Empathy with a Camel

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

"Lives of great men all remind us, we can make our lives sublime, and, departing, leave behind us, footprints in the sand." A Psalm of Life - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The key to Longfellow’s often repeated quotation has to lie in the words ‘remind us’; for better or worse, we all leave our footprints in the sands of time, not only the famous (and infamous).

EMPATHY WITH A CAMEL 

Crossing a desert,
hump on the back, sniffing
out oasis and shade,
penetrating mirage on mirage
enough to attack
a hopeful visage, angry pricks
of sand, graffiti
on a human soul, left to the mercy
of fingers on a rag doll 

Crossing a desert,
hump on the back, sniffing
out oasis and shade
under the spell of a culture
of adventure,
needing to explore Dante’s inferno,
no matter vultures
invariably homing in like drug dealers
at a local disco 

Crossing a desert,
hump on the back,
sniffing out oasis and shade,
compensating for delusion
with illusion...
Lords of Misrule taking the blame
for any blisters
on the soul, although (trick or treat?)
it’s our call 

Making our way
across the sands of time, leaving
our mark, one way
or another, inspiring a generation
of hopefuls
with no intention of becoming food
for vultures to leave
misleading messages while raking over
bones of history? 

Humanity, making
what it will of its ever shifting
landscapes of sea,
sand, earth and sky, each to its own,
whether a camel
at home in a desert or human being
intending to flower,
last seen counting rings on a tree stump
and getting the hump

Whoever we are,
whether travelling on a train, bus,
sailing boat, private jet
or taking a camel ride into an inferno,
so will the Winds of Time
have us set out on yet another journey,
for better or worse,,
the richer or poorer, across multifarious
landscapes of memory 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2002, rev.2022

[Note: This poem takes its cue from an earlier poem that appears under the title 'Riddle of the Sands' in my collection, First Person Plural, Assembly Books, 2002; it is a complete re-working of the original poem to the extent that I hesitate to call it a revision.] RT

 

Either/Or, Life Force

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

Of all life forces confronting us a we journey through life, few if any are equal to that of choice; it can literally be a matter of life and death or, at the very least, a life changing experience.

Forewarned is forearmed, or so they say, that communal ‘they’ might well do better to stick to what it does best, making mountains out of molehills, than trying to dictate the workings of a mind-body-spirit inclined to put its trust in basic instinct.

A couple of days ago, I was warned by a specialist that a recurring ear complaint could be cancer of the ear and might require surgery. The possibility had been put to me before, but native instinct was already rejecting surgery ,whatever the outcome. Normally I would not hesitate to take specialist advice, but sometimes our instincts should not be ignored, especially when they are as forceful as mine in this particular case. However, it still remains to be seen if I do have ear cancer, so...finger crossed.

Which is the more important, life or quality of life? Everyone will have their own answer to that, depending on all manner of circumstances; religion, too, will have its say. Whatever, the final decision remains ours or, if it so happens that we are not able to make it for ourselves, we can but trust those who know and love us best to see that the right choice is made on our behalf; the right choice for us, that is, not necessarily for them.]

As for yours truly, I’ve had a good run and, at 76 years old, have no intention of agreeing to surgery even if it is considered to be in my best interests. Meanwhile, I will continue to play events by ear as they unfold... no pun intended.

EITHER/ OR, LIFE FORCE

Though friendly clouds carry me
to the ends of the earth
whenever and wherever caught
such ever-changing
landscapes, matching humanity
mood for mood,
as we now engage, now beat a retreat
with its every heartbeat

It was a landscape of the womb
first installed in me
a mind-body-spirit reaching out
across a family history
of which soon I would be a part,
for good or ill...
I could not even guess, no thoughts yet
of engaging or retreat

Come into the world on a tide
of mixed feelings...
pain and joy, relief and such hope
as would carry me
into landscapes unknown...
across generations
drawing on and shaping the human heart
to destroy and/or create

Thus, a first take on that to-be-or-not-to-be
question for/ of humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The House of Many Rooms

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

“On the whole, human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all the time.” – George Orwell in All Art is Propaganda: Critical Essays

As the pandemic pursues its relentless course around the world, many of us are taking refuge in kinder, happier times, albeit often tailored to kinder, happier needs; there is a lot to be said for and against the selective power of Memory.

On the whole, though, I would suggest that, for many if not most of us, Memory draws on the finer points of mind-body-spirit, sweeping any darker aspects aside; some specks, though, will inevitably remain, like flaws of human nature best forgotten, but which have a nasty habit of resurfacing now and then, invariably in some unseemly manner as likely as not to cause offence, even where none intended.

