"This 'n' That": Pillow Talk

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

"A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow." - Charlotte Brontë

"We are such stuff/ as dreams are made on; / and our little life/ is rounded so with sleep." - William Shakespeare (The Tempest)

"You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty." - Mahatma Gandhi

Some readers may be interested in the history of today’s poem in so far as it bares little resemblance to my first effort, apart from its main theme/s, which I lost when my pc crashed just as I was in the process of slightly revising it! 

Now...a reader has emailed to say that, like me, he is in his late 70’s, has prostate cancer, taking stock of his life and wondering “…just what the hell it has all been for.” 

Well, only he can answer that one, but I cannot believe it of anyone that they haven’t had good times as well as bad, heavenly moments as well as hellish ones. Me, I try to focus on certain heavenly moments whenever I find myself ‘taking stock’... and trust they may define me more credibly than the latter.

Meanwhile Russia continues its war on Ukraine, despite huge losses among the ranks of both aggressor and defender, while the West does its best to appear supportive of the latter by supplying arms as well as rhetoric without  provoking  Vladimir Putin and his supporters into a potentially WW111 situation.

As the old truism goes, hope springs eternal… wry bardic grin7

"THIS 'N'THAT": PILLOW TALK

“Why, this, that, who and - whatever?
Such are questions we may well often ask
of mind-body-spirit, time and again,
so anxious for answers, feeling let down
for getting none, merely alternatives
to sift through and see if we can discover
some, at least, for comfort’s sake
if not as great a peace of mind as we’d hoped,
enough, though, to quieten our pillows

In the springtime of our years, innocence
shielding us from such the ways of the world
as likely to confuse, even abuse us
as we pass through its seasons, now enjoying
feelings of all but touching the sky
on a playground swing, now free to laugh
at the ups and downs of a see-saw,
only vaguely relating such delight to any doubts
imposed by nature and human nature

Ours seasons pass, various thrills and spills
of maturity likely making indelible impressions
on the very character of any heart-and-soul,
still asking much the same questions
of a mind-body-spirit, left feeling no less let down
for such answers as our personal space alone
needs must sift through a history of mixed feelings,
home in on joys of love and peace
reconciling with, atoning for, even forgiving

No abstract notion of ‘fate’ defines humanity
more than a capacity for divining such home truths
as will (invariably) direct or misdirect us
through its maze, sins and blessings according
to this or that agenda as drawn up
by society or community, politics or religion
for all we are, a veritable hotchpotch
of passions, arguing needs to keep up appearances,
rushing to judgements, making war, not peace

No equality of either circumstances or genes,
finds mind-body-spirit in the driving seat,
hopefully making sure we take more right turns
than wrong, winding up in as good a place
as any, if not quite where we might have wished
to be, but nowhere and no one can be right
all the time, yet less of a crisis for any of us 
able to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life,
easier-said-than-done notwithstanding

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

De Profundis or Mind-Body-Spirit, On the Mend

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

“Everybody’s journey is individual. If you fall in love with a boy, you fall in love with a boy. The fact that many Americans consider it a disease says more about them than it does about homosexuality.” – James Baldwin

May 2010 saw the resignation of David Laws from the coalition government; it was very sad, for him personally and the country. The latter was told that he broke the rules regarding MP’s expenses in order to protect his privacy. Apparently, he had claimed rent for an apartment owned by a man with whom he had been in a relationship since 2001. He had not declared the relationship.

Now, I have suffered from depression all my life and poetry has been literally, a life-saver, as was the case when I came to write a first draft of today’s poem in 1983; I was feeling suicidal at the time.

The title -meaning ‘Out of the Depths’ is taken from a love letter written by Oscar Wilde while serving time in Reading Gaol.

I wasn’t in despair about being gay, having come to terms with that some years earlier, but I was feeling acutely disappointed in myself and my inability to get my life on an even keel. Eventually, I would do just that, and writing this poem helped considerably, but it would take a few more years yet and a troubled ocean to cross... in more ways than one...to Australia. Regular readers will know the tale so I won’t repeat it here. Suffice to say, I managed to rise above the worst and get my life in better shape.

While shopping yesterday, I overheard a group of people discussing how ‘scary’ the pandemic, and how they feel close to despair of life ever returning to the way it used to be before Covid-19 and its variants struck. I suspect thee are many such folks out there, among blog readers too, who feel much the same way. I (know I do, at times.)

