Hi, folks, from London UK

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

The great thing about growing old is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been." - Madeleine L'Engle

"Age is a question of mind over matter; if you don't mind, it doesn't matter." - Mark Twain

Hi, folks,

Yes, I am working on a new poem, but had such a BAD day yesterday, that I hadn't the emotional energy (let alone inspiration!) to even take comfort in a poem; a day that left me in tears for a growing frustration with losing the proverbial plot from time to time. Yesterday left me feeling emotionally drained for generally losing the kind of plot that appears to thicken - for some if not many of us - as years pass and we grow old...😉

The author of the plot?  My onetime friend, now long-time mischief maker, new technology. While I just about cope with internet banking, I am invariably at a loss when it sides against me and, try as I may, I cannot get it to follow my reasoning and do as I ask! Yesterday my secure key would not work. 

Eventually, I staved off panic by solving several word puzzles - invariably guaranteed to calm me down and help me rise above just about any crisis - and made my way to my bank; its local branch having closed down some time ago, I needed to travel. I don't drive, so chose to use London Underground as I am still wary of (always) crowded buses and having to sit next to someone who is not wearing a face mask.

At the bank, I was given a new secure key in a folder and told to visit the web page indicated in the folder.  I returned home, confident that all would soon be well. Alas, the web page simply took me to my usual page for internet banking, which I could not access because... yes, my secure key would not work!

I returned to the bank, approached a different person who gave me alternative information which, I could not quite follow; my fault, due to muddled thought processes, probably as much down to getting old as years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer. Having barely left the bank, I now returned to try and get help from someone who could show me what to do on a pc. Although it meant a long wait, it was well worth it, as the young man who finally saved my day proved to be very patient as well as well and truly on the new technology ball... 😄

Once home, I failed yet again to log on to my internet banking account. Yet again, I returned to the bank where the same young man took me through the process of activating my new secure key, a process I hadn't quite understood but managed to follow due to his patience and demonstration on a pc. (I had almost got it right at home, but pressed a wrong button.!)

Home again, I solved two word puzzles to calm myself and distract me from the dread of yet another failure to access my internet banking account....

Once more unto the breach, dear readers once more, and... Eureka, success! I needed to transfer funds to another account, and was able to do so without a hitch.😁

I suspect I am not the only person struggling with IT these days, which is why I am sharing this sorry tale... for its happy ending, not my own failings. I was embarrassed, it's true, but the need to achieve my goal got the better of that, with more than a little help from the young man at the bank who, on a scale of one to ten, deserves ten out of ten for his patience with this ole codger. I could not thank him enough, for restoring peace to my personal space as much as access to my internet banking account... 

Another poem, tomorrow, folks, so hope you will join me again then.

Take care, stay safe and be sure to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at you. Never easy, but...we have choice? wry bardic grin

Hugs,

Roger

Crisis at Christmas OR Love is the Key

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

For many readers, it will not be a very happy Christmas Day this year, and for most of us it will be a Christmas break like no other for all the wrong reasons. Even so, there are vaccines on the way so still reason to think positive and look forward to better times in 2021.

Here's my favourite ghosts (from happier times) and I  wishing you all love and peace always, and many thanks for dropping by the blog.

Hugs,

Roger

CRISIS AT CHRISTMAS or LOVE IS THE KEY

Christmas, in a year
with many a tear in many an eye
for a year that’s seen
so much grief, anger and pain,
yet, also a sense
of being a common humanity
in a world inclined
to view certain differences as weaknesses,
due to its own short sightedness

In a year that has seen
the devastating effects of Covid-19
on world economies
and personal lives, a sense of unity
attempts to rise
above that grief, anger and pain
all but dominating
everyday life, whoever and wherever we are,
any differences notwithstanding 

In times of crisis, people
will often pull together, bridging chasms
between old enemies,
suggesting bigots have second thoughts
asking of religions
that they practise what they preach
in so far as matching
deeds to fine words, embracing peace and love
without either caveat or favour 

For many, Christmas,
among other celebrations, but reinforce
an overwhelming
sense of loss, regret, loneliness, and losing out
in such everyday move
as humanity makes, potentially this way,
potentially that…
now, raising hopes, now (invariably) taking credit
for (inevitably) losing out to ‘Fate’

So, what can we do,
who are left to pick ourselves up, start over?
For a start, never forget
there are such people in the world who care
about others,
will lend a helping hand and see us through
to a kinder end,
while it’s a positive mindset (no weakness) that asks
for help, more likely to find happiness 

There will always be
the good-bad in this world, the happy-sad too;
we can but try
to rise above it all (down to me, down to you)
even compensate
for such evils as humankind may yet do,
let love be the key
to  mind-body-spirit left free to live, let live and let die
if (still) begging the question, "why…?"

