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.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Profiling a Fair-Weather Friend

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

Today’s post-poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.

Seven years on, we are, all of us, having to cope with a nasty pandemic so are we all rooting for and looking out for each other, neighbours as well as friends and family, at the very least keeping in touch? Hopefully, we do what we can; what may not seem much to the casual observer may well mean more than words can say to someone in need.

Gay or straight, human nature is much the same worldwide. I dare say a good many of you can count at least one or two fair-weather friends of your own. Maybe they might even recognise themselves in what I have to say on the subject, although I doubt it.

Now, my mother rarely had a bad word to say about anyone and would put herself out for just about everyone. But I recall how she once referred to one of her closest friends as a vampire. I was curious. She told me that some people are only after what they can get out of a friendship; once they have taken their fill they will waste no time looking elsewhere. So why bother with them, I wanted to know? My mother shrugged. ‘When people need you, what choice do you have but to be there for them?’

True enough, when we moved and it meant making an effort to stay in touch, the friend soon dumped my mother for someone who was more convenient, and we never saw her again. I was angry on my mother’s behalf, but she took it in her stride. ‘Yes, some people can be very hurtful,’ she explained to boy Roger, but they can’t help it. For them, it comes with being human just as some of us were born to be hurt.’ She said this without a trace of bitterness although she was clearly upset.

I, too, have suffered my share of vampires. Not anymore. There comes a time when you have to escape their clutches or go on letting them hurt you. They are not horrible people, just thoughtless and self-centred. Neither are uncommon traits, but only human albeit aspects of human nature we much prefer to gloss over. 

Fortunately, though, I have also inherited my mother's spirit of endurance, especially while I have to deal with side effects of treatment for my prostate cancer. For now, at least, yours truly is putting himself first. Even so, if a good friend has a problem, its mine too, and I will help as and when I can, not least because another trait from which I try to take a leaf from my mother's book embraces yet another of her frequently repeated sayings; we reap what we sow in this world.

In recent years, I have experienced various health problems, not easy to deal with when you live on your own. Fortunately, too, though, I have some good friends who have rallied round and given much-needed support. The old saying is so true in so far as we never know who our true friends are until we really need them.

I am reminded of a much-quoted wry comment by the poet, Robert Frost: "A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain."  Much the same can be said for some 'friends' too

This poem is a kenning.

PROFILING A FAIR-WEATHER FRIEND

I pose as an ally,

yet in time you will realise

I feed on

the milk of human kindness

and will drain it dry

any chance I get, though it

leave a trail

of hurt and pain I’ll never

turn to see

I speak as an ally,

yet in time you will realise

all I say

turns on all I am, and you

count for little

alongside my needy ego;

even though

I mean no harm, I will

wear you down

I know all the excuses

that spring to mind whenever

challenged to give

thought where thought is due,

but I have little for you,

for where would that leave me

but unhappiness,

one straw less to help

keep me afloat

A fair-weather friend, indeed, am I;

look for me not under a stormy sky

Copyright R N. Taber 2012; 2020

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised since first published under the title 'Being Human' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Getting the Better of Beasties under the Bed

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.]

The World Today

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

[Update (April 15 2017): Can it really be that North Korea and the United States have brought the world closer to a nuclear war than ever before? Can even the world's leading politicians be so stupid as to do nothing, let alone even consider supporting the US should a diplomacy-inept president Trump launch some form of preemptive strike on North Korea? My opinion of world politicians has been at an all-time low for some years now, and I suspect I am not alone. I mean to say, how long before these power players start to get real about what is happening to ordinary people (not least down to their actions) in their own countries? The tragedy is, our fate lies in their hands. We can but hope that, on this occasion at least, political rivalries and divisions will be put aside in favour of some goo, old-fashioned commonsense.]

[Update (June 26 2016): Britain has just voted to divorce the European Union due to irreconcilable differences. However, the world remains a common humanity. We all need to do whatever we can to preserve and cherish its more positive values; peace and love to all - regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality - may well be under threat from all sides, but will resist all attempts to undermine and defeat them.  Common humanity is above any socio-cultural-religious issues; he or she who would deny that needs to get a better life.]

Meanwhile...

It would probably seem to an alien observing earth from another planet that humankind’s greater tragedy is that, essentially, nothing much changes. Take the war in Syria, for example, a humanitarian crisis of immense proportions, yet…nothing new there.

Oh, to the casual human observer, it may well seem that everything changes if only for appearances sake and that old chestnut, 'progress'. 

Ah, but to the inner eye?  Yes, well, I suspect any recorded changes as far as human nature is concerned are likely to be along the lines of some earnest historian's research or devout cleric’s optimism and any subsequent interpretations (or misinterpretations, as the case may (well) be…

Thank goodness for the arts, where all change is no change, and full marks for an honest if personal perception of those parts of a whole we call humanity that may or may not be fit for purpose.  

I sometimes wonder if we are not born into a union of Heaven and Hell (as interpreted by whomsoever) for its better and its worse, its richer and its poorer, its sickness and its health, so help us all. 