My hope is that the poem may yet help you, as it did me, to rise above our fears and rediscover the Poetry of Love, Friendship and Motivation...

Yes, Oscar Wilde was gay, and anyone can find themselves in despair, for whatever reason, any time, any place, anywhere... so, can deny it or dare judge anyone else for being so driven, whatever his or her sexuality?

DE PROFUNDIS or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, ON THE MEND

I lay floating an ocean of misery,
willing myself to drown,
while dolphins kept me company
and Apollo lingered on

Sharks, they kept a hungry distance,
an albatross winged by,
while waves lent a gentle cadence
to twilight’s lullaby

Went into freefall to the ocean floor,
and would have stayed,
but Apollo demanded of me more,
while the dolphins cried...

I let them have their way, if reluctantly,
screaming out for motivation,
searching the finest Poetry of Mortality
for the Threshold of Reason

No inner voice answered me, although
I strained to hear,
then twilight let a cloud pass through
and I found a poem there

Body of straw in that ocean of misery,
willing myself to drown,
I read an ode to life, love and a history
of peace, after wars hard won

It told, how few things in life come easy,
including death...
Such is the fickle nature of humanity
and ways of Godmother, Earth

I felt a poet’s passion take hold of me,
heard its voice in a seagull’s cry,
swimming me across an ocean of misery
to walk kinder shores, head high

I woke in tears still drenching my pillow,
began (slowly) to recover;
at chinks in the blinds, winks from Apollo,
reassuring me the worst was over

Copyright R.N. Taber, 2010; rev.2022

[Note: The poem’s title means Out of the Depths. An earlier version of the poem itself appears as the Dedication poem (to Oscar Wilde) in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012; it has been only slightly but significantly, revised.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Homing in on (Positive) Thoughts

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

Being at home a lot, even working from home, especially if you live alone, can put a strain on even the most stoic among us. Social interaction, to a greater or lesser extent, is part and parcel of human nature; imposing restrictions, in any shape or form, is bound to cause some frustration and distress. “It’s all very well for the Government to tell us all to stay at home more,” a neighbour commented angrily, “… but if you are elderly and live alone, what can you do but watch TV, and that’s mostly doom and gloom these days.”

Well, there is lots we can do at home if we put our minds to it and, no, I don’t just mean the housework. 

Those fortunate to have a garden and be fit enough to tend it, can spend more time getting it ready for spring; indeed, any form of creativity, be it drawing or, painting, sowing, knitting, whatever … can prove an enjoyable distraction.

Ah, but what if (like me) you have no garden and are into none of those things, for whatever reason?

Well, there is always imagination; we all have it, and even those who claim to have none may well be pleasantly surprised if they just sit back, relax, and give mind-body-spirit a free rein, refusing to let any stubborn obstacles - like negative thinking - get in the way.

HOMING IN ON POSITIVE THOUGHTS

A tiny bird flew off my duvet
to perch on my shoulder and sing
love songs in my ear

A green leaf flew off my curtains
bringing tidings of hope’s brighter
eternal spring 

A black cat leapt up from my sofa
into my arms, as if to assure us both
it’s OK to dream on 

A loved-one’s photograph on hand
winked as if to say it’s rooting for me
in another life 

Encouraged, a stranger in my mirror
let years fall away, past-present-future
but another day

I went for a stroll just for the joy of it,
less daunted by a scary Here-and Now,
though as wary still

Mask on my face, but a lively spring
in my step, ready to give any pandemic
a run for its money

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

In the Frame (Again)

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

Many people in denial are not consciously aware of it. Ask someone if they are homophobic or racist, for example, and the chances are they will deny it even if their behaviour suggests otherwise. Yes, they may well not want to openly admit they are guilty of something they know in their hearts is morally indefensible, but some people are genuinely in such denial they cannot and will not accept any such accusations. 

The subconscious, however, has no such inhibitions and it can lead to a sense of confusion that, in turn, can cause depression. Take yours truly, I was never in denial of being gay from about the age of 14; not to myself, that is. True, in those days, LGBT folks were not, on the whole, well received by society so I  I decided it was better to keep my sexuality to myself. It was not until after my mother died when I was 30 that I came to realise that it was not my sexuality that had kept me in what had been, for the most part, a very lonely closet for years but my family. I'd had no doubt in my mind that - with the exception of my mother – my family would not be supportive.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. More than 60+ years on, I'll never know for sure any more than I suspect they will either.

