The Yellow Balloon

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

Children across the world are expected to take its worst tantrums in their stride, but for how long…?

For the many caught up in its conflicts, the world must often seem a bleak place, any worthwhile future, for them at least, an all but impossible dream.

Of course, it is not all doom and gloom, but children should not have to snatch at happiness as and when they can; it should be the greater part of growing up. Yes, even playtime has its ups and downs, good times and bad, but that’s life, a learning curve for all of us at any age. 

True, the world today is a dangerous place, but children need to be reasonably prepared for, not scared of it. Besides, is not having to deal with parental and peer pressures enough without having to contend with being made to feel they are a disappointment for not fully participating in someone else’s second hand life or, far worse, struggling to survive a war zone? 

Whatever, indeed, happened to playtime?

THE YELLOW BALLOON 

Children
playing with a yellow balloon,
mothers calling   
back home, as a mocking wind 
snatches it from tiny fingers,
dispatching it to drift mottled skies
weepy with satire?

Children
chasing after a yellow balloon,
father calling
back home, but they play deaf
among innocent cries
inciting adventures, welcome respite
from secrets and lies

Children
trying to catch a yellow balloon
beyond either reach or ken,
no sense of direction, quickly
consumed by angry skies,
menaced by cloud figures waving
smoking guns

Children
observed in tears over a balloon
burst by a phoenix
rising from its everyday ashes
to heavens where sunlight
last seen glancing off shrapnel
slowly killing them

Children, in near and faraway places
picking up the pieces…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Fruit of the Acorn, Children of the Oak

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

Update (July 22 2016): Today is Prince William's 3rd birthday. (See the last photo below.)

Meanwhile...

Whatever their feelings about the monarchy, only a killjoy would not wish HRH Prince William, Catherine and family happiness.

The formative years for any child are so important, the greater influence on these being the home environment. As privileged or poor as that environment may be, the child growing up among those who love and care for him or her, while respecting his or her right to develop as an individual, will always have the greater chance of discovering and tasting the sweeter fruits of life. Let’s face it. Few of us will never get to taste its sourer fruits.

Royal children don't have easy lives. Constantly in the public eye they have to learn to juggle private and public pleasures and responsibilities. (I, for one, would hate that.)

As for the common accusations regarding wealth and privilege, every child deserves the best life has to offer. Given that we all want and/or expect different things from life, I suspect more of us achieve this than first glances often suggest.  It is never a good idea (or fair) to make comparisons.

HRH Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with Prince George as a baby (Internet)

[Update May 2nd 2015: The Duchess of Cambridge has gone into labour with her second child this morning, and was admitted to St Mary's Hospital, London, at 6:00 am. + It's a girl! Born just after 8:30am.] (RT)

Photo of Prince George and proud dad released just prior to his 2nd birthday (Internet)

 HRH Duke of and Duchess of Cambridge with new baby daughter, Charlotte (Internet)

HRH Prince George and Princess Charlotte, 2015; photo taken by their mother. (Internet)

Family photo, Christmas 2015 [Internet]

Prince George at 3 years-old (July 22 2016)

FRUIT OF THE ACORN, CHILD OF THE OAK
        (written at the birth of Prince George)

Fair of face and born to be king,

(world’s cue for love and peace)

in a millennium, itself, a seedling

On him, nature’s every blessing,

to loved ones, a rare happiness;

fair of face and born to be king

For him, let nations unite to sing

(a fine lyric for love and peace)

in a millennium, itself, a seedling

No matter what time’s tides bring,

may his be a spirit of openness;

fair of face and born to be king

For a long, happy, life bells ring,

lifting hearts to love and peace

in a millennium, itself, a seedling

Come a private or public viewing,

may his heart beat true, at ease;  

fair of face, and born to be king

in a millennium, itself, a seedling

[London: July, 2013]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

[Note: For the benefit of anyone unfamiliar with it,  'Fair of face' is from the old rhyme, 'Monday's child is fair of face...']

Through a Glass Darkly

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

An earlier version of this poem as first published in the anthology An Immortal Truth, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2000 and subsequently in my first collection the following year.

The original version was written in 1984 following a discussion with several peers about how awful we were sometimes when we were children and how, whenever we look in memory’s mirror for those halcyon days, maturity invariably summons certain regrets that, in turn, cause cracks to appear...

To see “through a glass” (mirror) darkly” is to have an obscure or imperfect vision of reality. The expression is often presumed to have come from the writings of Paul, the Apostle who suggests that while we may not see clearly in the Here-and-Now, we will do so at the end of time. 

Alternatively: "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." Corinthians Chap 13 verse 12 (I know my Bible, it is a good read, even though I had rejected religion for nature by the age of 11 years.)

Whatever, many if not most children, may well know right from wrong, but lack the experience maturity brings to imagine the broader consequences of either. Ahm yes, but how many of us have the imagination to ever really understand the wider consequences of our actions ...? 

There is a lot to be said for the old adages, two that instantly spring to mind are 'Look before you leap.' and 'A little thought goes a long way.'

