Hello again, from London UK

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

Hello again, from London UK

No poem today, but I hope to have one ready for you fairly soon. I don't expect everyone to like every poem, of course, but I feel encouraged that many of you continue to stick with this struggling senior as, like many of you, I struggle with all the changes in everyday life that the coronavirus has imposed. 

A reader asks if I practise what I preach with regard to nurturing a positive mindset. Well, I do my best and manage to do so most of the time, but like all of us, I have good days and bad days.  I can only speak from the perspective of an old codger living alone; different people will have different problem. Partners will have each other to share any difficulties with, but in the kind of circumstances imposed on us by the coronavirus, tempers may well fray. Families will have encountered a different spectrum of problems altogether, especially those with young children. For many if not most  older children and young people, not being able to mix with friends and peers will have been a waking nightmare.

Now, living alone and growing old ain't easy at the best of times. Everything takes so much longer and I get tired so much more easily. Everyday tasks - like stripping a bed and turning a mattress - are a challenge; it takes me ages to replace a duvet cover now too.😊

I coped well with the first lockdown here in the UK, but the latter stages of the second were a nightmare. I often felt lonely, and scared too, a though the latter has more to do with the hormone therapy for my prostate cancer as it can have that effect on some people sometimes. An ear infection and mobility problems haven't helped. So, how do I cope with it all...? Well, better some days than others, that's for sure.😉 

I try to keep reminding myself that there are so many people in the world so much worse off than myself, some of whom I know personally. I tell myself that if they can cope, so can I. Writing up the blogs and posting poems when I can has been a godsend; it distracts me not only from my own problems, but the whole coronavirus scenario. I think everyone needs to find ways of distracting themselves from any personal problems anyway  (coronavirus or no coronavirus) whether it's pursuing a hobby or just watching a favourite video/ TV programme. Me, I avoid News programmes apart from catching up with the headlines. While I am interested and concerned about what else  is going on in the mad, mad world of ours...there is just so much a person can take when so much of it is so depressing.

Now, although lockdown restrictions are being lifted here in the UK, we still have to deal with the threat of a so-called Indian variant, already prevalent in parts. Yet again, all we can do is take care, and (yes!) nurture a positive thinking mindset. We won't always succeed, but just trying can make all the difference.

As I have said on past blogs, I honestly think a healthy diet is a huge help when it comes to dealing with stress.

At the end of the day, of course, we are all different and needs must find our own way through our own waking nightmares. As my mother used to say, though, we should never be afraid to ask for help, never think anyone will think the worse of us for doing so. Each of us, in our own way is, vulnerable; if counselling is not an option and there is no close friend on hand or at the end of a telephone, call The Samaritans. Even simply talking (or writing) about our worst fears can give us an entirely new perspective on them. If I had confided my problems with being a gay man so someone years earlier, I may well have avoided a nasty nervous breakdown in early 30's.

What else can I say for now but... good luck everyone, and bear in mind that most of the time it's down to each and every one of us to make our own luck... or not, as the case may be.

Take care, everyone, and many thanks for dropping by.

Hugs,

Roger

PS In the course of transferring about 1000 poems to a memory stick (so far unpublished except on the blogs) I have significantly revised more earlier poems that you will find in the blog archives. Do feel free to browse now and then, and I hope any revisions (including some titles) will meet with your approval...but won't be offended if they don't. 😉

[Note: This post also appears on my general blog today. Oh, and many, many thanks to the reader from Spain who emailed to say that he has enjoyed working his way through through my fiction blog "... as well as both poetry blogs." It has made my day,] RNT

L-O-V-E, Survivors

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Today’s poem first appeared on the blogs in 2016, ad has since been (slightly) revised.

Staying positive and trying to keep looking on the bright side of life has never been harder for many of us than now as the Covid-19 coronavirus continues to take its toll around the world. Essentially, I am a positive thinking person; even so, life has a nasty habit of contriving circumstances likely to make us think differently, circumstances which, for whatever reason, spot a chink in our psychological armour and send us into free fall ...

