Hello again, from London UK

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

Hello again, everyone, from London UK,

Sorry, no poem today, but will try and compose a new one soon. I've has traumatic few days and only just rediscovering a sense of normality.. Last week, I found myself locked out of the computer  by Microsoft. As I have preferred to use Google for many years, I had no recollection of the information I was being asked to input. Several times, my screen told me to "try again tomorrow", but the situation persisted , so I had to take the pc into a local store; I needed to save the data so it was a few days before I was able to collect it, in good working order but operational changes to which I have yet to become accustomed.

Years of hormone therapy for the prostate cancer have played havoc with my thought processes and also left me prone to panic, but lots of herbal tea and doing word puzzles helped keep me on an even(ish) keel. I would have coped much better when I was younger (will be 77 later this year), but I suspect that old age as well as the hormone therapy haven't helped the ole thought processes.😉

I had bought a laptop sometime ago, so managed to get it up and running- with a lot of help from my friend Graham (who created the videos where I read poems on YouTube) but getting used to anything new, takes me awhile these days. Problems with setting it up have now been (hopefully) solved and today I collected my pc from the local store.

This pc, too, has significantly different features with which will take me awhile to become comfortable, but (hopefully) I will be up to the challenges ahead. Again, another friend, Richard, kindly set it up for me as I have forgotten much of what I ever knew about setting up computers!😀

So, I am all set to go again, engage with you all and invite you to to (hopefully) enjoy my poems, both on regular posts and in the blog archives.

Although I have always loved writing up the blog and composing poems, I haven't the words to describe just how much the latter, especially, has helped me through the pandemic. So, a BIG thank you to you all for staying in touch. Sadly, we are not over the pandemic just yet, but let's all hope we are at least over the worst of it and there aren't too many Covid variants out there just waiting to pounce. I am still wearing a face mask in shops, on busy thoroughfares and public transport even tough we are no longer legally obliged to here in England; I may be in a minority, but that has never bothered me...😉 Better safe than sorry, I say...

I hope to be back real soon with a poem, but suspect it may take me longer than a younger version of yours truly, to get used to all the changes associated with finding files and logging on etc. 

Take care care, stay safe and keep well, dear readers, and remember to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, no matter how it may drive you up the proverbial wall... as so often happens to us all from time to time😉 Should you ever feel unable to cope, never hold back from asking friends for help; it shows that mind-body-spirit knows best even when we don't... as I have discovered time and again over many years, and done my nest to reciprocate.

Love 'n' Hugs,

Roger

Hi, folks, from London UK

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

Hi folks,

A reader writes that he cannot get into the blog: "When I click on to a title, I just get HTML. 

I had the same problem when I first logged on to the blog this morning. It appears that Google have made changes. To access the blog on a pc or laptop, clicking on 'view blog' in the left hand corner, should bring up the post-poem in the usual way. Hopefully, this will solve the reader's problem. (At the bottom of the page, you will see ways of accessing the blog on a tablet or smartphone.)

Whatever, readers have to remember that I am in my mid-70's now and have difficulty using Internet technology these days. not least after years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer; it plays merry hell with thought processes and memory to such an extent that I often feel as if my whole identity is gradually being eroded. 

Other readers with prostate cancer - and other health issues that they find increasingly difficult to rise above and get on with their lives - get in touch from time to time, mostly asking how I manage. Well, with difficulty, I have to say, especially as I also have to cope with several other health issues at the same time, as many of us do. I try to take it all in my stride, make the most of each day as it comes along, and hope for a good day. 

How do I cope with bad days? Again with difficulty, but finding ways of distracting myself from whatever part of me is playing up the worst... always helps. In the absence of a garden, writing up the blog, dusting off and watching a favourite DVD or tuning into a the next episode of  favourite TV series... all these things help, but only temporarily.  Seeing friends is the best therapy for lifting flagging spirits, which is, of course, one reason why the pandemic has been so hard to bear; being unable to see family and friends as often as we'd like, sometimes not at all.. 

