Laughter, the Best Medicine

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

Hi folks! 

Sorry, nothing new on my You Tube channel lately, but Graham (who shoots the videos) and I have plans... that is to say, we did have until the COVID-19 virus struck just about everywhere.

Meanwhile, I was SO pleased to hear from a reader who emailed to say she loves browsing the channel whenever she is feeling fed-up as it always cheers her up. Thanks, Monica, positive feedback always welcome:

http://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber

Now, just in case you think I am getting too serious in my old age…

Since my mid-late 60’s, I seem to be having more than my fair share of senior moments. I can’t help wondering…what lies ahead now I will be 75 this year?

Oh, but life is too short to let such things get you down. Besides, sharing senior moments has to be more fun than discussing the weather…well, hasn’t it? As my mother used to say, if you can't laugh at yourself, you really need to get a life. 

Humour, I have always believed, is that ultimate free spirit that invites us all to enjoy precious moments in time away from those aspects of life seemingly conspiring to hurt us. Sometime, when life gets us down and it seems, at our nadir, that no one gives a damn something happens to make us laugh; it mat be a memory, someone cracking a good joke on the radio or TV,but whatever its is, the sound of our laughing aloud is invariably music to a lonely person's ears. The years drop away. Being able to laugh, moreover, reminds us that we are alive and, yes, where there's life there really is hope. 

Been there, got the tee shirt ...

LAUGHTER, THE BEST MEDICINE

This little poem of mine
may well be missing the occasional line;
since senior moments with me
are as common as sugar or milk in a cup
of tea or coffee

Whenever out and about,
I rely on my trusty walking stick’s support,
but will often raise the alarm
when I put it aside and it chooses to hide
(usually on my arm)

An easy to follow recipe
(meant to impress old friends visiting me)
might well prove a mistake
when I get proportions sufficiently wrong
to make us all feel sick

I have hurried for buses
only to find I’m soon counting my losses
for its heading (miles) away
from whatever destination I’d had in mind
or forgetting that anyway

A positive thinking person,
I refuse to let senior moments get me down,
but love to laugh at them
among friends over a few drinks in the pub,
ever toasting, ‘Carpe Diem’

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Mind-Body-Spirit, Up for a Challenge

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

We may build bridges, burn bridges, even jump off them, but there is usually one bridge we all spend a lifetime crossing...just to get to the other side. 

Mind-Body-Spirit is always up for a challenge, so ... let's go for it, yes? YES.  

Win or lose, succeed or fail ... better to try than spend a lifetime kicking ourselves for not at least making the attempt, surely? Oh, and yes, I have tried and failed at this and that ... many times, but out of failure can come a new, even winning resolve to try an alternative option ... sure to present itself ... if we let it, and refuse to be put down by all and sundry for failing n the first place.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, UP FOR A CHALLENGE

There is a bridge between clouds

where we pause,

to argue out a reason for living

other than dying

where the spirit unfulfilled,

the heart strayed

across certain boundaries society

has imposed (conventions)

so much the better to disguise

its worst intentions

There is a bridge between clouds

where we pause

to ask why the world we know

has let us down … or did we

let ourselves and each other down

in the end

for never ceasing to demand more

than our fair share

of whatever peace and love

to be found there?

There is a bridge between clouds

where we’ll wait

our turn to cross … or be left

wishing deeds undone,

words unsaid, lies left creeping

under the tongue,

never to see the cold light of a day

when we must answer

to all its invidious shadows

may have heard us say

We can but cross, we children of Earth,

rise to the challenge of life over death

Copyright R. N. Taber 1984; 2010

The Stalker

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

[Update March 16th 2020]: By now, the COVID-19 has become a pandemic; older people and those with underlying health problems already are most at risk from this particular form of coronavirus. So let's all do our best - wherever we are in the world, whatever our socio-cultural-religious background - to put any differences aside, be good friends and neighbours, watch out for each other over the next few months. Rarely has human nature been challenged to play a more positive role in enabling mind-body-spirit to pull together and prove itself integral to a common humanity. Well, fingers crossed.] RT

Some people are made to feel - knowingly or unknowingly - that they never quite 'fit in' ... with family, peers, schoolmates, workmates...whatever; when life deals us a particularly crushing blow -at any time, anywhere, and at any age - we look for someone to turn to, and there is no one.

