Flights of Tension to Fanciful Places

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

This poem remains in my general poetry blog archives for June 2015; it may not be one of my better poems, but it has a certain therapeutic value, for me at any rate. Many years ago, someone told me that the best cure for tension and stress is imagination. I had never thought of imagination as a form of creative therapy, but of course it is, and one of the best.

Oh, but haven’t we all been there at some time or another, past caring and simply wanting to shut the world out, slump in a comfortable armchair and forget about everything and everyone for a while …?

The trouble with slumping is that it has a nasty habit of temporarily removing life’s more attractive distractions from the inner eye and insisting it takes us down the darker side of Memory Lane, thereby making us feel even worse … which is where imagination comes in, and will  play its part
part to perfection ... if we but let it. We have but to close our eyes, think nice thoughts and let mind-body-spirit whisk us off to wherever it is we would rather be, and with whom ...

At the time I wrote this poem, I was in the early stages of recovering from and reflecting on a very bad cold when a good ‘slump’ is just about all I’d felt like doing. My cold all but forgotten, I was soon putting pen to paper ...

For many years, writing a poem has been my way of not letting a ‘slump’ get the better of me. The same can be said, if to a lesser degree, when writing fiction; while my novels have not been bestsellers, they have given me much pleasure, and feedback from my fiction blog/has been very encouraging. (Feel free to browse any time - for both my general and gay-interest fiction - at:  

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/

FLIGHTS OF TENSION TO FANCIFUL PLACES

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and all the people I’ve known,

wondering where have they gone?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and all the things I have done,

wondering where I went wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and choices made from the heart,

wondering where fear played a part?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and lovers who promised to stay

but left within hours of a night or day

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and all the years wasted on regret

where I should have stood up to fate

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and every epiphany I’ve known,

wondering where did I go so wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and growing older, weaker,

for knowing I could have done better

Slump in a chair, thinking about death,

and all the people I’ve known,

wondering if there’s a hell or heaven?

  

Slump in a chair, watching television,

soaking up soap opera friends ,

lost the plot, left wondering how it ends

Slump in a chair, fret about being alone?

Not this time (slam on the brakes);

will get my life back, whatever it takes

Copyright R N. Taber 2008

The Greatest Show on Earth

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

This poem - and the general gist of my introduction  -  appears in my general blog archives for May 2012.

I love it when people ask me to repeat a villanelle; regular readers will know I have a passion for them. I have written some 200+ over the years. Today’s villanelle last appeared on the blog in 2010 and is especially for ‘Damon and Louise’ who are getting married shortly and plan to spend their honeymoon on a walking tour of the Lake District. They say they are looking forward to ‘beautiful scenery by day and intimate at night.’ Well, enjoy, and congratulations to you both.

Interestingly, it appears that Louise has a gay brother who is also Damon’s best friend. Nice one, folks! Should we not all take people as we find them, regardless of race, culture, religion...whatever? I'm relieved to say I have met more people in my 70+ years who agree with me there than any who choose to take issue with those who strikes them as 'different'.We are all part of a common humanity whose very diversity helps make us who we are, and ensures a greater humanitarianism that will always - one way or another - get the better of its nemeses.

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

Mother Nature, a faith in us will show,

each and every one of us;

eternal confidant, always in the know

If ever we’re driven to an all-time low,

no one answering our cries,

Mother Nature, a faith in us will show

Starry heavens come, starry heavens go

for each and every one of us;

eternal confidante, always in the know

Should we be losers at love’s last throw

of its ages-old, universal dice,

Mother Nature, a faith in us will show,

Seek Apollo where darkness binds us so

(will always find time for us);

eternal confidante, always in the know

Where a bigot’s rant rings loud if hollow

and universal truths give way to lies,

Mother Nature, a faith in us will show;

eternal confidante, always in the know

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

The Hurt Garden OR Dreams, Turning Us Over

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

This poem is taken from my general blog archives for February 2015. 

So far, feedback suggests that most readers appreciate being given a sense of how both blogs share more than those readers inclined to read just one or the other may have realised, often for having been influenced - knowingly or unknowingly - by misleading if not exaggerated stereotypes. 

Such is the complexity of human nature that some if not most of us are too often and too easily encouraged by various socio-cultural-religious forces - active in all parts of the world - to rush to a judgement that is not ours to make; an opinion, yes, we are all entitled to that, but rather than judging others, should we not be content to unite in agreeing to differ than divide...?

Most if not all of us have a hurt garden where we prefer not to go in waking moments. Sleep, though, invariably has other ideas…

Dreams may well leave us confused, but mind, body and spirit have a way of making make more sense of us there than any waking moments; it sounds depressing, perhaps, but I see it as part of a healing process in the making rather than breaking of a common human spirit, able to rise above the worst human nature can throw at it and which, if slowly but surely, will find its way into our waking consciousness, whoever and wherever we may be, if we but let it.

Did I say it would be easy...?