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: this post-poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today.] RT

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

Bitter Harvest

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

In reality, there is no such thing as easy money. Even a huge lottery win is rarely roses all the way and more often than not leaves a trail of heartbreak. Someone recently mentioned that betting is easy money (he had just won £50 on a horse.) Ah, but how many bets had he lost over years, I wondered? Even so, I resisted the temptation to ask and risk throwing cold water on an old man’s elation.

Many years ago, during a period of mental illness, I became addicted to fruit machines and probably wasted thousands of pounds over a period of several years. Fortunately, I am cured now and have a life. Gambling is no less addictive than drugs, smoking or alcohol. It can destroy people and their families. At the time, I was caught up in the protracted aftermath of a nervous breakdown. That’s when addiction strikes, when we’re at our most vulnerable. It can happen to anyone. So never give up on an addict, yeah? The challenge is trying to prevent addicts giving up on themselves.

It is an appalling indictment on contemporary society, especially given the stresses and strains of modern living, that there are relatively few rehabilitation centres or other avenues of help for addicts or those less obviously in the grip of mental illness. They may be the last to admit, it but they need friends and family to stand by them and be willing to go that last mile.

If you know an addict (drugs, gambling, whatever) please, please, be there for them. You won’t get much if anything by way of thanks, but no one can beat addiction without support from someone who cares that they should. Sometimes, yes, it’s a losing battle for everyone concerned, but we have to try…for all our sakes.

Did I say it was easy?

Every day, I hear someone say in the street, media, library, bus or train...words to the effect that there’s ‘easy’ money for the taking if we only play our cards right.  No, I don’t think so, not unless those 'cards' happen to be in sync with the kinder or at least more responsible elements of mind-body-spirit.

BITTER HARVEST

Public faces reaping

more respect than many

have earned the right

to expect in modern times;

paper tigers wandering

corridors of power, seeking

an easy prey, a nose

for more; bits and pieces,

(when put together)

likely to create an incomplete

jigsaw 

People come and go,

all history in the making,

fortunes for the taking;

winners, losers,

gamblers paying respects

to palaces of pleasure,

Stock Exchanges,

After Hours bars ringing

with a cacophony

of celebration, despair,

whatever...

Worldwide, trails

like snails’ slime tracking

the best and worst

of us, no discrimination;

looking to the future,

(things sure to get better)

Family of Man living

up to old myths, bearing

fruits to feed a world 
last observed harvesting 
lemon trees

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

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

The Confidante

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

I should like to say a big thank you to those readers who email me now and then to ask how I am coping with my prostate cancer. Generally speaking, I feel fine although I get very tired some days, not that winter is a particularly inspiring month anyway.

Now, being philosophical about my prostate cancer is one thing, but I have to confess to moments of panic and low spiritedness. That’s when I turn to spending time with friends…

Looking back on my life (very selectively) I can recover peace of mind whenever I want. Writing helps. Oh, there are plenty of bad memories too, but that’s where the art of careful selection comes in. I guess it’s the same for everyone. Difficult times can make us vulnerable, edgy, and even scared. So what better course of action than to create another good memory to add to those we already have? Hey, presto! Suddenly, it is easier to stay calm, reach a more positive perspective on life, reap the finer rewards only peace of mind can bring.

It may not last long, peace of mind, but there is always recourse to the same archive of happy memories to restore it again and again for as long as it takes. Yes, probably a lifetime. Oh, and we should never forget that life is not about pleasing other people all the time, trying to be being a good friend and confidante; we need to make time for ourselves too.

We should all remember, too, that there is no shame in asking for support, physical and/or mental. Sadly some of us, especially men, seem to feel that it is an expression of weakness; on the contrary, realising that we cannot cope on our own and seeking help, even it its just means confiding our fears in someone, is an expression of inner strength, not to mention common sense. As well as or in the absence of anyone close, there are also support networks available where professional counselling can help; no need even to ask, just go on the the Internet. (Help - and computers - often available at your local public library.)