We are, though, free to do our best by ourselves and each other, and even allowing for failures and mistakes along the way, do our planet proud.  Any prospect of Armageddon is down to us, living in the Here and Now, just as any hope of survival will be down to future generations. We have a huge responsibility to the latter to make the world a better, kinder, peaceful place. What chance, though, I wonder, given the sheer fickleness of human nature...?

Whatever, make or break, the kind of world we choose to live in and perpetuate is down to each and every one of us. As for looking on the bright side of life, as I well recall my English teacher, "Jock" Rankin  telling the whole class when someone complained about words in a spelling test being too difficult. "Try looking on the bright side," he said with a wry smile, "for you can be sure there always is one. You may have come last, boy, but at least you've learned something." I didn't think much of it at the time, but years on, I have learned to appreciate how failing at some things has taught me to appreciate those who do better...and to try harder.

If there are all sides to all things )and people) let's try and to keep looking on look on the brighter side, yeah?

THE WORLD TODAY

The world today, it oozes pain and fear,

guns on the street, in playground, park;

drugs, like sweet bags left here and there,

knives stuck in backs at home, at work

Where the War on Terror taking its toll,

people afraid of their own shadows;

fanaticism failing to make us look small

but (still) wannabe suicide bombers

News over breakfast turning the stomach;

(a pill to keep going, another to sleep)

yet no one seems to care about very much

except making money, getting into debt

The world today, it oozes pain and fear,

but love, too, so it's glad I am I'm here

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

The Confidante

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

I should like to say a big thank you to those readers who email me now and then to ask how I am coping with my prostate cancer. Generally speaking, I feel fine although I get very tired some days, not that winter is a particularly inspiring month anyway.

Now, being philosophical about my prostate cancer is one thing, but I have to confess to moments of panic and low spiritedness. That’s when I turn to spending time with friends…

Looking back on my life (very selectively) I can recover peace of mind whenever I want. Writing helps. Oh, there are plenty of bad memories too, but that’s where the art of careful selection comes in. I guess it’s the same for everyone. Difficult times can make us vulnerable, edgy, and even scared. So what better course of action than to create another good memory to add to those we already have? Hey, presto! Suddenly, it is easier to stay calm, reach a more positive perspective on life, reap the finer rewards only peace of mind can bring.

It may not last long, peace of mind, but there is always recourse to the same archive of happy memories to restore it again and again for as long as it takes. Yes, probably a lifetime. Oh, and we should never forget that life is not about pleasing other people all the time, trying to be being a good friend and confidante; we need to make time for ourselves too.

We should all remember, too, that there is no shame in asking for support, physical and/or mental. Sadly some of us, especially men, seem to feel that it is an expression of weakness; on the contrary, realising that we cannot cope on our own and seeking help, even it its just means confiding our fears in someone, is an expression of inner strength, not to mention common sense. As well as or in the absence of anyone close, there are also support networks available where professional counselling can help; no need even to ask, just go on the the Internet. (Help - and computers - often available at your local public library.)

This poem is a kenning.

THE CONFIDANTE

I wait

in the wings, ever willing,

never failing to relieve

a fellow player stumbling

into everyday dramas,

comedies, darker scenarios

and Mummers' Plays

reaching out to an audience

up for empathy

I help clarify

those arguments between

mind and spirit

ever turning over choices

of words, trying

to keep to a script of sorts

reworked more times

than memory dares mull over

its mistakes

I lead

from the heart where heads

make ever-increasing

circles, a fragile conscience

debating intention,

direction, and motivation

without coming to a conclusion

most likely to earn a standing

ovation

Rely on me, a friend of the kind

arguing for Peace of Mind

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Warning: Personal Space, Closed for Repairs

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

I suspect the situation this post and poem attempts to reflect is probably familiar to many if not most of us.

Overheard in a café:

WOMAN: Michael has been trying to get in touch with you. By all accounts, he’s in a bit of a state.  I gather his love life has turned turtle, the poor love.

MAN: No surprises there then.

WOMAN: So why aren’t you picking up or returning his calls?

MAN: Because I have serious problems of my own at the moment. I really can't cope with Michael's until I sort my own. 

WOMAN: That is so selfish! It’s all right for you. You’re strong. You know how needy poor Michael is.

MAN: Yes, well, right now I’m needy too. I need to sort myself out, and I can’t do that if I’m stuck with sorting Michael out...again.

WOMAN: But, poor Michael...

MAN: Poor Michael needs to grow up, and if you think he’s so needy, YOU go and sort him out.

The man left abruptly. The woman caught my eye, shrugged and sent her eyebrows into overdrive while mouthing, ‘Some people!’ ...before returning to her snack.

My sympathy was entirely with the man (I’m not being sexist either) having been there myself many times.

