Faces at a Window

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

A friend once commented on how there's no disputing we live in a dangerous world, one that's the stuff of nightmares.

Before the Covid-19 pandemic the first thing that leaps to mid is probably the threat of terrorism leaps to mind; nor has that gone away either. There are everyday threats closer to home as well; racism, homophobia, street crime, gang warfare, cyber bullying, certain religious and cultural issues such as FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) and the more barbaric aspects of Sharia law etc. etc.

Is it any wonder then that dreams and nightmares sometimes merge into a hideous quasi-reality? 

As for a face looking passively in at it all, that could belong to just about anyone, even one of our own personae that the conscious self we know and love either fails or refuses to acknowledge … in case it feels obliged to act rather than remain a critical bystander unwilling to get involved in someone else’s affairs? There comes a time, though, when we have to acknowledge that, like it or not, as part of a common humanity, we are involved...in helping, any way we can, to ensure not only its very survival, but its survival for the better.

Enter, the metaphysical poet John Donne: ‘No man is an island entire of itself…any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind...’ (Meditation XV1) 


FACES AT A WINDOW

Faces looking in
at a window
on my dreams
are always mouthing words
I can't make out

These faces looking in
at a window
on my dreams
always have a smile for me
no matter what

One face looking in
at a window
on my dreams,
it wears a wry expression
(knows me well?)

I struggle to imagine
what they see
as my dream-self
explores all time and space
of a subconscious
indulging in freedom
from restraints
along the lines
of universal dogma playing
war games
with mind, body, and spirit
or the temporal
manipulations of various
holier-than-thous
acting out an ages-old parody
of human justice

Faces looking in
at a window
on my dreams,
approving what they see 
for having a say

One face looking out
of a window
on my dreams
mouths I'm doing my best
(fair enough)

Waking at first light,
in time to catch
anxious shadows  
on my ceiling, dark forces
beating a retreat


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 2020

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.]

Courage

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

Here in the UK, many if not most young people today have a rough time, especially given that they nearly always get a bad press. There is far too much stereotyping of young people going on. Most manage to rise above it all and make society proud. But if some appear to have lost their way in life, even despair of ever getting a job, whose fault is that? 

Youth unemployment is high across the whole of Europe, and what is being done about it? There is no quick fix, but just because people are young doesn’t mean they want and need to feel any less valued and inspired than the rest of us; if anything, they want and need to feel even more valued and inspired, not repeatedly written off for being lazy and/or potential criminals. Perhaps many don’t have the skills a modern society demands. So whose fault is that? What exactly are our schools teaching, for goodness sake? If education in our schools and colleges is meant to prepare young people for the roller coaster we call life, it doesn't strike me as having made a very good job of it for some years now. 

If mature adults are meant to lead by example, our ‘maturity’ has a lot to answer for. When I go shopping in London or just out for a walk, I am often appalled at the way some people of my generation behave.  Yes, some young people can be ‘difficult’ but my generation is certainly not blameless, and I can see how many younger people are inclined to write a good few of us off for being ‘difficult’, not least judgemental. 

So how about we all stop playing the blame game and give each other the respect and support every human being deserves?

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
― Winston S. Churchill

COURAGE

Wandering dark tunnels,

lost and afraid;

regulation torch for company,

imitation fur for the cold;

phone battery running low by now

heartbeat erratic, 
becoming harder not to panic,
yet where there's life, there's hope 
(or so they say.)

Live to fight another day?

Brave words

when the Dark is rising, Styx

threatening to burst

its banks, flood us, even drown us
should we cease
to negotiate our worst fears,

the darker comedy of our errors 

playing us for human

Look. Listen. Rescuers 
on their way;

Faith, Hope, Charity, children
of contemporaneity
come to lend lost souls a helping hand
who can but run the gamut
of a Here-and Now 
threatening to leave them behind

see them fail

Ah. but where failure rises above its tears,

find courage, too, behind closed doors

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2002

[Note: First published under the title 'Children of the Century' in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]