Many years ago, my lie took a turn for the worse (not the first time) and I had a bad nervous breakdown; unable to see a way through it, I attempted suicide. Fortunately, life forces I cannot begin to describe kicked in, and I started to see something of the wood through its trees. I recall telling a doctor, "I can't do this." His reply has stayed with me ever since. "Yes, you can," he said, "... just tell yourself over and over that you will get through it, and you will. Better still, focus on all the positive things you want to do that giving up now will never let you, and go with the damn flow, man, go with the flow." 

So … I went with the damn flow, and survived to tell the tale.

Good or bad, we make the world we live in and it is up to all of us to try and make it a better one.

Humanity's rage to live for love and the greater good will always defeat its enemies in the end.

Looking on the bright side of life may not always be easy, but human beings have a natural capacity for love, in all its shapes and forms, and the more we can focus on that the better. 

(Did I say it would be easy...?) 

This poem is a villanelle.

L-O-V-E, SURVIVORS

Though bigotry and hate thrive 

among the world’s power brokers,

it’s love that will see us survive

Always, people willing to drive

forces for good to the aid of others,

though bigotry and hate thrive

While terrorist-led plots connive

to mock this world’s peacemakers,

it's love that will see us survive

Open heart and mind ever contrive

to expose the worst attention seekers,

though bigotry and hate thrive

If life giving forces as bees to hive,

(a warning sting for potential takers)

it’s love that will see us survive

As sure to keep freedom's name alive,

as frustrate its would-be code breakers;

though bigotry and hate thrive,

it’s love that will see us survive 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016, 2020

Curtain Rising on a Sense of What's What

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This entry is from my general poetry blog archives for June 2014; like many such recent  entries, it could just as well been published on either blog, given that people are people are people, whatever their sexual orientation or socio-cultural-religious background. Many if not most of us would agree, of course, while just as many others continue to judge LGBT people differently. Do any of us have a given right to judge another person, least of all for their sexuality?

Sometimes we wake up and wonder why we bother. Time then to force ourselves to prepare for another day, throw open curtains and windows, breathe in deeply, imbibe the sweeter sounds and smells of life and let them inspire us...in spite of everything that seems to be working against us.

Now, nature may well be as fickle as humankind, but we have but to open our minds to acknowledge its capacity for life, love, and peace to feel invited and inspired to share in it all … and let sheer willpower do the rest, albeit with a native inclination for positive thinking in the driving seat.

No? Try it, and see. It has worked wonders for me over all of 70+ years, even getting me through a bad nervous breakdown in my 30's.

Did I say it was easy ... ?

CURTAIN RISING ON A SENSE OF WHAT'S WHAT

Human hearts top-heavy,

so needing to give expression
to an ache in the soul,
but no one to listen, everyone
playing pass-the-parcel
with us to avoid being put
on the spot or delivering us up
to an answering machine

Come, let's at least try

to appreciate how Earth Mother
does her best for us

Sunshine in a misty rain

making pretty flowers grow;
heavens shedding tears
for us even while raising smiles
on human faces
etched with pain if only
for having gone that extra mile
and been let down

Longing for loved ones

far away (or dead) to give us a hug,

make everything all right

Listen! The trees are singing

in country, city, and town;

Look! Children laughing, playing,
lovers wishing on stars,
Life forces ever reaching out to us,
inviting us to share in it all,
though human nature play us
fair or foul

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Curtain Rising in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Making Peace with Christmas

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This post is from my general poetry blog archives for December 2012.

Now, I have never minded being on my own at Christmas and my kinder ghosts make sure I never feel lonely. I enjoy doing my own thing, in my own time, and in my own way. It’s selfish perhaps, but it is a delight not having to make an effort for anyone, but just be myself. Traditionally, I run the gamut of emotions from past sadness and regrets to being (eventually) reconciled with and thankful for the Here and Now…those ghosts dearest to me always making sure any demons don’t get a look in.

For those that can spend a happy time with family and friends, that’s wonderful, but being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely; you don't have to be with anyone to enjoy fond thoughts, happy memories, favourite music or even just a feel-good movie/ programme on the radio or TV likely to inspire a sense of peace and love.

