Blur, Root and Branch

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

“Expectation is the root of all heartache.” – proverb (often attributed to Shakespeare)

Sometimes we see what we expect to see rather than what is there; in much the same way, our feelings are similarly clouded by not feeling what we expect to feel.

Another old saying about looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope springs to mind. The rogue root and branch in nature and human nature plays up to just such imperfections; we fail to spot them because we do not expect to find them there, any more than we are willing to see imperfections in ourselves.

Invariably, blurred vision will eventually clear and rogue elements exposed once common sense alerts us to using the telescope correctly, often than not with the assistance of those better able to focus than ourselves on whatever it may be that we are gravely misperceiving.

Nothing new about either sentiment, I agree, but, hopefully, as good a preamble to the poem as any...?

BLUR, ROOT AND BRANCH

How came by first seeds
to take root and nurture us ever after
through the various seasons
of such time and personal space,
as we can but suppose
was a well-intended force for good,
advantaging kindred also
in woods and gardens, in fields or wherever
thought best by Earth Mother

Root and branch, though,
rely in no small part on circumstances
and surroundings to encourage
growth and such appearance as likely
to appeal any who tend, observe
and take to heart, or not, as the case
may well be, even allowing
for any unforeseen flaws, in the taking care of it,
seeing its basic needs well met

Intended to bear such fruit
compatible with whatever circumstances
and surroundings they grow,
these may well change as time passes,
fewer admirers raising glasses
to toast any finer attributes, but seeing ways
of cashing in on such flaws
as lend temptations of flesh and blood credulity
among certain powers that be

Rogue elements, they mean
nothing personal to whom any harm be done,
led on by various permutations
that have abused their originals
across generations,
inclined to play fast and loose with nature,
the better to take their cue
from assorted but well-established powers that be,
self-interest, ever a first priority

In nature and humanity,
find various rogue species going their own way,
disrespectful of any code,
leading its society, unknowingly, by the nose,
yet, their come-uppance
assured, one way or another, caught out by chance,
word, deed or gesture, enough to alert
their contemporaries to such goings-on as needs must
be exposed for betraying its trust

For every rogue root undermining a species’ well-being,
find many, many more well worth the nurturing

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022 

What on Earth ... ?

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

The owner of a pub about to enter the strictest tier of restrictions in England was recently heard to comment, “We do our best, but it’s never enough. We are told one thing, and do it, then we are told something different.  How are we expected to plan ahead? What I wouldn’t give to know just what’s going on behind the doors of Number 10 Downing Street! 

Well, the old saying is so true in so far as we never know what’s happening behind closed doors, especially when those doors give access to the powers-that-be responsible for making decisions that all but map out our daily lives. 

Here in the UK, even the Government admits that relaxing safety regulations designed to protect us from Covid-19 during a 5-day window over Christmas will inevitably lead to more deaths. If the thinking behind it is that many people will do their own thing anyway, why not leave things as they are; most people will respect the regulations while those who don’t will go their own way regardless of any window.

WHAT ON EARTH... ?

Weary of restrictions,
patience running (very) thin
shoppers turning on
anyone putting them right
about masks slipping
or not caring to wear one at all;
conspiracy theories
all the rage, and testing the self-control
of majority non-believers 

Christmas edging closer,
safety restrictions to be lifted
for a window of cheer
no matter anyone flinging it
wide open likely
to pay dearly for the pleasure
once it’s slammed shut,
Covid-19 having had no such reservations,
continuing to make itself felt 

Mothers, fathers, sisters,
brothers and close friends left
grieving as we move
into 2021, hopeful a vaccine
will bring an end
once and for all to a coronavirus
spreading chaos and pain
the likes of which all humanity can but trust
it may never so endure again  

May the world’s politicians
stay mindful, too, of such threats
as global warming
to all nature and humankind,
reasoning the need
with care, clarity, and openness,
no room for confusion,
less underestimating Joe Public’s watchful eye
on the party politics of illusion 

Such is life, most of us making
the best of things rather than dwell
on worst scenarios,
its being too precious to waste;
better to seize the day,
celebrate a common humanity,
for all its population
left sighing over rainbows time and again, asking
"What on earth is going on ...?"

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

A Rule of Thumb

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

When I failed to get enough A-levels to take up the place at Library School that I had been offered, I was in despair as to what my next step should be. My English teacher told me “Never lose hope, Taber, or you will lose everything.” It sounded somewhat trite at the time, and I took little comfort from the sentiment, but over the years I have learned the wisdom of it. 