Whatever the crushing blow, it can defeat a person altogether when it seems there is no one to whom they can turn; it is the worst feeling in the world. There is always someone, of course, and some people train as counsellors just to try to bridge such gaping holes in a lonely person's life; the loneliness all the harder to bear because they thought they were part of a social network that would always provide a safety net; to discover it was all an illusion, and believing no one really gives a damn, is had nut for the person at the centre of it all to crack.

The human spirit, though, is a tough cookie, and there is always an alternative to despair, but we need to feel sufficiently motivated to seek it out, and act on what we find, no matter how great the temptation to turn tail and tun for fear of finding ourselves in much the same situation again. There are good people out there, among family, peers, schoolmates, workmates...whatever; they are not mind readers; confronting home truths may be half the battle, but it is not until we learn to share them that we stand a fighting chance of winning through.

Whatever may have encouraged us to feel comfortably deluded about our life before it took us into crisis mode, we need to at least reassess if not put aside altogether and start over; nor is it ever too late for that, whoever and wherever we may be.  Our world, as we thought we knew it, may have fallen apart, failed to live up to its own propaganda, doctrine, or whatever else fake news or hidden agendas we may have stumbled blindly upon...but it can be replaced with something better so long as we learn to trust good people to help us make better choices,  and start believing in ourselves again, and understanding that we are not alone since most if not all of us spend the greater part of our lives on a learning curve.

There is no shame in asking for help. Moreover, there are people out there willing to let live, let learn, and let us in on the process. How to find them? Incredible as it may seem, sometimes all we need to do is follow our noses and trust out better instincts. How do I know? Because it worked for me years ago...and continues to do so. Yes, I get lonely sometimes, but having experienced the worst loneliness can do, I am enough of a 'people person' in my 70's to see it as a relatively minor blip in the way of things, not an end in itself.

THE STALKER

I may well creep up on you,

unaware of me till all but too late,

and then let battle

commence, or not as the case

may well be.

if he or she not of a mind

(for whatever reason)

to confront a common human need,

and go into restart mode

I peer over your shoulder

at all you do for seeing it as bravery

to evade the enemy

although there’s no avoiding me

(as you know full well)

but you are fast losing sight

of calendar days

in a world dead set on getting its kicks

by playing nasty tricks

Oh, my mistake, no easy prey,

(even a mind-body-spirit in free fall)

forgetful of a humanity

looking out for its own; family,

friends, neighbours,

passers-by in the street concerned

for the frightened air  

of one become sensitive to my stalking,

if no less fearful of escaping

Call me Loneliness, that customised hell
its human heart knows only too well

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

A Life in the Day of a Couch Potato

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

A reader, Helen, has kindly written in to say she and her family enjoy my poetry and she thinks my blogs I deserve more followers. Well, thanks a lot, Helen, encouragement is always welcome. Poetry, though, is not everyone’s cup of tea and I am just happy that the blogs are still going strong after six years via my Google Plus site that links to new and historical posts/poems. I have set the statistics so Google does not count my own views; this gives me a clearer picture of readership. 

Now, today’s little poem was written way back in 1979. Sadly, it strikes me as being even more relevant now than it was then. A neighbour had been complaining to me about retirement, saying how he missed ‘the buzz of real life’ because all there was for the likes of retired people was a second hand existence by courtesy of television and cinema. I suggested keeping up with friends, getting out and about and doing things, going places…pleasures for which we often have little or no time when working full-time and/or bringing up a family…? (Mind you, we need to make time.) He simply shrugged and went indoors to watch an afternoon soap opera.

No, I’m not knocking TV, or the fact that we live in a Digital Age, but now I am retired myself, I enjoy keeping up with friends, getting out and about and doing things, going places…the simple pleasures for which it was often hard making time for when working.