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 

In a pretty side street, tree lined,
its children playing hide-and-seek
make plenty din enough
to wake the dead, the old man says
who lives on the ground floor
of an end house whose shiny steps
such fun we slip, towering wall
a thrill to squeal and climb, knowing
yell and fuss, but by the time he’ll rush,
no sign of us

Waving a stick, he’ll bawl us out
and we’ll mouth him back, but not until
the door slams shut. Oh, but kids
at play make no excuses, just din enough
to wake the dead, the old man says,
treading the ground floor of the end house
whose mossy steps so snug we sprawl,
graffiti wall a joy to lean, grubby curtains
a-quiver at our kissing or could it be for all
he’s missing...?

Children gone, traffic enough
to wake the dead, the old man said
who lived that shabby room
whose crabby gloom we never spared;
brave wall, a sorry spread,
no curtains (windows boarded up instead)
ghosts playing hide-and-seek
with eternity facing a bleak affinity
for wings circling the last tree left standing,
cracks in a mirror appearing

 Uncomfortable truths, a cruelty enduring

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2011

Joker

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

Telling jokes about people is a cruel pastime in which too many of us are inclined to indulge. Humour is wonderful, and some jokes can be very funny...until they get personal and take on shades of malice; for the butt of the latter, life is no laughing matter.

We all know how cruel some children and young people can be towards peers somehow marked out as ‘different’ from others… whether by a disability or whatever. At least younger children rarely appreciate the gravity of their actions. We adults, on the other hand, have no excuse.

Let's be kind to each other, yeah?

JOKER

You dropped the joke into a humming pool,

let ripples spread

from merry chuckle

to sly whisper

I watched the whisper take its course

from eye to eye

until someone

laughed

Like a freak wave, that laughter came

tumbling upon the whisper,

dashing it to pieces,

scattering me

Everywhere

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

Fairy Tales Are An Endangered Species

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

Many thanks to those readers who have been in touch to say they are enjoying some of the storylines serialised on my fiction blog. I hope to upload them as e-books later this year or early next:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

I have even had positive feedback from several straight readers who are enjoying the gay storylines. Wow, that’s nice!

Meanwhile...

Whatever happened to the fairy tale?  On the one hand, an endangered species, while on the other hand ...

Could it be that the metaphor of fairy tale has finally shrugged off its magic cloak for an even darker reality? Oh, for a return to the world of fairy tale and happy-ever-after endings...! [Whatever happened to those?]

Fairy tales are very readable, easy to read and easy on the ear when someone is reading aloud to a child who may need encouragement to read and develop necessary language skills. In addition there is a certain morality about some tales, those of Hans Christian Andersen for example, that can be also read and appreciated as metaphor for the real world by the more discerning adult; The Little Match Girl, The Ugly Duckling ... et al.

FAIRY TALES ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES

Forests, a kaleidoscope

of colour, patterns ever changing

even as we look, like pages

in a child’s book bringing fairytales

to life for us

Six swans, six brothers,

winging spring skies, seeking an end

to enchantment but must wait

until their sister, like us, finds a way

to make the change

Knights in armour, wielding

swords that spark a summer sunshine;

rose petals dripping the blood

of rivals challenged and taken to task

for the sake of winning

Snow White in a glass coffin,

no hope of resurrection, the wicked

witch has won? Our turn to woo

the mirror now, autumn skies exposing

a festering of wounds

Dragons, breathing fire

that would kill off the trees to please

property developers who

have no time for fairy tales - or

the likes of us

Latter-day knights, wielding

words that spark a wintry sunshine,

robins dripping the blood

of rivals arguing over the last prize left

to us (a glacier coffin?)

Copyright R. N. Taber  2007

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised/updated from the original as it appears in  Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

The Dancing Snowmen

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

Today’s post appears on both blogs. After all, weren’t we all children once, we adults who should be pulling together to make the world a kinder, safer, better place for children everywhere?

Now, they say we discard the whimsy and magic of childhood once we grow up and start making our way in the real world.

Oh, yes? And what do ‘they’ know...?

(Image from the Internet)

THE DANCING SNOWMEN

I was rudely awakened 

one Christmas Eve by the rapid beating

of my heart and a tugging

at one frayed, striped pyjama sleeve,

but there was no one there,

no one at all, and then I heard someone

calling my name, ran to the window

and looked up into the sky

where snow was falling, moon blinking

between cotton wool clouds,

but no sign of Santa

so it couldn’t have been him getting

up to his old tricks

I looked down on the garden,

could not believe my eyes, the snowmen

dancing there, carrot noses

like the glow of old coal fires, chestnuts

where eyes should be,

lips reminding me of scarlet ribbons

I first heard tell of in a song

played on the radio only yesterday,

while on their heads

the snowmen wore hats of all shapes

and sizes, the sort

found in an attic. Me, I was already

lost in the magic

I shinned down a drainpipe,

didn’t feel cold at all, soon jigging away

at the Snowmen’s Ball,

a passing owl hooting its approval,

Man in the Moon

showing his face now and then, torchlight

in a steady, sleety rain,

looking for Santa, last seen heading...

