Dog Roses OR N-a-t-u-r-e (All-inclusive) Life Forces

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blogs (in a slightly different form) in 2013. It was not long, though, before I deleted it from my general blog after a lot of abusive emails, but have re-posted it on both blogs today (Feedback continues to suggest that few gay readers dip into both blogs.)

In the language of flowers, dog roses mean pleasure mixed with pain.

It was after writing today’s  poem in 1991 that I began writing my novel Dog Roses: a gay man’s rites of passage that is serialised on my fiction blog:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/07/dog-roses-chapter-one_14.htm

  

Few of my novels have appeared in print form as I was never able to interest a literary agent, but I always enjoyed writing them (albeit a struggle sometimes) and wanted to share them. To be honest, I did not expect the fiction blog to last long, but have been very encouraged by a growing readership and positive feedback over several years - from gay and straight readers alike - for both my gay-interest and general novels. Why do I write both general and gay-interest material?  Well, not least because I get fed-up with people who, once they realise a person is gay, choose to see no further than that; gay or straight, there is far more to all of us than our sexuality.

Being gay has never overly influenced my reading tastes. I enjoy (and write) gay as well as straight poetry and fiction. I used to be an avid reader, although less so now. Moreover, as regular readers will know, writing has always been an essential form of creative therapy for me; essential for my general well-being, that is, as I have suffered with depression since childhood. Now, at 70, it continues to sustain me and keeps my little grey cells ticking over; not just because I enjoy it, but also because it serves as a welcome distraction from living with mobility problems (since a bad fall in 2014) and prostate cancer (diagnosed in 2011). I did not expect to be growing old alone, without a partner, but I have some good friends, my blogs and blog readers ... and my writing; it is more than enough to keep me looking on the bright side of life.

Now, most of us find ourselves at a crossroads at least once in our lives, sometimes more often. Decisions to make. Which way to go, and what if...? Being gay is not a choice; we are as we are. The choice lies in whether or not we come out to family and friends, look the world in the eyes as a gay person or choose to remain in the proverbial closet; the latter can be a dark, lonely place as I discovered for myself until I finally got real and 'came out' in my late 30's although it took a nervous breakdown to make me see that it was a case of get real or stay lost.

The poem first appeared  in an anthology, Inspiring Minds, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 1999 and subsequently in my first major collection; the alternative title has been added since..

DOG ROSES or  N-A-T-U-R-E (ALL-INCLUSIVE) LIFE FORCES

Dog roses

at the crossroads, twin journeys begin;

a scent of wild desire

smouldering...

within each savage breast,

despairing rest

Choices to make, promises

to break

Dog roses

filling our senses with glad times past;

catching up the moon,

sun setting fast,

teasing our desire,

fire with fire

Choices delayed, promises

put aside

Dog roses

at the crossroads, twin journeys begin;

a scent of wild desire

smouldering...

within each savage breast,

despairing rest

Children of Spring, born of nature,

deserving better

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001, rev. 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Getting the Better of Fear OR Stranger than Fiction

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

[Update - April 26th 2020: Many of us suffer from depression at the best of times. The coronavirus pandemic means we are living in the worst of times many people will have had to confront in their lifetimes so far; the toll on mental health worldwide is incalculable. Where many of us will admit to being 'stressed out' those same people often prefer to avoid the term, 'mental illness'; they see its some kind of stigma. Whatever, our mental health is every bit as important as our physical health; both are necessary for our general well-being. 

Regular readers will know how much importance I place on positive thinking, the key to mental and physical health, now more than ever as we fight not only the pandemic itself, but our fears for its potential economic and social consequences worldwide. 

Enter, the human spirit, always on hand to lead us away from negative thinking by substituting a natural optimism ... if we let it. Life is tough for everyone at the moment, especially those struggling with the virus itself or who have already lost loved ones and friends to COVID-19, but also the world population in general; everyone fears the unknown and needs must find their own way of rising above that fear.  For me, it is creative therapy, and I recommend it;; this can be the arts, gardening, physical exercise ... anything we can enjoy, that will lift our spirits, offer the human spirit an opportunity to actively engage with us and  help us to help ourselves and encourage others to do the same.

The human condition is no pushover, not least in its capacity for love; let its nemeses throw what it will at us, we will overcome them if we but engage with its spirit full-on. As I've said on the blogs many times, I'm not a religious person, and it's my belief that religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality, but whatever ... if it works for you, GO for it.

..................................................................................