Arguably, there are elements of that consciousness we call ‘Memory’ which are genetic, a part of us that has its roots in a family history that can be so persuasive as to plant itself in our subconscious, visit us in dreams so ‘real’ that we may well carry them as ‘memories’ which, in turn, may well have behavioural consequences, for better or worse.

A gay poet, I am very much aware that many people believe that sexuality is a lifestyle choice; it is, of course, in the genes if selective in whom it manifests itself.

THE HOUSE OF MANY ROOMS

I go there often, to an old house
of many rooms,
each one different, yet oddly familiar,
but nothing ever quite
the same, it seems, from one visit
to another

I love to explore the old house
of many rooms,
now playing games of hide-and-seek
with childhood friends,
now discovering home truths
and heartbreak

I often shelter in the old house
of many rooms,
seek comfort from cold, mist and rain,
or so I tell myself
despite an inner voice insisting
I’m on the run

Ghosts, too, in the old house
of many rooms
and only so many games we can play,
its doors opening
and closing on shadowy masks
of “live” clay

Dusty corners, in the old house
of many rooms,
I do my best to sweep clear and clean,
but always a residue
left behind that I’ll pretend
I’ve never seen

A guardian of sorts, the old house
of many rooms,
a store of life forces, good, bad and ugly,
reminders of a life
lived for love and its pitfalls;
such is humanity

Everyone knows an old house
of many rooms,
best approached with mixed expectations,
much of a muchness
the world over, despite universal
mutations

Many and varied are such houses
of many rooms,
nor bricks and mortar can we expect to see,
but a consciousness
of personal-posthumous-collective
family history

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tree House

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

To the reader who asked why I don't always post my poems on both poetry blogs, I have relatively few readers who access my gay-interest poetry now, especially since feedback suggests that many gay poetry lovers who have dipped into its archives now dip into both blogs, having come to see that a poem is a poem is a poem, regardless of whether or not they can relate directly to it; every poem has something to say that's (hopefully) worth addressing.  

Sadly, although attitudes towards LGBT folks around the world are changing for the better, there are still many people various whose prejudices remain fuelled by misleading stereotypes and various socio-cultural-religious agendas.

Now, genealogy is a fascinating subject for many of us, especially given that our genes contribute so much to the kind of person we are; our mind-body-spirit may well owe more to them than we will ever know. 

It is always rewarding to study a family tree, put names to descendants too distant in time to have their photos in the family album, and go on to discover as much about them as we can. (Invariably, the experience is well worth any search fee). The Society of Genealogists here in London, for example, is always welcoming new members who want to explore its resources to research a past to which their own family is leaf and branch.

THE TREE HOUSE

I come to the tree house
to catch up with family members
I had only ever met
in a mind-body-spirit always curious
about this person and that
as referred to (if only incidentally)
in conversations as likely as not to ask
even more of me   

Home truths and myths,
resting here among their peers,
not only invoke history
but create its very fabrics themselves,
attracting families worldwide
to the tree house, hoping to find
enough to help explain any glaring gaps 
in their archives  

Life takes on new meaning
in the tree house, inviting empathy
with those less likely
to have made history books for news
of neither fame nor fortune,
but simply having tried to make a life
for men, women, children to whom I’m
kith and kin 

I come to the tree house
to look for clues, travel across time,
ask past generations
for any such points of reference
as may yet assist me 
in seeing just how it was we came
to be, in my capacity as leaf and branch
of its history 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

One for the Family Album

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

Regular readers will know that I am pantheist in so far as I see God as nature rather than its creator.

Now, being gay is not a choice, but who we are; the only choice lies in whether or not we choose to be ourselves; rarely an easy choice given the persistent stereotyping and other fake news that has plagued the whole LGBT community for centuries.

Albert Einstein expressed strong views about prejudice, among them:

Few people are capable of expressing with equanimity opinions which differ from the prejudices of their social environment. Most people are incapable of forming such opinions. 

 - Albert Einstein, Essay to Leo Baeck, 1953

ONE FOR FAMILY ALBUM

I am as I am,
although world religions 
see fit to take issue,
yet mind-body-spirit trusts itself,
won’t concede defeat,
and some would say a hypocrite,
mind-body-spirit 
quite simply in denial for refusing
it's misguided

I am as I am,
a sense of spirituality as much part
of me as any other
for its embracing that whole of me, 
can see no wrong
in asking of others no more or less
than asked of me
in simply being human, warts ‘n’ all
not driven into freefall 

What’s wrong
in nursing opinions with which some
may well not agree,
given freedom-of-thought at the heart
of human nature
for its needing to incite critical debate
(all-comers welcome)
to have an agreeing-to-differ mentality
driving human society? 

