The Seekers OR Beyond Rhyme and Reason ... What?

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016 under a different title.

I am often asked (a) Why do I write poetry, and why so little blank verse when everyone knows rhyme is old hat, especially as the media ignores me for the most part so I’m not even "famous"? and  (b) Why spoil a good poetry site by including gay poetry? [Thank you for the praise element there.]

Well, fame isn’t everything, nor is blank verse, and I do have a reputation of sorts around the world if feedback from my blogs and other Internet sites is anything to go by. The most important thing to me is that there are people out there who read what I write; whether or not they like what I write is less important than it may give them food for thought. [Even not liking something demands we ask ourselves, why?] As for including gay-interest poems, as I do in all my collections…why not? I am a gay man and a poem is a poem is a poem. I have received emails from heterosexual readers to say it has helped them think differently (better) about gay people and from gay readers thanking me for my inclusiveness. Opinions will always be divided; such is the nature of food for thought.

Poetry is a passion with me. Prior to university, I wrote many poems; less so for some time afterwards. Reading and writing critical essays about great poets was very enjoyable, but also very daunting. How could I possibly follow in the footsteps of the likes of Wordsworth, Shelley, Blake, Hardy and so many more? It took a while for the penny to drop. I could not hope to follow in their footsteps nor should I even try. No, I must create footprints of my own. It would not matter if few people found them worth following so long as they were there, to be chanced upon; hopefully, of some worth to someone somewhere at some time or another finding their way in life (and losing it now and then) as I have done. Reading great writers has helped me become a positive thinker; no mean feat considering the inferiority complex that dogged me at home, school and young manhood.

I have only ever been in love once in my whole life, but love takes various forms and I have loved many people in various ways. Take friendship, a form of love at all its various levels, and probably the most commonly open to abuse. Sometimes love is returned; often, though, it is abused. Nor am I referring to just physical but also  psychological abuse; people taking advantage of love, taking it (and us) for granted, always taking, taking, taking… with little or no thought about what it means to give. It can hurt, really hurt. For me, poetry has always helped ease that hurt. 

Yes, poetry is my passion, a love that returns far more than I can ever give. Especially as I grow old, the passion continues to course through my veins and remind me of all that is beautiful in this sorry world, in nature and human nature; more than a match for cynic or pessimist, and music to the ears of a positive thinker so long as he or she remembers to listen out with inner ear, see with inner eye, feel a way through bad times to better. I recall loves of my life - in all shapes and forms - that inspire me, always have and always will.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we are all poets in the sense that poetry is the very act of living; how we chose to define it - and ourselves - is down to each and every one of us, each in our own way, not least in poetry, bearing in mind how there is a poetry of sorts in everything we are, do, regret, aspire to ... whatever, if we care to look, and learn  from the looking whether or not we ever quite find it.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE SEEKERS or BEYOND RHYME AND REASON ... WHAT?

Who seeks out poetry, seeks love,

always listening out for its call

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Between earth and heavens above,

as human passions rise and fall.

who seeks out poetry, seeks love 

Find nature’s finest, hand in glove

with Man’s first aim, survival;

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Where a trophy hunter may prove 

keen eyes for a potential kill,

who seeks out poetry, seeks love

A power to make mountains move,

centuries-old nightmares repel;

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Grown cold, hand out of its glove

among rhetoric's overspill?

who seeks out poetry, seeks love,

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Who do We think We Are?OR Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

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

A reader asks  why I appear to differentiate between the human spirit and Holy Spirit and "clearly have no time for the latter". What can I say, other than I differentiate because they are not the same?
The human spirit has a mind of its own, and will sometimes lead s to make mistakes for which we have no one to blame but ourselves and/or 'fate' where is is easier to blame God. Whatever, while I respect those who sincerely enter into (any) religious point if view, we must agree to differ. As do not deny the existential presence of a God, but see God as nature, not as its creator, moreover an all-embracing life force, not the personification of a bigot who would see me in some existential 'hel'l for being gay.

