http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Today’s poem last appeared on the
blog in 2013, and caught my eye as I continue sorting poems for a new
collection, hopefully later this year; it will not include most poems posted
during the pandemic as I have many other unpublished poems waiting in the wings, but
they are already earmarked for yet another collection so long as I have time to
collate it before the Grim Reaper comes calling. Oh, and, yes it will include gay-interest poems as do all my collections in spite of potential editors losing interest because they see gay-interest poetry as a retail risk. wry bardic grin
Many thanks to those of you who get
in touch from time to time and ask about my prostate cancer. In 2011, after being diagnosed, I opted for
radiotherapy, but was unable to hold my water prior to treatment so began hormone
therapy instead. I have injections of Zoladex about every 18 months and … so
far, so good. I feel fine. Yes, I get tired, but that is partly because I need to
get up at least several times during night for a pee so have all but forgotten
how it is to get a really good night’s sleep. My memory is also affected, but I
will be 75 later this year so no surprises there anyway, and writing poetry as
well as doing word puzzles helps keep to thought processes in reasonably good
shape. On the whole, no complaints. I have been living with prostate cancer for
9+ years now, and suspect I may well have survived the Covid-19 coronavirus
back in early January when I had the symptoms but put it down to a very bad
cold so just stayed indoors. Yes, I am stressed by the pandemic and its
implications for all of us, but I have good reason to count my blessings.
Meanwhile...
Now, like many very young children,
I used to force myself to look under the bed and in any cupboards to reassure
myself there was no Beastie there waiting to pounce on me once I fell asleep.
Well, you will be pleased to know I
no longer do that particular security check before settling down to sleep.
Even so, you will realise there is a Beastie of sorts that causes me some
concern now and then. Yes, hormone therapy is managing my prostate cancer so
far, but I am very much aware that the cancer is there inside me. Most of the
time, I forget about it. Now and then, though, especially at night, I find its
presence more than a shade unnerving so I do what I used to do as a child, and
work a magic spell. I think of nice things, nice people, nice places, until my
head is full of all things NICE that's sure to keep the nasty Beastie away. It
a trick that never fails, and if I don’t get a good night’s sleep sometimes
it’s invariably down to those calls of nature better answered than ignored. The
same magic has seen me through the pandemic so far, too, so you might want to
try it if you haven’t already; what often works for children can work just as
well for adults too.
GETTING
THE BETTER OF BEASTIES UNDER THE BED
There’s was a Beastie
under my bed, eyes glowing red
like a devil
in the fires of Hell,
willing me
to descend, put an end
to all living artifice,
make the ultimate sacrifice,
set the body free
(in other words, surrender
to the Beastie ?)
There was a Beastie
under my bed, looking for a way
to get into my head
and indulge its penchant
for mind games,
challenge me to defy
a necessary evil
or demand I answer why
I’ll not cave in
to the inevitable, dare me
do battle
There was a Beastie
under my bed; like a cancer
it has spread
news of its purpose
to my brain,
but there it was put to rout
(if not without a fight)
for Brain knows every trick
every Book (and more)
exposing Beasties sixk intentions
to a higher power
There was a Beastie
under my bed, face a puffy red
as it returns
to where there still burns
a welcome
for its kind if likely
to meet its match
in the human spirit, burning
more brightly than some
devilish hearth in the bowels
of metaphor
No Beastie under my bed,
for its recognising a lost cause;
though it feed on my body,
no true or lasting gratification
to be had where flesh
but a coat of many colours
lent by Earth Mother
to distinguish friend from foe
until our return
to Her womb, the likes of Beastie
denied entry
Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2020
[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today.]