This poem is a kenning.

THE CONFIDANTE

I wait

in the wings, ever willing,

never failing to relieve

a fellow player stumbling

into everyday dramas,

comedies, darker scenarios

and Mummers' Plays

reaching out to an audience

up for empathy

I help clarify

those arguments between

mind and spirit

ever turning over choices

of words, trying

to keep to a script of sorts

reworked more times

than memory dares mull over

its mistakes

I lead

from the heart where heads

make ever-increasing

circles, a fragile conscience

debating intention,

direction, and motivation

without coming to a conclusion

most likely to earn a standing

ovation

Rely on me, a friend of the kind

arguing for Peace of Mind

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Making sense of Numbers

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

Before I retired, I was a librarian working in public libraries here in the UK. It has been a source of great concern to me in recent years that a growing of children and young people asking for help in finding material for homework projects had such poor literacy and numeracy skills. For some adults too, of course, that may not have had the benefit of much formal education, these skills same remain underdeveloped.

It has always seemed to me that numeracy is somehow seen as the poor relation to literacy even though a grasp of number is every bit as important as a grasp of letters.

 ‘Karl’ and ‘Brett’ once wrote in to tell me how getting help to improve their numeracy skills ‘by leaps and bounds’ had considerably boosted their self-confidence. Karl says ‘Numbers were like a foreign language. I could not make any sense of them.  I was made to feel I was in a minority and was too ashamed to ask for help. I got paranoid and it felt like there was some sort of conspiracy against people like me. I didn’t realise so many people have the same problem. Now I can even work out rail and bus timetables. Before finding a really good (home) teacher I was clueless about the 2400 hours clock.’

Believe me Karl, 2400 hours timetables confuse a LOT of people.

This poem is a villanelle.

MAKING SENSE OF NUMBERS

It can feel like a conspiracy,

(the world an enemy)

this nightmare, innumeracy

Out shopping, and invariably

spending too much money;

it can feel like a conspiracy

Debts spiraling relentlessly

(affront to integrity)

this nightmare, innumeracy

I look at my friends and envy

their budgeting effortlessly;

it can feel like a conspiracy

I once confessed ashamedly

to life turning sour on me,

this nightmare, innumeracy

I found support and sympathy

and help for others like me;

it can feel like a conspiracy,

this nightmare, innumeracy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Christmas At The Going Rate

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

This poem was written in 1997 and first appeared in a poetry magazine based in Canterbury before I included it in my first poetry collection.  I wrote it after shopping in the West End of London and being shocked at seeing so many homeless people huddled in sleeping bags in shop doorways, on the steps of theatres, even churches and other religious institutions.

Years on, London, like so many big cities around the world, continues to be haunted by its homeless. It is a sad reflection on the 21^st century, in particular its finely rhetoric-tuned, comfortably-off world leaders in politics and religion/s world-wide. [Does anyone really believe they put the interests of the everyday man, woman and child in the street before their own?]

Although I am not a religious person, I have no problem with (any) religious celebrations although I have to say they often strike me as more than a shade hypocritical  where giving thanks to God often appears to play second fiddle to one-upmanship among family, friends, and neighbours who share the same religion.

Please give as generously as you can afford to charities that help homeless people. 

It has to be said that giving money to homeless people can be a mixed blessing as they will often just use it to buy drugs or alcohol. Most, though, appreciate someone to talk to who can not only sympathise with their plight without being patronising, but also offer constructive advice such as where to go for help. [The nearest public library, for example, will have a wealth of information. During my years as a librarian in public libraries, I often looked up useful addresses that I would then call and hand the phone to a homeless person seeking help.]

CHRISTMAS AT THE GOING RATE

Starling on the snowy bough,

where will you go now 
as you stir your weary wings to fly 

across this sorry sky?

Better off than I, stuck here,

sitting pretty enough

in a world dishing up pity

to its cardboard men…

I pause and you disappear, bells

ringing out Christmas cheer

to celebrate the Church's share

in a saviour for all seasons

who taught the heart needs not reasons

to care about another, rich or poor,

saint or sinner. A local tramp passes.

Good souls pause…

Wiping glasses, hedging bets

on Judgement Day,

doling out a sweet reprieve

of misery, and all for 50p.

Now, let's hurry, we'll be late;

carols at eight (or is it nine?)

Thinly drawn, a twenty-first century’s

cardboard line

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2012

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