Emigrating to Australia in 1969 was more impromptu desperation than a plan, doomed to failure from the start. Even so, it gave me six weeks to think things over during a voyage on the good ship, Southern Cross. I couldn’t get a job, ran out of cash, and ended up sleeping under Sydney Harbour bridge. Then I met an old Aborigine who not only gave me hope, but also told me how to get back to the UK (without having to get into debt) and make a fresh start … which I did. 

A few years after I returned to the UK found me at university and doing OK.  Seven years later, mother died, the only member of my family who really understood the problems I faced with perceptive deafness and how it had contributed to my not having achieved as much as I’d hoped at the ripe old age of 30. Consequently, three years on found me doing battle with a nervous breakdown. Again, I am ashamed to say my first instinct was to run away and I took an overdose. Life, though, had other plans for me, demanded I get real, let hope back in and make the best rather than the worst of my situation. I started writing again, and that was a GOOD start. With the encouragement of several people in my life (not family) providing an invaluable support network, I eventually got another job as a librarian four years later, and stayed there until I retired in 2008, although I went part-time after 13 years in order to make time for more creative writing,  a life-saver  as depression was starting to take over again. 

I will be 75 in December, not a good age to find oneself in the midst of a pandemic, but I continue to seize the day, give depression the old heave-ho, and let hope take its course if only because there is no workable alternative. After my nervous breakdown, I had promised myself that I would never again wake up wishing that I hadn’t. So far, so good...

A RULE OF THUMB

Dour mist lifting,
late morning sun, a smile on its face,
rescuing us from doldrums,
whisking us to a better, kinder place,
encouraging divisions 
to reconcile, religions to come together
in the same love and peace
whose rhetoric its peoples would have us
engage with its principles 

Birds singing,
as if telling us not to despair of winter,
but remember best summers,
look to spring, when the chances are
Earth Mother will bring
new leaves for our trees, new flowers
to cheer home and planet,
a burst of incomparable colour
having us engage closer with Earth Mother
and also with one another

Humanity, waking up,
resolving to put aside any cares of the day
long enough to listen
to what mind-body-spirit has to say
about how best to rise
above dark scenarios closing in
on the Spirit of Morning,
re-engage with a sense of hope-faith-charity
that characterises humanity

True, we well may argue “Easier said than done …”
but that’s a rule of thumb for everyone 

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

 

 

Seeing Red

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

Preparing a new collection of poems, as I am, is proving more stressful than ever before, probably because - like most if not all of us - I am already stressed out by the Covid-19 pandemic. I keep coming across poems that are fine as far as they go … but strike me as not going quite far enough in saying what they mean to convey. Today’s (considerably revised) poem is such a case. I hope you will enjoy it as a poem offering food for thought, while bearing in mind that the poet’s own thought processes are as if feeling their way through an early morning mist right now.

I confess I’ve always had a great affinity with mist, a curiosity with and certain expectations for whatever it may reveal, especially as it lifts like the stage curtain on a play. Invariably, we human beings will need prompting, by mind-body-spirit no less, in whatever drama places us there in the first place, whether it be romance, tragedy, comedy, tragi-comedy, wicked satire … or a combination of all three. Most likely, the latter, bearing in mind the various parts we needs must play, each and every one of us comprising an all-star cast in a common humanity, called upon to play our part by a variety of life forces - love, hate, jealousy, regret, joy, grief, pain … to name but a few. That’s life. We can but address its various ways and means in an even greater variety of circumstances if only to have alter-ego whispering in our ear that we did well, but could have done better.

SEEING RED

Shades of red, colouring global reasoning

with a world of differences;

shades of red, colouring needs to weather

climate change;

shades of red, confronting world religions,

denying political agendas;

As I opened my eyes, I’d see but red, colour

of lives left bleeding;

as I opened my heart, I’d see that same red,

the agony of missing you;

though I open my mind, more shades of red,

chasing lost opportunities

Red, too, shades of last sunsets waiting upon

all human choices;

red also, on the flag that covered your coffin,

bugler, playing you home;

red, these lips that will never kiss yours again,

yet reassure generations

Shades of red, nurturing a growing disillusion

concerning ‘society’

Shades of red, humanity’s blatant stereotyping

its natural diversity;

Shades of red, confronting a history of shaping

 a much-divided humanity

Now, as I open my eyes, I still see red, a colour

of lost horizons, yes,

but opening up my heart to a splendid rainbow,

the sum of its colours

declaring an affinity with an only too human rage

to live, and win through it all

  

Copyright R.N. Taber 2007, 2020, 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title ‘Red’ in Accomplices to

Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

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