Following a bad fall in summer 2014, I was housebound for months and spent a good year or so learning to walk again. I live alone so TV was a great comfort and companionship (of sorts) in between writing up the blogs, three sessions of (ten) physiotherapy exercises a day and chatting to friends who were kind enough to drop by and help out on a regular basis all the while I could barely walk. I missed getting out and about and do so now as much as I can; even though walking is still quite painful, I have a sturdy oak walking stick, and it is always worth making the effort.

So when I talk to young people rushing home to spend hours on social media, I can’t help feeling they are missing out…

No, I am not knocking on-line social networking, but there can be no substitute for real-life, face to face companionship and banter among friends, not to mention getting out and about in the sunshine…can there? Now I am older (71) and less mobile, it is harder to get out and about and meet people, but (still) always worth making the effort.

Social media. the world wide web, TV...all have a place in our lives, of course they do, but no one's real life balance should be tipped in their favour...surely?

Yes, cyber fun can be good fun, but there's no fun quite like sharing fun in the real-life company of friends, forming and developing interpersonal skills that can teach us as much about ourselves as other people, and will see us though the best part of a lifetime. Oh, and it really isn't a case of you can't teach an old dog new (digital) tricks; this old dog knows a few, and all the better for having learned a good few of the non-digital variety...

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF A COUCH POTATO

Little birds singing on the garden wall

I’ll not write you up;

you’re, too sentimental

for the Age, they say

As one to another you brightly call

I’ll shut the window;

a new soap opera's about

to start on TV  

Bright sunlight distorting everything

Screen-lined faces

like grotesque cartoons

in a Hall of Mirrors

Let's close the curtains, better already

Comfortable now...
with armchair perspectives
on the world

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been revised since it first appeared under the title 'To a Sunny Day' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Misty Memories OR Time, No Final Curtain

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

An earlier version of this poem  appeared in Poetry Monthly magazine (April 2007) and subsequently in my collection, Accomplices to Illusion, the same year; it was written with a friend in mind, but also for the many thousands of people diagnosed with dementia and their carers to try and give them some encouragement and help them through the early years of what is a heart-breaking condition

My friend rarely indicates that he recognises me now, but his friends and family know the person who is my friend is still there, inside the person he has become, because every now and then he finds a way - if only fleetingly, through the ever thickening mists of dementia - to tell us so. 

Time, even unto death and beyond, has neither remit nor power to erase living memory altogether, especially where love is concerned.

'Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.' - Oscar Wilde

“That I shall love always,
I argue thee
that love is life,
and life hath immortality”
- Emily Dickinson,  That I did always Love

MISTY MEMORIES or TIME, NO FINAL CURTAIN

Let life be painting pictures on the heart

for the soul’s grasp forever to retain,

so the mind’s eye, less clear than at the start

and peering through mist,can enjoy again

Though memory’s jigsaw, it may fall apart,

fitting the pieces, we make bad choices,

the mind’s ear, if less clear than at the start,

is still listening out, hears love’s voices

Our finer senses, heart and soul shall hone,

if seen to work in mysterious ways,

so Memory, though fair stripped to the bone,

to the inner self stays true all our days

Though we be taken for but shadows in a mist,
we know better whom love has ever kissed

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

[Note:The dinal couplet of this poems was revied, May 2020.]

Hitting Home OR Dead to Rights

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

Our emotions may not always play fair, but cannot and should not be tolerated once they it starts cutting up rough. Love is no excuse, and has no place in domestic violence.

Indeed, there is no excuse for domestic violence in any shape or form, physical or psychological, and no matter who the perpetrator ;nor is there any shame in facing up to a situation and asking for help.

Victims need to confide in a close relative or friend. Perpetrators need to seek professional advice.

Whatever, no one should suffer in silence out of fear or a sense of misguided loyalty, even love. Get support (various sources available on the Internet) and summon the willpower to walk away from it. Let the abusive partner stew in his or her own juice. Forget the dream and face up to reality.