Tragically, some of those closest to us have died during the  pandemic, so how do we cope? Yes, with great difficulty. It is hard enough on families who have lost loved-ones without being able to say goodbye, but no less tough, either, on those who live alone as I do. Fortunately, I remain in touch with my best friend and 'bubble partner' by phone and email, and we get to meet up from time to time. Some people, though, feel very isolated and lonely, especially some old people who are not Internet savvy and perhaps cannot hear well on the phone. Sadly, not all neighbours are good neighbours and some people find it increasingly hard to cope.

So let's all try and be good neighbours, yeah? And keep an eye on - better still befriend - any neighbours we suspect of struggling to get by on a daily basis, at any age, for whatever reason, especially in the big cities and certain suburbs, well-known to be less friendly or neighbourly than more rural areas.  (So we risk getting  the brush-off, so what?  That's their problem. At least we tried...)

My stomach is now telling me it's high time I got myself something to eat, and I never give my stomach the brush-off... 😉

Take care everyone and be sure to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life.

Back with a poem soon,

(Digital) Hugs,

Roger

Helping Hands at Cliff Edges

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

Regular readers will know that I am having a hard time dealing with various health issues at the moment. No matter how aware and /or reminded we may be that there are many people out there a lot worse off than ourselves, it is small comfort in the circumstances and does little or nothing to ease our own distress. Selfish? Probably, yes, but I suspect it is human nature to see little further than our own problems from time to time.

I have often said that various forms of creative therapy can save us from going into free fall; the arts have a central role here, but so, too, do crafts, gardening etc. For me, of course, it has to be poetry, and – for better or worse (for the reader, that is) – I practise what a preach. 

We all know, and it goes without saying (doesn't it?) that, in the absence of Apollo, and as someone’s family member, friend or neighbour we all have a supporting role to play from time to time in their lives … well, don’t we?

HELPING HANDS AT CLIFF EDGES

Hanging on,

wanting, needing to let go

but for old habits

kicking in where life instinct

ever made itself heard

even to deaf ears, mind-body-spirit

older than its years,

risen above its tears for fears

of living nightmares,

fingertips clinging to cliff edges

above an indifferent sea

Hanging on,

wanting, needing to let go

but for happy times

in the company of loved ones

haunting me;

cinema of mind-body-spirit providing

private viewing

intended to kill tears for fears

of living nightmares,

lend fingertips at this cliff edge

a helping hand

Hanging on,

wanting, needing to let go

though an old stand-by

making its presence felt yet again,

climbing up my spine;

no nasty creepy crawly thing, this,

but bent on killing off

tears for fears of living nightmares

with positive thoughts,

lend fingertips at any cliff edge

a helping hand 

Hanging on,

wind turning southerly now,

as if anxious to prove

a kindness exists beyond any stormy gusts

as buffeted me here,

reminding me that hope springs eternal

and love never dies

in a mind-body-spirit up for more

than alien sentiments

bent on sending it to The Edge

ever bargain for

Safe, if shaken,

but still on dry land for taking

Apollo’s helping hand,

up for a marriage of mind-body-spirit

with a past-present-future

acknowledging errors, working on any flaws

of (human) nature,

taking heart in playing its part

(however small)

in keeping a kinder perspective,

resist free fall

Copyright R.N. Taber, 2020

A Positive Take on Adversity or L-I-F-E. No Waiting Game

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

I have read poems at voluntary self-help groups from time to time. Many of the people who attend are on welfare and/or have mental health problems and/ or alcohol or drug related problems. These are fine people, trying to help themselves and each other with precious little help or encouragement from outside the group. It is inspiring to see them pulling together in adversity and learning to take responsibility for themselves and each other; a lesson the less enlightened among us would do well to learn instead of preferring to pass judgement on others.

Help, encouragement, reassurance...these ARE all out there, but rarely will they simply knock on our door; we need to knock on theirs and find the words to ASK. I well recall how my mother once told me that life is no waiting game, how we have to get out there and live it, and that means meeting each other at least halfway.