THE HURT GARDEN or DREAMS, TURNING US OVER

Blades of grass

tossing to and fro in the wind

like restless sleepers

trying to make sense of a kind

where logic and reason

have no place, square up to facts

of human nature

from which its indigenous hosts

would run away

but nature will ever have its say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Stems of flowers

swaying to and fro in a breeze

like drunken crowds

on losing their heads to whims

where logic and reason

have no place lest they make more 

of human nature

than excuses its indigenous hosts

from home truths

put aside, inclined to have a say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Dead leaves

drifting here, there, everywhere

like lost children

looking for a place called ‘home’

where logic and reason

concede its predilection for love

of human nature,

lend its indigenous hosts access

to life forces

in denial, ever finding their way 

to us left struggling to make sense

of dreams

Birdsong,

signalling a love of life and nature

to practised ears

in the market (for a guide of sorts)

where logic and reason

have a place, but are never enough

for human nature

whose indigenous hosts ask more

of its humanity

than dream litter left in its garden

on the assumption they will clear up

the mess

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015 

You-Me-Us, a Garden for All Seasons

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

A new poem today, relevant to everyone, regardless of ethnicity, sexuality, religion...or whatever; for this reason it will appear on both blogs. (I am encouraged, by the way, that some readers who use a shared computer have, in turn, recently felt encouraged to dip occasionally into both blogs after years years of being wary of others rushing to any misleading judgement of them for their reading one or the other.)

Now, the singular beauty of memory is that we can not only revisit kinder times when life is treating us badly, but also revisit the same positive feelings feelings that inspired us then and call for a repeat performance; such is the lasting power of inspiration, neither subject to time nor place, but a 'live' memory upon which we are free to draw upon for inner strength at such times as we need it most. Oh, and we can all be sure of those if hopefully only now and then, no matter who or where we are in the world...

YOU-ME-US, A GARDEN FOR ALL SEASONS 

It could have been just another walk

in the garden, only it meant more than that

to both of us as we would never walk

this way again, among flowers all colours

and trees whose branches might well

have been greeting or waving us goodbye,

sunlight glancing off smiley leaves like tears of joy

for being alive and well

Clouds across the sun attempt in vain

to send our sprits into free fall just yet awhile,

the sunshine of your smile inviting me

to fly with you across a world struggling

(but succeeding, if barely)) to combat

its fears of homegrown bigotry and hate

fed the mind-body-spirit taught to trust our “betters”

to know what’s best for us

A light rain, as if the heavens weeping

at this, our parting from a garden more beautiful

than any Eden could be, Earth Mother

embracing us, any tears but for the passing

of a Here-and-Now into an Unknown,

where contemporaneity as fickle as the wind,

now friend, now enemy, no sooner dragging us down

than lending a helping hand

Hugging, kissing, our parting less in sorrow

for treasuring and archiving the moment

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

[Note: this poem also appears on my general blog today.]

High Seas Rescue

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

Now, I've met many people who have managed to turn their lives around in a constructive, positive way, survived high seas and made it to a safe shore. In my edition of the Book of Life, they and their like are its real heroes, whatever their gender, sexuality, ethnicity or socio-cultural background.

True, getting the better of the darker self is never easy...and all more heroic for that. 

HIGH SEAS RESCUE

Once I didn’t give a damn

about where I was or who I am,

even less what I was doing

or where I was going, the kind of life

I was generally leading…

no time for forward planning

or positive thinking,

content just to get high on drugs,

and binge drinking, no matter

the cruise liner I am on is sinking;

suddenly a cry, ‘Abandon ship!’

dived into the dark high seas of hell

and woke up in hospital

Among the survivors, only I

lived to tell the sorry tale of a life

that had no meaning,

everyone in it long past caring

about what I was doing

or where I was going, the kind of life

I was generally leading…

no time for forward planning

or positive thinking,

content just to get high on drugs 

and binge drinking, no matter

I’m close to hitting self-destruct

and time running out

Those wasted years made me

the kind of person I try to be now,

telling everyone I meet how

life only has purpose and meaning

when you’re kind and caring,

make time for forward planning

and positive thinking…

say ‘no’ to getting high on drugs

and binge drinking,

offer a helping hand to others as you

would have them do,

if only to be saved from drowning

in those killer seas too

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

Shell Seekers

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

Another poem from the archives of my general blog today which I imagine applies to just about everyone regardless of ethnicity, culture, religion or whatever...which just goes to hammer home the point that we are a common humanity; as such sexuality deserves no less respect that all the other differences that comprise a diverse humanity. I sense that the message is getting across to increasing numbers in the heterosexual majority, but I dare say we still have a long way to go before such blots on the human landscape as bigotry, prejudice and hate crime are finally overcome by the better, stronger, kinder side of human nature.

I have changed the appearance of this poem from the original version that appears in my collection which I first posted here on my general blog in 2007. It is no reflection on the original poem (that has also appeared in other poetry publications) but I felt it was crying out for a makeover of sorts. Some readers, I know, prefer the original version which was always well received when I read it at several poetry readings around the UK. Listeners, of course, unlike readers, are oblivious to how a poem is laid out so hopefully people will like the later version as much as if not more than its predecessor. You are welcome to judge (and let me know) which version you prefer.

Any changes to original poems will appear in revised eds. that I plan to bring out in a few years, but in e-format.

You can see/hear me reading the (revised) poem in an early video on my You Tube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj2HSJCvvBo

If the link does not work, either go to mu You Tube channel and search under title:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaberOR 

for those of you who tell me you often cannot access You Tube for one reason or another, I have also posted the video here. (See below.)