Most of us try to be there for our friends, bur some friends take us for granted.  We look around for someone to be there for us when we most need to talk to someone about something that is tearing us apart...and there is no one there; everyone is too busy with their own problems to even consider that we may have problems of our own. After all, we are ‘strong’ and can take care of ourselves; we don’t need anyone. Well, the chances are they are so wrong, and one day they well may look to their ‘strong’ friend for customary support only to discover that that he or she has crumbled under the pressure of disillusionment and the convenient corner shop is closed for repairs.

Some people are naturally strong and others have strength thrust upon them by personal battles hard won. But strong or less strong, we should never forget we are all but human, and much the same basic human needs apply to everyone. Sometimes we have to put our own needs first or we are likely to be of little use to anyone, least of all ourselves. 

WARNING: PERSONAL SPACE, CLOSED FOR REPAIRS

I am but fragile

where seen as firm, fearless,

appearing strong,

no one suspecting differently

until I am stretched

as far as nature will carry me,

only to be exposed

for an illusion of the kind

feeding on dreams

I deceive no one,

but try to do the right thing

by family and friends,

be there at the right times,

lending a shoulder

to cry on, an ear to listen,

a take on how things

might change for the better

sooner or later

I am but human,

(with needs, too, of my own)

that often despairs

of finding no one there

or shoulder to cry on,

an ear to listen (for long)

or take on ending

this feeling of endless freefall

into empty words

I am the friend

trying to do the right thing,

at the right times,

lend a shoulder to cry on,

an ear to listen,

provide a take on how we

might set about

changing things for the better,

sooner or later

Handle me with care;

even close friends can weary

of being taken

for granted time and again;

no shoulder to cry on

or ear to listen for needing

to take up a little

of someone else’s private space

closed for repairs

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Sleeping Dogs

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

We don’t always appreciate the effect our words and/or actions might have on others, even loved ones. It is so easy to be well-meaning yet misunderstood. Yet, if a relationship is worth saving it is worth fighting for, and all parties should make time to talk things through…

I have been let down badly by friends and family in the past (haven’t we all?). Sometimes we have talked things through and grown closer. However, there have been times when much, as I would have liked to talk things through, some people only have ears for what they want to hear; any 'closeness'  was but a mirage. I dare say they feel the same about me. For all my faults, though, I am always ready to talk things through…with people prepared to consider points of view other than their own. It is rarely a question of who is right or wrong, but simply bearing in mind that, just as we may easily hurt ourselves so, too, it is easy to unintentionally inflict hurt.

The better you know someone, the least likely you are to want to hurt them, and vice versa. The closer you are, though, the easier it becomes to do just that. All relationships need to be worked at; some people are simply not prepared to put in the effort, or cannot see how or why they should, so never really get to know anyone that well. Sadly some people are so self-centred and/ or dogmatic in their approach to others, they find it hard if not impossible to relate to feelings and points of view they don't, won't or can't share.

In my experience, it is possible to pick up the pieces of a broken relationship (of whatever nature) once, even twice, but rare, indeed, is he or she who can find it within themselves to make the effort a third time; better then, perhaps, to let sleeping dogs lie than enter the fray yet again ...

Most friends and family members fall out from time to time, although if a relationship is worth having, it has to be worth saving; as always, it takes two to tango. In my experience, it is possible to pick up the pieces of a broken relationship (of whatever nature) once, even twice, but rare, indeed, is he or she who can find it within themselves to make the effort a third time; better then, perhaps, to let sleeping dogs lie than enter the fray yet again and put our own sense of  well-being, not to mention physical and/ or mental health, on the line.

SLEEPING DOGS

Love may well never die

nor friendship, but sometimes

both may well lie sleeping

within a heart grown, oh, so weary

behind eyes brought

to weeping for all those things

not as we would have them;

accepted, understood, forgiven even,

and never quite forgot,

but left asleep in the arms

of every dreamer

that ever loved or had a friend

where love and friendship

not returned in kind, or even in part

if we include untold damage

to the heart, ignorance of some crisis

of all-inclusive mind-body-spirit

Ah, but neither love nor friendship
can fire those open only to self-interest
with the inspiration required
to subdue the flames of desperation
just long enough to enable
a reaching-out beyond abstract expectation
all but set in stone
that every opportunity needs must wear
appropriate regalia, leaving us free

to spot 'spectators' (by any other name)
intent on having sport with us;

in time, may we come to appreciate

what (and who?) we're up against,

we family, friends and would-be lovers

left waiting at a gate we know
(only too well) may never reopen for us

unless by whim of a kinder fate

Awake, sleeping friendships and loves

stirring in quiet hearts every now and then,
chance overcoming
feelings of rejection by those
who should have known so much better
than to doubt us, recalling
wistful might-have-beens left to fade
into some once-upon-a- time
for mind-body-spirit to turn now and then
like the pages of a fairy story
by Hans Christian Andersen, relating
brave new worlds for children
to carry into adulthood and spread the news
how love will endure and hate expire
if we let it, albeit any tale takes one to tell.
another to share, and that same pair (at least)
to leave lie but sleeping in the heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2005.]