 A POSITIVE TAKE ON ADVERSITY or L-I-F-E, NO WAITING GAME

Coming together, supporting each other,

toes in the Sea of Life, getting a feel for the swim

rather than drown

Making an effort to come down to a shore

where seaweed and shells on shifting sands spread

rather than stay in bed

A part of a life tide’s natural ebb and flow

yet frightened of its fickle nature, all highs and lows

but a Hall of Mirrors

Alone, it is hard to bear the happy sounds

of children laughing, applause for ice cream chimes,

hints at kinder times

In good company, easier by far to break free

of shadows stalking us, driving us to seek sanctuary

in cages of our history

Together, let’s imagine wings, flex and fly,

take heart from songbirds rejoicing seashore and sky,

no matter where or why

As rough or fair as any sea passage may be,

let us look to fellow voyagers, let a creative empathy

reconstruct our history

Coming together, supporting each other,

getting a feel for wings rising above, learning how

to trust in Nature’s love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared  under the title 'A Feeling for Seagulls' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Getting Under the Skin

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

We all need something or someone at some time in our lives, but asking for help is not always easy; sometimes, pride gets in the way or we may well be at such a low ebb that we cannot get the words out.

There is no shame in asking for help; the first step is acknowledging to ourselves that we need it while the next (sometimes the hardest) is finding someone we know well and can trust to listen without judging us or simply telling us what they would do in our situation. I, for on, always avoid giving advice but will always offer various options and alternatives tailored to my knowledge of the person. Where the listener can offer practical help that is always, of course, as good a place to start as any.

Failing at the second step is invariably down to the inability of many if not most people to use their knowledge of a person to be able to offer constructive advice. We are individuals, all different; telling someone what we would do in their situation is rarely much help.

The listener is the greater source of inspiration because any advice forthcoming will be based on what he or she has heard; heard us out, encouraging us now and then by all means, but not interrupting or prompting along lines we think the other person is trying to say,

Need is not always obvious; too often, it is left to fester simply because there are none so deaf as will not hear. Where the listeners of this world are a rare breed, the friend who listens is a friend indeed.

This poem is a kenning.

GETTING UNDER THE SKIN 

I haunt the human spirit

as an alley cat might its territory,

fight off every challenge

until grown weary with battles,

ready to admit defeat,

yet without (quite) conceding

surrender of the kind

that sheds dignity like a second skin

for caving in to despair

I worry the human mind

as a dog might a flock of sheep

that knows no better,

simply goes with basic instinct,

chancing life and limb

to the farmer that will shoot

on sight, worth the risk,

beats gnawing away at an old bone

just because it’s there

I taunt the human heart

where expectation often misled

by parental satisfaction,

peer-led competition, egged on

by target-centred education…

chalices passed from generation

to generation, mistakes

coursing its veins like a slow poison

too often left untreated

Call me poor, inarticulate Need;

on life’s leftovers, I feed …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Friends

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

Today’s poem - another villanelle - was first written in 2002 and published in an anthology the following year before I included it in my collection.

Why do I make revisions at all?  During the process of preparing my collection for publication to Google Play in e-format, I find myself dissatisfied with some poems for reasons not always obvious, even to me; most, it has to do with how a poems ‘flows’ – or doesn’t, as the case may be.

Given that I’ve never really got along with most members of either my immediate or extended family, good friends have always been especially important to me. (Yes, even those of the ‘fair weather’ variety.) As I grow old (71 now and live alone) I am, oh, so thankful to and for good friends. and value our friendship even more.  

FRIENDS

Come some dark, lonely night

or saddest sunny day,

find friends, making it all right

At one with moon and starlight

kept at bay,

come some dark, lonely, night

Wherever a so-weepy half-light

gone charcoal grey,

find friends, making it all right

Find home fires burning bright

(shaping our clay)

come some dark, lonely night

Losing out (again) taking fright

of facing another day;

find friends, making it all right

Oh, but no kinder end or respite

from worldly rites of way;
come some darkest, longest night,

find friends, making it all right

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title 'Among Friends, Music to the Ears' in an anthology, Where the Words take You, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in The Third Eye (2004) by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Never let a Wrinkle have the Last Word

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

I was 70 on the last winter solstice, and more than one person has expressed well-meaning sympathy for my growing old. Well, I am happy enough...most of the time.