Meanwhile, especially for Tony, Adam, Kylie and Roxanne from ‘Somewhere in the middle of nowhere’:

Original version (1991):

SHELL SEEKERS

No harder thing I do than loving you
at a distance as of sea and sand
at the going out of each tide,
at each coming up of the sun,
all the colours of morning strung
like prayer beads across the sky,
a benediction! You and I
as footprints on the shore;
Together. Parting. Wiped out.
Another tide, another morning,
another day - someone's searching
who'll know that we were here;
Beyond time and space,
false perimeters of place,
our love well-preserved
nor finer served than
by a shell's poetry, as
restless as the sea,
deceptive as each dawn

Like prayer beads, to
each our own

Revised version (2018):

SHELL SEEKERS

No harder thing I do
than loving you at a distance
as of sea and sand
at the going out of each tide,
each coming up of the sun;
all the colours of morning strung
like prayer beads
across the sky, a benediction!
You and I, footprints
on the shore; together, parting,
wiped out

Another tide,
another morning, another day
and others searching
who will know for sure
we were here

Beyond time and space,
and false perimeters of place,
our love no better served
than preserved in a shell's poetry,
as restless as the open sea,
all the more splendid for that
than any sunset or dawn,
for the dreaming or waking up
with a growing affinity
for all the seasons of life, love
and nature

Like prayer beads,
to each our own interpretation
and/or inspiration;
so, too, the ages-old poetry
of seashells

Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2018

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

Leaves from a journal

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

This poem first appeared on my general blog in March 2010.

[Update (March 2016): A German reader has been in touch to ask if my poetry collections are available in German.  Sadly, no. Eventually, revised editions of my books (published and unpublished in print form) will be available in e-format.]

For many if not most people - in whatever walk of life, and wherever - family is always at the heart of their consciousness and daily lives. Not so for all of us though. Apart from my mother, I have never felt as connected, in terms of mind-body spirit, to my family as to close friends; they are my family. Some of those to whom I relate and identify as soulmates have died, but stay with me still; invariably, I hear them whisper words of wisdom, comfort and moral support in my ear whenever I need any or all of those things the most. Moreover, over the years, I have met many people in the same boat, estranged from their families over differences in religion, sexuality, politics...whatever.

When, oh, when will more people realise and accept that our differences do not make us different, only human?

Meanwhile...

‘Jenny and Alan’ readers from Birmingham asked me to include this poem in a collection after reading it on the blog back in 2007. I was delighted to oblige and hope you and they will find lots to enjoy in whole collection.

Family Group (in bronze) by Henry Moore (1950). [Photo from Internet]

This poem is a kenning.

LEAVES FROM A JOURNAL

I am a mother, keeping things together
even as they are seen to be falling apart
at the seams, nothing as it seems to eyes
homing in from this street, that fence…
failing to see through slats in blinds down
for the duration (a ritual celebration?)
Mother love, putting out feelers for ways
to end wars between brothers and sisters,
in-laws and neighbours

I am a father, home owner, mortgage
repayments having to take priority over
designer gear, latest PlayStation,
school trips, not to mention new cars
smarter, faster, than the one before,
sure to put theirs next door in the shade
and, no, we can’t just pile more credit
on cards unless you feel like explaining
bankruptcy to the neighbours

I am a child, weary of the rows between
Mum and Dad, sibling rivalry that’s not
half as bad as everyone’s making out…
and who cares if the neighbours have cash
to flash for vacations in prime locations,
digitals galore telling tales sure to have us
wagging tongues, scaling rungs...?
Sure, it’s okay to have this ‘n’ that, but not
if it means we keep scaring the cat

As spring to a branch, autumn to its tree,
I make, I take, I am family 

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

Reading Between the Lines

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

Fort those readers who are less than happy about my carrying over some poems from my general poetry archives, here is a new one, written only a few days ago. I cannot expect everyone to like everything I write so feedback is really helpful. [Contact me any time at rogertab@aol.com with 'Poetry' in the subject field if you would like a reply or just leave a comment on the blog if you prefer to remain anonymous.]

Meanwhile...

Why is it so many people say one thing when they really mean another, often the complete opposite?A human trait throughout history, it is plainly one that political correctness encourages. It is so typical of many people when asked for a point of view that they try to suss out the questioner's standpoint first for fear of causing offence and/or being misunderstood and/or wrongly accused, and having to face consequences they do not deserve (or maybe they do...)

It would seem that honesty and free speech are among the first victims of any society whether supposedly democratic or otherwise. Yes, we need to care about each other, but not under false colours; in Romania, for example, LGBT communities have grown in recent years; it was named by Human Rights Watch as one of five countries in the world that have made "exemplary progress in combating rights abuses based on sexual orientation or gender identity. However, as we all know only too well, there can be no legislation for bad attitude.

I write this only hours after witnessing a so-called gay-friendly acquaintance I have known for years verbally abusing two young men for kissing in the street.I was walking on the other side, but could clearly see and hear the commotion opposite. When younger and fitter, I would have leapt to their defence, but the area is well-known for hate crime and the need for a walking stick in old age urges caution. Besides, the gay couple were clearly able to give as good as got even as they moved on from a small crowd that had started to gather, and was clearly not taking their side.

I went on my way, the sound of someone shouting, "Sickies, hell is too good for the likes of you!"

A phrase from Shakespeare's King Lear instantly sprung to mind, 'More sinned against than sinning.'

It will be interesting to hear what my longtime acquaintance has to say the next time we meet as I will not hold back from raising the subject...