So … what did this say about me, as much as my family? It took a nervous breakdown to finally admit that I had no real sense of family, and my subconscious had been wrestling with this since my schooldays. If we had been a family that talked things through and could really talk to each other, things might have been different, but it was as it was; no one to blame except perhaps ‘society’. Whatever, the emotional estrangement I’d felt with my family took a physical turn, and I doubt whether any of them will every understand why. I blame myself for not standing up for, LGBT rights, letting anger, hurt and resentment get the better of me …and more. But any attempt at reconciliation would be a waste of time, nt least because I don’t want one any more than I suspect, at heart, they do. 

If I could put the clock back, the one thing I would definitely do would be to insist we talk to each other as a family, no rushing to judgement. Sadly, though, 1950’s society was inclined to rush to judgement on many matters that continue to haunt even a so-called ‘progressive’ e 21^st century when it comes to prejudice and discrimination to which, notwithstanding Human Rights and Equal Opportunities, many societies and communities around the world remain in denial.

IN THE FRAME (AGAIN) 

Whenever I am feeling low,
I stroll in a field where sunflowers grow,
reaching for the sky, as do I
when moods have me slump in an armchair,
wondering where I go from here,
searching a wall for answers
finding none, inspired to go searching in a field
of sunflowers  

Engaging with me, my sunflowers
talk me through all that a mind-body-spirit
in free fall needs to know
if to prevent a battering from the such winds
and rain as even humankind 
finds hard to bear, all but beaten to a pulp
by mixed emotions, times changing for the worse,
no easy solutions 

They will touch upon ancient myths,
these giants of their kind, rework them for me,
place them in a Here-and Now,
where, just as Apollo failed to win Daphne
for his own, so, too, must I home in
on any suspect motivation and blind speculation,
fuelling apprehension and self-doubt, obey instincts,
make a decision 

All thought processes now hopefully
more open to home truths and common sense,
time to focus, get real,
leave a field of  sunflowers on my wall
to its fading, antique frame,
shake off my slump, demand all mind-body-spirit
pull together, reason the need and dare give it a name,
put it back in its frame

Yet another existential traveller, looking for answers  
in a field of sunflowers...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Affinity with Spring

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

 “It is typical of spring to tease us with wintry days among hints of warmer, kinder times ahead; likewise, life, as the human heart emerges from wintry climes, and gets to grips with hope …” I wrote that brief introduction to this post/ poem when it first appeared on the blog in 2015. Let’s all hope it will be as true for the spring of 2021 as well. I suspect the Covid-19 coronavirus will still be with us, but plenty of hope too; hope for a vaccine becoming available sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, we are learning to live with Covid-19 as our bodies adapt to it, developing more immunity as we have, eventually, to influenza and other viruses before a vaccine finally became available.

Now, I’ve always dreaded the winter months, never more so than now, but I recall my mother’s approach to it and try to follow her example. “Forget winter,” she would say, “Focus on spring. For its sunshine, flowers, and swallows returning to nest. Do that, and spring will not only arrive the sooner, but you’ll feel so much better for it that even winter at its worst won’t get you down.” Young Roger was sceptical, but … it worked then just as it works for me now, some 70 years on.

Oh, I have a fondness for autumn although it is a sad month; even now, though, I am looking ahead to spring and Hope is already getting the better of Despair. As for any moments of doubt and fear, not uncommon in winters of the heart as so many are enduring right now in this Covid-19 pandemic, there is always the likes of a cock robin on hand to cheer any flagging spirits, our cue to keep looking on the brighter side of life, especially during its bleaker times...