Yes, I get aches and pains in unexpected and often inconvenient places and, yes, my treatment for prostate cancer doesn’t exactly agree with me. Even so, whenever I start feeling sorry for myself, and lamenting my lost youth, I recall a lovely old lady in her 90s whom I used to visit when I was on the staff of a local Home Library Service. She was housebound, and suffered with severe arthritis, but had a smile for everyone. I asked her once how she coped with not being able to get out and about. "Oh, but I do," she said without hesitation. "I read, watch videos and TV, listen to the radio...and let my imagination take me places you cannot imagine. Yes, I miss walking, of course I do, and neither my eyesight or hearing are are too good these days, but imagination...well, that lasts forever just so long as we give it its head and don't let real life have its wicked way with us..."

Life is what we make it at any age.  We all want different things from life, and it is down to each and every one of us to get the most out of the time we have, on the best terms available to us, instead of constantly brooding on the worst.

Did I say it was easy?

NEVER LET A WRINKLE HAVE THE LAST WORD

Growing old can be scary,

but there’s not much we can do

about it…?

So shall we take the dog

for walkies, put the world to rights

with next door’s cat, indulge

in some chat TV, watch a DVD

and leave it at that?

Ah, but there’s more

to life than our practising

the art of killing time

even if time is no friend

(or real enemy either)

Oh, and I haven’t heard

from so-and-so for ages so time

to get in touch and find out

when we can meet up, catch up,

(maybe even make up?)

The grapevine has it

a new class is starting up;

Now, was it art, crafts

or yoga? No matter, time enough

to find out more

I’ve always wanted

to do things folks said I couldn’t,

see places they said

I really shouldn’t ‘at my age’

(Yes, even then...)

Although time does us

no favours (or is it vice-versa?)

we can put records straight,

marginalise wishful thinking

and regret

Time to wake up, get up,

make up for missed opportunities,

(at least in part) though aches,

pains, and all sorts may have lots

to say about that

Time to call on an old pal

(Will Power) to haul him out

of his comfy armchair

and make damn sure he’ll start

pulling his weight

If growing old can be scary,

there’s no end to what we can do

about it…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2016

S-E-L-F, Opening Up (After Closing Down)

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

As regular readers know only too well, I have suffered with depression all my life and still take 25mg of a (fairly) mild anti-depressant. Prozac helped me through a very bad time once, but (like another strong anti-depressant I tried) left me feeling exhausted all the time so I switched to the (far milder) one I take now.

It is important to find an anti-depressant that suits you and always read the information leaflet for possible side-effects. Even so, never rely on anti-depressants to see you through. A positive attitude and any form of creative therapy you enjoy remain a must-have and must-do. (Creative therapy can be anything from gardening, walking, writing, pottery... anything in which success is measured by the enjoyment achieved by simply doing it, not results.) Creative therapy is no quick fix and requires a huge effort if always an effort worth making. Always easier said than done, never try and do it all on your own. 

I suffered from depression even as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. For years, I would be prescribed antidepressants until I started to feel better, and then come off them. This, I now realize was a mistake. I was scared of becoming dependent on them so it was music to my ears when a GP suggested that patients prone to depression should stay on an appropriate antidepressant and dosage all the time. I suspect my life would have taken a hugely significant turn for the better had I been given this advice a long, long, time ago. 

A friend who suffers from depression has paid a lot to visit counsellors but they don’t help everyone and it all depends who you see and how good (or bad) they are. I think it is important to get feedback from a counsellor; too many just sit back and let you talk, which is not a bad thing, but I personally would need positive feedback to feel it was worth parting with my money.

My friend says she hasn’t the self-confidence to do anything new whether it's meeting new people, studying a subject in which she is genuinely interested etc. She says she 'cannot' do anything new until she gets her self-confidence back. I sympathize, but take the opposite view. I believe we only get our self-confidence back by doing things, setting ourselves realistic targets etc. These need not be too ambitious to start with, and if they don’t work out quite as we hoped we should not see it as a failure but give ourselves a pat on the back for giving it a go…and try something else.