(Image from the Internet)

MAKING PEACE WITH CHRISTMAS

It was the night before Christmas
and the world was uncaring and grey
as I made my way home
from bright, cheerful, carols in The Square
knowing that when I turned the key
in my front door there’ll be no one there
just like so many Christmases before

I took my time along the road
and the first snowflakes began to fall
as I made my way home
joyful voices stinging, ringing, in my ears
remembering how once I’d turn the key
in my front door, and you’d be there for me
just like long-ago Christmases before

I passed a tree, its leaves glistening,
and seemed to hear your voice calling me
to hurry, hurry, home
if only to be warm and safe from harm
if oh, so, alone, shutting the door
on a world  making out that all things holy
embrace even the lonely

It was the night before Christmas
and the world was uncaring and grey
as I made my way home
from bright, cheerful, carols in The Square
knowing that when I turned the key
in my front door, the dearest of all my ghosts
would be waiting for me there

Love, lifting me so as it always does,
I made my peace with Christmas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Letting Go, a Song of Twilight

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This poem is from my general poetry archives for July 2014.

Regular readers will know that Hampstead Heath is not far from where I live. Read about it at:

http://www.hampsteadheath.net/index.html

- and find some poems under the 'Culture' heading

& .hear one of my Heath poems - the very first one - (On Hampstead Heath) on my YouTube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1z_NiNpRQw&t=114s

Now, I have often said on my blogs that letting go of the past and moving on does not necessarily mean leaving anyone or anything behind.

In my experience, the moment of letting go and placing it in the time capsule we call Memory is invariably as intense as it is exquisite; intense, because it is so personal and so exquisite for being so highly charged with the bitter-sweet smells and tastes of recollection, the inner eye selecting the best of the best while tactfully (or conveniently) skipping the worst.

This poem is a villanelle.

LETTING GO, A SONG OF TWILIGHT

On Parliament Hill, I let go of a kite
and watched it drift over London
till just a speck of summer twilight

I felt humbled by the glorious sight
as if I were sailing heavens;
on Parliament Hill I let go of a kite

Fair, copycat bird in graceful flight
filled me with awe and inspiration
till just a speck of summer twilight

The faintest star, harbinger of night,
tracking me down Memory Lane,
on Parliament Hill, I let go of a kite

Empathising with passing daylight,
gripped by a sense of hanging on
till just a speck of summer twilight

Putting wrongs aside (if not right),
time enough for celebration...
On Parliame

Alt-Ctrl-Delete

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

This poem is from my general poetry blog archives for June 2012. Whoever, wherever we are in the world, we need to find a voice, make ourselves heard, challenge stereotypes and argue the case for change; reason against speculation and, yes, sometimes certain socio-cultural traditions too. As for religion, while it is important to respect a person's faith, there is a case to be made for challenging what, for many, is an inflexible approach to religious dogma. We are a diverse, common humanity; to be flexible is, surely, to simply uphold the basic principles of humanitarianism...?

Update (May 2016): Today’s poem was written in 1998 and first appeared in CC&D magazine, Scars Publications (USA) 1999. Scars now publish issues through Amazon which are printed in the U.K. and Europe. Given that Scars are now able to release it internationally, hopefully contributors and interested readers can enjoy ordering hard copies without paying an insane shipping price for mailing from the States any more. Interestingly, Scars publishes only non-rhyming or blank verse; they have published some 50+ of my poems since the late 1990's which is a healthy poetic exercise for me as I usually use rhyme a lot.  More information about Scars at: http://scars.tv/ccd.htm

This poem springs to mind whenever I am at the keyboard of my computer along with the constant threat to global as well as personal survival with which we all live daily thanks to humankind’s complacency regarding Green issues and sometimes a far too dogmatic approach to life, love, and every individual's right to a point of view...

ALT-CTRL-DELETE

Blank screen staring at me
like a dead man's eye
as if taken by surprise
at the moment of execution,
expecting pulse, heartbeat,
a flow of blood to the works
in spite of those quirks
of human nature that put a body
on hold whenever its world
ceases to turn, all civilization
gone to ash and dust, leftovers
of personal ambition

From inspiration, no help
to guide pen or brush;
Desolation, a lush wading
through risen waters
of the earth, baring pain
like a rose its petals
in acid rain, deserving better
at Nature’s hand
than a travesty of imitation driven
by Man’s jealousy of God
if only for being free of chains
(no human being exempt)

As melting ice caps start to flood
this world of ours, we can lose heart,
drown in its worst nightmares
(poet found dead at the keyboard)
or find a voice...

