Blood on the Bread OR No Street Cred, Only Shame

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

[Update 1/1/2018): Here in London during New Years Eve and early on New Years Day, four young people have died in unrelated knife attacks! More wasted lives, more families left grieving...]

[Update 21/2/2018: Two more young men, victims of knife crime, died yesterday near where I live in Kentish Town, London NW5. So tragic, and senseless!] Two more families and their friends left to grieve.

The villanelle below was written on June 29th 2008. On the previous day, another young person had been fatally stabbed on London’s streets. Tragically, the poem is even more relevant now than it was then.

Official figures released by the Office of National Statistics (ONS)  in April 2017 showed a very significant increase in violent crime across the UK, much of it gang-related. Knife crime alone had increased by 14 per cent year on year by 2016 to levels not seen since 2011; a leap from 28,427 knife offences to 32,448.

The greater tragedy is that gang-related violent crime remains prevalent on the streets of many countries worldwide; such a waste of human lives where, more often than not, contemporary society fails to provide constructive alternatives offering potential solutions.

Whatever, these people commit violent acts by choice and the buck stops with them. If they have a conscience at all, they need to come to terms it, start steering a kinder course through life before they, too, become just another fatality statistic... and what kind of footprint is that to leave behind?

Society as a whole needs to be less complacent, more judgemental and remember hat actions speak louder than words; it is no time to be treading on eggshells for fear of offending the many high profile socio-cultural-religious bigots among us.

‘His [Jack's] mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.’ - William Golding [Lord of the Flies, 1954]

  

BLOOD ON THE BREAD or NO STREET CRED, ONLY SHAME

Don’t carry a gun or knife,
a young friend said;
show more respect for life

I want a career and a wife
(and a four-poster bed)
don’t carry a gun or knife

Let years of pain and strife
stand peace on its head?
Show more respect for life

Though gang rats run rife,
and blood on the bread,
don’t carry a gun or knife

Let me look, dress how I like
if it makes me feel good;
show more respect for life

Streets of fear, tears of grief,
saw him shot him dead;
Don’t carry a gun or knife;
show more respect for life

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2017

[Note: This poem first appeared under the title 'Blood on the Bread'' in Poetic Expressions, Poetry Now, 2009 and subsequently in my own collection, 'On the Battlefields of Love' - Assembly Books, 2008.] 

Urban Safari

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

I well recall walking home one night across a shabby part of London (doesn't every city have its shabby parts the tourists are steered away from?) and being captivated by a sense of  Gothic; poetry, romance, and a curious sense of fatalism....

URBAN SAFARI 

None but shuddering stones haunting

dead lawns…

Stretching from mossy rails

to graffiti trails

on silent factory walls

hear the Traveller

call for aid to ease

the burden Time has laid

on back and breast

No thought of rest, not here,

where occasional dock leaves conspire

a gentler ground

than makes this gravel sound

like another massacre…

On, on, playful night! Shedding favours

left and right,

teasing the Traveller’s jaded sight.

Glimpse, a tiger’s smile

where a pile of flowery wire flickers

like a far forest fire; city lights

beyond mass graves of missing people

plucked from welfare queues

and left to fend  without a friend

for years, their ghosts not far behind

as panic rears

Neon daubs, for stars and a generation

of paper tigers

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2014

[Note: Revised (2013) from an earlier version that first appeared in an anthology, Shadows in a Mist, Anchor Books (Forward Press) 1999 and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

On Hampstead Heath

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Hampstead Heath comprises rolling acres of green landscape in London close to where I live. I love it.  Now, even Turner’s famous painting of the Heath could not do justice to this beautiful spot although he comes close.  As for me, I cannot expect to come even that close in my poems! Even so, if we let ourselves feel intimidated by the great masters of any genre, we may well never attempt anything. Besides, the joy of doing is as great as the thrill of achieving if not more so. As for success, whatever form it takes, that is a nothing more or less than a nice bonus.