Now, regular readers will know I have suffered regular bouts of depression all my life. Creative writing is the lifeline that empowers me to drag myself out of it. Okay, so some of it that may not satisfy my critics, but it helps to keep me on an even(ish) keel and feedback suggests that it helps some readers to do the same.

Depression is a form of retreat from reality when we try (and inevitably fail miserably) to run away from aspects of life we prefer not to confront head-on for whatever reason; if we end up confronting anything it is our failure to run away which, of course, only exacerbates the depression.

Depressed people need patience, understanding and help. Sadly, all three are often found wanting in modern society. Indeed, I would go so far as to say there is little more of any now than when I had a severe nervous breakdown way back in the late 1970's.

It is important to remember that depression is an invisible illness; you cannot tell simply from looking at a person that he or she is depressed. If someone you know, though, starts behaving uncharacteristically in any way, please give them the benefit of the doubt and be there for them. Depressed people are often in denial (as I was myself all those years ago) so be supportive even where someone may well reject the idea they are in need of any support. 

I suffered from depression even as a child; being an avid reader saved me from the worst of it. I never thought of reading as creative therapy, but of course it was, just as writing would become in later years.  No one considered that children might get depressed in those days, but thankfully, attitudes have changed, and about time too.

Invariably, it takes time and care for mind, body and spirit to get back into sync, but where there's a will, there really is a way ....

GETTING THE BETTER OF FEAR or STRANGER THAN FICTION

I ran like a frightened rabbit,

a once-friendly darkness all but

choking my lungs;

every exit blocked, no escape,

sentenced to death in the pages

of a novel

Panic-stricken now, desperate

to feast my eyes on one glimpse

of freedom;

finally, surrendering to despair,

I paused, all but ready to see how

my story ends

Suddenly, the faintest memory

of some long-ago spring charged

my ailing heart;

calling upon a half buried will,

I somehow managed to chase it

down the last tunnel

In fresh air and warm sunshine

I found the peace that closes eyes

and lets dreams pass

where, oh, but we would follow,

give reality the slip and be a hero

in someone else’s novel

Yet, the story is mine alone to tell,

second chance at living, promising

a kinder ending;

as for those readers burrowing

dusty bookshelves, may they too

re-invent themselves

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

[Note: This poem first appeared on the blog in 2013 under the title, 'Run, Rabbit,Run'.]

Getting a Life

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

Having a good clear-out some time ago, I discovered a forgotten poem among a pile of old notes and scrap paper; it is what was then an unusual departure from my predilection for rhyming verse, and possibly – if subconsciously - why I have returned to blank verse more often in later years.

As regular readers will be aware, writing poetry is as much a form of creative therapy for me as an art form. Today’s poem was written during the latter days of a nervous breakdown I had in 1979, just as I was beginning to see a glimmer of light at the end of what had been a very long, all but pitch black tunnel. By the time I had finished writing it (albeit untitled), the glimmer had become brighter, clearer, and promising better times ahead; a promise that was fulfilled although it would take some time yet.

By the way, some readers might care to take a look at my fiction blog where I have serialised several of my general as well as gay-interest novels:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” - ― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

GETTING A LIFE

I used to so-dread storm clouds,

always ganging up on me

I used to slump as years flew by

wishing, hoping, regretting

I used to let one tear shipwreck 
an all but despairing self

I used to endure a so-heavy rain,

for its displaying empathy

I used to, oh, so fear a red sunset,

for signalling nights alone

I hated dawn for its insensitivity

to an ever growing distress

It took a blind child's bright smile
to change my way of seeing

I saw the moon, it has a kind face
and now let dawn embrace me. 

Storm clouds, precursors to kinder

times ahead (fingers crossed)

Inspired by nature’s kaleidoscopic
backcloth to the world stage

A single teardrop, cue for restoring

a more positive-thinking self

Heavy rain, leaving a misty rainbow,

icon of hope and peace for all

Sunsets, promises of peace of mind

and love, too, but seek to find

Come dawn's first light,a lark's song

welcoming a brave new day

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2018

Leap of Faith OR Peace in our Time

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

Today's entry is from my gay-interest poetry blog archive for October 2016.

Apologies for the length of this post, but it seemed a good idea to publish the poem here at the same time as answering a number of queries regarding my fiction. (Some of my novels will be of special interest to gay readers.)

Since I first learned to read at 4 years-old, I have been an avid reader, especially of fiction; it offered an escape from certain realities of home life, not least an appalling relationship with my father.  At the same time, I have always enjoyed poetry; my mother would often recite dramatic poems like The Highwayman (Alfred Noyes) and The Ancient Mariner (Samuel Taylor Coleridge) at bed-times as well as or instead of reading a story.

