Novarated ignorant mouthpiece goes for GAGA

Hi again,

So long between postings it is almost criminal. I have not written anything for ages and felt compelled to put together this letter of complaint and sent it to a local Brisvegas radio station. I happened to be listening to a radio shock jockass fool with a caller on the line yesterday on a station that is one of the growing number of media machines hell bent on generating trans phobic and anti gender variant vilification. It seems every week I witness on TV and other media formats new evidence of a subversive concerted effort to dismantle trans-activism and the growing support for those identifying as gender diverse. It seems that many issues and topics are seen as fodder for laughter and ridicule and I understand that comedy takes great licence in these areas, especially when it comes to picking on minorities and the weakest link. What I do not get is the way that this male dominated entertainment medium is responding to a perceived threat of growing acceptance by mainstream society of gender variant people. This insecure mostly male generated backlash seems to be whipping up a frenzy of anti trans and trans phobic media attacks by the likes of Rove and his comedic gen x counterparts and other shows in the vein of Good News Week and any other show that seems to have attached itself to some self righteous premise that they are an authority on what is worth dismantling and pulling apart with humour to destroy it's validity for mainstream acceptance. Yes I know what some may think about freedom of expression with humour, but when a group of people are already behind the eight ball with human rights and freedoms compared to others and are vulnerable to the affects of this campaign, one has to question why it is happening so much and with such spite filled venom. Is there is a responsibility for society to stem the frequency of these attacks? I feel it is coming from a place of ignorance and fear of accepting something they know is more powerful than they can control. It is natures beautiful wild animal that they would like always kept in a cage, until it's the last animal left in the only circus in town. Gender variance is a natural expression found in every life form and to continue to deny this diversity is stupid and one of the reasons why humans are so out of touch with mother nature. The Universe makes no mistakes! everything happens for a reason and is an opportunity to learn from every lesson, good or bad experience is given as a gift. It is up to all of us to accept it and unwrap. Everyone can learn something we did not even think we needed to know from the experiences and people we do not understand. It is a chance to grow if we can find a way to turn our lemons into lemonade. All you have to do is open your mind and add a little sugar. xxx Banksy

Here is the letter of complaint that I sent to a novarated shock jock lion tamer!

To whom this may concern,

I am writing this letter to voice my disgust with comments that were broadcast on your radio stations morning show with Brendan Dangar at approximately 9.50am.

I would like to make a complaint to your station in regards to derogatory comments about the validity of Lady Ga Ga’s femininity and that it has allowed offensive comments to be aired which directly vilified members of the Transgender community. I was shocked to hear Brendan Dangar joke with a caller to the station about whether or not Lady Ga Ga was a real woman. He said that her statement that she was a real friend to a fellow musician was somehow invalid because nothing about her was real and she was a “dude” as he called her. As a member of the Transgender community I find this personally offensive that he would try to validate on air the idea that anyone who is suspected to have gender variance is in some way not real or worthy of respect and open to ridicule and discrimination. I have no idea about Lady Ga Ga’s gender identity and as far as I am concerned that is none of my business or anyone else’s. She is a woman and has identified herself as a woman and any comments made to slander her gender identity are discriminatory and highly offensive to all who identify as female. In my opinion this is not only a form of sexist misogyny against all women in Australia, it is also a deliberate attempt to debase women subversively through a male dominated broadcasting medium.

I have the right to listen to a radio program without feeling humiliated, degraded and ridiculed as a member of a community that is being made fun of by one of your ignorant announcers. This is blatant discrimination and vilification via comments that deliberately attempt to incite hatred against Trans people. These comments encourage transphobia and endanger the lives of vulnerable members of my community that encounter negative anti social behavior directed at Transgender people. As a broadcaster it is your responsibility to ensure that what you broadcast is not offensive or discriminatory and in breach of radio code of practice. I am appalled at the amount of anti Trans behavior directed at my community and will be taking this matter further. I would like to know what you are going to do about this incident and hope that an understanding can be reached that it is not ok to ridicule and degrade anyone on the basis of gender or gender identity.

I have attached sections of the radio code of practice that are in relation to my complaint and hope to hear a response from you in the near future.

Yours Sincerely,
Robyn Whittaker.

The tragedy that led to my fathers Death (A Memorial 17/08/09)

(THIS WAS A STORY I ORIGINALLY WROTE FOR A NEWSPAPER BUT JUST BEFORE PRINT THEY PULLED THE STORY UNDER THREATS FROM THE HOSPITAL'S LEGAL TEAM. THE NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED. MY FATHER HAS SINCE DIED.)

AS ALOT OF US ARE AWARE THE NAMED TOWNSVILLE HOSPITAL HAS BEEN LEFT SADLY LACKING UNDER THE PRESSURE OF A LARGE COMMUNITY IN NEED, AND THE LACKLUSTER ATTEMPTS OF THE SAID GOVERNMENT TO PROVIDE ADEQUATE HEALTH CARE TO ITS CITIZENS.
AS A RESULT OF THIS SQUEEZE OF PRESSURE, ULTIMATELY MANY PARTS OF THE HOSPITALS SYSTEM START TO FAIL.
ONE SUCH EXAMPLE OF THIS IS MY FATHERS TREATMENT AT THE HANDS OF CERTAIN DOCTORS WITHIN THIS SYSTEM. I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE IT QUITE CLEAR ON MY FATHERS BEHALF THAT THIS IS NOT AN ATTACK ON ANY OF THE WONDERFUL NURSING STAFF OR VOLUNTEERS, AS HE HAS ALWAYS SPOKEN VERY HIGHLY ABOUT ALL OF THEM.

MY FATHERS CASE IS A GOOD EXAMPLE OF EVERYTHING NOT TO DO TO SOMEONE AFTER DIAGNOSING THEM WITH BLADDER CANCER. WAY BACK IN AUG 04, MY FATHER WAS DIAGNOSED WITH AN AGGRESSIVE FORM OF BLADDER CANCER AND THIS IS WHERE THE VERY TRAGIC STORY BEGINS.