AN AFFINITY WITH SPRING

New leaves
sailing into imagination;
peace of mind
for refusing to cave in
to fears of a kind
defying all description,
assailing senses,
holding the mind, body
and spirit
captive to anticipation
of the worst that can happen
to any of us

New leaves
drifting through our time
and space,
as if seeking a place
to freefall,
while our finer senses
serving mind,
body and spirit to kinder ends 
can only imagine it
as the worst scenario,
resolving it shall not happen
to any of us 

New leaves
like voices without sound
on the ear,
killing off all human fear
of life and death
by returning to the planet
such past promises
of another spring as not lost,
only sleeping,
Earth Mother sending
dead leaves to nurture Her seeds
in all of us

Buds opening
on an old tree, so delightful
to the eye,
restoring a flagging faith
in all things
bright and beautiful,
inviting us
to reconnect, make time
and personal space
for that immortal poetry
of 'live' nature and human love
in all of us 

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2015, 2020

C-o-m-p-l-a-c-e-n-c-y, Mountains of the Moon

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

As Covid-19 continues to take its toll across the world, in terms of imposing stress in all shapes and forms, not least on those feeling helpless while their loved ones are left fight the illness, win or lose. Everyone is looking for someone to blame whether it be God, politicians or simply Fate.

Maybe the answer lies closer to home, though, in the human race itself? For years we have all but ignored the warning signs regarding climate change and the consequences for the planet of deforestation, declining animal species, waste disposal etc. … the relationship between one and the other has become increasingly obvious over the years … well, has it not? Clearly not, although it is not too late, even now, to change our behaviour for the better and give survival of the human species a chance.

Pioneers in the field like Sir David Attenborough may have captured the world’s attention, but action requires legislation at both national and local levels and any Governments in any  society - especially one based on the principles of capitalism - will be slow to act for fear of offending its electorate; the latter can protest as much as it likes, but it is unlikely to have the last word which, more often is more likely to take its own rather than any global concerns into account.

Whatever, it is no wonder that depression is widespread and any worldwide inspiration to overcome it as likely to decline as increase until Green Issues become integral to political and social agendas. Listening to the likes of Sir David and nodding our heads in agreement is not enough, and never will be unless we all play our part in translating those nods into action.

In the current climate of human complacency, as far as saving the planet is concerned, we might as well be reaching for the moon; complacency itself, an innate sense of denial, is as good a metaphor as any, I would suggest, for Mountains of the Moon...?

C-O-M-P-L-A-C-E-N-C-Y, MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON 

The mountain demands
I climb it or forever wish I had,
spend the rest of my life
regretting a lack of will-power,
courage, whatever...
(call it what you will) no escape
from the shame of it,
no engagement with mind-body-spirit
for want of inspiration 

The mountain expects
better of me than I give up on it
so soon, and I hear it
taunting me, haunting me by day
and night, urging me
to at least give it a go, shake off
a growing pain and fear,
get a life again, recover peace of mind,
it has to be now or never

I dare turn a deaf ear
to the mountain no more, am taking
my first shaky steps
towards its base, obscured by a mist,
clearing only minimally
as I approach, more significantly
the higher I climb, no easy
path to follow, scared for having no guide,
but a mountain on my side

In its darkest hour, loath to concede defeat,
I am the joie de vivre in every heartbeat

Copyright R N Taber 2020

L-I-F-E, Management Issues

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

Isuspect Covid-19 s more of a struggle for people living  in big cities than in rural areas, especially for those of us who live alone?

Perhaps it is because I am growing old, but I take far less pleasure from living in London than I used to.  Even so, my life is here.  While I take much pleasure in its wealth of leisure facilities and history as and when I can, I remain acutely aware that I am passively complicit in this mad world of ours going about an everyday business that leaves much to be desired...

London, like so many cities and suburbs is overcrowded and the air quality leaves as much to be desired as the neighbourliness and sense of community that once existed, and now has become yet another endangered species wherever it remains, as it does, even in certain pockets of modern society. (West can learn much from East in this respect.

I suspect we all run a familiar gamut (to one degree or another) in cities and large towns across the world. In recent years, fake news and social media make a significant contribution to personal anxieties and a sense sometimes of being on a treadmill 

Whatever, all we can do is take each day as it comes, nurture a positive-thinking mindset, and make the best of what life offers rather than whinge about the worst ...

L-I-F-E, MANAGEMENT ISSUES

Manic streets, paved with eggshells

(Oh, so politically correct...)

Big Issue drumming up passing glances

(Equal Ops prime suspect.)

Beggar and dog at the supermarket

(On the outside, looking in…)

Tailbacks on the home run, a nightmare

(No respect for Car is King.)

Blind man making his own way home

(Small change for a pickpocket...)

Arthritic bag lady taking up a park bench

(Move along, security alert!)

Hey, I bet that one’s a terrorist, see?

(Looks foreign to me...)