Our choice

Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2001

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Flights of Tension to Fanciful Places

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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 Hunt, Metaphor for LGBT History

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I have always thought hunting with hounds is a sick sport. Maybe that’s because I have a tried and tested empathy with any animal on the run; having been the victim of homophobic attacks in the distant past, I know how it feels. Some of us would get away by the skin of our teeth, of course, as I (usually) did, but not everyone escapes uninjured (or worse) and the trauma may well haunt a person all their life.

In some parts of the world (countries like Uganda and Iran, for example, to name just two) gay people have to hide their sexuality, yet are often sniffed out by bigoted forces and don't live to tell the tale. It is a tragedy that shames the civilised world. Sadly, it is as all too common a tragedy for unprotected species in the animal world as for gay people living in an intrinsically homophobic environment...or anyone else seen as fair game by those who choose to interpret this or that socio-cultural-religious take on life as justification for the unjustifiable.

[Hunters] take unbelievable pleasure in the hideous blast of the hunting horn and baying of the hounds… Erasmus (1466 - 1536)


THE HUNT, METAPHOR FOR LGBT HISTORY

I hear a horn,
the baying of hounds,
thundering hooves,
need to run and hide
if only I can

Closing in on me,
horn, hounds, hooves;
scarier still,
a stench of humans
laughing

I need to pause
but the only rest for me
will last forever
once laughter catches
up with me

My legs fail,
drag me to a sanctuary
of friendly bushes
but the frothing pack
sniffs me out

The lead hound
pauses, poised to leap
for my throat,
now strikes, and all
I hear is laughter

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Winning Hearts and Minds OR Confounding the Bigots

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Fortunately, there are more people in the world with open hearts and minds than most socio-cultural-religious bigots would care to admit.

Of course, we will never win over everyone to an enlightened view of same sex relationships. The hope is, as history suggests, that even in those societies where obsessive, repressive, leaders continue to undermine and threaten our personal and public freedom, gay men and women are likely (in time) to win the war, transgender folks too

WINNING HEARTS AND MINDS  or CONFOUNDING THE BIGOTS

Branded a child of Satan

(just for being gay)

I felt myself drowning in sin

but (finally) managed

to master the breaststroke

and swim away

to a (far) safer, kinder, shore

where the bigots

can have their say (of course)

but any person

of any colour, creed, sex

or sexuality

is more likely to take a pride

in a humanity sworn

to uphold the finer principles

of true democracy

Declared a child of Satan

by ‘betters’ who know

no better (it’s their nature)

than hounding folks

left free by (far) better people

than they to walk down

everyday streets anywhere

without anyone turning

to stare or pointing the finger

at how I walk, talk, dress,

don’t even practise a religion,

invariably given to mean

no sense of everyday propriety

or even spirituality,

presumably a suspect sexuality,

but not necessarily…

Copyright R., N. Taber 2014

Spring Mist

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Okay, so one March day doesn’t make a spring, but I am an incurable romantic, and spring is just around the corner here in the UK besides being ever present in the hopeful, positive thinking heart regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality. (Age, too, I might add as I grow old...)

What better reason to celebrate the ultimate victory of gay love over the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority...even it may lose a few battles along the way?  Where history confirms, it also inspires, and although we may sometimes despair of certain present-day socio-cultural-religious hang-ups over sexuality, we need to believe that there will come a time when common sense and humanity will prevail worldwide.

"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming." _Pablo Neruda

SPRING MIST

One spring we strolled by a murmuring stream,

listening to the happy tales it told

of peace and love walking out of a dream

to take their rightful place in a sad world

As we walked, your fingers entwined with mine,

they too with a joyful story to tell

of lonely gay people thrown a lifeline,

saved from drowning in contempt's ugly swell

We paused, saw two fish in a gentle flow,

wished them safe from the angler's cruel rod,

their colours and grace making a fine show

yet vulnerable, like us, in this world

Crossing a bridge, we paused again and kissed,

peace and love embracing us like spring mist

Copyright R N Taber 2005

[From: A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

A (Gay) Poet's Take On Stoicism

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Only recently, I was chatting to someone in a cafe who, after a while, asked me if I am gay. When I answered in the affirmative, he confided that he, too, is gay, but scared’ not only of coming out to family and friends he had reason to suspect would not be supportive, to say the least, but also of his understanding of the whole gay ethic. ‘I’m not sure I want to live a gay life,’ he told me.

