In the Thick of It

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

This poem appeared on the blog sometime ago but has since been revised and given a new title.

Somethings never change. Take the evening Rush Hour, for example, not nearly as bad with so many people having to work from home at the moment (if they still have a job at all), but the London Underground carriage I had to stand in yesterday evening was very reminiscent of pre-pandemic days.

Since I turned 70 in 2015, and have needed a walking stick to help me walk better and less painfully, I have experienced as much kindness as thoughtlessness on public transport; someone nearly always offers me a seat while other, perfectly able-bodied types, are careful to avoid my searching eyes. Seats clearly marked a priority for young children, pregnant women and those less able to stand are invariably occupied by those who seem to think this includes, luggage, shopping trolleys, etc. or just like to lean against the dividing pane, the better to listen to music or play/ chat on their mobile phones. Regarding the latter, it is much the same on the streets, people glued to their phones to the extent that my walking stick becomes invisible and any subsequent collision is, of course, my fault. 

Such is human nature, a many-sided creature whatever race, culture, religion, gender, politics or, yes, sexuality too. As a common humanity, we are all in the thick of things together; a cue perhaps for more tolerance and understanding, less stereotyping and rushing to judgement? 

Me, I do my best to take the rough with the smooth, and keep looking on the bright side of life if only because the alternative is too awful to contemplate. Mind you, although looking on that side of life these days can often be compared with peering through a fog… it’s still there (yes, really!) waiting to be rediscovered sooner rather than later, each in our own way and time.

IN THE THICK OF IT

Rush Hour…

Battle cries of anxious souls
vying for attention,
not to mention pride of place
among the pushiest of backpacks
and shopping bags 

Rush Hour…

Old person with a walking stick
trying to catch the eye
of those better able to stand;
in vain, their stick can take the strain,
each to their own

Rush Hour…

Gran with a pram causing chaos,
wheelchair users…
you know the sort, no thought
for the poor nine-to-fiver left dead beat
and paid for a seat

Rush Hour…

Not even making good time, delays
further up the line;
the word is "Someone on the track,
fat chance of anyone getting home soon."
Forecast, heavy rain

Rush Hour…

The worst and best of human nature,
(some) giving-up of seats
to any whose need is plainly greater,
brazen umbrellas urging jam-packs to part,
global finger on 'restart'

Rush Hour, anthology of a weary humanity
up against its own reality…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

Heroes OR Imagination, a (Free) Ticket to Ride

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

Now, I  dare say we are all heroes, each in our own way, if only for just for getting on with the business of everyday living. 

We all need heroes to inspire us, and where we can’t find any to tick our particular boxes, the chances are we'll invent them.

HEROES or  IMAGINATION, A (FREE) TICKET TO RIDE

Every morning I’d watch them

run for the train,

catch it with seconds to spare

then relax in my seat,

wondering just who they were

and if they were lovers

or friends, maybe neighbours

but, no, there was more

to the way they ran for the train

than met the eye,

the reason why easy to tell

because their faces

were alive, not like those others

I saw every morning

on the 6.15 to a bread factory

that could even have given

bodies in a mortuary a good run

for their money

Always late, never out of breath,

leaping aboard,

straight into fantasies I’d weave

around them;

no ordinary pair (yes, definitely

a pair, I was sure)

they would be living the high life,

burning the candle

at both ends, night after night,

(so always late)

then they’d fall into bed, take sex

for a heady trip…

heading for the surreal, shades

of a looking-glass war

while ordinary folks like me just

don’t have the bottle

(or the money) it takes for drugs

so we’ll play safe

Divine looks, designer gear, it was

too much to bear

each morning on the way to work

where I don’t want to be

so all the more reason to enjoy

my little fantasy…

about heroes of the 6.15 who were

always late,

their brief (like gods) to make

their own fate,

have the world turn on such beauty

it did not deserve,

making an open declaration of sorts

about a politics of heart,

body and soul that even the worst

of temporal measures

fail to have put down, rogue traders

going for the jugular

One day, they just missed the train;

no heroes after all, only human

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