READING BETWEEN THE LINES

There are many who will say

that being gay is a sin against humankind

and God

Humankind is judgemental

by nature, but does that fit in with a God

of Love?

There are many who will argue

that same sex relationships are unnatural

acts

According to whom, unnatural

as each to our own way of thinking, dogma

too?

There are many who (still) insist

it offends the eye to see two men or women

embrace

Oh, and why must any human eye

on embraces it finds offensive even go there

at all?

There is a majority who will agree

any words invoking LGBT images suggest ‘sick’

minds

Oh, and does a majority promote

healthy living in its rape of nature for capitalist

gratification?

There are few who support Equality

and Human Rights unconditionally, absolutely

no holds barred

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today.] RNT

My Hero is a Tree

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

Another poem today from the archives of my general poetry blog

All my poetry collections are out of print and it is unlikely there will be any revised editions; they sold well (for poetry) but I had to self-publish them because no poetry publishers were willing to combine general and gay-interest poetry. I am in the process of preparing revised editions in e-format for Google Play but this is likely to take some time as I am in my 70's now and am kept busy overcoming various health problems.]RT

 I read the poem over a video shot by my friend Graham Collett for my You Tube channel some time ago: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvoS6PLKqSA ]

Some readers have said the previous link does not work so I have copied and reinstated it; if it still does not work, go to my channel and search under title. As feedback suggests some of you cannot always access You Tube for one reason or another, I have also posted the video below.]

The sum total of my collections is  a diary of journeys short and long, delightful and grim, that comprise my life. Anyone who cares to read them may or may not discern which poems have their roots in autobiography and which do not, but even imagination has to be nurtured by a creative mind, and the mind of poet has to be worth exploring. (Well, doesn’t it...?)  I hope to be around for a few more years yet. Even so, I had always been aware that when my time is up, the blogs will vanish into cyberspace and all that will remain of my poems (and me) will be in my collections. However, it appears the British Library are continuing to archive them so they will remain available to any researcher who may be interested.

.

Now, regular readers will know how much I love trees. I am fortunate to live near Hampstead Heath and have written several poems about it that express, if only in part, the immense satisfaction I used to take from strolling among its grassy slopes and ponds, but especially admiring its splendid trees of all varieties. Sadly, mobility problems mean I can rarely visit the Heath now, but my memories of  those strolls continue to inspire me. Needless to say, I am a passionate about Green issues, and support cries for action against climate change; we are all at risk, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious differences.

How ironic that it should take a threat to the whole planet to break down divisions and unite people where common human nature so often fails, I ask you!

MY HERO IS A TREE

Leaves on my hero are budding,

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life

to field and valley, filling the lonely heart

with thoughts of love;

leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, filling hearts growing old

with memories of love;

leaves on my hero are turning

red and gold in the company of dreams,

swallows leaving, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old

fly the colours of love;

leaves on my hero are drifting

across time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley like bright eyed children

running with kites;

leaves on my hero are budding.

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life

to field and valley, and new takes on old stories

we tell on love;

leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, teasing hearts growing old

they know nothing of love;

leaves on my hero are turning

red and gold in the company of dreams;

swallows leaving, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old

fly the colours of love;

leaves on my hero are drifting

across time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley, the children we were,

running with kites

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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

Hope is a Woman

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

Every so often readers ask me for a CD recording of my informal poetry reading on the 4^th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in July 2009 as my contribution to Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘live sculpture’ project.  Sky Arts typically refused to oblige those of us who participated with a CD so I can only repeat the link for anyone interested. [The entire web stream - all 2400 hours of it - is now archived in the British Library.]

Be warned, though. The entire clip lasts an hour:

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…

The vanity of human beings is such that we like to think we are in control of our lives and nature has to play second fiddle to our intentions as well as in our affections.

I wonder about that sometimes…

Some people look to God as the ultimate male ego. The Ancient Greeks cherished Elpis, Spirit of Hope. Me, I prefer to look to Earth Mother for an inner strength of a quality that can only be female; therein, I suspect, lies the key to humankind's survival.  Ah, but on whose terms, ours? Don't count on it...especially if unless countries around the world fail to treat nature with more respect and DO something about climate change; the latter affects us all, of course, homing in fast on a common humanity...gay, straight, transgender... no one spared, from all walks of life. We all need to get real and work together... treat Earth Mother more kindly and trust Hope to work its evergreen magic.

(Photo: Elpis, Spirit of Hope (copied from the web)

HOPE IS A WOMAN

To Mother Nature
we bared all as we were born;

since then, for good or ill,

(mostly) in good faith her colours
openly worn

Green, the grass,
 defying threats of acid rain; 

Blue, clear skies turning

a blind eye to the human obsession

with temporal gain

Red, streaks of blood
across a sky, the throat of a fox

as the first hound’s claw 

finds its mark, and darkness shuts us
at random in its box

Yellow, the sun’s wounds

weeping through drought, famine,

and an outing of inhumanity,

in platitudes among record audiences
for prime television

Stumps, where we'd stood,

listening to a pretty wood, if deaf 

to every plea it made
and warning it gave, now all but dead
but for its grief

Grey, tear-stained profiles
among remains of a next generation
running scared in the face

of apathy from elders shooting selfies

before they were born

To Earth Mother dare we fall
on our knees, if only to beg Her stay
this enemy's execution,

given that any 'tomorrow is another day'
well past its use-by date

Copyright R N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears in  Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

The Guardian

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

Today's poem last appeared on my general blog in February 2011; for the original post, see the archives for that blog (on the right hand side of any blog page.)