(could be for my room)

so I’m saying goodbye to my new friends

returning, oh, so quickly

to where everyone’s favourite story ends

and its magic begins

Where childhood innocence dead and gone,

the dancing snowmen live on...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

A Short Essay On Children's Play OR Peter Pan Revisited

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

I am no die-hard capitalist by any stretch of the imagination, but the idea that a capitalist is related to the Bogey Man under a child’s bed is absurd. Raising that child and trying to give him or her best chances in life is a costly business. Capitalism plays no small part in making those chances available.

A former colleague commented only recently on a mutual friend who is doing well in the world of big business that it was an obvious career choice for him because, ‘Like all fat cats, he thinks with his wallet and has no imagination.’ Yes, well, there are exceptions to every sweeping statement, and in this case I happen to know better...

Children's play is SO important to personal development in our formative years; apart from the mental as well as physical value of exercise, it encourages us to form relationships, engage in teamwork, appreciate if not understand human nature better, make certain allowances wherever they  need to be made, agreeing to differ without falling out and discovering the art of reconciliation whenever we do...

Sadly, some if not many of us do not always carry lessons learned as children and young people into adult life.

A SHORT ESSAY ON CHILDREN'S PLAY or PETER PAN REVISITED

I chanced to glance from a window
at children playing in the street below;
their colourful antics took me back
to halcyon times of myth and magic;
I couldn’t resist opening the window,
setting sail on waves of wicked laughter
to a bay where cliffs of ivy trellis towered
above a stormy sea of long grass

The garden shed, a mighty galleon,
we handkerchief pirates bearing down,
makeshift swords ready and able,
all hands to the oars of a cast-off table;
we’d meant to take no prisoners,
but time and tide got the better of us;
heaven closed in, fired a broadside, hinting
at our mothers to call us back inside

From the window, I saw someone
rush at the children, moving them on;
‘Away! Let’s have some peace!’
(Leviathan jaws indulging on innocence.)
I slammed the window shut, angry
at being dragged thus from my reverie,
mindful that imagination’s pull has no place
among crew around a boardroom table

I had a fight on my hands that day,
to see my motion passed come what may,
sailed too close to the wind in the eyes
of those least inclined to be adventurous,
but, oh, I got the better of them all
(in spite of a broadside too close to call)
steered my prize safely to harbour, discreetly
wiping my brow with a pirate’s bandana

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: This poem first appeared in A Way of Life, Poetry Now, 2001 and subsequently in Poetry Rivals 2012: Captured Moments, Forward Press, 2012]

 

A Harper's Song

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

As requested by a number of readers, the link below is to my informal poetry reading on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square; it was my contribution to sculptor Antony  Gormley's One and Other 'live' sculpture' project which involved 2,400 people doing their 'own' thing' for one hour 24/7 over 100 days during the summer of 2009:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that he video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

Meanwhile...

My mother once told me that the best thing a parent can do for his or her children is to encourage them to think for themselves, believe in themselves and stand on their own two feet. Oh, but that is all so true!

Ah, but she never said it would be easy for either parent or child. She certainly had a hard time with me and I am just so grateful she persevered. Although she died in 1976 at the age of 59, I like to think she would be pleased if not proud I’ve come as far as I have. True, this may not seem very far to some people, but to paraphrase the legendary Neil Armstrong, one person’s small step is another person’s giant leap.

A HARPER’S SONG

A child is born and its very first cry
plays on the heart like a harp to the soul;
instrument for a lifetime, you and I,
following every note’s rise and fall

A child is born and its eyes upon us
read the words in our hearts like a poem
about life’s great joys and its mysteries
if sometimes, the challenge, a battle hymn

A child is born and we’ll tell everyone
of this jewel come to light that is ours,
and may it shine like the morning sun
nurturing earth’s songbirds and flowers

Be there cheers or tears, let the harper play
and the child, like a flower, find its way

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

Caught On CCTV

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

This poem was written in 2006. It first appeared in an American poetry magazine and subsequently in my collection. It has been requested today by ‘Marian and Peter’ with whose wry comment to the effect that ‘nothing changes much, does it?’ I can but agree. Even so, it is down to each and every one of us to effect some  change for the better and let the ripples spread...

CAUGHT ON CCTV

Men and women, every shape, size, colour,
on the street…
crowding each other, elbowing a passage,
nobody apologising

Man in a suit, pocket picked by a kid about
fourteen…
Woman in a short skirt, fumbled by a guy
getting married soon

Children wanting this and that, parents look
scared to say, ‘No!’
Cop on the beat, deciding… no pay packet
worth this hassle?

Dark faces and lighter stuck in poems about
racism…
Light fingers and darker rewriting bylaws
for drug free zones

Child runs in front of a car, tyres screaming,
people crying blue murder…
Driver doesn’t even stop, a few folks rushing
to help, more hurrying on

People - all shapes, sizes, colours, lips moving
on deaf-blind streets

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[First published in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]