Another reader asks why I post some poems on my general blog and not on my gay-interest blog, .and vice versa, especially as I often empathise that a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is ... whatever or whomsoever. Well, believe it or not some readers enjoy sipping into both blogs and my gay-interest poems are intended, primarily, help LGBT readers around the world feel GOOD about their sexuality, but also educate bigots in those societies and communities that would make us think think badly of t ourselves for it  - just as my own did when I was a teenager and young man, consequently made to journey to hell and back; sadly, many LGBT people around the world still never find a way back.

Now, we are not only creating our own personal history with every thought we pursue and every word we utter, but also recording it with every step we take; all the more reason to tread carefully, consider the feelings of others and avoid treading on toes we have no wish to tread on.

It is one thing to respect the right of free speech, another to bait someone with points of view directly opposed to their own. "No harm in that, either," a friend once commented, "so long as you can agree to differ and discuss amicably if spiritedly." A wise woman, my friend, and I, for one, couldn't agree more, although it is not always east to spot that someone is playing devils advocate; it can be a risky game to play, and can take even the best friendships to breaking point ...

Baiters are often critics of whatever stand we have chosen to take in life, on whatever; while we all need to be challenged, if only to be clearer ourselves as to the where-how-why we take certain stands, make certain choices that subsequently lead us along this or that path in life, we need to respect the other person's point of view even be prepared to modify our own.

Agreeing to differ can be as educational as it can be fun ... so long as neither party assumes he or she has an absolute right to theirs which, as regular readers of my blogs will know, is my problem with (any) religion.

WHO DO WE THINK WE ARE? or NOTHING VENTURED, NOTHING GAINED

There’s a reality that is but a dream,

life stories told in quickly turning pages

(not the mediocre fiction it may seem)

tracking the poetry and prose of Ages

wherever ordinary men and women 

share life’s adventures (everyday heroes);

life’s ‘failures’ exceeding expectation,

its poor getting by on election promises;

the self, exposed to ever prying eyes

waiting to catch us out, see us take a fall;

minds, trying  to make sense of chaos,

human spirit, left to try and rise above it

Half the world pressing on with ambition,

the rest of us left trailing imagination ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in Ygdrasil, Journal of the Poetic Arts (December, 2004) and subsequently in  A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Mind-Body-Spirit, Work in Progress OR Where the (Missing) Keyword is Support

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

A reader asks if the novels on my 'Fiction in the Subject Field' blog are gay-interest fiction. Most are, and there are only a few anyway, but Mamelon, for example is a fantasy novel:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Meanwhile...

One of my childhood friends had always wanted to become  an engineer.  Both her parents, though, and older brothers were teachers and it was assumed she would follow the family tradition and any idea of a female engineer was a considered passing fancy, an absurd one at that.

The family moved away and years later we met by chance, and she related over several pints of Guinness how she had been persuaded to enter the teaching profession, after finally giving way to 'emotional blackmail' on the part of her family. After a few years of teaching, she realised "...it just wasn't me. I neither enjoyed nor hated it, and I think I was fairly good, but I knew I would be a far better engineer." So she gave up teaching for engineering, always more than capable of turning any sexism on its head. She and her scientist husband, had three lovely children, and the rest is history...  We lost touch, but I would get news of her from time to time. Apparently, the parents never quite forgave her for breaking with family tradition, but came to terms with it in time; such is the power of love over most of its nemeses.

We all need family and friends to give us the time and space to be ourselves, free of any pressure, however well-meaning, to follow whatever path in life they may well believe is right for us (or for them?) but the chances are self-awareness tells a different story.

Being true to ourselves, and giving self-awareness credit where credit is due, may not always be easy, but necessary if we seek peace of mind. Not all 'devil's are malicious, although it has to be said that most if not all can be very persuasive. I was very close to my mother and loved her dearly, but she did her best to dissuade me from going to university as a mature student (I was 25) because I had not done well at school and she thought I was overreaching myself. Even so, I went ahead and managed a BA Hons, class 2/1 in English & American Literature at the University of Kent in Canterbury which consequently enabled me to do a postgraduate course in librarianship and be the librarian I'd always wanted to be; it also gave me the confidence to come out to the world as a gay man, but that's another story altogether...