THE DIAGNOSING DOCTOR FROM A PRIVATE PRACTISE ATTACHED TO THE CERTAIN HOSPITAL TOLD MY FATHER THAT IF IT HAD BEEN DIAGNOSED ONE MONTH LATER IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TOO LATE TO ASSURE SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT. THEY TOLD HIM TO GO HOME AND THE DOCTOR WOULD SEND WORD TO THE HOSPITAL AND THEN THE HOSPITAL WOULD RING HIM WITH AN APPOINTMENT.
AFTER 2 WEEKS AND NO CALL FROM THE HOSPITAL, HE DECIDED TO DRIVE OUT TO THEM AND FOUND THEY KNEW NOTHING ABOUT HIM. TO HIS HORROR HE ALSO FOUND OUT THE DOCTOR HAD NOT WRITTEN ANY LETTER, LET ALONE SENT IT. MY FATHER WENT BACK TO THE GP AND WAITED WHILE THEY WROTE A REFERRAL LETTER , THEN RUSHED UP TO THE HOSPITAL AND SUPPLIED IT TO THEM HIMSELF.
CHEMO AND RADIATION TREATMENT STARTED VERY LATE TO CATCH THE VITAL ONE MONTH PERIOD GIVEN. AFTER MORE THAN TEN MONTHS AND MANY REQUESTS FOR INFORMATION ON THE STATUS OF HIS HEALTH, VERY LITTLE INFO WAS GIVEN ON HOW HIS TREATMENT WAS PROGRESSING. THIS SILENCE FORCED US TO ENACT THE FREEDOM OF INFORMATION TO SEE FOR OURSELVES THE RESULTS.

AFTER MANY QUESTIONS, MY FATHER WAS ASSURED HIS TREATMENT WAS GOING WELL. THE TREATING DOCTORS TOLD HIM EVERYTHING WAS SUCCESSFUL AND THAT THE TREATMENTS HAD BURNT THE CANCER OUT AND IT WAS DEAD. ONE STAFF MEMBER EVEN RANG MY FATHER AT HIS HOME TO CONDESCENDINGLY ASSURE HIM OF THIS REALITY. AT NO STAGE DID ANY STAFF MEMBER OF THAT HOSPITAL EXPLAIN TO MY FATHER OR HIS FAMILY THE GRAVE REALITY OF HIS SITUATION, THAT TREATMENT HAD FAILED AND HE WAS FALTERING. THIS WAS NEGLIGENCE AND A TOTAL COMMUNICATION BREAKDOWN ON THEIR BEHALF. INSTEAD THEY LET HIM GO HOME AFTER INADEQUATE TREATMENT TO WASTE AWAY IN ALOT OF PAIN AND HE WAS LEFT TO WONDER WHY HE WAS STILL FEELING SO UNWELL. OUR FAMILY WERE UNINFORMED AND JUST THOUGHT OUR FATHER WAS PANICKING WHEN HE WAS TRYING TO RAISE THE ALARM ABOUT HOW HE FELT AND IN RESPONSE WE TIED TO ALLAY HIS FEARS AS BEST WE COULD. TRAGICALLY FOR HIM AND ALL OF US, THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN WITH HIS LEFT LEG SWELLING WITH FLUID. THE SWELLING WAS CAUSED BY A LARGE TUMOUR CUTTING OF HIS VENUS RETURN, ALLOWED TO GROW THANKS TO THE HOSPITALS INCOMPETENCE. THIS ALL HAPPENED ON THE NIGHT BEFORE I WAS TO RELOCATE TO BRISBANE.

JUST LIKE A FOREBODING OF THINGS TO COME MY OWN LEG THE NIGHT BEFORE WAS SORE AND MY LEFT FOOT WAS ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO WALK ON.
THE NEXT DAY AS I PREPARED TO DRIVE TO BRISBANE, I URGED HIM TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL. YOU COULD SEE IN HIS EYES THAT HE KNEW THAT ALL MAYBE LOST AND HE SAID TO ME WHAT DOES IT MATTER NOW ANYWAY. IT WAS POSSIBLY ONE OF THE MOST DIFFICULT THINGS FOR ME TO DO, TO LEAVE HIM STANDING THERE IN THE DRIVEWAY WHILE MY MOTHER AND I DROVE OFF TO MEET MY FURNITURE THAT WAS ARRIVING AT MY NEW HOME. I WANTED TO STAY WITH HIM AND I SAID I WOULD, BUT HE INSISTED THAT I WENT. TEARS STREAMED DOWN MY FACE AND A LITTLE PIECE OF MY HEART BROKE AWAY THAT DAY. IT WAS THE HARDEST THINGS TO DO AND FOR SOME REASON THAT DAY I JUST KNEW THAT THERE WAS SOME HORRIBLE EXPERIENCES TO COME. I LEFT PROMISING MY FATHER THAT I WOULD COME STRAIGHT BACK TO HIM AFTER SETTING UP HOUSE AND LOOK AFTER HIM.

BY HIS OWN FORCED CALL HE WENT OFF TO HIS PRIVATE DOCTOR ON THE MONDAY TO INVESTIGATE WHAT I AM SURE IN HIS SOUL HE KNEW WAS WRONG. I WAITED BY THE PHONE IN BRISBANE FOR WORD OF HIS TEST RESULTS AND WHEN THE TESTS CAME BACK AND THE DISGUSTING REALITY CAME TO LIGHT AND THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN. HE WAS TOLD BY HIS TREATING HOSPITAL DOCTOR THAT IN FACT THEY HAD ALWAYS KNOWN IT WAS TOO LATE AND THAT IT HAD SPREAD TO HIS LYMPHATIC SYSTEM AND WAS ONE OF THE LARGEST TUMOURS THEY HAD SEEN.
THIS WAS THE FIRST HE HAD HEARD ABOUT THIS AND WAS TOLD TO GO HOME AND PREPARE TO DIE. THE SHOCK TO MY FATHER AND ALL OF HIS CHILDREN WAS UNBEARABLE AND WE WERE LEFT TO FEND FOR OURSELVES OVER THE WORST EASTER ON RECORD. THEY SENT HIM HOME AND SAID THEY WOULD MAKE HIM COMFORTABLE BUT AT NO TIME OFFERED ADVICE, COUNSELING OR EVEN PAIN MEDICATIONS. INSTEAD WE TRIED IN VAIN TO COME TO GRIPS WITH THIS SITUATION ALONE AND DEAL WITH IT AS BEST WE COULD.

