In a small country community,
Every person counts.
What I mean by this is...
Unlike in a city,
Where a person's decaying remains,
May lie festering,
In a lonely flat above a kebab shop,
For years unnoticed.
In the country,
It is like God numbering the hairs on your head.
Everyone counts.
We are disparate.
So when any of us is afflicted in anyway.
There are always strong ripple affects.
And word of mouth is everything.
So if someone has a personality disorder.
Like Paranoia,
The ripple effects can be far reaching.
And because we are polite and not qualified psychologists,
We may make little gossipy comments,
Amongst our clique,
But don't have the confidence or gall,
To deal with the issue straight out.
Instead we stand back and watch the divisive speech of the paranoid,
Turn a snowball into an avalanche of ill will.
Which threatens to engulf and divide the community.
By means of paranoid hysteria.
Here's the challenge - compose a poem each day for one year, that reflects my agrarian life. On our hobby farm on the edge of the Monaro my husband Matthew and I raise children (I have eight, though only five remain at home), sheep, goats, chooks, piglets, a milking cow and her calf, fruit and vegies. To support this enterprise I teach in the remotest school in Victoria - if anywhere in Victoria is truly remote.
Showing posts with label mental illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental illness. Show all posts
Monday, 28 December 2015
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