The only answer to domestic violence and physical/psychological bullying is zero tolerance. My father was a psychological bully, less so than many, I dare say, but it's not always a matter of degree; what matters are scars left on the victim, no less unsightly for being invisible to the naked eye.

Sadly, few family members can bring themselves to discuss such issues, even between themselves, thereby risking any damage being done spilling over into a tragedy worthy of media headlines.

Whatever, people need to speak out before the local coroner gets in on the act.

HITTING HOME or DEAD TO RIGHTS

Flung open the door, smile on the face;
fist at the jaw, fallen to the floor, waiting
for more...

Eyes closed, mind shut tight to it all,
homing in on a single happy time, before
things fell apart

Breaking heart in pieces on the mat,
angry tongue making the lips bleed if only
for a bad day at work

Blows lessen, cease, but not the terror;
left sick with humiliation for this wannabe
love relationship

You go upstairs, slam the bedroom door,
down later for supper, expecting to make up
for temper tantrums

Tomorrow, a rose and any tear but yours
on these so-bruised cheeks, after forgiveness,
compassion or passion?

When I pray, even God asks why I stay,
and if I confess no idea, a dear familiar voice
calls me a liar

Wherever I once found it in me to love you,
I must find much the same to leave you, or be
like your rose...

Left dying, in a smashed vase

Copyright R. N. Taber ,2003; rev.2011


[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Detour

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

Sometimes we feel let down, even betrayed. and wonder why we carry on. On such occasions, I have always looked to nature for reassurance, strength and inspiration...

DETOUR

On a road of broken dreams and shattered lives,
I took a detour down a dirt track;
among leafy trees, green fields, sheep grazing,
I revisited Earth Mother;
we had been estranged, she and I, for some years
yet it seemed but yesterday
I had risen with larks, let a lullaby of nightingales
lull me into false hopes

I felt fingers stroking my hair as I passed through,
as if to reassure a prodigal child,
but I was bitter for what I (still) saw as a personal
act of betrayal and deceit;
had she not let me believe the finer things of life
would always survive the worst,
yet abandoned me on a road of broken dreams
leading nowhere?

At dusk, a nightingale greeted me like an old friend
but I pretended not to hear
as I settled on a bed of sweetest smelling heather,
afraid to close my eyes;
sleep, though, eventually penetrated my defences,
left me vulnerable
to the iron resolve of Earth Mother under its cover
of gentle persuasion

I journeyed through dark centuries of pain and grief,
defiant ghosts for company,
showing me killing fields where peace and love left
for dead but rose again;
they planted in me, my ghosts, an unspoken trust
to keep faith with them;
accordingly, I flew off on the wings of a dawn skylark
into a new awakening

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

Casualties of Contemporaneity

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

[Update (Sept 3, 2016): I fully support the Junior Doctors past and proposed strike action even though it will probably mean appointments for which I have already been waiting for a long time will be put back yet again among thousands of other people’s. It is all very well for Prime Minister, Theresa May  and Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt to say we have more doctors than ever and the NHS is better funded than ever, but they are among the privileged classes who don’t have to wait months for an appointment or sit around in A & E for hours.  

Government ministers keep reminding us that the UK has an ageing population, but they clearly don’t have a clue as to how much stress that (and immigration) places on the NHS. As for the BMA (British Medical Association) apparently telling the Junior Doctors they should not strike, clearly it is in its best interest not to antagonise a Government more concerned with supporting the Establishment than the welfare of the ordinary man, woman and child in the street, for all Mrs May's fine words to the contrary. Well, no surprises there. Politicians are hot on rhetoric, but when it comes to relating to the world as it is for ordinary people, a significant number are cold fish.] - RNT

Now, all credit and thanks to hospital staff in the UK and around the world; the vast majority do a great job in what are often very stressful circumstances. (Too many patients and not enough staff to name but two.) Even so, I suspect there are few among us who haven’t had to endure a frustrating wait in Accident and Emergency Departments at some time or another.