I LODGED A COMPLAINT WITH THE HEALTH RIGHTS COMMISSION AND IT WAS ACCEPTED AND REGISTERED FOR INVESTIGATION. FOUR MONTHS LATER AND AFTER A FEW SHORT STAYS IN HOSPITAL WHERE THEY COULD NOT WAIT TO FIND EXCUSES FOR FREEING UP HIS BED AND SENDING HIM HOME. AFTER WHICH HE LAID IN A BED IN THAT HOSPITAL UNABLE TO BE LOOKED AFTER AT HOME.
I HAD MOVED FROM BRISBANE TO LOOK AFTER HIM BUT HIS ILLNESS RAPIDLY PROGRESSED AND HIS LEVEL OF CARE BECAME TOO MUCH FOR ME TO PROVIDE. I CANNOT BEGIN TO DESCRIBE THE HORRIBLE EXPERIENCES THAT CARING FOR A LOVED ONE WITH THAT DISEASE CAN PRODUCE. IT WAS A VERY CONFRONTING AND TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE TO TRY AND DEAL WITH, BUT I WOULD DO IT AGAIN IN A HEART BEAT FOR HIM AND ANYONE THAT I LOVED.

THANKS TO THAT HOSPITALS LACK OF DUTY OF CARE IN RELATION TO PROVIDING THE BASIC HEALTH INFORMATION HE IS ENTITLED TO, WE HAD TO SCRAMBLE TO PLAN HIS EVER DWINDLING FUTURE. WE WERE LEFT TO MAKE A TRULY HORRIBLE DECISION TO PLACE HIM IN A NURSING HOME THAT WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO PROVIDE THE CONSTANT MEDICAL CARE HE REQUIRES. YET ANOTHER THING TO ADD TO HIS BADLY MANAGED TRAUMA AND DISEASE. THE SYSTEM IS SO STRESSED THAT THE ASSESSMENT TEAM CANNOT TELL US WHEN HE WILL BE EVEN ASSESSED TO GO INTO A HOME, (SOMETHING NEEDED BEFORE BEING PLACED IN A HOME EVEN THOUGH HE IS THE HIGHEST CATEGORY, NUMBER ONE.)
OWING TO A LACK OF FUNDS AND A LONG WAITING LIST HE NOW WAITS FOR A FATE HE TRIED TO AVOID BY ALL WAYS KEEPING A VIGILANT EYE ON HIS HEALTH. I DID NOT WANT HIM TO GO INTO A NURSING HOME TO BE POSSIBLY NEGLECTED AGAIN. STAFFING LEVELS AT THESE HOMES ARE UNDER PRESSURE AND PROPER CARE IS VERY DIFFICULT. I WOULD LIKE THE GOVERNMENT TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHY HE IS FORCED TO GO INTO A NURSING HOME WHEN HE HAS SUCH A SHORT TIME TO LIVE. OUR FAMILY HAS BEEN THROUGH HELL AND I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT THIS IS A FAIR OUTCOME FOR MY VERY ILL FATHER.

I WILL NOT HAVE HIM TUCKED UNDER THE CARPET SO THOSE IN CHARGE CAN CONTINUE THIS COVER UP. THEY HELD THE TRUTH OF HIS ILLNESS FROM HIM AND LET HIM WASTE AWAY IN PAIN WITH NO COUNSELING FOR HIM OR US TO PROCESS THE SHOCK. THEY TOLD US HE WAS CURED AND WOULD BE OK, BUT KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT. ALL THIS JUST TO SAVE MONEY ON TREATMENTS AND RESOURCES FOR A HEALTH SYSTEM THAT HAS A POLICY OF SELECTIVE HEALTH CARE FAVOURING THE YOUNG. IF WE WERE EVER TO HAVE A MAJOR DISASTER WE WOULD BE ALL LOST AND THE CURRENT 6 TO 8 HR WAITING TIMES TO SEE A DOCTOR AT ANY EMERGENCY ROOM IN THIS COUNTRY WOULD LOOK VERY FAVOURABLE INDEED.
THE HOSPITAL SHIP IS LEAKING AND WILL ULTIMATELY SINK IF IT'S ALLOWED TO CONTINUE BEING RUN AS LOOSELY UNDERFUNDED AND UNDERSTAFFED AS HAS BEEN THE CASE SO FAR. GOD HELP US IF THE UNTHINKABLE HAPPENS AND A VIRAL OUTBREAK OR TERRORIST ATTACK TAKES PLACE. AND PLEASE TAKE MY FATHERS ADVICE AND ALWAYS GET A SECOND OPINION.

AT THIS STAGE THERE IS NO PALLIATIVE CARE IN THE NORTH FOR
PALLIATIVE CARE PATIENTS, THE CLOSEST PLACEMENT IS IN BRISBANE.
SADLY ONLY WEEKS AFTER WRITING THIS LETTER MY FATHER PASSED AWAY, HE DIED ON THE 17TH AUGUST 2006. I STILL WANTED TO TELL HIS STORY AND A YEAR HAS NEARLY PASSED SINCE WE BURIED HIM AND I JUST HAD TO PUBLISH THIS TO FINALLY LET THE STORY BE READ. I WILL MISS HIM UNTIL THE DAY I PASS AWAY AND HOPE TO ONE DAY SEE HIM AGAIN. THE PAIN IS GETTING EASIER TO LIVE WITH AND I GET THROUGH MOST DAYS WITHOUT GETTING EMOTIONAL. HIS FUNERAL WAS BEAUTIFUL AND I HAD SPENT THE FOUR MONTHS THAT I LOOKED AFTER HIM RECORDING HIS VOICE. THE TAPES ARE OF HIM TALKING TO ME AND SINGING AS HE LOVED TO DO AS WELL AS HIS NATURAL TALENT OF PLAYING THE HARMONICA THAT I NOW HAVE ON MY BOOK SHELF IN FRONT OF HIS PHOTO. (HE HAD AN AMAZING VOICE SIMILAR TO ELVIS AND THE WEIRD THING IS THAT HE DIED THE DAY AFTER ELVIS DID. AS HIS COFFIN WAS GOING DOWN INTO HIS FINAL RESTING PLACE BESIDE HIS VERY CHERISHED MOTHER, THE CD I MADE UP FOR THE DAY PLAYED. HE PLAYED MOON RIVER ON THE HARMONICA AND SANG THE MOST HAUNTINGLY BEAUTIFUL VERSION OF GALL WAY BAY I HAVE EVER HEARD. EVEN THOUGH HE WAS VERY ILL DURING THESE RECORDINGS HIS VOICE WAS STILL AS BEAUTIFUL AS EVER, IF NOT JUST A LITTLE WEAKER BECAUSE OF HIS ILLNESS. I WILL NEVER FORGET HOW MY SOUL PINED FOR THE LIVE VERSION OF THAT SWEET VOICE I HAD LISTENED TO ONLY DAYS EARLIER.

I LOVE YOU DAD AND HOPE YOU ARE OK, MAY YOU REST IN PEACE UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN.