My first poem appeared in my secondary school magazine in the summer of 1955 when I was 11 years-old; ever since, I have always thought of myself as something of a poet. At the same time, my passion for reading fiction remained my chief raison d’être throughout my childhood, teenage years and young manhood; as I became aware of being gay in a society where gay sex was a criminal offence, so the greater my need for escapism. [My partial deafness was also a factor in my hunger for fiction, given that I was constantly mishearing and consequently being misunderstood; at times, my reality was kind of hell.]

The more I read, albeit more fiction that non-fiction, the more I felt an affinity with the darker as well as lighter experiences of its various protagonists; I would often identify with the former and take heart from their (eventually) overcoming the worst of times while the latter encouraged me to develop a wry sense of humour which would carry me through many a humiliation down to both my hearing loss and being verbally abused for being gay. 

A teacher at my old secondary school was something of a mentor. I had confided in him about my sexuality as he was one of the few people in my life that I felt I could trust. I also told him about the conflict within me between distancing myself from a Christian upbringing and my feeling closer to nature than I ever did to religion. "Whatever," he said with a wry smile, have faith in yourself, Taber. Learn to trust your better instincts and feelings, and the rest will follow. What doesn't seem right to some people, doesn't make it wrong, just so long as it feels right to you." On the whole, I hated my schooldays, but I had some of the best teachers a very confused teenager could wish to have.

I wrote the poem below while thinking about my first Gay Pride march and writing my first gay novel, Dog Roses. The book was never published except on the blog. No publishers were interested, but that did not matter because by the time I had finished writing the poem, I realised why I needed to write it in the first place; it was as if the poet in me was telling me to stop thinking about exploring human nature through fiction, but get on with it, give it a go. I have no regrets about leaving a permanent job for what would now be called a zero-hours contract so I would have time to do just that. (In those days, there was plenty of work available.) I have enjoyed every minute.

For anyone interested, my gay-crime novel ‘Blasphemy’ has been published on Google Play: 

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Roger_N_Taber_Blasphemy?id=mNlsDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB

- although I have also reinstated it (in two parts) on my fiction blog after many requests to do so, and will not be uploading its sequel, Sacrilege, (see my fiction blog in serial form) to Google Play. For more information about my fiction, see below and:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Someone once described the act of Coming Out as a leap of faith. How true that is. I took that leap  om my first Gay Pride march years ago, and never looked back.  It was was truly a leap of faith; faith in myself and that I was committing to a good life, one of which I had been in denial (to most people) for far too long. On that march I experienced a new sense of completeness and personal freedom that dispelled any lingering doubts as to whether or not being openly gay was right for me. For me, yes, but I can see only too well where others are coming from who may feel it's not the right move for them, especially any gay people living in a gay-unfriendly environment. Even so, there is no feeling quite like shedding the shackles of misinformed formative years...

This poem is a villanelle.

LEAP OF FAITH or PEACE IN OUR TIME

Find G-A-Y coming out for peace with pride

against the language of bigotry

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Wherever so-called ‘betters’ presume to decide

(and judge) on matters of sexuality,

find G-A-Y coming out for peace with pride

Challenging holier-than-thou types sure to side

against love perceived as immorality

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Among voices debating Convention as guide

and role model in a token reality,

find G-A-Y coming out for peace with pride

Questioning laws passed to incriminate, deride

and silence any significant minority

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Defining all humanity wherever cultures collide

in the course of world history,

find G-A-Y speaking up for peace with pride

till the language of hate has no place to hide

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

MY NOVELS

DOG ROSES; a gay man’s rites of passage

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/07/dog-roses-chapter-one.html

(Gay-interest)

BLASPHEMY: a novel [Crime/Gay-interest] - also available as an e-book on Google Play.

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2018/02/blasphemy-novel-by-roger-n-taber.html (Pt 1)

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2018/02/blasphemy-novel-by-roger-n-taber-part-2.html (Pt 2)

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/blasphemy-synopsis.html (Synopsis)

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Roger_N_Taber_Blasphemy?id=mNlsDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB (Complete novel, Google Play)

SACRILEGE

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/sacrilege-chapter-1.html

(Crime/Gay-interest; sequel to Blasphemy, continues the adventures and misadventures of Laurence Fisher)

LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/like-theres-no-tomorrow-synopsis_3445.html

(Crime/Mystery)

CATCHING UP WITH MURDER

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/catching-up-with-murder-novel-synopsis.html

(1st Fred Winter [crime/gay-interest] novel)

PREDISPOSED TO MURDER

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/predisposed-to-murder-synopsis.html

(2nd Fred Winter [crime] novel)

MAMELON (Book One):

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/mamelon-fantasy-novel-synopsis.html

(Fantasy)

MAMELON (Book Two):

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/mamelon-2-chapter-one.html

MAMELON (Glossary of Names and Terms used):

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/mamelon-glossary-of-names-and-terms.html

:

Circumnavigating Homer OR Engaging with James Joyce

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

At University, in the early 1970’s, I studied James Joyce’s Ulysses. The novel left a deep, lasting impression on me, something of which this poem attempts to convey. Make of it (and 'Ulysses') what you will ...