So what is a gay life? For goodness sake, apart from our sexuality, we live no different a life, for better or worse, than those among the heterosexual majority. Being in a minority may mean we have to work harder to assert ourselves more often than not, but my gut feeling is it’s only human nature to be up for this challenge or that. Moreover, the human spirit does not suffer fools gladly.  

Let’s face it, even being actively closet, in those countries in the southern hemisphere whose governments continue to hold a candle to the ignorant ramblings of various socio-cultural-religious bigots, is not only a challenge but is also knowingly and invariably bravely sowing the first seeds of a deservedly inauspicious end for our enemies.

So let’s go for it, yeah?

A (GAY) POET’S TAKE ON STOICISM

Temptation drove me to cliffs,
where I contemplated rocks below,
despairing of such an end as this,
seemingly no place else I dare go;
the cliffs, they yelled defiantly
above the furious roar of a raging sea;
their words struck a chord in me,
Life and Death vying for my sanity

Nature raised a Gorgon's head
like a devil among the monstrous foam,
wishing me ill (better still, dead)
resolved to turn my better self to stone;
Love it was that had other ideas,
and joined the battle for my salvation,
converging on my worst fears,
blasting them with ancient canon

Life ill-deserves such derision
as to be tossed in a storm’s fierce jaws,
the consequences of our action
condoning betrayal of all natural laws;
where nature vents its fury
on lesser humanity’s short-sightedness
to colour, creed, sex or sexuality,
let' stand firm, reconcile differences

I answered Love’s call that day,
and the sea began to calm, the sun shine,
dark clouds steadily driven away,
like prejudices (eventually) in decline
while I returned, my corner to fight,
argue the ages-old case for sexual identity,
expose myself to human right,
walk tall, proud, confident and free

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Among Predators And Prey

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A UK reader has contacted me to say he does not have a computer at home and accesses the Internet at his local public library. However, the library computers do not allow access to blogs. As he has enjoyed dipping into the blog at a friend’s house, do I have any suggestions? Well, only one. Both my blogs are participating in a UK Web Archive project operated by the British Library.

Try http://www.webarchive.org.uk// and go into ‘Search the archive’ (left had panel on the screen) and enter ‘G-AY in the Subject Field’ or ‘A Poet’s Blog’ and the blog you are looking for should appear. I should add that it is very interesting just to browse the archive for other blogs and websites.

Meanwhile...

Straight people often ask if I wish I wasn’t gay. What can I say? [Do I wish I wasn’t born, for goodness sake?] They also put it to me that it’s risky, what with there being so many homophobes about and religious zealots who seem to think their God would condone the persecution (and worse) of gay people. What can I say? [Should I be afraid to be as nature made me or, in their terms, how God made me?] I am a person, not a stereotype; no more or less so than anyone else, regardless of socio-cultural-religious or, yes, sexual persuasion. Human nature comprises many parts; more often than not, it is the sum of those parts in any of us that really counts. More often than not, too, it is unfair to cherry-pick this or that part and proceed to judge a person accordingly.

Love, in all its shapes and forms has always walked among among predators and prey; there will always be those who criticise, even condemn certain human relationships from the kind of narrow perspective on life expounded by various dogma and/ or prejudices. The trick is being able to do what comes as naturally as breathing to all creatures great and small...practise the art of survival ... on our terms, not theirs. As for those arrogant, bigoted, evangelical types who seek to gain favour with their God by calling for homosexuals and other LGBT folks to be either cured, saved or eliminated ... for the sinners we are and responsible for the spread of HIV-AIDS ...well,  if it is a 'gay plague' it is human one, and we should not rush to cherry-pick responsibility for that either.

God - however we interpret the word, religion or no religion - is Love, and love has no time for homophobia or any other sick prejudices.