I am gay, as blessed a Child of  Nature
as any other

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: Apologies for the error in the first stanza of the original version of this poem, now corrected on both poetry blogs.; this post-poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog.] RT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ghosts, Touching Base

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2017.

Now, much if not most of what we do and say - for better or worse, good or ill - has consequences for ourselves and/or others, either directly or indirectly, now or later.

Whether we accept or deny our part in any such consequences - for whatever reasons - we have to live with both reasons and consequences. This may be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what we may have said or done or chosen not to say or do, as the case may be; since saying and/or doing nothing can have consequences of no less significance than being actively (or even passively) involved in a particular chain of events,.

Whatever, we are left with clear choices; accept responsibility, deny responsibility, lay it at someone else’s door altogether or delude ourselves that we are absolved of any blame (where any might be attached) if only because we could not possibly have foreseen how certain events, thus triggered, might unravel, especially  given the unpredictability of human nature.

Ah, yes, human nature …  a weak yet probably the more convincing of all excuses for our own shortcomings, especially with regard to certain perceptive qualities we like to think of as an acquired wisdom and are therefore reluctant to admit we may have been misguided, not to mention downright wrong.

A colleague once commented on there being no point in dwelling on the graver mistakes we make as we go through life, how ‘The only thing to do is kill them stone dead and move on...’ - which has to be one of the best descriptions I’ve yet to hear of a posthumous consciousness inhabited by ghosts likely to haunt its owner evermore. Yes, we can (hopefully) learn from our mistakes and try to make some redress for them. At the same time, they are kin to those proverbial sleeping dogs, likely to wake and disturb even the most carefully constructed comfort zone at any time … never more so than now, when everyone is not only stressed out by the Covid-19 pandemic, but degrees of self-isolation may well leave us with time on our hands, time to mull over a past  which for most of us includes regrets of one kind or another.

We can – even in these testing times - but do our best to stay positive, look forward, and keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. (Never easy, but worth every heartbeat.)

GHOSTS, TOUCHING BASE 

Now and then,

a ghost searches archives

of the human spirit

for mixed feelings to explore

and touch base

with a mind-body ethos

imaging a finger tip

pricked by thorns on a rose

drawing blood

Now and then

ghosts gather to consult

with each other

about the best ways to rectify

errors of judgement,

bring subsequent wrongs

to the attention  

of any directly (or indirectly)

feeding on them

Now and then,

a ghost will reason a need

to come clean

about such misdemeanours

as least intended

to result in hauntings

of the worst kind

for want of a broader (kinder)

take on life

Now and then,

a ghost will home in on us,

confront us

with such past-present-future

leftovers of time

as buried alive in the heart

by a seventh sense

naming names, hearing voices,

calling us out

As for what choices

we may or may well not act on

by way of an answer,

to each of us much the same 

finding a way to let ghosts

rest in peace no matter the cost

or disown Conscience,

block access to its archives 

once and for all ...?

Let the human ego

reinvent itself as and when it may,

it cannot unsay

what’s said or undo what’s done,

least of all rewrite

archives comprising life any choices

and consequences

pertaining to a least favourable

self-portraiture

Human nature

demands things left unsaid, undone,

than let the worst in us

its gamut run until the best in us

left as undervalued

as good intentions casting shadows,

spreading further,

and lasting longer for being left 

open to question

Ghosts, left to try and satisfy a human spirit

(still) assailed by self-doubt

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017; 2020

R-O-O-T-S, Species of Moss Uncovered OR History, Cause and Effect

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2012.

Many of us are fascinated by our family history, and have been very frustrated by the closure of research libraries and archives due to the Covid-19 coronavirus pandemic.

Our predecessors carry the secrets of our genes which, in turn, help to shape who we are and what we make of our lives; a posthumous consciousness to which I often refer in my poems. Hopefully, more will be opening up as C-16 restrictions are gradually lifted ... so long as a second wave doesn't hit sooner rather than later.

Fingers (and toes) crossed; crossed, too for the re-opening of public libraries, of course.

But, oh, to be on the family history trail...!

This poem is a villanelle.

