"Spare the rod, spoil the child"
I got my share of the rod.
Today's values, pretty mild.
Then...it was "ordained by God".
Today, they call it abuse.
Back then, dad ruled with a belt.
Punishment was the excuse,
To leave a corrective welt.
Mother wielded a paddle,
Or a slap across the face,
When a sibling would tattle,
To keep us in our place.
Teachers used a wooden ruler,
Or cracked together two heads.
Meted justice was crueler,
Colored by blacks, blues and reds.
Hope dies, when a hurt child cries.
Imprint of fear often stays
Reflected in abused eyes.
And those where the good old days!
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a rhyming poem about your childhood. It can be good or bad, happy or sad.
No more than 20 lines.
No free verse. |
Author Notes
As a child, growing up with 4 brothers and two sisters, I often got beaten bloody from my father's belt. It took weeks for the welts to heal. That was considered acceptable back in the 1950's. All those things described here, I personally experienced and more. It caused a hugh identity crisis struggle that took well into my adult life to recover from. Maybe I haven't fully.
Thank you for Farewell to Sins Goldfish by Echo7 on FanArtReview.com
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