Thin is sexy or so we’re asked to believe

(Gorging on glossy magazines...) 

School kid mugged for a smart phone

(Better not to get involved...)

Teenage lovers sharing well-used needles

(What about HIV-AIDS?)

Shoplifters killing off the High Street

(Business as usual...)

.

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of the poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007. For any overseas readers, who may not know, The Big Issue is a newspaper sold on the streets of the UK and other countries by homeless people; it gives them a regular income, and more importantly helps restore their self-confidence while preserving their self-respect: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Issue ]

Finding Peace

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

Another new poem today as I take time off (among millions worldwide) to attempt minimising a dual sense of  frustration and despair caused by the coronavirus. As I have said many times on the blog, creative therapy always helps me.Try it sometime? Writing, gardening, sport or simply going for a walks and engaging with the more positive aspects of life around you ... birdsong, the smile on a stranger's face, bumping into an old friend and reliving the brighter side of life on Memory Lane, and more besides ... it all helps put a positive spin on even the most negative days ... yes, even if it's raining. 

As the world continues it fight against the coronavirus, there are people from different backgrounds and ethnic origin desperately anxious for families, friends, neighbours, and how the pandemic will affect us all both in the short and longer terms.

A neighbour commented only yesterday that she fears she will never know peace of mind ever again.

The human spirit is a tough cookie, and so are human beings; nor does it need religion to focus on what the host body needs most. Yes, religion offers many people the social and spiritual support they cannot find elsewhere, but the human spirit is something altogether different, part of our individual condition, which is why I often refer to mind-body-spirit as one entity.

I am not attacking religion; if it helps a person through life, so much the better. Religion is simply not something with which I have felt comfortable since childhood; as a pantheist, I see nature as, not the creation of any God. I daresay some readers may be horrified, but different religions have their own agendas and dogma through which they express their faith, why not a pantheist?.

 If God is all things to all people, why not to a poet? A poet, moreover, who believes very strongly in free as well as positive thinking, and agreeing to differ rather than constructing fences.

FINDING PEACE

It has been a bleak mid-winter

of the heart, the world’s natural seasons

overpowered, to the extent

that even Earth Mother’s gift of spring

has failed to either reassure

or bring hope to millions left engaging

with an invisible enemy,

chances of success 50:50, some estimates less,

world in distress

Governments trying to beat

unpredictable odds, racing against time

(and each other)

to produce a vaccine, between delivering

short fixes if not always

in time to prevent death rates rising,

street demonstrations

but inciting the usual party-political squabbling,

solving little or nothing

Leading clerics, unable to explain

any Covi19 turn of events in terms holy agenda,

customised dogma

rising to the politic, trusting the rhetoric

of dogma to fuel such a need

for reassurance as will fuel repentance,

swell congregations,

let rooftops ring with songs and hymns of praise

in the hope of finding peace

Peace, though, makes its home in mind-body-spirit,

having sought, found, and sees fit

Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

[Note; This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today.]

When Winter Comes OR Mind-Body-Spirit, Never Say Die

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

Many of us, enjoy the colours and subtle nuances than falling leaves in autumn all the more because needs must we brace ourselves for what could well be a hard  winter ahead weather-wise. 

Others may well face a testing winter of the heart, wherever they may be, regardless of time and seasons. Some may well argue it’s a case of the survival of the fittest, and there is a lot of truth in that, but the physically weak can also be emotionally strong; strong enough even to rise above  wintry blasts of depression, anxiety, everyday concerns …

We have but to give a natural lust for life its head and the chances are its predilection for positive thinking will, in time, rescue us from the pull of negative forces, bypass even the most heroic stoicism, and allow an innate optimism, Hope’s much loved bed-fellow, to once again play a leading role in our lives.

Wherever we may be in the world, whatever its weather patterns, day will always follow night just as winter will always follow spring on the calendar of nature and human nature alike; the latter, though, needs must find a way to turn on the power of mind-body-spirit to save its natural optimism from dying just long enough to rediscover that raison d’être which has to be as good a metaphor for spring as any other.

