A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

Name:
Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Sunday 26 January 2020

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


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Tuesday 9 September 2014

Passage Home OR Nature at the Helm


We may travel far and wide in life or not all. It’s the going (or staying) wherever and doing whatever makes us and others happy that is journey enough for most people.

Yes, most if not all of us make mistakes and sometimes lose our way. But it’s my belief that those among us who make the journey for the right reasons can’t go too far wrong even though it may sometimes seem otherwise.

As for making the passage home, that’s wherever (and with whomsoever?) we feel the need to be; journey’s end.

PASSAGE HOME or NATURE AT THE HELM

I have heard waves whisper
of battles lost and won
on stormy seas, in far places,
among others demanding a turn
at the helm

I have watched clouds paint
pictures of losers, victors,
those staying on to dry a tear,
others preferring to turn a deaf ear
than take the helm

I have beached lonely shore
and coral reef, swam
with fishes, come to grief
in oceans surreal for abandoning
the helm

Time, our seasoned captain
has nailed my colours  
to its mast while stars, moon,
and rising sun insist on taking turns
at the helm

Passage home…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]


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Saturday 30 June 2012

War Talk

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

How often, I wonder do we really think about what we are saying or even mean what we say, bearing in mind that our choice of words may well leave us vulnerable to misinterpretation?

The world  owes much to the men and women in its armed forces wherever they may be. Nor should we ever forget that we owe as much if not more to their families and friends (along with everyone else) who, time and time again, are called upon to pick up the pieces of life, love and hope whenever and wherever lives fall apart; a time of peace, for some if not most of us can be another kind of war.

“Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.”  - Ernest Hemingway

Yet, justify it, we invariably do if only by that old stand-by, rhetoric.

WAR TALK

What do people mean when they talk about
the 'integrity' of war?

Is it a comment on the neatness of body bags
laid out in a line?

Or maybe they are referring to injured people
rising above despair?

Can it be they mean the finer principles of war
have been upheld?

(Doesn’t everyone do their best to keep friendly
fire incidents to a minimum?)

Maybe its generals court integrity for strategies
of ‘win some, lose some’?

Can it be politicians promote their own integrity
to win elections?

Maybe it’s all about being polite, discreet, about
to whom the spoils of war?

I asked a soldier who lost an arm and a leg in Iraq,
but he just shrugged

Maybe (the soldier said) I should ask the orphans
and widows…on both sides?

Lots of questions and not nearly enough answers
or (any?) right ones

Poor humanity, ever caught in a cross-fire of words,
come worst of all worlds

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2018



[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Next of Kin have been Informed, but should Refrain from Asking Questions' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]



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Monday 16 April 2012

Dreaming Suburbs

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

Suburbs have a reputation for being drab, dull, and boring; they have neither the countryside’s natural beauty nor the excitement of a large town or city.

Ah, but as with most things in life, even suburbia is as we choose to make it.

Besides one person’s nightmare is another person’s dream just as one person’s concrete jungle is someone else’s home...

DREAMING SUBURBS

Daylight fading at the window, thrushes
singing at will;
thoughts turn the mind slowly
like sails of a windmill;
twilight dips a darker hue
(one thrush soars, another stays
to sling its shadow among
the best geraniums);
melody fading, a flickering of feathers
at the sill...

Though darkness drop its shutters
on all the world’s sleepers,
candles lit for a Quixote surely will
guide a thrush to its nest,
let weary heads rest, having
done their best? (As for dreams,
finders keepers)

Gone now, sweet songbird;
nothing’s heard but sails in the wind
teasing humankind

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains, 2001.]

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Saturday 12 February 2011

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.]

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