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, WORK IN PROGRESS or WHERE THE (MISSING) KEYWOD IS SUPPORT

Falling part at the seams,
trying to put myself back together
but only pipe dreams
to work with, though not the best
of working materials,
especially when the only tools
to hand are high hopes, vulnerable
at the best of times

Getting nowhere fast, need
to look at alternatives to a chorus
of "I'm doing fine, thanks,"
to anyone who cares enough to ask;
surely, we owe it to ourselves
and each other to get real, allow
give selfie genes a fighting chance
to fulfil their potential

If the devil takes the hindmost,
don't let that devil be me, in growing
more bitter every day,
blaming the world's falling apart
on its creating a blueprint
for an humanity unfit for purpose,
shaped by fake news, devils in details
and social media trolls

Let common sense, get the better
of faux stereotypes, common principles
and voices for Human Rights
truly make themselves felt, endorsing
a diverse human nature,
while shaming any native prejudice
rushing to judgement for the culprit it is
without fear or favour?

It was never in the lap of any gods
that humankind has proven itself better
by far than its worst,
for it's in human nature to resist
the push and shove
of its devils by standing up for itself
and all it believes in, not least a freedom
of choice to be or not to be

Last heard of picking up the pieces
of you-me-us found on any urban street
or country lane, cast aside
for fear of causing offence, upsetting
nearest and dearest,
needing to be put together,
prevent our humanity going into free fall,
and taking Earth Mother with us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

A Sense of Who We Are

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

Life is what it is; we make the best (or worst) of things. Everyone is different and no one has the right to judge another simply because they appear to aspire to less than their potential suggests. Fame, fortune, travel…these are wonderful achievements if and where the cap fits but aspiring to be nothing more or less than a good parent/person is no less wonderful, even more so perhaps for its invariably being less obvious (or newsworthy).

Whatever, we can always fall back on imagination.

A SENSE OF WHO WE ARE

Home truths, like near dead lilies on a lake

running dry

Lifelines, like veins of a turning leaf

come autumn

Desire, taking comfort in homemade soup

in winter

Wisdom, taking its cue from the first

cuckoo of spring

Ambition,  Jack Frost’s tablecloth spread,

our places laid

Passion, saving water lilies from a lake

running dry

Love, preserving archives should humanity

need reminding

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This poem first appeared in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007 and was subsequently published in CC&D v 270, Scars Publications, USA]

Engaging with a Speculative Mind

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

Society - that is to say, the more vocal and 'pushy' of its so-called  'betters' - may well like to think the human condition can be moulded as it sees fit, but it underestimates the human spirit, that inner self inclined to resist all attempts to fit us into boxes for which we were not made.

By all means, let us resist ...

ENGAGING WITH A SPECULATIVE MIND

Some turn to love but for escape, comfort,

weary of a world full of pain and hate,

sick of always being told what to do (or not),

seek peace, understanding in a kind heart

Some find an escape and comfort they seek,

believe they're safe under sheltering skies;

some, disenchanted by love for its own sake,

weary of the same people, places, half lies…

If squaring up to life’s clout is never easy,

squaring up to love is harder still by far;

as for looking both in the eye with sincerity,

that demands the sureness of a guiding star

As clay to the potter's wheel, human nature

can but do its best with what's on offer ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2016

[Note: First published under the title ‘Horoscope' in A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Waking Up to the Power of Positive Thinking

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

Please remember that my blogs do not accept comments, but I always reply to emails. Some readers have said they have problems using AOL; in which case try taberroger@yahoo.com. I look forward to hearing from you.

Now, who hasn't despaired now and then of even getting up in the morning?

People sometimes tell me that they have given up on love. I tell them, never even think about it.. Love can happen along just when you least expect it. Besides, as I’ve pointed out many times on the blogs, love expresses itself in many shapes and forms; it doesn’t have to be sexual. Love between lovers is special, yes, but then any love is special; for family, friends, pets, even places.

