Toys in a Window

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

Today’s poem was written in 1981, but it was not until the 1990’s that I began submitting poems for publication.  At the time, I was mid-recovery from a severe nervous breakdown s few years earlier. Writing helped considerably towards an initial if fragile recovery that eventually saw me looking for (and finding) a job some18 months later. 

I would like to think I am more optimistic and a shade less cynical about life and society now, but…

Well, we all know what thought did…

TOYS IN A WINDOW

At a window on my life I gaze,

close my ears to the weary windings

of clockwork days, try to imagine

how it might be should these stiff-neck

streets ever cease their turning me

to what I am - part of this global sham

of human boast, comprising toy folk

for the most if a few taking  heart still,

tugging at the sleeve as a child will,

ever anxious to leave the plastic places,

and cartoon faces undermining a flair

for freedom on see-saw, swings, among

other things we forget soon enough

while struggling for reasons unknown

to keep some stubborn noon design

intact; part of the same act invariably

put on for each day’s passing us by,

sure to earn a slow clapping in the head

at bedtime from other toys in the hands 

of toymakers aspiring to coax cash mules

to the world’s water holes

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was first published in a Poetry Today (Forward Press) anthology, Looking through the Mirror of Life (2000) and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Shadow Play, Companions for Life

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

Now, some of us find that special someone to share our lives and others never do, while some of us find him or her only to lose them again. Death is a part of life, and loss is hard to bear, ye loved ones live on in our mind-body-spirit, always there to comfort, advise and reassure if only we care to listen.

Whatever, most of us have dreams that are more than shadow play but life companions.

This poem is a villanelle.

SHADOW PLAY, COMPANIONS FOR LIFE

Always with me, life companion

(true love so far, so near);

a tall shadow dancing on its own

Left half-awake in my bed alone,

it whispers poems in my ear;

always with me, life companion

Above, a jet plane’s sleepy drone

promises nothing to fear;

a tall shadow dancing on its own

No tears for a lonely half-person

whose way ahead unclear;

always with me, life companion

Come day, night, sun and moon,

its presence strong and dear,

a tall shadow dancing on its own

Asleep, lovers on a plane flown

where summer lasts forever;

always with me, life companion,

a tall shadow dancing on its own

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012 

Bed-Sit Lifer

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

Every large town and city has its share of bed-sits or single person apartments comprising little more than a room with basic amenities. If you’re lucky, it’s en suite and you don’t have to share a bathroom / toilet.

I recently got chatting to a guy in a bar whose house had been repossessed because he could no longer afford the mortgage repayments. As it happens, he’s gay but he could have been anyone of any persuasion, man or woman. He lives in one room without a view and has to share a bathroom. “One you turn sixty,” he told me, “people stop caring, especially if you’re gay and you’ve lost your looks.”

He is a lonely, unhappy man, convinced his age and sexuality means he can’t get a life, and his living conditions don’t help.

Yes, well, gay men and women don’t have a monopoly on loneliness, that’s for sure, and there are many people in this world who don’t even have a roof over their heads.

It’s sad and, yes, the 21st century should be ashamed of itself for the degree of poverty in the world. But there is more to poverty than lack of money and resources. There is a poverty of the heart and spirit that gives up on life too soon.

We all want different things from life and few of us come even close to what we would like. But we can still enjoy life and make the best instead of the worst of things. It’s never easy, that’s for sure. But it’s true what they say…where there’s a will, there’s a way. I have met some of the poorest people who can honestly claim to be happy in their own way. They may not have much, materially speaking, but they love life and care about people and just being around them makes you glad to be alive.

I’m not poor but I definitely ain’t rich either. I would have liked my own house overlooking the sea. Instead, I rent a studio flat in London UK. Sure, I have regrets (who doesn’t?) but life is what we make it and we are what we let life make of us. Yes, I get lonely sometimes. Yes, I am unhappy sometimes. Who isn’t? Ah, but I don’t intend to become like the guy in that bar…and yes, I’m (well) past sixty too.

You have to be a friend to have friends and you have to think positive to be happy. It’s not always easy and can be hard work…but it’s always worth making the effort. Getting a life doesn’t just happen…we have to make it happen.

BED-SIT LIFER 

Dawn’s dust has scarcely

settled at the chin;

an eccentric clashing

of streets below

reminds that it’s time

to go at it

World’s dirt has scarcely

greased the hair;

a hyper-rhythmic rush

of leather gear

pants me here and there

at bald faces

An April dusk has scarcely

brushed a teary eye,

birds singing in whispers

like mourners
gathered at a gravestone

now trickle away

Only answerphone messages,

cat's in a funny mood,

more repeats on the telly,
forgot a take-away,

the pirate tape won’t play,

nothing else to say

Hear a knocking at the door,

(not expecting anyone)

maybe a neighbour wanting

to borrow something;

could it be we'd introduce

ourselves at long last?

Licking lips nervously, rising

with anticipation.

heart skips a beat like a lifer's

on visiting days, pausing 

at the door, gripping handle,

afraid of...what, me?

What impression will I make

on this stranger

who may well have had a day

like mine, be seeking

some company too, no harm

in trying to make a friend?

Too late. Footsteps, going away;

oh, well, maybe another day ...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2000, 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears  in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]