Care In the Community (Where Actions Speak Louder than Words)

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

Here in the UK, it is no exaggeration to suggest the social care system is in crisis. At the same time, the coalition government is pressing ahead with its Health and Social Care Bill that threatens the very fabric of a National Health Service that is the envy of the world.  [Many Americans, especially Republicans, may despise its principle of Health Care for All, but many more come here every year for some of the best medical treatment in the world because they can’t afford the same in their own country.]

Despite the obvious fact that people are living longer with illness and disability, our care system here is  chronically underfunded according to informed reports. Social Care budgets in England, for example, fell by an estimated £1 billion according to the Association of Directors of Adult Services.

It looks like it’s up to all of us to keep an eye on the vulnerable in our neighbourhood. The awful tragedy is, and always has been, that in large towns and cities, that is less likely to be the reality than wishful thinking.

Not everyone can rely on family support. (I certainly can’t.) I am only 66 and have a relatively small but close network of friends to keep an eye on me. Many people who live alone don’t have that, and living alone can get very scary for anyone as they grow older and increasingly vulnerable.

This poem was written ten years ago.  As I look around me, I don’t get the feeling much has changed.

CARE IN THE COMMUNITY (WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS)

Knocked at an old house
in the Square

"Is anybody there?"

At its grubby letterbox, 

bending to peer

"Is anybody there?"

Catching a nauseous whiff
of mouldy air

"Is anybody there?"

A squeaking, (sobs, mice
on the stair?)

"Is anybody there?"

No one replying, but prying
curtains everywhere

"Is anybody there?"

Moving on, plenty more

with time to spare ...

"Is anybody there?"

Asking the very question
no one wants to hear

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

The Maze (Open All Hours - Disabled Access - Only Carer Dogs Allowed)

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

Apart from its divisiveness, the main reason religion offers me nothing is because I can’t stop asking questions. Quite simply, Faith is a full stop I cannot get my head around. Besides, many socio-cultural-religious leaders are bullies and I hate bullies. It has little or nothing to do with my sexuality.

This doesn’t mean I have no interest in or respect for religions of the world. Indeed, I do. As regular readers will know only too well, I have nothing but contempt for those who not only choose to interpret but also preach from the various Holy Books to suit and/or camouflage their own ends. Yes, bullies. You will know the type. I dare say you will have come across a good few of them. Ah, but yes, they interest me greatly, these bullies. Why do they behave the way they do? What drive them? It certainly isn’t compassion but nor, surely, is it entirely self-interest...or is it?

Questions, questions and more questions; as or finding any answers, we can but look.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE MAZE (OPEN ALL HOURS - DISABLED ACCESS - ONLY CARER DOGS ALLOWED)

Who seeks meaning, dares a maze,
its walls of evergreen
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

It is a place folks fear and praise
where ghosts often seen;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze,

See Apollo wink to shine his rays
where lovers steal unseen,
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Watch Diana’s bold hunters graze
on passions dark, serene;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze

Chance on trails time artlessly lays
(true, false, in-between)
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Look out for humanity, learn ways,
to its heartland, rarely seen;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze,
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R N Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]