R-O-O-T-S, SPECIES OF MOSS UNCOVERED or HISTORY, CAUSE AND EFFECT

Challenging history,

moss on graveyard stone defies

what we call, identity

Traits of a personality

but a strategy ancestors devise,

challenging history

Shades of mystery

conspiring to spring surprise;

what we call, identity

A cliff-hanging story

of hope and glory, love and lies

challenging history

An affinity with mortality

drawn from family archives;

what we call, identity

A feeling for eternity,

whatever its ends may comprise;

challenging history,

what we call, identity

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Placing the I's in (Family) History

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

We are all part of history, not only our own but other people's as well; one way or another, we all bring something to the behaviour and understanding of others, not just family members and friends but complete strangers we might have chatted to on a train or in a bus queue ... wherever.In much the same way ghosts, too, play their part in developing not only the national consciousness, but the human consciousness too. I often refer to a 'posthumous consciousness' in my blogs, a sense of drawing on the wisdom of those long dead to help us make a decision, just as we may well draw on someone else's bad experiences in a similar context. Nor do our ghosts need to be part of our own or family history; history itself is a living text book about successes and failures, do's and don't that school children he world ocer carry with them all their lives, whether they realise it or not.

When our circumstances take a nosedive, there are invariably many factors to take into account. Oh, but how most if not all of are quick to play the blame game!  How many of us, though, consider pointing the finger at ourselves sometimes…especially when, at heart, we know we should…?

Ah, but when those same circumstances improve, especially by leaps and bounds, who among us is not quick to take most if not all the credit…?

As I was writing this poem, I could not help but recall a severe nervous breakdown I suffered way back in the 1970’s. It was four years before I could work again. During that time, I had the support of three wonderful people – Joyce B, Dick L and Malcolm P who encouraged me to (eventually) start writing again. As creative therapy, it was a huge boost to my mental health and general well-being. I owe those three people so much, not least for helping me to help myself. (One died before I was able to find a job and start living again while I am ashamed to say I was so desperate to put those awful years behind me that I lost touch with the others after I moved away.) These people will always have a special place in my consciousness.

As for any concept of Fate or God taking a hand in things, I remain sceptical. Neither, for me at least, have a place in a positive thinking mindset; it is too simplistic to blame or credit either for whatever. Sadly, few, if any of  us can avoid playing the blame game altogether even though (as I know only too well) it can scar a person for life. We are not puppets. No one pulls our strings although certain politicians would like to think they do ...which is probably why they go into politics in the first place. Some religious leaders are no better, of course; they like to think they are servants of their God and He speaks through them, but many enjoy the power that gives them in much the same way as some politicians who can always pass the buck to whoever happens to be Prime Minister at the time.  

.My History teacher at school, back in the 1950's once told the class, "Never think of history as being dead. History, thank goodness, is alive and kicking.Most people have completely the wrong idea about history.Hopefully, by the time I've finished with you lot, you won't ..."  and I suspect most of us didn't.

You-Me-Us, we are as we are, and we are history.

“The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you are likely to see.” 
― Winston S. Churchill

PLACING THE  I's IN (FAMILY) HISTORY

I wander in the mists of time

where no one, but everyone goes,

pondering the meaning of life 

that no one but everyone knows
plays us for puppets on strings 

Alone, but never quite alone

where no one but everyone goes

giving the lie to a flawless life
that no one but everyone knows
is best left to wishful thinking

I wander in the mists of time

making beginnings of endings

and vice versa, pulling stings,
keeping faith with human beings 
as no one but everyone knows 

No sign of the mist ever lifting,

on a human spirit close to despair,

going it alone, yet never alone

for ghosts of its history throwing
negatives and positives at it

I walk among heroes, head high,

sparing tears for those missing out

on the human spirit’s capacity

to love, learn, put bigotry to rout

(no mere puppet on its strings)

I wander in the mists of time

where no one but everyone goes,

homing in on meanings of life,

lending inspiration to its sciences
and arts deserving an audience

Writing on walls wherever I go
as I pass through the seasons of life
bringing to nature and humanity
senses and sensibilities embracing
past-present-future, such as it is 

Alone, but never quite alone,

where no one but everyone goes,

giving the lie to such 'betters'
the like of whom everyone knows

play us for puppets on strings

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Negotiating Past-Present-Future OR Human Psychology, definitive X-factor

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

Around the world, we are having to deal with a hitherto unknown coronavirus. A reader has emailed to ask if I think our daily lives will ever be the same again. Well, what I think hardly matters, but in answer to the question, yes, I do, and that's not just wishful thinking.  Let's face it, we deal with unknowns all the time. Time itself has to be the greatest of all unknown factors, and we deal with it, for better or worse as the case may be. The pandemic is scary, not least because so many people are dying and families grieving. Time, too, is scary, leaves many of us ill and/or dying and families having to cope.