Robyn Whittaker. 2006, updated version 2007. Latest publication on 17/08/09.

Song to the Moon. (For Morty)

As I lay my head to my pillow I wish for your return. No magic to prevail this ungranted desire. Only ashes given on the morrow for my burdens and the deafening of your silence will remain until we meet again. I love you Ba Ba. xxx

Rest easy on this night and may the moon guide you to your peaceful sleep. xxx Banksy. (3/07/09)

This is the song I have been playing on facebook for the last week for my beloved, it conveys the emotion and the meaning of what I am feeling at this time and I would like Morty's ashes and wooden box placed in my coffin when I am laid to rest. "Song to the Moon" . I have also placed the original comments I wrote on facebook to go with each. xxx Banksy.

I call to you as I sleep, ba ba. xxx (4/07/09)

This is the English version of the song I have been sending each night to the one that is missing. A song to the moon, and a guide for his return to mend a broken heart. This is his Memorial song and it will be played on this date every year and on the day they give me my own farewell. Thank you Morty for the many years of joy you brought to my life and for being the most sincere of companions, you were a truly unique and incredible entity and I was fortunate to have you near. I love you. xxx (7/07/09)

A Memorial for Morty

Today is the day they bring my Morty's ashes back to me and I have something of him back again. He has been cremated and placed in a beautiful wooden box with brass edges and plaque. Exactly seven days since he passed away, today is his memorial. My Ba Ba, Monkey, and mummy's own little boy Pinocchio. Thank you for 7.1/2 wonderful years. You were "Sent from above through heavenly beams" and I will deeply miss u forever.xxx

This is a very sad day for me, exactly seven days ago on the 30/06/09 my beautiful Mortimer passed away in my arms and left this mortal shore. He had been very unwell since May with a suspected brain tumour and though he had excellent veterinary care, we were unable to save him. I have not been posting much of late and have been processing what has proven to be one of the worst years of my life. Life has a way of taking us all on a journey that teaches us that the best way to handle each situation that it brings is just to learn from the lessons, try and stay positive while holding on tight to the roller coaster ride that is life. My grief at losing my beautiful child like entity called Mortimer, the one who was sent to me through heavenly beams, has taken a great toll on me and I will be forever changed with his loss. No one could ever understand the amazing bond I had with this unique animal entity. He was an incredible animal and many times I would forget that he was a cat and if any comparison could be found it would be the story of Pinocchio. I am unable to have my own children and for a 7 and 1/2 years of moments in time I was given my own little boy who loved me and tried to become the boy I could never have. I have had issues with loneliness on this journey through my life and it is one of the lessons I feel I must face and deal with. The universe gave me the most purest of companionship's with Morty and now for whatever reason he has gone and I must come to terms with my loss. I remember many good times with Morty and recall with fondness how we found a way to create our own language. He would use different tones to convey his different emotions and I understood his language completely. I remember him looking across the room at me almost like he was in deep thought with a love in his eyes that I have never felt from another living soul. We would play with the many toys I gave him and his favourite ones were his ball that he had since he was a kitten that he would roll back and forth to me across the room, it was amazing to witness. I have video footage of him that a friend took that I will post on here at a later date of him tapping a yo yo ball on a string back and forth, what a funny little monkey he was. I bought him this monkey toy from the Ekka last year, with floppy arms and he would start a boxing match with it when I pretended to bring it to life for him to have a fight. So many memories..... another is the six times he flew with me whenever I travelled on the airline between here and Townsville, without a care at all he took it in his stride without sedatives. When I moved here from Townsville he sat in the car with Mum and I on a Thermos flask that had been placed between the two fronts seats with a towel on it just quietly sitting there watching me drive us to our future and our destiny. This unit is not my haven at present and the realisation that at least 50% of it's atmosphere was the warmth that Morty created with his beautiful presence is hard to ignore or deal with. He was not just a cat he was the equivalent of a son, the child I never had and everything about him was a gift sent to me to help and guide my way. What will I do without him? All I know is I will try and hold on to the beautiful memories and make peace with the others. I will attempt to mend my broken heart and continue on my path without him by my side while watching for shadows that tell me he is near until we meet again on the day my time has run out. Thank you Morty for the many years of joy you brought to my life and for being the most sincere of companions, you were a truly unique and incredible entity and I was fortunate to have you near. I love you Morty. xxx

Rove Letter of Complaint

This is the letter I just sent to Rove Mcmanus regarding his unfortunate discriminatory comments about the Transgender F2M in America that has given birth to two children. He said in his interview with an irish comedian that this Transgender person was just a "bearded freak". This person may be a little outside of the square that most have decided to live in and many have found this hard to comprehend but the world has room for all of us. I think what was said was disgusting and ignorant and yet again another example that Transgender people are the new Black! One of the last whipping horses to endure the brunt of ridicule and contempt flung from a society led by ignorant white male megalomaniac supremacists. One of his last comments about this trans man that gave birth to these beautiful children was... "he is not a man, he is a bearded freak!" (first heard him say he was just a woman without tits, this is nowhere to be found and this is much worse)...How dare you Rove, what a disgusting disregard for the effects your careless words could have...you should be ashamed of yourself. My letter to his website is as follows....