CIRCUMNAVIGATING HOMER or ENGAGING WITH JAMES JOYCE

Charybdis, blood-sucking history;

myth, reaching out to nourish our fictions

at the breast. Eyes of the navigator...

Burning, like twin saints

Whose lips next to pluck a kiss from me?

I will suck the life from them, spew out the taste

of them - and Pallas won’t care,

my brave Ulysses, (save Mr Joyce put in a plea

for the sheer passion of absurdity)

I'll not be cheated of immortality

or heroes to wrestle the world’s straitjacket

while tin gods debate what’s right...

and what's aesthetic…

Copyright R. N. Taber 1972; 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Spinning Yarns

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

As a child, I loved reading myths, legends and fairy stories. As an adult, I began to realise that many are an entertaining metaphor for real life. Even so, not all magic is wishful thinking. Yet, the same imagination that fed on those stories so long ago continues to see me through the same need for escapism some 50+ years on.

The trick, of course, lies in learning to separate fact from fiction, wishful thinking from reality, naked truth from bare-faced lies....

SPINNING YARNS

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was magic in the world,

a time when we all sang songs

of peace and love till a twilight fell

that had us playing hide-and-seek

among ruins of halcyon days confined

to make-believe

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was chivalry in the world,

a time when men opened doors

for ladies without their being accused

of sexism, nor would a lady mind,

but take pleasure in being noticed so,

by way, too, of common courtesy  

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was the stoicism of Penelope

who contrived to remain faithful

to the love of her life without being accused

of pandering to her man,

rather of ingenuity for putting a unique

spin on love

Storytellers would have us believe

that the old gods were jealous of each other,

interfering in the ways of humankind

that played them at their own games and won,

tore down their temples,

created a copycat Olympus

on Capitol Hill 

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was magic in the world,

a time when we all sang songs

of peace and love till a twilight fell

that had us playing hide-and-seek

among ruins of an innocence confined

to childhood

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: While I never made it as a successful novelist, I confess have really enjoyed trying my hand at fiction from time to time; if interested, go to: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html on my fiction blog where most of my novels (published and unpublished) are serialised.]

Real-Life Heroes and Popcorn Soldiers

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

I know I have said this before but it never ceases to amaze me how, when terrible clips of deaths and injuries suffered during the war in Afghanistan are shown on TV News, some people - especially children and young people - instead of being appalled, become excited, as if they were watching a war movie!

Oh, but it’s a sad reflection on our times if we cannot get across to everyone how to discriminate between fact and fiction.

REAL-LIFE HEROES AND POPCORN SOLDIERS

Dust, sand and blood

on his boots;

dust, sand and blood

on his uniform;

blood, sweat and tears

on his face;

blood, sweat and tears

in his eyes;

only a quiet heart kept

clean if not safe;

as for more of the same,

bags of them

No dust, sand or blood

on designer shoes;

no dust, sand or blood

on custom tee shirts;

no blood, sweat or tears

in high places;

no blood, sweat or tears

in eyes glued to TV,

only the armchair soldier

biting popcorn bullets;

as for more of the same,

bags of them

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2010

Lost For Words

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

[Update (Oct 2016): Regular readers will know that writing (fiction as well as poetry, but especially the latter,  began as more of a creative therapy than an art form for me. Having been subject to bouts of depression since childhood, writing (and reading) have provided an escape from the harsher aspects of reality while, at the same time, helping to keep its demons at bay. These days, it also distracts me from mobility problems due to a bad fall in 2014 and living with prostate cancer (since 2011) not to mention the usual problems that growing old is inclined to spring on us at short notice. 

Yes, life could be better and I did not anticipate growing old without a partner (I am 70+ now)  but I have some good friends, my writing, my blogs, you,  my readers, and plenty to keep me looking on the bright side of life...]

Now, readers who have been following my fiction blog keep asking if Dog Roses and/or Like There’s No Tomorrow are available in print form or as e-books; the answer is, no.  I had been hoping to upload both as e-books eventually, but ...