Many people think I am a strong person because (most of the time) I manage to beat depression. Believe me, though, when I say I am not strong. It is (very) heavy going. I make the effort because the alternative is even worse to contemplate. 

True, it isn’t always easy to find someone to listen; certain family members and friends won’t recognize the danger signs and will fail to appreciate a depressed person’s depths of personal crisis, handing out well-meaning platitudes like a plate of biscuits to make matters (much) worse. Even so, never give up; there is invariably someone who can help if we let them and are honest with them about how we feel. Talking to a pet can help, too, if only because the worst seems so much less bad once we give it a voice.

There is no shame in feeling less able to cope. Putting on a brave face is never a good idea. (No one can read minds.) For example, if  I had only opened up to someone - a teacher or counsellor perhaps - about my sexuality (among other things) much earlier, I may well have been spared years of anguish, culminating in a bad nervous breakdown and suicide attempt in my early 30's.

S-E-L-F, OPENING UP (AFTER CLOSING DOWN) 

Envelopes unopened;

scared to look, acknowledge even;

feelings like flowers left

at a grave if only to give the dead

a raison d’être

Profiles of the Great

interrogating me wherever I go

about my response to the cost

of living, voices chanting dark spells

at every checkout

Fear, clammy hands

on matchstick arms, humanity

strutting its hour on stage

(art of least resistance) chalking up

mock victories

Words, like mandarins

in white coats supervising a trainee

working from a manual

on staying bottom of the class without

really trying 

Envelopes, daring me…

Fingertips fumbling with terror

(Can I really do this?)

No stigma in old wounds ruling out

perfection

N-O-W, opening up...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – under the title ‘Prozac Nation’ - appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Ghost Story, a Cautionary Tale

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

Regular readers will be aware that my interest in ghosts and a posthumous consciousness contribute to other themes in many of my poems, especially later ones. 

Now, I have seen people put in hours (and years) of unpaid overtime in various occupations for precious little thanks.  The cost to the worker in terms of family and social life, not to mention his or her health, is immeasurable. 

It may well be a sweeping statement (a general truism all the same) but the more a worker does, the more management is likely to let him or her do until such a time as it no longer suits management, for one reason or another.

We all try to be conscientious at work, but there is such a thing as overkill…

Time is never on our side  so it is down to each and every one of us to get our priorities right; work will always be high on the list, yes, but making time for ourselves, family and friends should be our number one priority since for them, too, time is not on their side and we never know for how long we may have them in our lives. I often hear people say, 'When I retired I will...' but by then it may well be too late. Besides, not everyone makes it to retirement...

Time is, at the very least as unpredictable as it is fickle. As for any work ethos, we need to take it seriously, of course, while at the same time making sure it does not prevent us getting a (real) life.

GHOST STORY, a CAUTIONARY TALE

Over a period of years,

I could never help but notice

the slim, shadowy man

always waiting at my bus stop

never caught one

None of my business

of course, but eventually I asked

(pretending to care)

just what on earth he thought

he was doing there

He flung me a sad grin,

‘Well, no need to catch a bus,

been dead a good while...’

‘You're a ghost?’ I even managed

a wry smile

His laughter was kindly

(no cause for fear) ‘I love meeting

buses, watching faces

heading home, see lights coming on

in their eyes…’

‘I read between every line,

(the love, the strain) observe them

glance at their watches,

cursing time for its never taking

prisoners…’

‘It's all there - behind

the eyes, polite smile, creased brow;

hope, love, fears,

laughter, doubt, like a shopping bag

of groceries…’

‘It's the lonely ones

who really get to me, chasing a trail

that never ends;

so many good people, too busy even

for family and friends."

‘Rich or poor, famous

or an anonymous face in the street,

needs must…

family and friends first, the work ethic

a worthy second best…’

I asked him to read my face

with some misgiving. He chuckled.

