Insomniac

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

As I have said before on the blog, prostate cancer has a mind of its own; sometimes it lets me off lightly with my only having to get up a few times during the night to have a pee. Some nights, though, it will have me up every hour on the hour, clearly determined to get the better of mind-body-spirit’s reluctance to cave in. Last night was one of the latter. Eventually, I gave up trying to sleep and began working on this poem which, ironically, saw me fall asleep for a good five hours although it was already 4 am. 

I suspect it isn’t just the prostate cancer unwilling to let me relax sufficiently to get a decent spell of sleep. The stress of coronavirus restrictions during lockdowns refuses to (quite) go away, despite its implications and consequences for everyone then substantially easing as safety restrictions are gradually relaxed and the vaccination program gathers momentum. We are assured the worst is over and we can relax here in the UK...but is it, and can we? We can but nurture a positive thinking mindset...and keep our fingers crossed. 😉

This mind-body-spirit, for one, plainly continues to nurse such concerns as likely to keep sleep at bay for a good while yet… unless it can keep finding ways to let sweet dreams override any troubled consciousness. Growing old, doesn’t help, but one thing I know for sure. I won’t be attempting to write  poems at 4.00 am too often! 

Good luck, everyone, and many thanks for dropping by, always much appreciated. 

Hugs, 

Roger 

INSOMNIAC 

Unable to sleep for disturbing images
haunting my consciousness, chasing shadows
over my head colluding with moonlight
to transpose into stark images of such regret,
as missed opportunities, time ill-spent
mulling over what-might-have-been instead
of rallying positive life forces enough
to galvanise me into action, make things better,
get real with warning signs 

Oh, but I listened to all the wrong voices,
made all the wrong moves, and now the process
of growing old is fast catching up with me;
all I can do is look back in anger and tears, none
to blame for my actions and inaction but me,
unable to go into reverse gear, left to toss and turn,
yearn for sleep, if only to spare me the agony
of more waking my nightmares as have dogged me
all hours during my later years 

A face at my window, peering through a gap
in the curtains, old man Moon making time for me,
throwing me a wink as if to say he empathises
with age-related issues while not inclined to agree
that wishful thinking will get either of us
anywhere fast, better (surely?) to make the most
of who we are, consider how past positives
may yet bear fruit (if they haven’t already) dismiss
any negatives, too late for tears

“Easier said than done,” I hear mind-body-spirit
retort, but the Old Man’s one good eye plainly hints
at mocking the plight of a human so distressed
that he’d rather count fantasy sheep that any blessings
as bring good times as well as bad (rain or shine)
peace as well as wars, love as well as hate, triumphs
as well as failures - such is the lot of such kith
and kin as ever having to make sense of mixed feelings
held to account by looking-glasses 

I glared at this one-eyed jack for making me feel
worse than I felt already; what could he know about
all we endure for doing our best, being put down
for it, time and again, yet we find ways to rise above
the sneers and stereotypes, graffiti on walls passing
fake news or imaging threats for not consenting to this
to this or agreeing with that, supposedly reflecting 
local opinion, but more likely someone’s paranoia fuelled
by a singularly egocentric social media 

“No need to defend yourself to me,” says the eye
n the chink of a curtain starting to cloud over already,
“I have seen it all, and rather you than me for a life
on Earth, all for the sake of piling up capital gains
(or poverty as the case may be) hardly worth the effort
of giving birth, surely, only to end up an insomniac
with nothing to show for it?”  Now mind-body-spirit’s
turn to mock, “Oh, and what know you of such joys
as love and friendship, celebrations enough to keep worlds
turning, give divisions the heave-ho?” 

The eye disappears, as are the ways of night skies,
as unpredictable as humanity, now here, now moved on
to new places, new ideas, new attitudes, new worlds
of being, seeing, thinking, feeling - a rollercoaster, true,
but such is the fun of any fair, and only right we pay
to try what’s on offer, thrill to a sense of shared good cheer
among crowds come together from communities,
of all shapes and sizes, differences put aside for making time
to take heart from simply being human 

I fell asleep on the rollercoaster, shrieks of joy in my ears,
relieved, finally, to let happy times dry my tears 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

Insomnia OR Never Let a Sandman Wear You Down.

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

The world's differences in socio-cultural-religious and political affairs have always had much to answer for, and one thing in common - a penchant for inviting insomnia...

INSOMNIA or NEVER LET A SANDMAN WEAR YOU DOWN

Tossing and turning, unable to sleep,
a desperate yearning for peace
of mind - but they are unkind to me,
the pillows, the sheets, a mattress
that sags in the middle; eerie shadows
on the ceiling, spiders on the wall,
strange noises rising from the floor,
sounds of partying next door
(I was not invited by the way, slighted
as ever, could it be because I'm gay,
surely not? The twenty-first 21st century
is well under way for heaven's sake,
though you wouldn’t think so for tragic
goings-on in countries like Iraq

So what’s wrong with me that people
always seem to be taking the piss,
leaving me tossing and turning, unable
to sleep, desperate for some peace?
Maybe I should try harder to be nice
or could it be I’m trying too hard,
need to devote more time to listening
instead of being wise after events,
mis taking media pundits for mentors’?
Mind you, at least I have opinions
worth voicing (surely?) less than happy
to settle for recycling everyday gossip
thrown out by Mr, Mrs and Ms Average
so the neighbours can have a say

Ah, neighbours, bless 'em all, the short,
tall and obese, not just keeping up
with the Jones' (and how!) but some keen
to put their money wheresoever mouths
open and shut like constipated goldfish
inviting advertising moguls to get in
on the act, vying to take over the show,
various media pundits busy partying
in Corridors of Power, confusing issues,
(incidentally boosting sales of tissues)
inciting Mr Mrs and Ms to exhibitionism
(credit card fetishism?) as if anyone
really cares but for feeling a need to take
re-evaluate their own affairs, if only to see
if they can (surely?) go one better

It has to be said, most of us are easily led
by any old halter, cattle to slaughter;
Note, I didn’t say ‘sheep’ - the exclusive
property of those unable to sleep
for sweating over, oh, such pretty lambs
(thanks, Mother Nature, you're a star)
therefore not in the same blanket category
as Average and Jones who'll never
lose any sleep over Dolly clones, let alone
war in Iraq, North Korea's intentions,
Human Rights globally, poverty everywhere,
not to mention the likes of that double act,
Bush and Blair, with whom the history books
will hopefully more than get even

Alas, it will all keep, while the rest of us toss
and turn, trying to get some sleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title Insomnia  in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]