WHEN WINTER COMES or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT,  NEVER SAY DIE

Oh, but when winter comes,

I look around and see trees stripped bare,

and petals in tatters where flowers

once lifted this heart now close to tears

for having watched the swallows fly south

that once greeted its spring

Oh, but when winter comes,

I look around at snowfall on the ground,

see children playing, laughing,

making merry with each other instead

of being glued to social media in a world

whose seasons rolled into one

Oh, but when winter comes

find the days grow shorter, nights longer,

all the more so for a prevailing

north wind wailing like some lost spirit

of summer trying to find its way back home,

familiar landmarks wiped out

Oh, but when winter comes,

I’ll see robins give the lie to defeatism 

in as sweet a song as ever there was

to fill a sad heart with hope for a future

beyond any wintry landscape’s implying

positive thinking is a cruel hoax

Oh, but when winter comes,

I’ll get together with friends, make light

of any feelings of empty days

or lonely nights for hearts beating in time

to what is, after all, but an overture to spring

composed-performed by nature

Oh, but when winter comes,

may divided societies around the world

yet join hands and dance

to the music of its time, fan any flickering

peace-liberty-fraternity into a flaming spring, 

season of second chances...

Copyright R N Taber, 2017

S-E-L-F, Opening Up (After Closing Down)

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

As regular readers know only too well, I have suffered with depression all my life and still take 25mg of a (fairly) mild anti-depressant. Prozac helped me through a very bad time once, but (like another strong anti-depressant I tried) left me feeling exhausted all the time so I switched to the (far milder) one I take now.

It is important to find an anti-depressant that suits you and always read the information leaflet for possible side-effects. Even so, never rely on anti-depressants to see you through. A positive attitude and any form of creative therapy you enjoy remain a must-have and must-do. (Creative therapy can be anything from gardening, walking, writing, pottery... anything in which success is measured by the enjoyment achieved by simply doing it, not results.) Creative therapy is no quick fix and requires a huge effort if always an effort worth making. Always easier said than done, never try and do it all on your own. 

I suffered from depression even as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. For years, I would be prescribed antidepressants until I started to feel better, and then come off them. This, I now realize was a mistake. I was scared of becoming dependent on them so it was music to my ears when a GP suggested that patients prone to depression should stay on an appropriate antidepressant and dosage all the time. I suspect my life would have taken a hugely significant turn for the better had I been given this advice a long, long, time ago. 

A friend who suffers from depression has paid a lot to visit counsellors but they don’t help everyone and it all depends who you see and how good (or bad) they are. I think it is important to get feedback from a counsellor; too many just sit back and let you talk, which is not a bad thing, but I personally would need positive feedback to feel it was worth parting with my money.

My friend says she hasn’t the self-confidence to do anything new whether it's meeting new people, studying a subject in which she is genuinely interested etc. She says she 'cannot' do anything new until she gets her self-confidence back. I sympathize, but take the opposite view. I believe we only get our self-confidence back by doing things, setting ourselves realistic targets etc. These need not be too ambitious to start with, and if they don’t work out quite as we hoped we should not see it as a failure but give ourselves a pat on the back for giving it a go…and try something else.

Many people think I am a strong person because (most of the time) I manage to beat depression. Believe me, though, when I say I am not strong. It is (very) heavy going. I make the effort because the alternative is even worse to contemplate. 

True, it isn’t always easy to find someone to listen; certain family members and friends won’t recognize the danger signs and will fail to appreciate a depressed person’s depths of personal crisis, handing out well-meaning platitudes like a plate of biscuits to make matters (much) worse. Even so, never give up; there is invariably someone who can help if we let them and are honest with them about how we feel. Talking to a pet can help, too, if only because the worst seems so much less bad once we give it a voice.

There is no shame in feeling less able to cope. Putting on a brave face is never a good idea. (No one can read minds.) For example, if  I had only opened up to someone - a teacher or counsellor perhaps - about my sexuality (among other things) much earlier, I may well have been spared years of anguish, culminating in a bad nervous breakdown and suicide attempt in my early 30's.

S-E-L-F, OPENING UP (AFTER CLOSING DOWN) 

Envelopes unopened;

scared to look, acknowledge even;

feelings like flowers left

at a grave if only to give the dead

a raison d’être

Profiles of the Great

interrogating me wherever I go

about my response to the cost

of living, voices chanting dark spells

at every checkout

Fear, clammy hands

on matchstick arms, humanity

strutting its hour on stage

(art of least resistance) chalking up

mock victories

Words, like mandarins

in white coats supervising a trainee

working from a manual

on staying bottom of the class without

really trying 

Envelopes, daring me…

Fingertips fumbling with terror

(Can I really do this?)