‘No need. Who has time

for a ghost has a lot to make up for

to the living.’

I'd been working late again,

and after chatting with the ghost

I wondered all the way home

which one of us was truly dead or alive

the most

Years on, same bus stop,

(been partying, and had a skinful)

my love and I saw someone  

talking to the wall, and passionately

wished them well

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2014

 early version of this poem appears in 1st eds. Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books,2001.]

Stoic Spirit, Vulnerable Heart

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It is so true what they say about discovering who your real friends are when the going gets tough. Since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February 2011, several people I thought were good friends have rarely if at all even been in touch by phone or email. I am not upset if a little hurt, but mostly a feel a sense of déjà vu, having been here before. Even so, I am fortunate enough to have friends who are very supportive and more than compensate for those that choose to look the other way.

Of course, other people have their own lives to lead, may well have problems of their own they have no wish to share or are simply too busy to put friends first. But real friendship deserves better, surely? Otherwise, it is an illusion. Sadly, too many people see friendship as a one-way street; they take what they can get from it, and give precious little if anything back.

True, we don’t give to receive, but when we put ourselves out for people, show a genuine interest in their lives and try to give support whenever they ask for it, don’t we deserve better than a metaphorical slap in the face?

Few of us set out to deliberately hurt others. It’s just a sad fact of human nature that some people are so blinkered to any if not all home truths.  It can take many years before we call it a day with he or she who has played a significant part in our lives only to let us down time and again. It is never an easy decision, and one many of us are just as likely to retract should he or she ever need us again.

This poem is a kenning.

STOIC SPIRIT, VULNERABLE HEART

I run the gauntlet

of love, life, fun and tears,

trying to make the best

of things rather than complain

about the worst years,

struggling to rise above

the pain human beings

inflict upon each other time

and again

I turn to nature

for comfort and brief respite

from a daily torture

humanity asks me to endure

with all the dignity

and stoicism of someone

always expected to put

other people’s needs before

their own

I lie awake at night

wondering who or what

is wrong or right

amongst all that’s been said

and done in the course

of whatever merry chase

mischievous Apollo

and outcast Cassiopeia care

to lead us on

I am that sense of loss and hurt,

trailing where friendships abort

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Stop the World, I Want to Get (Back) On + Agenda for a Crisis (2 poems)

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

Regular readers will know that I have suffered bouts of depression since early childhood.

As the first poem is not as positive a take on depression as that to which I usually aspire, I am also posting a second poem which I try to say out loud (usually several times) whenever I feel unable to cope with whatever it may be life has chosen to throw at me, invariably when I am  particularly vulnerable.  Agenda for a Crisis may not be a great poem, but it has helped on more than one occasion to prevent me panicking and (in no time) spiraling downwards into an abyss; no easy task, but we have to try if only because trying is halfway to getting there and winning the battle against depression.

One of the worst aspects of depression is the feeling of isolation; that no one really cares or understands. Friends and loved ones do care, of course even if some have  no idea how to help; those understand that we need someone to talk to and listen will provide a support network, but only if we let them. It is probably true that most people cannot can even begin to understand depression unless they have suffered it themselves or been close to a depressed person; it is no one’s fault, neither theirs nor ours, but it isn’t easy to see that, and only too easy to play the blame game.

Most if not all of us have known times when everything around and within us seems to be falling apart. We can but try so hard to focus on the tiniest flicker of light at the end of whatever long, dark tunnel we find ourselves in, pressing on towards it until it is revealed as sun by day or moon by night and we start to feel like we're back in the real world again, Earth Mother there to welcome, watch over and reassure us we are still the same person, possibly even a better one, but certainly no worse for having been 'away' for a while.

Both poems are villanelles.

STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO GET (BACK) ON

World of meaning falling apart;

time, a lonely vacuum;

mind out of step with the heart

Voices, calling to make a start,

but no faith in them;

world of meaning falling apart

Faces, a collage of satirical art

challenging daily continuum;

mind out of step with the heart

Hands, signing to horse and cart

that can’t find its rhythm;

world of meaning falling apart

Each pitying look, a poison dart

contaminating the system;

mind out of step with the heart

Life, a line on a statistics chart;

offers of help a distant hum;

world of meaning falling apart,

mind out of step with the heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

AGENDA FOR A CRISIS 

For every hurt, a soothing balm

though time have its way;

think calm, be calm, stay calm.