Give up on love and we might as well not bother to get up in the morning, for all life is worth without love in it. We just have to see what’s on offer and GO for it. Take me, for example. On days when I feel down and there’s no one around to talk things through with (or I may not feel like talking to anyone anyway) I’ll most likely take myself off to be by the sea for the day, often Brighton (Sussex) because I love everything about the place and always feel so much better for going there.

Oh, and as regular readers will know, just because I am not religious and don’t accept the God as portrayed by various religions, doesn’t mean I'm not receptive to succour from a sense of spirituality. Only, I get it from nature, not religion.

This poem is a (yes, another) villanelle

WAKING UP TO THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING 

No heart beating in vain
under anaesthetising darkness
at a new dawn

Left wondering when
(if ever) its turn for happiness…?
No heart beating in vain

Will sleep’s half-open
portals close on or let in distress
at a new dawn?

If dreams bring pain
where life and death paths cross…
no heart beating in vain

Late invitation
to troubled souls seeking redress
at a new dawn

Where light bursting in,
nature filling us with its life-force,
no heart beating in vain
at a new dawn

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2015

[Note: Revised (2015) from an earlier version that appears under the title 'Heartbeat' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Wannabe Hero or the Real Thing?

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

A 'regular' blog reader has contacted me via the the Comments Box to ask that I repeat the link to an interview I gave about my poetry to a postgraduate student of multi-media journalism who emailed to ask if I would mind being the subject of a project. Benjamin Richter, a very talented young man, and I have his permission to post the link on my blog. As the blog reader did not give an e-mail address, I am posting it here in the hope that he or she will read today's post. You may need to copy the link into your browser to access:

https://r224e31251.racontr.com/index.html

We all have our own take on dreams, psychiatrists not the least. Many if not most of us like to think of ourselves as - subconsciously at least -  painters of our own dreams rather than simply subjected to whatever some proverbial Sandman happens to dish us. Some years ago, someone put to me that the greater part of what we know as wakefulness is but a dream, and the greater part of what we call sleep, a living nightmare. An interesting hypothesis, I thought at the time, and wondered how we would be expected to tell to which mind-body and spirit truly belongs...?

I guess it's much as my old English Teacher, 'Jock' Rankin used to say, "You can set your mind to anything if you try, Taber, but don't always expect to succeed, and never forget there is always a  price to pay one way or another."

For the record, I am still trying...

WANNABE HERO OR THE REAL THING?

I've painted pictures
only I will ever get to see,
an alternative reality
to the world surrounding me,
confounding me, creating
an alternative persona to one 
I am meant to be

I have lived in pictures
where only I will ever go,
a surrealist panorama
of the world surrounding me,
confounding me,
creating the kind of person
I 'm not meant to be

Ah, but in every picture
I'll never (really) get to see
a vibrant wood
for a heavily painted tree
or sail an ocean
for expecting its every wave 
to answer to me

I might even mistake
cloud shapes for skylarks,
even missing out 
on nature's other songs 
for starry heavens 
inviting a poet's (wry) take
on life and death

There are no people
in my pictures, smiling,
waving, kissing...
only ghosts, ever gesturing
loss, regret, and pain,
daring me to make the best 
of a sorry world

I archive the pictures
only I will ever get to see
an alternative reality
to all that's surrounding us,
(still) confounding us,
making of us what we will,
we sleepwalkers

Though the memory
exhibit visions of the mind,
imaging what lies
behind the world's chaos
and our confusion,
let's not mistake art for life,
risk missing out

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Ghost Story, a Cautionary Tale

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

Regular readers will be aware that my interest in ghosts and a posthumous consciousness contribute to other themes in many of my poems, especially later ones. 

Now, I have seen people put in hours (and years) of unpaid overtime in various occupations for precious little thanks.  The cost to the worker in terms of family and social life, not to mention his or her health, is immeasurable. 

It may well be a sweeping statement (a general truism all the same) but the more a worker does, the more management is likely to let him or her do until such a time as it no longer suits management, for one reason or another.