No stigma in old wounds ruling out

perfection

N-O-W, opening up...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – under the title ‘Prozac Nation’ - appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Summoned by Ghosts

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

I have learned to live side by side with ghosts. Ghosts can be good company. They are no threat and have a place in our lives. The trick is not to confuse their hopes and aspirations with our own (as we may well have done to our cost when they were alive).

Death is nothing to fear, but life must always take priority. That may sound like commonsense, but I have known people haunted by ghosts to the extent that they might almost be one of them.

There are times when we are particularly vulnerable. A sense of loss leaves us especially open to persuasive voices that may be well-meaning, but don’t always understand how our best interests can be served. When this happens to me as it does from time to time, especially at night and during early hours, I turn to Earth Mother, and invariably find the reassurance I seek.

SUMMONED BY GHOSTS

Come a late hour’s whim,

witness home hills turn to silver ghosts,

shades of midnight’s children

playing with stars, prisoners of the moon,

unable to sleep, anxious of dawn

Above, chance to watch an owl’s

graceful flight., see it circle, swoop, soar,

but can only guess at its prey,

victim, too, of a night that’s no friend

to the vulnerable, lonely…

I have wandered, asked questions

of shadows always mocking me, teasing me

with solutions, chasing grey rabbits

across dark meadows, party to a sad mind’s

convolutions...

At last, hills and sky hosting a new day,

sure to keep less welcome ghosts at bay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000

[From: Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2000.]

Insomnia OR Never Let a Sandman Wear You Down.

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

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

INSOMNIA or NEVER LET A SANDMAN WEAR YOU DOWN

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

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

Casualties of Contemporaneity

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

[Update (Sept 3, 2016): I fully support the Junior Doctors past and proposed strike action even though it will probably mean appointments for which I have already been waiting for a long time will be put back yet again among thousands of other people’s. It is all very well for Prime Minister, Theresa May  and Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt to say we have more doctors than ever and the NHS is better funded than ever, but they are among the privileged classes who don’t have to wait months for an appointment or sit around in A & E for hours.  

Government ministers keep reminding us that the UK has an ageing population, but they clearly don’t have a clue as to how much stress that (and immigration) places on the NHS. As for the BMA (British Medical Association) apparently telling the Junior Doctors they should not strike, clearly it is in its best interest not to antagonise a Government more concerned with supporting the Establishment than the welfare of the ordinary man, woman and child in the street, for all Mrs May's fine words to the contrary. Well, no surprises there. Politicians are hot on rhetoric, but when it comes to relating to the world as it is for ordinary people, a significant number are cold fish.] - RNT

Now, all credit and thanks to hospital staff in the UK and around the world; the vast majority do a great job in what are often very stressful circumstances. (Too many patients and not enough staff to name but two.) Even so, I suspect there are few among us who haven’t had to endure a frustrating wait in Accident and Emergency Departments at some time or another.

Whatever, we would all do well to remember that our NHS is the envy of the world while those who abuse it should remember that it is not a free-for-all service, but paid for by those of us who pay into it all our working lives.

CASUALTIES OF CONTEMPORANEITY

No losing heart over fortune or fame
only that someone call my name;
might as well be the Invisible Man
for all anyone’s paying attention;
hours passing, hands on a clock keen
to mock our growing impatience;
(Time, alas, has little or no feeling
for outpatients)

From someone in the next chair,
an outpouring of despair;
on the other side, news of someone
who has just died;
a red-faced man making a big fuss
gets seen before the rest of us;
mutterings of acrimony overtaken
by a drunk causing havoc

Staff acting beyond call of duty
to end our panic;
a young woman in the front row,
waters breaking...
wheel-chaired away, partner flapping
and fretting,
can’t help wondering, girl or boy?
(Welcome distraction...)

Anxious to convey why we’re here, ;
in pain, tearful...
fearful of things getting worse
in spite of reassurance...
from that nice blond nurse, ready smile
and eyes a lively green
fooling no one. Some leaving without
being seen, dare I risk it?

Could murder a biscuit, a cup of tea too,
and need the loo;
ears prick up for a name, another,
pray be mine soon…
Just want to go home, but hurt all over,
must stay, wait my turn, can't face
all this angst again, could even be dead
by then...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Casualty' in The Third Eye: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]