Although my fiction blog has not taken off as well as the poetry blogs, it is very gratifying that they are being read at all - especially by so many of you - as neither literary agents nor publishers showed any interest in my  gay-interest fiction; eventually, I gave up on them but continued to enjoy writing both gay and general novels you will find in the blog. I would not have missed that experience for the world. 

Looking for inspiration? Just take a look around you; in nature and human nature, the world is a writer's oyster.

  

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2011/07/dog-roses-chapter-one.html (A gay rights-of-passage novel)

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2011/10/like-theres-no-tomorrow-synopsis_3445.html (Not a gay novel, but about a woman who hasn’t given up finding out what happened to  her daughter who disappeared some 20+ years ago)

U.K. readers also want to know  why they cannot order Catching Up With Murder, my black comedy-crime novel (with more than a hint of gay interest, but not a gay novel as such) from (most) bookstores; this is because the publishers (Raider International) do not work with the UK Book Suppliers from whom book stores obtain copies.]

For anyone interested, info about my fiction is available at:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Meanwhile...

If you enjoy writing in any genre and despair of having writer’s block, you are not alone. I, for one, know the feeling only too well! All I can say is stay positive and stick at it; published or not, creative therapy (in any form) is the best if not only answer to any flagging mind-body-spirit.

LOST FOR WORDS

Watching clouds,

not a face to be seen,

nor rain sounds

like a tambourine

or falling leaves,

more than hinting at grief

for fair Persephone

gone to ground,

though the wind above

lends an ear too,

no stranger to the cries

for a lost love

to old gods above,

but no one left to hear

except the remains

of a humanity caught

with its pants down

The reality, nothing

any different, everything

much the same

Swan on the lake,

pile of whitest down

(no regal robes

or kingdom’s crown);

lark, a mere bird,

drops in long grass

(no ripples across

a green sea or tinkling

of breaking glass);

cars on the highway,

once Caterpillar

at a fair…undercover,

simile and metaphor,

not a good word even

for a heaven where

gain v loss break even

Well of imagination

misted over like breath

on a mirror

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2010; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared on the blog, but was inadvertently deleted; also in  The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Classic Somerset

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

I remain very positive about my prostate cancer, but can’t deny it gets a little scary sometimes. Right now, writing up the blog, I feel fine. (Yes, I do, really!) I expect to have good days and bad days, but remain determined that the latter shall be kept to a minimum. Physically, I am in good shape and have no pain whatsoever. The battle is more of a mental one; living with the knowledge that the cancer is there inside me. I will take my cue from Monty Python and, yes, look on the bright side of life... Should I falter, a long, leisurely stroll on lovely Hampstead Heath, barely fifteen minutes walk from my front door, invariably restores me to positive-thinking mode.

Meanwhile...

While I am pleased that my new novel seems to be holding its own, I have no illusions about myself as a writer of fiction. I am not a great novelist and never will be, but I’m glad some people think I tell a good story. I certainly can’t compare myself with  writers of the world's classic fiction. All my novels, published and unpublished are available in serial form on my fiction blog. For more details, go to:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Now, one of my favourite novels as a child was Lorna Doone by R. D. Blackmore and it was from was this romantic adventure novel that I developed a love for Somerset. It is some years since I visited Doone Valley, but some friends have recently returned from visiting it while staying with relatives in the surrounding area. I felt inspired to take down the novel from my bookshelf, blow away the dust from its cover and devour it as eagerly as when I was a child.

Some readers may be interested in other poems I have written about Somerset that I also included in my 6th collection On the Battlefields of Love (2010). You will also find them on the BBC Somerset site:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/somerset/hi/people_and_places/arts_and_culture/newsid_8144000/8144465.stm

Oh, but how can I worry about my prostate cancer when spring is here in the UK? There is so much out there to enjoy, not least in beautiful Somerset, and enjoy it I will...

This poem is a villanelle.

CLASSIC SOMERSET

Doone valley, classic fiction

creating timeless images;

one writer-poet’s inspiration

For those with a predilection

for turning nature’s pages;

Doone valley, classic fiction

At Badgworthy Water, listen

out for evil Carver’s rages;

one writer-poet’s inspiration

At Earth Mother’s invitation,

share a Love of Ages;

Doone valley, classic fiction

Celebrating Lorna and John,

(birds sing their praises);

one writer-poet’s inspiration

Cream teas, timely invitations

to revisit R. D’s pages;

Doone valley, classic fiction,
one writer-poet’s inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; slightly rev. 2021

[Note; An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]