Keep the mind safe from harm

where fear holds sway;

for every hurt, a soothing balm

Cue for panic, raised the alarm?

Though pain will have its say.

think calm, be calm, stay calm.

Never fall for self-pity’s charm

or keep those who care at bay;

for every hurt, a soothing balm

Take the hand on a friend's arm,

(peace of mind on its way)

think calm, be calm, stay calm

Bury regret, its remains embalm,

look to kinder ends, not away;

for every hurt, a soothing balm;

think calm. be calm, stay calm

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

  

Engaging with Mr Hyde

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

Most if not all of us have a dark side, possibly never more memorably illustrated than by Robert Louis Stevenson in his famous novel The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

What do we see when we look in a mirror? Sometimes, reflecting on how we look exposes much of how we are feeling but cannot articulate at the time; an indefinable anxiety about giving much if anything away.

In my experience, we need to give more away, feel less inhibited about confiding worries, fears, even a sense of split personality that can only fuel both.

On the whole, we all do a good job of camouflage. But is that a good thing? I suspect people would be less likely to crack under the strain of whatever it was causes them to do terrible things if they had felt able to talk to someone who might have been able to help them reach a clearer, less awful perspective on friends, family, colleagues, and life in general.

Having experienced a severe nervous breakdown some 30+ years ago, I remain haunted by how much worse it so easily could have been if I hadn’t received the help and support I needed. This, I should add, was more by accident then design.

Looking back, I can see how feelings of distress fuelled by an emotionally damaged childhood and early manhood erupted as they did. I am only surprised this didn’t occur years earlier. Possibly, compensating very well (too well) for a significant hearing loss and having to conceal the fact that I am gay for many years (when gay relationships were a criminal offence) made me such an expert in the art of hiding my feelings that I could not even make them out myself. Certainly, I could not articulate on them and needed help in flushing them out before I could even begin to come to terms with how I really felt or who I really am.

Traumatic and distressing though my breakdown was, I was one of the lucky ones. 30+ years on, I still suffer bouts of depression from time to time, but these are nothing compared to what happened to me then. Tragically, mental health is still something of a taboo subject which is probably why most people’s conception of mental health issues continues to be naïve if not downright ignorant; more often than not, it is a distorted one. Only those of us who have experienced it and the relatively few people who have supported us on that ghastly roller-coaster ride, have any idea of the damage it does to the human psyche.

So if someone you know starts behaving strangely and out of character, please don’t give up on them. Try to help and support them. (Professional help and support is not always either forthcoming or constructive.) It isn’t always easy being a friend, but friendship means taking the rough with the smooth. Sadly, some people are only interested in the latter; they cannot or will not contend with the other.

This poem is a villanelle.

ENGAGING WITH MR HYDE

Find beasties in mirrors weeping

for those looking fear in the eye,

never truly awake or ever sleeping

Silent as dawn’s stealth creeping

over bedcovers where we lie,

find beasties in mirrors weeping

Werewolves in sheep’s clothing

(human nature knows us by)

never truly awake or ever sleeping

Consorting with gargoyles sweeping

up mistakes and lies we’ll deny,

find beasties in mirrors weeping

Through a lace curtain of empathy,

home truths from which we shy,

never truly awake or ever sleeping

Alter ego, a chameleon peeping

through a roaming glass eye;

find beasties in mirrors weeping,

never truly awake or ever sleeping

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Winter, life forces in the Snow

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

For some people, winter is a time for looking back at kinder, happier, better, days, especially those who may find themselves alone at times like Christmas and other festive and/or religious occasions meant to be a time of coming together in a spirit of love and peace. Yet love-and-peace is neither seasonal nor an excuse for making out all is well with the world when it's not, but an all year round perennial, no excuses; we have but to believe in it and be prepared to play our part - big or small - to make it happen

(Photo taken from the Internet)

(Photo taken from the Internet)

The trick, so I'm told by wiser folks than me, is to draw on that same feeling for love-and-peace that once inspired us, and let it inspire us into renewal;  just as spring always follows winter so, too, that springtime of the heart if we but choose to let it go there. Sometimes, we don't need to colour things simply because - if we want it to be - the truth is plain to see in glorious black and white; colour it by all means, but we need to let our better senses do that for us.