On the whole, we all all manage our time as best we can, and make a good job of doing so. Yes, we are inclined to take time for granted and take each day as it comes where the pandemic is a new phenomenon, and making new demands of us, especially in terms of social distancing and various new measures affecting hoe we work travel and approach everyday life with no small degree of caution. Time, too, though has always made demands on us, not least a degree of caution, self awareness and positive thinking to see us through from one day to the next. We cope, each in our own way; how successfully may well  be open to question, but the principles for survival are much the same now as they have always been.  different now.

I am reminded of that universal saying 'A little thought goes a long way' and that means though for others as well as for ourselves; among lessons for the learning, that has to count among the most important, especially now. 

Humankind has managed the Here-and-Now with varying degrees of success throughout its history, and emerged smiling and hopeful throughout its wars and subsequent peace so I guess I can only suggest we 'keep smiling through' just as the song made so special for so many by Dame Vera Lynn asks of us.

Wishing you all peace and love,

Hugs,

Roger

NEGOTIATING PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE or HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY, DEFINITIVE X-FACTOR

Yesterday,

much the same, fears,

since early hours,

dreading a new dawn

(yet again)

wishing the day gone before it puts me

out for garbage

Yesterday,

all but wishing myself dead

(but not quite)

desperate for reasons

to carry on,

finding none to fan even a single flame

of inspiration

Today

I can’t make it through;

everything

I say, everything I do

coming out wrong

I just want to run away, hide somewhere;

oh, But where?

Today

I feel exposed to passers-by

staring at me,

even glaring at me,

as if suspecting

I am sick at heart, and all but falling apart

within and without

Today

a stranger smiled at me,

said “Hello”

before a growing crowd

ate him up

but his smile, kept company with me all day,

saved me from free fall

Tonight,

I find myself looking at M-E

on a rack

not of my own choosing,

blaming society,

need to take responsibility for myself, and get a life,

start thinking positively

Tonight,

a Coming of Age for latecomers

to self-esteem,

living and partly living;

needs must get real,

hopefully take a lover (two of a kind) endgame, peace

of mind

Tomorrow

I will look out for any smiles,

ignore glares,

might even dare a “Hello”

here and there,

give positive feedback the chance it deserves

to help mend frayed nerves

Tomorrow

I, too, will test a friendly grin

on a world

where hate crime on the rise,

(no surprises there)

and seek out others just like me, still growing into

into life, love, and sexuality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Pages in a Family History OR Ghost, (Another) Word to the Wise

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

Sadly there will always be prejudice and bigotry especially in some parts of the world that are slow to get real about Human Rights, but elsewhere as well. 

All we can do is lead by example, try to educate the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority in our own little corner of the world and trust that the ripples we make will spread, become waves and cross oceans. It has happened before, is happening even now and will always happen.

Yes, there will always be bigotry and prejudice but be sure it won’t always get its own way. People, on the whole, are better than that, although it may take more time than we would like for those some to realize that. Others, of course, like die-hard evangelicals and those repressive regimes around the world who put self-interest above common humanity, will always pursue their own agendas...that is, for as long as the rest of the world lets them get away with it.

We can but resist the worse aspects of life as best we can and try, each in our own way,  to live up to the legacy that every good parent leaves his or her their children - love. Love, in all its shapes and forms will see us through just about anything life throws at us.Sadly, some children miss out on that, but love is open all hours, we only have to make time to look and learn... if we so choose. (Something else my mother taught me and which, especially as someone with no partner to share the ups and downs of growing old - I am 70 now - I try to live up to in my heart and pass on in my poems.)

The best oral traditions, as passed on in all walks of life, are more than just stories, they are a legacy of love that - should we care to listen and learn - encourages us to bond with a common humanity and play our part, each in his and her own way; a posthumous as well as present consciousness serving us ... if we will but let it.

PAGES IN A FAMILY HISTORY or GHOST, (ANOTHER) WORD TO THE WISE

There are words my mother told me

that, when feeling low, I always recall,

seize upon and cling to passionately,

opening up to the body, heart and soul

There are dreams my mother shared

that, when feeling low, I always recall;

knowing how much she really cared

keeps her near close, makes them real

There are principles my mother had

that, when feeling low, I always recall,

seeing the good in folks not the bad,

though all humanity stumble and fall

There is bigotry my mother warned

that, when feeling low, may get to me;

the trick (she had its lesson learned)

is to cry inside, so no enemy will see

Keep the faith, my mother urged me

that, when feeling low, I always recall

on hearing colour-creed-sex-sexuality

make its case for heart-mind-body-soul

My mother passed away years ago,

but I often hear her whisper in my ears,

urging me to keep the faith and know

love is stronger than the worst of fears 

In those wise words my mother told me,

hear the cry of a common humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008