Even today, LGBT people are still referred to by the less discerning as 'freaks of nature'; the idea is, of course absurd. We are not only a common humanity, but not least because we are all Children of the Earth. It was feeling close to nature that saw m though the worst of my closet years from the age of fourteen until my thirties. (I am in my 70's now.) Besides, we are all born of a mother's womb, and what can be more natural than that, I ask you?

Regular readers will know that where religious-minded people like to think God is watching over us, I prefer to put my trust in Earth Mother,my chosen mentor.

Both points of view deserve respect, surely, since none of us can know for sure, whatever our native  culture, religion, ethnicity or sexuality...besides age and politics, of course. Oh, but we are a diverse humanity, and rightly so, for are we not as nature intended, for goodness sake?

If only more people would agree to differ instead of fighting over who is right and who is wrong, the world would be a far happier and peaceful place!

Give peace a chance, yeah?

Image taken from the Internet

THE GUARDIAN

Where snow is falling snow on snow,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in white shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where acid rain defies flowers to grow,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in tears shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where summer breezes gently blow.
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in green shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where autumn makes a splendid show,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in gold shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Once loved ones gone, we ask to know
why the world is a lonely place?
It’s a woman called Hope tells us so,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Look where she comes and see her face;
let this world be a less lonely place

Copyright R. N. Taber 1973; 2009

Note: This poem first appeared in Life's Simple Pleasures, Forward Press, 2011 and subsequently in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Stormy weather

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

I am repeating this post just as it appears on my general blog. (See also that blog's archives for January 2013 as listed on the right hand side of any blog page.) I will be 74 in December, and it is a tragedy of any Here-and-Now that there will always be bullies if only because it is among the worst aspects of human nature. It is worth remembering, though, that all bullies have a weak spot - fear of exposure to a less than sympathetic authority and having to face consequences for which no bully has the stomach, not least of which is further exposure to their more discerning peers.

[Update: 26.9.2019: Only six years have passed since I published this post/poem on the blog, but during that time bullying has raised its ugly head time and again on social media. Boys, especially, are inclined to suffer in silence, probably having been raised to think it isn't macho to tell tales out of school, but no small number of girls as well. Bullies are sick; reporting them is actually helping them to focus on what and who really matters in this life. So never suffer in silence. Tell a parent, teacher, best friend...someone you can trust to help you find the moral courage to do whatever needs to be done to expose the bully for the cowardly scum he or she is, and put a stop to it if only to prevent them putting someone else through the hell they are putting you through.] RNT

The main reason I am on the blog today is to recommend tyDi's great song/ video on You Tube  about some of the worst aspects of modern life that continue to plague many of us, especially young people, homophobic bullying among them. In case you haven’t found it yet, I urge you to go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CseffFUSAkg

I am 67 years old, and yet it wasn’t so different when I was young. What does that say about the world we live in, eh?  Even so, change is happening and people are becoming more aware of bullying and how it can drive people over the Edge of Reason into the Abyss. More importantly, come what may, love and the better, kinder, side of human nature continue to assert themselves over bigotry and ignorance.

Now, while I’m here…

I find writing increasingly stressful at the moment as my cataracts are getting worse. This poem is an early piece that appeared in several poetry magazines, 1996-1998, before I included it in my first major collection. Regular readers may be surprised to see that I made more (conventional) use of upper case letters at the start of lines in those days. I wrote it one stormy day while sheltering from the rain in a bus shelter.

I suspect the ‘rush of images had as much to do with seeing Derek Jarman’s amazing film 'The Garden' (1990) a few days earlier as a sense of nature ‘rushing’ me into…what? Writing a poem, maybe…

STORMY WEATHER

Cloud faces grimace;
lifelines leafing
through pouring rain;
fantastic canvas
leaping at the eye;
rooftops dripping
(sweat of heavens);
rhythm of children
braving a temporary
freedom

A rush of images
as ever seen;
Van Gogh, Jarman
each to their own
spirited inspiration;
distant thunder
rumbling our fears
while (reprieved)
we try to pass it off
as living

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised from the original version as it appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

Friends Reunited

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

Today's poem appeared on my general blog back in December 2010 and, yes, it is relevant to either blog, but relatively few readers accessed both blogs in those days as, for that matter, do now.  I once asked a gay friend why he showed no interest in my general poetry. He shrugged and admitted, "I'm not really into poetry, but it makes a change to read about gay stuff in a poem so... Besides,..." he added, "It's the principle, isn't it...?" What principle, I can't help wondering, as he did not elaborate?

True friends care about each other and show it, through thick and thin. It is a rare thing, these days, friendship. Too often we think we have a good friend until he or she not only stays away when we need them mos,t but also manages to put the blame on us for the fractured friendship.

Sometimes we may call a friend for a chat and they may be busy or just not in the mood; it is so unfair to take offence for catching someone at the wrong time, yet sadly so many people do just that.

Friendship works both ways. Too many people are so wrapped up in themselves they only see it as a one-way trip.

Sometimes a friend may be depressed or feeling so low they have no room in head or heart for anyone else while the condition lasts. As good friends, we need to be there for them no matter what…or how can we expect them to be there for us?