WINTER, LIFE FORCES IN THE SNOW

Earth and sky coloured ominous

one midnight in midwinter

when I looked out of my window

to see a heavy snow falling,

thought I heard an owl calling me

(No, mistaken, surely ...?)

Then I saw it, silvery bird gliding

phantom-like, summoning
images of a lace tablecloth gracing

our table, oh, so many years ago,

when love-and-peace would spread
its wings and voice its pain

No family now, only a scattering

of memories like winter snow

piling on a branch by my window,

heaped higher even than regrets

these eyes glaring back at me deny

(or could it be they lie?)

Gone, the owl now, weary wings

but wistful, fleeting, moments

like characters in a classic movie
colouring themselves shades
of some broken rainbow colouring
decades of wishful thinking

The wind is up. A blizzard throws

an angry net over glaring traffic

on the night shift, testing the weary

and fainthearted, suggesting

an omnipresence if only to make up
for any human shortfall

Will nature stand by and let owl die

or lend it such sanctuary as found

under a cosy duvet inviting us to close

the eyes, bury the face, leave owl

winging winter's worst, not our fault
if that's just the way it is?

The heart, it yearns for the colours
of spring to bring it back to life,
recover perspectives long since flown,
comfort where there is but pain
for the way life was before its landscape
changed so ... or was it me, us?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Shot in Black and White'  Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Leasehold OR Reunion with Ghosts

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

This poem appeared on the blog in 2007 following my return to Gillingham (Kent) - where I was born lived until I was 14 years-old - for the first time in over 30 years.

I returned again yesterday. It was strange, visiting favourite childhood haunts, like stepping into a time warp. It was curiously moving and even more curiously exciting as I moved among the ghosts of my distant past. That first time, I’d met up with the mothers of two childhood friends, ladies in their 80’s and 90’s respectively now. I also visited Martin, school captain from my days at Gillingham Technical School in Green Street. I visited Martin again yesterday and have dedicated this poem to him in the collection. The old school building is still there, looks much the same as it did all those years ago and is now a College of Adult Education.

I am not a person who finds it easy to let go of the past and mine is full of (very) mixed blessings. Going back has made it so much easier to let go of the bad memories and continue to enjoy the good ones. There is, after all, an abiding kindness of most ghosts.

LEASEHOLD or REUNION WITH GHOSTS

Once, I returned to the place I was born;
its ghosts gathered to meet me
as I alighted (anxiously) from the train,
unsure how they might treat me

A kinder welcome than I had expected
restored a flagging self-esteem;
I could only wonder if they suspected
it was my intention to release them

As I wandered streets I’d loved so well,
ghosts leading me by the hand,
I relived every shape, sound and smell
of a child’s once magical land

For the old school, new tenants found,
cajoling me to name names
as we entered its sometime playground
to walk, talk, play games

To the house where life first took me
into its care for good or bad,
I fell a willing victim to memory,
innocence briefly recovered

From my ghostly companions, applause
welcoming me as one of their own,
till above the clamour I heard a voice
reminding me why I had come

In spite of my ghosts gravely chiding me
(for fear of reality’s blast?)
I put aside daydreams for a living history
that must (surely?) put them to rest

It took the mothers of childhood friends
to put our history in its place,
turn the pages of a story that never ends
but moves on, ever gathering pace

Reminiscing with my old school captain,
I heard twilight’s sweeter lay
as its ghosts began to grasp a situation
that would (at last) let them slip away

The fast train home told yet another story,
about feelings of love and peace
rediscovered and leasing a new maturity
from a child’s vision of happiness

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