Rove,

I just want to alert you to your offensive discriminatory remarks regarding a transgender person residing in America. I was watching your show tonight and was shocked at your ignorance on this issue and blatant disregard for the damage your words have potentially done to my kind. You made these comments while interviewing that weird guy that acts like he has burned one too many brain cells through substance abuse, and on any other planet he would be given a very snug white jacket, placed in a soft room to reside in until the effects of his disorder went away and he has the hide to make light of my kind and see us as odd and weird, please spare me! How dare you both make fun of this transgender F2M and your words rove were, "thats not a man, that's a bearded freak" I once thought he was vaguely funny as well but even he is resorting to the last whipping horse for white male megalomaniac supremacists, you cant pick on Black, yellow, or brindle, disabilities, gays,,,, god what have you got left!!! or that's right lets flog the last one in the pile, the Transgender's because they are fair game in your minds. Don't get too comfortable it won't be for much longer I assure you. I have always been a fan of you and your show and I think you are very talented but please have a little respect for those in the GLBT community, as we no doubt would make up a great chunk of your viewing and supportive audience. No one is immune to loosing credibility as we all saw with Gordon Ramsey and you are no different, so it is never wise to disregard the effects of what you say on those that enjoy your sense of humour. I think your funny but come on you can do better than make fun of something you clearly do not understand or by the looks care to. Maybe you should concentrate on your unique brand of humour instead of looking for lazy cheap shots at sections of the community that do not need your sarcasm and ignorance packaged up as a laugh at our expense. Hey how would you feel if someone showed little respect for someone close to you or your existence and made fun of it like those vile ABC wankers that think it funny to make fun of children with terminal illnesses. Hey how about you do your self a favour and research what a Transgender is and realise that the person you made fun of has every right to call themselves a man even if he decided to give birth twice. That human action does not eliminate the fact that he is living his life now in the manner he feels makes him happy. When will you lot ever learn that gender is not dictated by two poles of reality and we all in some way fall somewhere in between male and female. None of us are either one or the other in exact proportions and you would be wise to try and go back to the intelligent humour that actually gained respect and laughter from all sections of the community, instead of getting all footy show and cracking cheap ignorant shots at sections of the community that need to be given a go. I am not sure if you are aware but your comments were discriminatory and it will be interesting to see if they were in breach of the laws that now exist in this country. I will be making a complaint to channel ten and the other avenue open to the public if they are offended by something they watch or see on television. Just recently two American radio personalities on KRXQ Sacramento's Rob, Arnie and dawn show have felt the brunt of the emerging support for transgender people after advocating on the air, violence against transgender children.(Maybe you could google that and learn what can happen) It was absolutely shocking what they were saying and it just added to the ridicule that exists in our world for people who are not hurting anyone, they are just going about their lives doing what they need to do to be happy. Over 15 sponsors pulled their advertising over it and one in particular took note of my campaigning letters and pulled its advertising after realising its gravity. People get bashed and killed by self righteous yobbos who listen to this ridiculing garbage and hear what you say and think "oh its OK to bash these people cause Rove made out they were freaky and weird and worthy of joke status so let me at them." I am a male to female transgender that mentors young transgender people both male to female and female to male, and the latter would be hurt with what you said tonight not to mention the potential danger you have now placed them in.

That person you spoke of was born a woman and now has chosen to live as a man, end of story. Just because your mind is unable to comprehend anything other than your obsession with gay jokes and constantly going on like a man wishing he had a key to his closet is no reason to pick on the ones you wish you had the mind to understand. Go back to the semi intelligent original humour of which you were good at and leave the juvenile crap for all those other uninventive boring idiots that have deluded themselves into thinking they can do good stand up while sitting down. And by the way I am glad that arrogant pig of a man called Gordan was brought down to size considering he so rudely made a point of insulting you on yours. I thought he was an arse and I could see it was almost impossible for you to interview this fool and I was glad to see perfect Karma in action the next week as he too was spotlighted on just what a small man he is and was wonderfully brought down to size and the bollocking he said his mother gave him. Be aware Rove none of us are immune to Karma's ability to bring us all in line, just the heads up mate and remember to say hi to mum for us.

Your former fan,
Robyn W.

Warrior of flesh that he knows.

What does make the man that makes himself a king?
A conqueror of his domain, the body he sees himself in.

Ripped with tone with muscle to bone,
A warrior of flesh that he knows.

Battles hard won, efforts of trained perfection,
Victory in gaining from loss.

Strive for your freedoms from soul driven pain,
The worth of your game is the cost.

Birds without wing that never find flight,
Beauty to have and to hold.

Vulnerability caged with agility,
Escape us on legs gilded gold.

Pumping iron makes the man of steel,
Orient produces machine.

Brings with it soul so fine,
Sweet nature of ancient design,
Seek and achieve,
Whatever you wish will be done.

Copyright. © Robyn Whittaker. 2009.

Poetry for the masses

Poetry for the masses and those who don't care to see.

I can't believe it happened to we,

so many attributes in your eyes worth nothing,

my type not needed here, not even by me.

I am leaving this place, and won't be back here again,

You achieved what you wanted to prove,

That you did not love me and it is the truth i needed to see.

Haunted by its ghost but not allowing myself a measure of its truth.

What's the point of trying again,

They get the spoils of our head toils,

While i am left with nothing and dread.

Better off sleeping in a permanant bed.

Copyright (c) Robyn whittaker. 2009.

Youth Group Excercise

I am currently helping to facilitate an LGBT youth group here in Brisbane. Sunny our lead facilitator asked the kids last Saturday to write a letter to their younger selves, a letter that would in some way help the child they were understand the confusing issues they were facing at that time. I also wrote a letter that day as well, and in light of an earlier posting on my experiences with domestic violence as a child, I thought I would post the letter I wrote on that day as an affirmation that I did indeed survive a difficult past. A time in my life when i was confused and frightened and not sure of who I was. At first it felt strange to do this, but I think this exercise is a great way of tapping into who you are today and relating that to who you were back then and somehow helping an inner lost child find it's way to some sort of resolution, while at the same time writing down advice that the person I am today needs to be reminded of as well. This is what I wrote....


Dear Byron,

I am writing this to you from your future, my name is Robyn which your mother will choose for you when you become me. Please don't be frightened by this letter, I am just wanting you to know you are going to be ok. I know you are confused right now and I hope this does not confuse you more. Just know that I love you and want you to feel safe and help you to understand that it is going to be ok and ask you to never give up on life, if you do you will miss all the fun and laughter to come. Please don't feel bad about your feelings, you are not alone and there are many people like you that will one day help you make your way. One day you will grow to be a beautiful person that people cherish to have around and you will feel comfortable in who you are. You are loved by many, and all the hurts you have suffered will become less painful and shape you into a very strong person. I want you to be proud of yourself for the wonderful unique being you are. Take care of yourself and try to stay calm and not worry, this only makes a situation much worse. Listen to your heart when it tells you someone is not right for you and you feel the bad vibe they give off. Do not try and sell yourself to anyone, as those that really care will want to be around you without any convincing. You are very special and don't ever allow those who mean to hurt you ever tell you any different, they are just insecure and not worth knowing. Learn to say no, some people need to know your limits and your boundaries. Always remember you will survive this and will in time find your self and be happy to be you.

Copyright (c) Robyn Whittaker. 2009.

BROKEN BOTTLES

How beautiful you must have seemed then, bottled vulnerability a prized and sought after possession.

Warnings, obvious only to some, clearly spell out the dangers of drinking too quickly.

For the vessel containing the substance, innocence and beauty, should not be used or abused, better sipped very slowly and appreciated for many years.

Instead they foolishly drank of you, draining you of your every last drop.

Drunk on coward’s power, they drink on.

Where there once was wine and song, shattered dreams and emptiness seem to take hold.