The selfish view some people take, that if a friend has not been in touch they won’t make the first move either, is not what friendship is all about. Among its most important values is that friendship can and often does unite people across a whole world of differences Yes, my cue for saying it yet again - our differences don't make us different, only human. As a common humanity, do we not owe it to each other to build bridges to reach one another, and rebuild as and when necessary? Invariably someone has to make the first move...

FRIENDS REUNITED

I knocked at the door,

again, again, and yet again;

no one came

Eventually, I turned away,

drifted lonely as a cloud - and

then returned

I banged on the door

again, again, and yet again;

no one came

Angrily, I turned away,

ran until exhausted - and

then returned

I yelled at the door

again, again, and yet again;

no one came

Sadly, I sat down

on a step wondering - why

no one listening?

I called at the door

again, again, and yet again

till someone came

[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

N-A-T-U-R-E, Imaging Eternity and Transcending Known Parameters

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

This poem first appeared on my general poetry blog in November 2016; any readers interested can access its archives - listed on the right of any blog page - for the original post. Readers who follow both blogs have asked for a new poem. Well, I am working on one so please bear with me. I am very unwell at the moment and finding it hard to collect my thoughts. In the meantime, I hope the many readers that feedback suggests only read one or the other will enjoy the poem. (I am often asked why I post a poem on one blog and not the other or both, but even a blogger has to make choices; a poem is a poem is a poem, readers assure me, and I agree, yet relatively few readers visit both blogs ...)

We often overlook the simpler pleasures of life in our enthusiasm for the more exotic or whatever is most likely to impress family, peers and neighbours. A friend once commented, ‘We never know long we’ve got so all the more reason to cram in as much as we can while we can.’ I get that, but not everyone is a crammer; we all want different things from life and just because someone does not appear to have a lot to show for his or her life doesn’t mean they have not live it, in their own way and time, to the full.

Now, every so often, someone asks me why I often write about death. Well, as a positive thinker, I try to be as positive about the inevitability of death as I do about making the most of each day as it comes, no matter what it may bring. Besides, I have been living with prostate cancer for nearly six years now so shying away from death is not an option. Not that I have any intention of letting the Grim Reaper have his way with me just yet! (Better to be positive, surely?)

It has been suggested by those who do not know me very well that I should ‘find God’ and therefore need have no fear of death. They mean well, of course, but I have never been able to relate to any religion or idea of a personified ‘God’. Nor am I am an atheist, though, but more of an agnostic in as much as I do believe in a sense of spirituality that enhances our customised vision of the world; outwardly and inwardly. However, as regular readers well know, I take that sense of spirituality from nature, not religion. They will also be aware that I believe in a posthumous consciousness, the power of any human spirit to endure within the hearts and minds of anyone affected by it; a continuum, in fact, for as long as human beings walk the earth and affect the lives of others - to a greater or lesser extent - in everything we say and do.

Oh, and why, too, do I have a particular fondness for robins? Well, not least because they are survivors, known to see out the worst winters if only to sing in another spring, reminding us all that, of all nature’s gifts, hope has to be among the best on offer. (And should hope die in some bleak winter of the heart? Well, as spring follows winter so, too, perhaps might we…?) 

Such is a sense of spirituality as I see it or if you prefer, the Landscape of Imagination from which so much of my poetry takes its inspiration, both mutually inclusive in my view; a landscape open of course to us all, pf course, whatever our ethnicity, gender or sexuality.

N-A-T-U-R-E, IMAGING ETERNITY AND TRANSCENDING KNOWN PARAMETERS

No one ever lays flowers,
comes even to rework old times,
but an old tree reads poems
that passes for a fitting eulogy,
and a robin sings

No memorial marks the spot,
none have cause to pause this way,
but shadows make a play
for life at Apollo’s pleasure,
and seeds grow

Each of four winds has a say
in how the tree needs must recite;
leafy branches acting out
rhythm, rhyme, blank verse,
(all weathers)

Mark how seasons play a part,
anticipating nature’s every mood,
overseeing a predilection
for happy-sad shades of green,
amber, red and mould

No let-up by day or night,
the tree passing on its every nuance
of sight and sound to each man,
woman and child with any feeling
for the natural world

Nature may well see us through
time’s ever-changing kaleidoscope,
yet humanity has far more say
than any leaves in what patterns
it may shape us…?

Ah, but such is human nature,
it may yet branch out on leafy whim
to make, break, let rise or fall
such passions of the human heart
as a robin sings
  
Roger N. Taber (2016)

Mind-Body-Spirit, on Rescue Alert

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

This week saw  World Mental Health Day, but every day is a struggle for some. This poem appeared on my general blog in July 2011. To see the original post, go the the archives - on the right hand side of any blog page - for https://rogertab.blogspot.com/

IYears ago, I became very deoressed about being gay, feeling rejected by family, friends and workmates for my sexuality alone...just a few of the knock life is inclined to throw at us, human nature being what it is.

Now, as a great fan of actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers (I loved The Tudors series on TV) I was very saddened to read that he had apparently attempted suicide. I attempted the same during a severe nervous breakdown some 30+ years ago. I swallowed a LOT of paracetamol tablets, washed down with a bottle of sherry. [Needless to say, I haven’t touched sherry since.] It was a terrible time, and I well recall the despair when I woke up after being unconscious for about 35 hours. Even so, I couldn’t stand the pain so managed to stagger half-dressed to my local surgery that was close to where I was living at the time.

