John Bull's Midnight Garden

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

Today’s first poem last appeared on the blog in 2008. Now, I have written several anti-drugs poems and reader ‘Marcel P’ has asked me to repeat this one ‘as a warning to a close friend.’ I only hope he makes sure his friend reads it.  I have added the second poem for good measure.

Drug abuse destroys lives so why are there relatively few rehab centres available, even in big cities like London? Why isn’t there more high profile anti-drugs promotion?

Drug addicts need help, not condemnation. Apart from young people who are targeted by unscrupulous drug pushers, there are others (all ages) who turn to drugs because they cannot cope with the pressures of everyday life. It isn’t long before they find themselves trapped in a vicious spiral of desperation and despair.  

Even so-called ‘soft’ drugs such as cannabis are not without their dangers. Smoking weed can help a person relax, but if he or she is smoking because they cannot cope with certain pressures, the chances are it won’t be long before they will try something stronger, always convinced they are not vulnerable to addiction...

Everyone’s body chemistry is different; take ‘designer’ drugs like ecstasy; for example one person’s high, another’s death. Yes, the latter is rare, but is it worth taking the chance? Besides, many of these drugs have not been around long enough for full research to be done into their long-term effects on mind and body. 

What’s that you say> It’s my life and I’ll live it how I want?  Fair enough, except drug abuse doesn’t only ruin an addict’s life but the lives of his or her family and friends too.

So be careful out there, yeah? If you can’t cope, for whatever reason, ask for help, don’t take the drugs route.

There is no shame in asking for help, only common sense.

JOHN BULL’S MIDNIGHT GARDEN

Blades of grass dipped in moonlight,

Old Man winking mischievously

at shadows chasing their own tails

across number ten’s garden;

Lights in a window peeking between

chinks in closed curtains, envious

of a night left in peace to play without

fear of interruption

Beyond the wall, a screech of tyres

leaves someone’s child dead,

wearing pretty ribbons of moonlight

dipped in a druggie’s blood;

Old Man pointing the finger of blame

at shadows chasing their own tails

from the garden of number ten,

preferring to be left in peace without

fear of interruption

Behind the Rehab Centre, closed down

because of local residents objecting,

a desperate company sniffing, injecting,

clutching at straws in a sea of moonlight

flooding the garden of number ten;

Old Man takes to hiding behind clouds

rather than watch shadows made to chase

their own tails where no peace without

fear of interruption

[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007]

CHARYBDIS MON AMOUR

Whirlpool

Anguish, mirrored

in eddies of shrapnel light;

Pain, caught fast

in a grip of mute supplication;

Loneliness, laid bare

in a mad rape

Round, round, this raving soul

chases its own dear folly

Life, long since perjured

for roller coaster thrills;

Love, all scratched

and bleeding after spills,

spread-eagled

on a cross

Lord, have mercy

on us

No screaming brakes

at Salvation’s door

left ajar;

Nor one kind echo

in the blind

drop

[From: Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001]