The pressures of life’s oceans may break you,
Shards of glass will roll with the tide.
So lost in the sea of people,
But as they say… time is the greatest healer.

Mending the broken hearted, smoothing away rough jagged edges.

And if ever you feel washed up and no longer needed,
As you lay in the sands of time, your greatest sculpture.
Take comfort in the knowledge that where that beauty once was,
It will always remain in your fragment of glass, your symbol of freedom and happiness.

Copyright © Robyn Whittaker 1996.

WHEN I WAS YOUNGER

When I was younger I dreamed of bigger things, better things, happier times where I would one day be loved and hugged and told that everything was going to be ok. I told myself that all the hurts would one day go away and my life would someday mean something to me, to them and anyone else who cared to listen. I dreamed of houses full of warmth, happiness and contentment, I was sure it would happen one day.

Alone again, my life is at times it seems just an echo of my past. I grew up in a home of discontent, unhappiness lurked like a monster around every corner, and its razor sharp teeth ripped at my flesh on a regular basis. I can still remember like it was just yesterday the night we escaped the man that kept that monster on that leash, only long enough to keep you thinking things might get better and home would finally become the haven we all longed for. My mother bore the brunt of this torment and though I came to eventually forgive my father for the hurts inflicted on us, I cannot forget its terrible affects. I have a memory of fleeing in the night when I was about five years of age. My mother had obviously planned our escape for some time before we left and when she felt the time was right, she bundled my sister and I into the old FC Holden and drove us off into the night toward Mackay. The drive was long and scary as I did not know where we were going and recall the terror of wondering what might happen if he caught us. We eventually arrived at this planned destination and stayed with my mother’s friend in the back of a shop attached to a caravan park. We slept on fold out beds with thin mattresses, and to this day I have had an attraction to these beds for some reason. Maybe I attached a feeling of safety with this type of bed, and once when I acquired one, I took to sleeping on it for a short time instead of my own bed. I never felt completely safe or secure at home and though I was confused at the time I knew we were just trying to get away from a man that was hurting our mother and in vain I hoped one day it would all get better. As things went my father eventually found us, said sorry to mum and promised us the world if she came back. We all traveled back to Townsville and hoped for better times to come. Of course life seemed to go back to our kind of normal for a while and we all seemed very happy, but lurking underneath this shiny veneer was that monster, gnashing its teeth in readiness for its next meal.

The woman I call mother is a beautiful woman, gentle and kind with a strength I would only come to fully realize much later in my life. She endured many bashings from my father over her twenty seven years of marriage to him, some of them I witnessed and some I did not. I was the last child out of five and as early as I can remember I was regularly nervous of this impending doom. I would come home from school and wonder if that night was going to turn into another terrible experience where I would witness my mother tormented with insults until she was bashed and left crying. Anyone who has not experienced this sort of existence will never fully understand how it feels to see your life giver degraded, crying and bleeding in a corner. It tears away at your soul until you are no longer there anymore; begging for a childhood you know will never be yours. I can clearly recall playing games with other children wishing my life would be as safe and happy as theirs appeared to be. I would cry myself to sleep at night and feel the anger rising up inside me, and somehow even though I was young, I was fully aware of what I was missing. Children are so affected by domestic violence and these affects without therapy can manifest in many terrible ways.

The second time mum left dad was when I was about 7 or 8. I think I have blocked out some of this, because all I can recall is that we ended up at a women’s shelter over near Rose Bay where we slept on bunk beds. The kind women who ran the shelter looked after us as best they could. I have vague recollections of this time but do remember one woman who used to walk along the beach and collect broken bottle glass that had been worn down by the waves and sand, transformed into harmless pieces of smooth edged colored curiosities. She collected them from the shore line like they were precious jewels, gifts from the ocean. She found such pleasure in them that to this day I will always look for them whenever I visit the sea. In 1996 I encouraged my mother to join a community centre group for women who had experienced domestic violence, and at the end of this course I came along and presented a poem I had written about that glass as a metaphor for these woman who had been emptied and broken by their men but had risen up again and reemerged as beautiful pieces of glass treasures. I also remember eating fish fingers for the first time at the shelter, but thankfully my continuing fondness for objects associated with this time does not extend to these. Mum seemed more determined to make a go of it this time and I was placed in Central State School and we eventually moved into a place that was thoughtlessly called moral courts. This was like the Ghetto for single mothers and if anyone found out this was your address, the stigma was very hard to wash off. I was teased at school by unmerciful children who needed me to know what a piece of scum they thought I was, and I soon learned it was not wise to tell anyone where I lived. I was just happy to be with my mum and my sister in a place that for once seemed stable and safe. In a strange way it was very exciting to be in this place with a mother who finally appeared independent and at peace. She was trying to do her best to not go back to dad and tried to make a life for us even though we had very few possessions and very little money. Dad would come along and visit us from time to time and after many persuasive talks, mum made the decision to again return to her hell for us. I still feel the guilt every now and then from that time, as it was my sister and I that made mum change her mind to return. My father had a very sweet side, and at times he was the kind of caring father any child would want. I was just as spellbound by this contradiction as my mother was, and the strong desire to gain my fathers approval and love over road any rational thoughts on the true reality of what was really happening. I wanted him to be well, I wanted him to love us and treat my mother right and I wanted to give him that chance. Swings and bikes were offered as a sweetener to my sister and I in this unfortunate deal and the ultimate trade off was my mother’s safety. As a child I never fully understood what I was asking my mother to do, and the sacrifice was gladly given for another bout of short lived happiness. We went back and swings soon magically appeared in the back yard along with a beautiful red bike for me. I rode that bike for hours and I think even though I would not want to admit it, deep down I knew what it was really worth.

I want you to know that my father was a very insecure man, and alcohol was his fuel of choice for bolstering his inner fears, but the core of my father was very sweet and special and he loved his children regardless of his out of control demons. For moments of time alcohol secured in him a confidence he lacked in everyday life. It was not always yelling and screaming at home, and at times it was a place of periodic contentment and laughter. Music and singing could be heard coming from the walls of 13 Hand Street and I am sure in these brief moments it sounded like a very happy home. My father had a voice that was beautiful to say the least and to this day I will never forget the sound that could have surely soothed the most tormented soul. Eventually I came to know my father as very few people ever would. I am glad that I took the time to get to know this man and try and understand why he was the way he was. He had stopped drinking in 1992 after getting caught for drink driving and rarely drank alcohol again. Losing his license seemed to change him forever and having to ride a bike to work each day was a cure that was long overdue. I will say that my father certainly had issues with alcohol and the violent temper that resulted, but it needs to be said that he always kept enough responsibility to keep his job and tried as best as he could to provide for his family. During the late eighties I remember with horror having to steer for him when he started to fall asleep at the wheel while driving along a stretch of highway to our home. In 2002 I moved back to Townsville and lived with him for a short time and decided to get to know him and see if I could finally resolve some of the hatred I had carried over the years for him. I found out that he was also a victim of domestic violence, and he on a few occasion recounted horrible stories of what his own father had put him and my grandmother through. Of course this did not fully cure my own hurts but it certainly helped me to understand that though he had perpetrated many horrible acts in my past he was also a victim, but was one that was unfortunately unable to realize this fact and break the cycle of an ongoing pattern.