Recovery took years, and I was unable to work for nearly four. Regular readers will be familiar with my poems like the one below that take depression and rising above it as a theme. I still suffer bouts of depression as I have since childhood, but I know the warning signs now and usually manage to rise above things through my writing, thereby avoiding going into free fall.

My passion for nature plays no small part in a self-taught capacity for positive thinking that, again, has its roots in a troubled childhood. I didn’t grow up in a broken home or anything as awful, but an appalling relationship with my father and a significant hearing loss that no one picked up on made life (and me) difficult, to say the least. It didn’t help when, as a teenager, I had to learn to cope alone with an awakening sexuality; same sex relationships remained a criminal offence here in the UK until 1967 by which time I was in my early 20’s.

Failure to commit suicide gave me a whole new outlook on life. So, yes, I am glad I failed although life has been an uphill struggle ever since, both emotionally and psychologically. Yet, isn’t life a challenge for most of us? I suspect the key is to take up the challenge instead of letting notions of failure mess with the mind; with the heart, too, perhaps. It isn’t easy, and there are times when the depressed person wants to run away from it all. Even so, as I have already said, learn to recognise the signs and it becomes marginally easier to prevent freefall.

For an actor, writer or any creative person, being something of a perfectionist is a mixed blessing. The perfectionist is never satisfied with his or her performance and this alone can lead us to the cliff edge of despair. One of the hardest lessons a creative person has to learn is to enjoy the creative process for its own sake, and while trying our best, not cave in to a mistaken sense of failure should our achievements fall short of expectation. Someone once said to me that she could not do anything creative until she recovered her self-esteem. In my experience, that is putting the cart before the horse. Until we try something, we will never know whether or not we can succeed at it; if we don’t succeed, we should give ourselves a pat on the back for trying and try something else until we discover our forte, something that gives us satisfaction and a boost to self-esteem that can only grow if duly nurtured.

Never feel a failure. Invariably, we do so in relation to someone else. There are times in life when other people don’t matter in the sense that we will only continue to feel close to freefall all the while we insist on comparing ourselves with those whom we most admire for whatever reason. At such times, we need to put ourselves first and refuse to let others put us down for who and what we are.

We can only make the best of what talents we have, and if these are insufficient to give us a sense of fulfilment then we should look elsewhere for the tools we need to help us feel a more complete person. Love and friendship offer fulfilment if we are prepared to work at them and not take either for granted. A talent for love and friendship is as creative an inspiration as we are ever likely to find in life; they come in all shapes and sizes and, again, we should not compare what we seek with others who have different needs and expectations.

I have said before on the blogs, we are all different and should not be in any hurry to measure ourselves by other people’s achievements.

I doubt whether Jonathan Rhys Myers reads my blog, but to him and all people driven to that degree of psychological and emotional free fall for whatever reason, I say, take heart, think well of yourself, and time may not heal all our hurts, but it will do a damn good job on most of them if only we are prepared work at it. There are no quick fixes and time can seem (very) frustratingly slow, but trying out new steps each day will produce positive results in the end if not always at a time we need them most.

A depressed person deserves a medal just for going through the motions of getting on with daily life. Believe me, I have been there, and my heart goes out to all those who suffer the worst depression can throw at us. Even once it has taken what seems like an eternity to lift, it will hover, and then go to wait in the wings until the next time it will try to take centre-stage; it is up to us to try and make sure it doesn’t. Oh, it will probably always insist on being a bit player in our lives, but that becomes just about bearable. People who suffer from depression are very fortunate indeed if it doesn’t make at least the occasional appearance. [The trick is to see it coming, and keep it from doing too much damage.]

To their loved ones, friends and work colleagues, I urge patience and understanding. Depression is NOT the same as feeling low or fed-up; it is light years beyond. At the same time, there is no need to let a depressed person’s mood swings take you to the edge as well. Speak up. Don’t let anyone walk all over you, whether they are depressed or not. But do so with kindness rather than in anger. Keep faith with love and friendship; it is at such times when depression or other hardships strike and test all of us that both truly come into their own.

Oh, but life can be so complicated, and rarely gives us a clear run all the way. Yet, for all its ups and downs, it is the only life we have so let’s make the best, not the worst of it, yeah? [Did I say it was easy?]

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, ON RESCUE ALERT

A shadow came to squat by my side,
its features obscured,
took my hand, claimed to be a guide,
said I should not be afraid;
a voice as silky as a child’s brow
persuaded me to my feet,
vaguely familiar voices calling, ‘No!’
distant echoes in my heart

If reassuring, the voice kept insisting
this was no time to be fanciful,
its silk at my ears faintly brushing
like lips behind a veil;
I let myself be led into my own garden
where I’d plant flowers,
prune its fruit trees and mow the lawn
during golden hours

Yet, even as the trellis gate swung open
to let us enter there,
I was gripped by an awful premonition
and sickening fear;
the silky voice took on a mocking tone
as the veil fell away
to a pecking at my flesh to the very bone
like a bird of prey

In a panic, I called the garden to my aid
only to see…
its trees were dying, its flowers dead,
the lawn but a spread of algae;
desperate to escape being eaten alive,
I tore myself free,
begging of that cold, dark, watery grave
a last sanctuary