Whatever, we would all do well to remember that our NHS is the envy of the world while those who abuse it should remember that it is not a free-for-all service, but paid for by those of us who pay into it all our working lives.

CASUALTIES OF CONTEMPORANEITY

No losing heart over fortune or fame
only that someone call my name;
might as well be the Invisible Man
for all anyone’s paying attention;
hours passing, hands on a clock keen
to mock our growing impatience;
(Time, alas, has little or no feeling
for outpatients)

From someone in the next chair,
an outpouring of despair;
on the other side, news of someone
who has just died;
a red-faced man making a big fuss
gets seen before the rest of us;
mutterings of acrimony overtaken
by a drunk causing havoc

Staff acting beyond call of duty
to end our panic;
a young woman in the front row,
waters breaking...
wheel-chaired away, partner flapping
and fretting,
can’t help wondering, girl or boy?
(Welcome distraction...)

Anxious to convey why we’re here, ;
in pain, tearful...
fearful of things getting worse
in spite of reassurance...
from that nice blond nurse, ready smile
and eyes a lively green
fooling no one. Some leaving without
being seen, dare I risk it?

Could murder a biscuit, a cup of tea too,
and need the loo;
ears prick up for a name, another,
pray be mine soon…
Just want to go home, but hurt all over,
must stay, wait my turn, can't face
all this angst again, could even be dead
by then...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Casualty' in The Third Eye: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]

Postcards From the Edge OR Notice of Intent

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

This poem provoked a flood of emails after it first appeared on the blog and in my collection during 2007. Most readers expressed pleasure if not relief that I was airing a condition with which many of us are forced to deal, frequently on a regular basis.

Many of my poems touch on the trauma of depression albeit ending on a positive note. Why is that? Well, for a start, too many people continue to underestimate depression, believing it synonymous with being very fed-up. It is an attitude that needs to change. Depression is tough enough without family, friends and work colleagues implying that all we have to do is pull our damn socks up!

There was a time when attitudes towards my sexuality provoked bouts of severe depression, especially as I have been prone to depression since early childhood (not recognized in children and young people then as it is now.) There are multiple causes of depression. We are all vulnerable to it, especially in the kind of world in which we live today although I dare say every century has had its various stresses and strains under which some people have buckled for one reason or another (there is rarely a single cause.)

My dear late mother used to say that when things are looking bad, the trick is to focus on all the good things in life and people. A simple idea, yes, even a trite thing to say. Ah, but does it work? Oh, yes!!! Maybe not right away but, like most things in life, we have to work at it.

Be understanding, patient and supportive towards with depressed people. yeah? Don't rush to write us off (as many people do) as whingeing wasters. Spread the word that there is no stigma in being depressed, and hopefully people might rush to understand (instead of rushing off in the opposite direction) the man, woman or child who so needs that understanding, patience and support.

POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE or NOTICE OF INTENT

Driven to the naked edge of a snake pit, peering in,
all but poised to leap, defy demons on the brain
constantly jeering because I’m gay, weary of family
and friends urging no surrender to a growing desire
for my own gender, thus acknowledging this, a sexual
identity integral to every other part of me, although
those parts the same, no less true for being honest,
drawn to home truths haunting me since that dawn
I confronted myself for who I am, even as I continued
to perpetuate a sham of being straight (taught a sin,
at the very least a crime - to be gay)

With each new day, subtle shifts of opinion, even in
a fickle media, then legislation intended to give gay
men and women a kinder freedom

I'd stood alone and scared, desperate to end these lies,
half lies, a creeping among shadows like a thief,
seeking a love I dare not own in the face of society's
resolve to expose me for even less than a nobody
crucify me on that old stand-by Cross of Convention
but time, now to let history see I am my own person,
refusing point blank to be made subservient to stereotype.
while not my intention to offend those who mean well,
stood by with tears in their eyes watching the local bigots
breaking our backs with rods for straws, little thought
to making repairs because mud sticks

No more snake pits, self-blame, being made to feel
like a candidate for some Walk of Shame, time to get real,
put closet ways behind me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007]