We all try to be conscientious at work, but there is such a thing as overkill…

Time is never on our side  so it is down to each and every one of us to get our priorities right; work will always be high on the list, yes, but making time for ourselves, family and friends should be our number one priority since for them, too, time is not on their side and we never know for how long we may have them in our lives. I often hear people say, 'When I retired I will...' but by then it may well be too late. Besides, not everyone makes it to retirement...

Time is, at the very least as unpredictable as it is fickle. As for any work ethos, we need to take it seriously, of course, while at the same time making sure it does not prevent us getting a (real) life.

GHOST STORY, a CAUTIONARY TALE

Over a period of years,

I could never help but notice

the slim, shadowy man

always waiting at my bus stop

never caught one

None of my business

of course, but eventually I asked

(pretending to care)

just what on earth he thought

he was doing there

He flung me a sad grin,

‘Well, no need to catch a bus,

been dead a good while...’

‘You're a ghost?’ I even managed

a wry smile

His laughter was kindly

(no cause for fear) ‘I love meeting

buses, watching faces

heading home, see lights coming on

in their eyes…’

‘I read between every line,

(the love, the strain) observe them

glance at their watches,

cursing time for its never taking

prisoners…’

‘It's all there - behind

the eyes, polite smile, creased brow;

hope, love, fears,

laughter, doubt, like a shopping bag

of groceries…’

‘It's the lonely ones

who really get to me, chasing a trail

that never ends;

so many good people, too busy even

for family and friends."

‘Rich or poor, famous

or an anonymous face in the street,

needs must…

family and friends first, the work ethic

a worthy second best…’

I asked him to read my face

with some misgiving. He chuckled.

‘No need. Who has time

for a ghost has a lot to make up for

to the living.’

I'd been working late again,

and after chatting with the ghost

I wondered all the way home

which one of us was truly dead or alive

the most

Years on, same bus stop,

(been partying, and had a skinful)

my love and I saw someone  

talking to the wall, and passionately

wished them well

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2014

 early version of this poem appears in 1st eds. Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books,2001.]

Hollywood Boulevard

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

Many of us dream of fame and fortune, especially when we are feeling low and life is not working out too well for us. Fortunately, most of us have both feet planted firmly in terra firma and begin to mull over the down side of fame and fortune; lack of privacy, petty jealousies and one-upmanship, not forgetting critics who haven’t a creative bone in their bodies yet feel qualified to judge the creative performances of others...

Better by far to settle for the best of things on our side of the proverbial fence. Even so, a little daydreaming does no harm...

Me? I just enjoy writing poetry, as much as a form of creative therapy as an art form. I have been prone to depression since childhood, and it is no coincidence that my first published poem appeared in my school magazine when I was only 11 years-old. Writing, painting, music, gardening...any form of creative therapy that a person enjoys and can keep his or her demons at bay has to be worth the effort...doesn't it?  As for fame and fortune... a welcome by-product, of course, but far less of a priority than any pleasure and personal satisfaction, especially when the shared by others, and making a difference. I don't expect anyone to like everything I write, but I so love it when readers get in touch to say that reading a poem of mine - in either of my poetry blogs, general or gay-interest - has helped motivate them to improving their quality of life.

HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD

Walked with Fame one afternoon, watery sun
and a misty rain;
man, woman, couldn’t tell - Humphrey Bogart
or Lauren Bacall?
Better than any movie, the suspense
was really getting to me,
and where would I be by the end of the day?
(Good question...)

Strained to hear what my companion
had to say about it, though abysmally scripted;
caught words like fate, jealousy, love, hate,
sounding as trite as Mother’s plastic mac worn
to fend off a heavy summer storm;
only, no storm broke nor did any ghost
call me out, settling for thinly disguised threats
and nagging innuendo

Should I take the bait? Oh, I thought I might,
but - no!
Rather, I quickened my step, widening the gap
between us,
hardly able to see hand in front of face
for tears,
a now glaring sun hastening to dispel mist, rain,
and human anxieties

Copyright R. N. Taber2005; 2009



[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2005; 2nd ed. in preparation].