grow bigger
But an airbrushed woman is the one in your head
So why not just appreciate the woman in your bed.

Reality woman is the one with the flaws
But she’s loyal and she’s true
And she doesn’t mind yours.
No reality woman doesn’t mind your belly
Or the fact you fall asleep in front of the telly.

So it’s time to grow up pal and learn to get real
Cos an airbrushed woman won’t care how you feel.
An airbrushed woman might seem like Utopia
But she’s still fake while you’re growing old and ropier.

Look in the mirror pal, it’s time to face the truth.
You’re not exactly in the first flush of youth.
Welcome to the real world, and grab it while you can.
Airbrush out those fantasies
And be a real man.

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