The last time we all left dad for good was back in 1981 just before Christmas, and I will never forget that terror filled night. For many years after this night I would have regular flashbacks that would seem as real as the night itself, and I experienced these flashbacks until I endured a nervous breakdown in 1998. The horrible experience would every now and then replay over in my mind like a scene in a movie you did not want to watch. My mother was ironing in the small hall between the doorways of the adjoining rooms in our house. At the dining room table I was sitting at my mothers sewing machine watching the horrible drama unfold, wishing I could somehow stop it from happening. My sister was outside I think and as I watched yet another fight take place, something in me knew that this was somehow going to be much worse than I had ever witnessed before. I was 10 now and taking a lot more in and even though I was older I felt helpless against this big scary drunk man full of rage. The yelling continued until he grabbed her and started to beat her viciously around the head and body. At this time I remember that I was crying and with a pen I wrote on my mothers pin cushion the statement “Mum is good”. I wrote over and over on that pin cushion container until I turned and noticed that my father had gone outside after hearing mum say that she was leaving him, and this time she said she was leaving him for good. As he came up the front stairs and into the house I noticed he was placing a knife in his back pocket and suddenly terror filled my mind. No longer was I frozen in my seat, I jumped up just as he was grabbing her arm and dragging her into their room. He said to her that if he could not have her nobody could, and on hearing this I knew he was going to kill her. I only had seconds to lose and tried to help her as much I could. She was struggling to get away from him and he pushed her to the ground and started to kick her around the head. Why was he doing this, why was he hurting my mother like this? She was so desperate and bleeding, trying to protect herself and trying to get away while at the same time trying to protect me from him. I think around this time my sister had joined in with trying to pull him off my mother and was hitting him with a ruler, but it became too much for her to bear and she eventually ran out of the house and fled to the neighbors for help. I then stood back and watched my father try to drag my mother into the room again, and it suddenly came to my realization that he was going to kill her. There was something in his eyes that I had never seen before and I just knew that it might be the last time I ever saw her alive. With all the might I could muster I tried to release my fathers grip on my mothers arm and told him I hated him and asked him to let go of her. When he did not let her go I used my nails to pinch him as hard as I could and looked him in the eyes and screamed at him to again to let go. He looked straight at me and it was one of the scariest moments of my life, he had turned into that monster and I was staring it straight in the face. I looked down and to my horror I realized I was also pinching my mother, and was shocked at the thought that I had hurt her as well. I said to her “I am so sorry mum I did not mean to hurt you are you ok?” For some reason this seemed to somehow touch my father and he suddenly changed and he appeared to snap out of the worst of his rage. Even though he was still angry he let go of mum and said “just be thankful you have a son”. We ran out the back door and down the street to the Mulhollands house, where we hid while mum rang my older sisters and their husbands. They eventually arrived, went and chastised dad and saw to my mother’s wounds and bruises. Shortly after this we stayed with a woman called Frances who lived near where mum worked at Tropic forest Garden Estate as a nanny, and after my father moved out of the family home, we moved in and my mother never took him back again.

Mum had told us that the reason for the last fight was because dad was not happy that she had wanted to take the job and was jealous of a man that had worked with my mother. My father’s jealousy would be the main theme for his alcohol fueled rages and his insecurity and paranoia of imagined infidelities of my mother would eventually ruin and destroy our family. He would insist on only giving her minimal money for our needs, and would accompany her everywhere she went just in case she strayed or went off with the imaginary men he was sure she was entertaining. I remember finding a big blue accounts book when I was younger after they had split, and in it was written every cent that was spent in a day, including 1 cent lollies that she bought for me. All this just in case she somehow was putting aside a few coins of the meager allowance that he gave her. The amount he gave after what he spent on the horses or at the pub left little chance of this.

My mother was a beautiful woman when she was younger and because my father had plainer looks, he was convinced that he was going to lose her and that other men were pursuing her behind his back. All my mothers’ attempts to convince him otherwise failed and her penchant for helping the underdog and her sympathetic love for those less fortunate, had this time with my father come with unfortunate consequences. I am to this day very close with my mother and before my father died of bladder cancer in 2006, I also became very close to him as well. I chose to look after him when he got sick and moved in with him until he was no longer able to be cared for at home. This was for me a very bitter sweet time in my life as I had only in the recent years before become close to him, and had as I thought forgiven him for past hurts. Cancer was to bring forth many more strong emotions and feelings as well as the painful horrible death that finally took him from me. I came to love him so much that I almost wished that I had not built that bridge of forgiveness and closeness as the pain of losing him was much worse than if I had colder feeling for him. A bridge that I felt was somehow burnt with the dramatic circumstances surrounding my fathers final days in hospital and his confusion on morphine. In his last days it was as if I was standing on one side and he was on the other fading away without recourse for our connecting path. I never ever did feel that I completely built that bridge back to him again before his death even though I reconnected in some way and was with him right up till his final breath. Unfortunately a series of tragic drama's during his illness and after his death caused our family to break apart and sadly I am no longer in contact with all of my siblings.

My mother is happy and living up in Townsville and regularly comes to visit me whenever she can. She has regular contact with my eldest sister who lives in Townsville as well, the only sibling out of five that i speak to. After dad died all my attempts over the years at trying to keep our family together finally failed, and with my father I buried my last dream of my family ever fully being together ever again. The stress of five children trying to deal with the emotional scars inflicted by my father became too much for everyone. We all dealt with it in our own way and his death it seems brought a lot of their unresolved issues to the forefront. All of us seemed to be looking for the consolation that would never come, and for most of them it never will. We had all suffered abuse in our past childhoods and the man who caused this pain was finally going away and would never come back. Never come back to say sorry, never come back to love us and show us the approval some of us wanted and never would come back to somehow make it right again. My mother was always willing to forgive and had in the years before his death again decided to talk to him, and was a regular visitor to his home in his final weeks alive. I am one of the survivors of this tragic situation, but often I consciously hear myself trying to drive out the fear and insecurity that fills my mind from time to time. Whenever I can, I read anything on the subject of self help and curing this malaise of the mind brought on by the trauma of a childhood inflicted with domestic abuse. I hope to one day have a life where I can feel completely safe and secure, loved by someone special and confident in knowledge that it will continue without the fear that it may soon fall apart. This is the life I strive for and dream of and I will not stop until I reach this goal and finally feel truly content.