I dropped as sure as a stone into the slime
and lay on its bed,
watching the algae, like veils of time,
expose half-truths over my head;
hands reached down to pull me to a surface
I instantly recognised,
where fruit trees, flowers and green grass
have endured

Between the lines of Earth Mother’s smile
I read how survival is but half the battle...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Flight of the Bluebird

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

When I first started posting the poetry blogs ten years ago, it soon  became clear that I needed to keep them separate as most readers  were not inclined o visit both, It is encouraging, therefore, that since I began posting poems retrospectively from one blog to the other, feedback has been very positive.This poem was posted on my general poetry blog in April 2015 and was inspired by a growing interest in memorial woodlands since attending a funeral service at one some time ago. Hopefully, it will be read as it was written, in inspirational not morbid mode.[To read the original post, go to the April 2015 archives on the right hand side of any blog page.]

Someone once told me that love is the dare only a fool will refuse. Well, not everyone will accept a dare, and that doesn’t make him or her a fool, but when it is love - whatever our ethnicity, creed, sex or sexuality - the chances are we risk a lifetime of regret by walking away.

The same person told me the Bluebird of Happiness is just a dream, but how like all the best dreams, we would do well to spot it if we can, and be thus inspired to keep the memory alive evermore by going for it. Yes, giving a dream a go can be a win-or-lose affair, but better to have fun losing then regret not having tried, surely? (In that sense, every loser, too, is a winner.) We can't all win jackpots, but it is open to any of us - whatever our gender, ethnicity or socio-cultural background - to turn a deaf ear to the naysayers, and see where chasing that special dream might lead...

Good luck, folks!

FLIGHT OF THE BLUEBIRD

There are woodlands where I go

whenever life finds me feeling low;

I have but pause beneath a tree,

see its branches shape our history

for letting the Bluebird of Happiness

work its magic on me

I feel the pull of Memory Lane

to peace of mind, away from pain;

among the lines in your fair face,

subtle comforts of a warm embrace,

the finest poems of earth and sky

recalling the love we dared, you and I,

young and impatient (even grown)

anxious to be seen wearing its crown

where bluebirds in twilight’s lace

perform evergreen images of grace

Though winter bite, nature rest,

in love and renewal we dare trust,

have but to pause beneath a tree,

see its branches shape our history

for letting the Bluebird of Happiness
work its magic on us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

[Note: Revised (2015) from an earlier version that first appeared in an anthology, Thoughts and Reflections for Throughout the Year, Forward Press, 2009 and subsequently in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010] 

Doors OR T-I-M-E, Exits and Entrances

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

Another poem from my general poetry blog today; it could have been published on either blog, of course, but - contrary to the opinion of many heterosexual readers - not all gay people only want to read about matters sexual. (If you want to read the original post, go to June 2013 in my general blog archives; these are listed on the right hand side of any blog page.)

[Update March 14 2018] In the death of Professor Stephen Hawking announced today, the world has just lost a great and truly inspiring man.]

Now, although I have every confidence in the hospital team treating me for the prostate cancer with hormone therapy, I have days when I could feel myself slipping into a depression about it all. Having taught myself to recognise and acknowledge the signs, I knew I had to act or free fall into the abyss. [The abyss and I are old adversaries, but I like to think I can get the upper hand now so long as I don’t let myself go into denial.]

From time to time, I have a really BAD day and (with some difficulty I have to say) need to think myself into philosophical mode; from there, it is only a few metaphorical steps into positive thinking mode, and from there but a hop, skip and a jump into writing mode. Today’s poem is the result of a form of self-help therapy much practised by yours truly.

What is ‘now’? It is always ‘now’. Now is eternal, like time and space. We are ‘Now’. We are from ‘Now’. We are heading for ‘Now’.

What, I wonder, what will our ‘Now’ be like once we arrive at journey’s end, shaped by the choices we have made or left unmade? Whatever, we can but try to arrive at a ‘Now’ that offers a better, kinder existence than its history has shown us (or it) far.

DOORS or T-I-M-E, EXITS AND ENTRANCES

Whenever asked where I come from,

I answer, my mother’s womb,

yet a sense, too, of being somewhere

distant, unknown, as if crossing

mythical territories of time and space

just to get there

When asked about my goals in life,

(prompted by what motivation?)

I have confess I’ve never been sure

which doors are left ajar for us

just to take a peep, our choice, whether

or not we enter.

Some people have made accusations

against me, suggesting I’m sitting

on some rickety, metaphorical fence

rather than face what I might find

should I jump off, explore the potential

for mind and spirit

Stung by the rebuke, I flung them open,

these doors left ajar to tease me,

daring me try translating hieroglyphics

lining mother’s womb, luring me

into a vast maze of corridors whose dust

will host my tomb

I've asked of my self where I come from

and it answered, my mother’s womb,

invoking, too, a sense of having been

somewhere (very) distant, unknown,

crossing vast territories of time and space

just to get here

Now when asked about goals in life,

(prompted by what motivation?)

I have to confess I’ve rarely been able

to decide between doors left ajar 

just for the peeping and others intending

I should enter

On womb, tomb, and in-between doors,

find hieroglyphics writing up 

a (much ghosted) autobiography of life

and death, often taken for graffiti 

on this ‘n’ that door slamming on us

if (never) quite shut

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013