AMONG PREDATORS AND PREY

Walking, my love and I, down urban
streets distracted by brats playing up a parent
plainly too scared to but plead for acceptable
behaviour or risk being chased like a fox
beyond the pale, given society’s predilection
for what is just and fair, especially where
children are concerned, hopeful they will learn
a sense of responsibility, not turn out badly
in the long run

Pausing, my love and I, on country roads
to watch lambs skipping in a field
reflecting how it was when we were young
pretending we hadn’t a care in the world
to all but ourselves, looking over shoulders
when we thought someone might see us
keeping to shadows for kisses they despise
who live in houses made of playing cards
(aces high)

Hugging, my love and I, seeing how things are
in the world, glad we have each other
to help us through what may pass for morality
but (invariably) is an excuse for sucking up
to those do-gooders who mean well but see
sweeping statements as a rule of thumb,
love to interpret nature’s laws along such lines
as human ends justifying human means
in the long run

Fearing for lambs as prey to foxes as gay kisses
to human prejudices

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Paperback Lives

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Readers ask when Book Three of my intended gay-crime trilogy Blasphemy-Sacrilege-Redemption will be available. The answer is I am not sure. I have not been well and have had to put Redemption on a (very) slow burner. Hopefully, it will be finished one day.

The American publisher of Blasphemy  was  hoping it would give him better access to the UK market; when it didn't, he changed his mind about publishing the trilogy, making some very rude comments in the process. Thanks for asking, though, and it gives me an excuse to post this poem.

While it’s true to say my foray into fiction hasn’t been a roaring success, I have received some lovely letters and emails from readers so that makes it well worth all the hard work. Nor have I lost out financially even if it hasn’t made me rich. Moreover, readership of my fiction blog continues to rise so that is also very encouraging, especially as I am primarily a poet.

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk

Some people ask why I bother writing poetry or fiction at all unless it’s going to make me rich and famous. Well, I write both because I enjoy it,not least because all fiction has its roots in real life,and I get to have great fun engaging with my characters. Besides, for me, writing is a necessary therapy in my daily fight against depression; readers are always a nice bonus. In any case, I always knew that finding a publisher when I am writing gay-interest as well as general fiction (and poetry) would not be easy.

Find more info about my fiction at:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Any creative activity - including sport - can be a more effective weapon against depression or a troubled mind than antidepressants alone; the arts, gardening, cooking, whatever gives a person pleasure and a sense of achievement. For me, it just happens to be writing, with a special interest in poetry that I inherited from my mother.

Oh, and never measure success by some else's measure of failure.

PAPERBACK LIVES

Walking in the park…
saw you lying on the grass
eyes closed, face turned
to the sun. I had never seen
such beauty. No, not
in anyone. I sat down nearby,
trying hard not to look,
pretending to read a book
upside down, peering
over its worn, torn cover
at my dream lover

Later, we chatted…
my heart skipping beats
like a lamb for the joys
of spring in glorious sunshine
reflected in your smile…
grateful just for living;
too soon, we parted,
your hand in mine so firm
and strong, carrying me
halfway to heaven on wings
of a favourite pop song

I tumbled to earth
as blue as my novel’s
paperback cover,
dreaming a happy ending
for each other, unable
to resist one backward glance,
(an, oh, so wistful look);
Ah, but neither could you
who ran back too,
making real the best chapters
in my paperback novel

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, rev. 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Paperback Writer' in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Reunion

For a long time after my partner Peter died, some 30 years ago, I felt guilty if I so much looked at another man, let alone slept with one. Then one day I heard Peter whisper in my ear, ‘What are you waiting for? Go for it…’ and realised that life is for living and the dead, especially, would not begrudge us that.

REUNION

Among shadows, softly tread
and have no fear,
reassured by the living dead

I let loved ones into my head
and shed no tear,
among shadows, softly tread

I brood over history and dread
the next chapter,
reassured by the living dead

Gladly, I let those I have loved
find me here,
among shadows, softly tread

I’ll take my true love to my bed,
conscience clear,
reassured by the living dead

Haunted by words in anger said,
find forgiveness here;
among shadows, softly tread,
reassured by the living dead

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem will appear in my new collection - On The Battlefields Of Love - scheduled for publication on March 8th.]