Copyright © Robyn Whittaker. 2009.

NOTHING LEFT TO SAY

Stars colliding at cupids bow,
Fire ignites archers truths bestowed.

Burdens cross in southern sky way.

Beating flesh mends torrent filled rivers,
Long lost forgotten.

One whom you loved now gone,
Memories of lessons not learned.

Winding roads both need to travel,
Dead wood collects as you go.

What is gained when all is spoken?
Nothing left to say.

Token books not worth the reading,
With eyes that finally see.

Alone again the sun rises,
Promise leads the way.

Copyright © Robyn Whittaker. 2009.

NECESSARY TORMENTS

In the wrong hands, what a terrible curse love can seem,
Strong grip squeezes love force from the heart of the strongest man,
It can break a woman in two.

In the quest to protect soft centres,
Opportunities lost, passing unopened door.

One who comes to teach us,
Knowledge needed.
Jealousy’s worst words spoken,
Infecting the mind with its thoughts.

Blind haze, feelings that destroy from inside,
Slowly losing the one I gave you,
Enslaved, whipped by necessary torments,
Student on punishing course.

A mirror sent,
Enlighten reflection insight.
Looking glass opens the window,
Redemption lets in light.

Heard you were missing in battle,
The news sending bullet to heart.
Soldiers who die for no reason,
Souls lost without guide for the path.

Perhaps I loved for wrong reasons,
Maybe it’s the journey not the end.
Thank you for gifts of good wisdom,
Pleasure I now gain from pain.
Grateful for memories spoken,
Embedded pearls, unlocked.
Liberate past into future,
Deliverance in speaking your name.

Copyright © Robyn Whittaker, 2009.

LOVE'S LOST ACQUAINTANCE

MEMORY OF LOVE LEFT TO ROT.

YOU, THE ONE WHOM I TRUSTED,
BEATING MY SOUL FROM INSIDE.
TORN HEART FROM VEIN AND AORTA,
BLOOD SOAKED AND COVERED WITH FLIES.

GIVE US YOUR FAMINE-FILLED CHILDREN,
FATTEN THEM FULL WITH FALSE LOVE.
DELIVER LOST SOULS THAT ARE TAKEN,
GUIDANCE THAT NEVER WILL COME.
DEVASTATION, ALL THAT IS LEFT HERE,
BURY THE BONES AND THE HIDE.
TOMBSTONE EULOGY SPOKEN,
ENGRAVED WORDS WILL COVER YOUR LIES.

WHY MY LOVE MADE YOU ANGRY,
NEEDING TO DESTROY WHAT WAS GAINED.
BURY THE ONE THAT STILL HAUNTS YOU,
YOUR VICTORY IN FUTILITY'S GAME.
SHUT OUT THE ONE WHO HAS SPOKEN,
DANCE TO YOUR DEATH WITH DENIAL.
WHEREVER YOU GO YOU WILL HEAR ME,
AN ECHO OF WHAT WE ONCE HAD.

Copyright (c) Robyn Whittaker. 2009.

THE OUTCOMES

TORN FROM INSIDE, YOUR BLOOD SOAKED THEFT,
OF ALL THAT BEATS IN CHEST.

EMPTY CHASM LEAVES BODY BEREFT,
EYES SOAKED WET,
WIDOWS TO SOULS LEFT DYING.
IGNORING CARNAGE, SLAIN CORPSE DISCARDED,
KARMA’S THE ENEMY NOT FRIEND.

WHEN RHYTHM HAS ENDED,
DEATH FINDS RELEASE FROM YOUR GRIP,
NO HOPE FOR SURGEON TO MEND.

GONE ALL THE MORNING KISSED DAISIES,
WAIT A WHILE ALLOWS YOU THE SLIP.
SUMMER BURNS HOT WITH THE OUTCOMES.

Copyright (c) Robyn Whittaker. 2008.

BEAUTIFUL ANGEL

HER SOUL BURNS BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN,
THROUGH OLD EXTERIOR HER GLOW TRICKS EYES TO SEE YOUTHFUL ONE.
THE MAGIC OF THE GENTLE LIFE GIVER TOUCHES EVERY HEART,
AND THOUGH SHE SACRIFICED PART HER OWN,
JOY IS WHAT I SEE WHEN SHE'S WATCHING ME.

BEAUTIFUL IN HER DAY AND MAGNIFICENT IN HER AGE,
STILL STIRRING MEN'S HEARTS, TO THOUGHTS OF ROMANTIC FORAY.
NONE SO COMFORTING THAN THE VOICE OF REASONING TAMED,
BROUGHT FORTH FOR CONSOLATION,
TO HELP ME MAKE MY WAY.
SHE GUIDES ME IN MY DARKNESS AND HELPS ME SEE THE LIGHT,
A HELPING HAND FOR MY INNER LOST CHILD,
SHE ALWAYS MAKES IT RIGHT.

AND WHEN SEAS MAKE CALM AGAIN,
AND WATERS SAFE TO PLAY.
LAUGHTER FILLS CONVERSATIONS LONG CALL,
AND THE DISTANCE FALLS AWAY.

I WILL LOVE YOU TILL THE DAY I'M GONE,
GONE FROM MORTAL SHORE.
AND SEARCH FOR YOUR GUIDE LIGHT,
IN THE OCEANS OF TIME.
AND TOGETHER WE WILL BE ONCE MORE.

FOREVER GRATEFUL TO MY GIVER OF LIFE,
YOU'VE CARRIED ME AND GUIDED MY WAY.
THROUGH PAIN AND SEPARATION AND MOMENTS OF GRIEF,
YOU ALWAYS KNOW JUST WHAT TO SAY.

MY BEAUTIFUL MOTHER,
SO GLAD YOU ARE MINE.
I WILL LOVE YOU THROUGH DISTANCE,
AND FOREVER LOVE YOU THROUGH TIME.

Copyright (c) Robyn Whittaker. 2007.