A path in Ken Wood (A place of Scientific Interest)

More about the Heath at: http://hampsteadheath.net

This poem is a villanelle.

ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH

Glittering pools of light
among acres of grass,
swans in graceful flight

Crest to climb, fly a kite
on a city made of glass;
glittering pools of light

Ducks a common sight,
geese making room to pass,
swans in graceful flight

Trees voicing nature’s right
to co-exist in peace;
glittering pools of light

Though dog owners bite
and parents fuss,
swans in graceful flight

Of leafy goings-on at night,
it but whispers…
Glittering pools of light,
swans in graceful flight

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

A Phoenix In Soho

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

Today’s post is in remembrance of all those who died at the hands of a very disturbed person in London UK during the spring of 1999.

On April 30th 1999 a loner with a hatred for all gay and non-white people planted a bomb in The Admiral Duncan pub, in Soho just after 1830 hours. The bar was packed with drinkers during a Bank Holiday weekend. The pub is in Old Compton Street in what has been the heart of London’s gay community for many years. The bomber had already made similar attacks in areas of the city frequented by ethnic minority communities.

Soho's gay community has always welcomed anyone and everyone. Among the dead from The Admiral Duncan blast, were a woman only recently married and the best man at her wedding; her husband was among those who survived with horrific injuries.

There is a tragic postscript to the bombing. David Morley, a barman at The Admiral Duncan when the bomb exploded, died after a vicious homophobic attack on London’s South Bank in the early hours of Saturday morning, October 31^st 2004. He was only 37 years-old. Morley had helped many people victims of the bomb that killed three people, and injured 73. Although he escaped with minor injuries, he suffered serious trauma for years afterwards.

London is often considered a safe haven for gay people, and I dare say it is safer than many places. But let’s be clear. Homophobia and racism are alive and kicking just about everywhere; the flames of hate crime are constantly being fanned by various socio0cultural-religious elements around the world. It has to stop, and the first place of call has to be schools everywhere – including if not especially faith schools – where teachers who genuinely care that their students should become responsible adults need to raise their voices and be heard without fear of reprisal from bigoted parents, Head teachers or  school governors and the like.

Over the years, many people have fallen foul of homophobia, racism, sexism and assaults on their religious beliefs (or non-belief, as the case may be). We must do our best to stamp out these prejudices once and for all. At the same time, we should always remember that prejudice works both ways and should not be tolerated by or from anyone, regardless of colour, creed, sexuality or gender. It frequently strikes me that many people nowadays are far too quick to play various socio-cultural-religious cards in a society where ‘political correctness’ is doing precious little to encourage integration or mutual respect among its members.

A PHOENIX IN SOHO

Ordinary people passing by,

having fun in bars, folks
like you and me, no aliens from Mars
come to threaten the planet;
some sipping coffee at a roadside café,
enjoying a chat, warm spring
sunshine on the face, trails of laughter
like wedding lace...

Suddenly, the sky turns black!

Smell and roar ofa devil on the back
as heavens look away in despair
and ordinary people learn
the true meaning of fear;
death and destruction everywhere,
wedding lace in tatters,
ordinary people, discovering
what matters and playing their part
straight from the heart...

Smoke clears, sun reappears,
world keeps turning;
finger of blame points, charges,
moves on...

Ordinary people, rising above tragedy
or the Devil win - pray we never
see the like again;
Small comfort for those left to writhe
in the throes of loss and pain
but hope for us all - as we learn
to live and love again, no matter
the colour of our skin or
creed we live by or our sexuality

Amazingly, yesterday, a complete
stranger said ‘hello’ over a cappuccino
in Soho; and there was wedding lace
in the street, ordinary people rising
above their tears and fears, bringing
hope and love for years to come...
Or what chance for peace, we children
of the millennium?

Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2012

[Note: This poem has been very slightly revised from an earlier version that appears in 1^st eds. of  Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]