Two (poems) for the Price of One

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

After two years of learning to live with the Covid-19 pandemic, tempers are beginning to fray for whom some, who were living on The Edge even before the pandemic, pent-up feelings of frustration have sought release in a variety of ways, some violent. While there can be no excuse for violence against another, mental health issues should never be underestimated, especially in such times as we are living in now.

A healthy diet and regular exercise can help to alleviate stress,, of course, but self-help isn't always enough. There is help available for anyone less able to cope with stress, especially when it seems to be coming at them from all sides; we have to recognise the signs, though, and actively seek help; There is no shame whatever in feeling less and less able to cope with stress, whatever its source, but we need to recognise the signs and get help before it manifests itself in such a way or ways that we are likely to live to regret.

My failing to recognise the extent of the stress that living in a closet was making itself felt over a period of some 20 years, resulted in a nervous breakdown in my 30's. I had been too scared to ask for help,  had convinced myself I could cope... and could not have been more wrong. The help and support I received on a road to recovery that took me 4 to years of hard, mental slog to cover and start applying for jobs again... was a lifesaver.

Whether heterosexual or of an LGBT persuasion, we are, each and every one of us, only human and human nature, being as complex a life force as it is, needs a helping hand from time to time and mind-body-spirit needs must reach out and take it. Never easy... but what in life comes easy to any of us? We may think some people have an easy life,  but few of us are ever privy to what goes on behind closed doors...

THE ENEMY WITHIN

Love turned its back on me,
yet would not run away,
but left me nailed to a tree,
(couldn't even pray.)

Pain alone left me free
to fight another day;
Love, my sworn enemy,
nails in a god of clay

Better stay angry than grieve,
avid ties sure to rot,
scars worm on a sleeve,
to prove - what...?

Love, like war and peace,
down to each of us

Copyright R. N. Taber. 2005, 2021

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM

Love hadn't touched me
for many years;
I'd let myself drift freely
on a Sea of Tears

Chanced to find peace
(or did it find me?)
and sought to anchor us
in that same blue sea

Sea of Sadness, no more;
blue, only the sky;
soul once bruised and sore,
bright as a swallow's eye

Ashore at last, for homing in
on your heart's outline

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2021

[Note: Both poems were written in 2004 and first appeared in my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time, Assembly Books, 2005.]

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

Connections

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber 
It can take something like a pandemic to make us understand the difference between solitude and isolation. 
Not unlike many people, I used to think I was self-sufficient in so far as  I often enjoy my own company, forgetting the truth expressed in a poet's immortal words, "No man is an island entire of itself, every man/ is a piece of the continent, a part of the main..." - John Donne, Meditation 17. 
Yes, we have the Internet and mobile phones to connect wit each other 24/7, but what can compare with meeting up with friends for real?
In other words, "Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine." - ― Honoré de Balzac 

CONNECTIONS

Friends and family would often ask 

why I so liked to be alone, didn’t the loneliness

get to me, undermine

mind-body-spirit, leave me more asleep

than awake?

I would tell them I needed such time

for reflection, being and communing with nature,

confiding my concerns

to flowers and trees, the more reassured

by their responses 

In such good company, how could I

ever be lonely, such birdsong always at the ready

to suss out my moods,

empathising with and lifting me, gifting me

their joie de vivre

solitude and I, we were such intimates

that I all but forgot human beings are social animals,

much like those of a kind

in the natural world, no less inclined towards

inter-dependence 

Suddenly, my circumstances took a turn

for the worse, a pandemic striking us out of nowhere,

demanding we take care,

world societies, communities in lockdown,

if not self-isolation

among others least afraid of being alone,

I’d tell myself there could be no living in fear for me

of disease or death,

for didn’t I care so for Earth Mother that she, 

would care for me? 

Time passed, one day much like another,

solitude losing its attraction, its not being of my choice

nor anyone to hear

and (hopefully) connect with what I had to say,

empathy or no...

In my imagination, I would try talking to trees,

confiding in flowers as ever, but having to stay indoors

meant I could not walk

among them, let the wind inspire them to respond,

by turn of leaf, lean of stem

As an alternative reality, the kinder inner eye 

has to be first among equals, sure to keep human nature

and Earth Mother,

in sync along such lines as coloured green,

(one for all, all for one)

I began to lose heart, not least for no one in whom

to confide even imagination, invite to share the intimacy

I so enjoy with nature, 

and slowly it came upon me, an emptiness

called loneliness… 

Now, though, I see trees growing leafy once again,

flowers opening up to spring, blossom like a gentle rain,

Earth Mother...

inspiring us all to defeat Covid-19 by way of an innate

capacity for renewal

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

Toys in a Window

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

Today’s poem was written in 1981, but it was not until the 1990’s that I began submitting poems for publication.  At the time, I was mid-recovery from a severe nervous breakdown s few years earlier. Writing helped considerably towards an initial if fragile recovery that eventually saw me looking for (and finding) a job some18 months later. 

I would like to think I am more optimistic and a shade less cynical about life and society now, but…

Well, we all know what thought did…

TOYS IN A WINDOW

At a window on my life I gaze,

close my ears to the weary windings

of clockwork days, try to imagine

how it might be should these stiff-neck

streets ever cease their turning me

to what I am - part of this global sham

of human boast, comprising toy folk

for the most if a few taking  heart still,

tugging at the sleeve as a child will,

ever anxious to leave the plastic places,

and cartoon faces undermining a flair

for freedom on see-saw, swings, among

other things we forget soon enough

while struggling for reasons unknown

to keep some stubborn noon design

intact; part of the same act invariably

put on for each day’s passing us by,

sure to earn a slow clapping in the head

at bedtime from other toys in the hands 

of toymakers aspiring to coax cash mules

to the world’s water holes

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was first published in a Poetry Today (Forward Press) anthology, Looking through the Mirror of Life (2000) and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Turning Point OR Time to Move into the Fast Lane

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

Today’s poem is, yes, another villanelle; an earlier version appeared in an anthology, Soulful  Emotions, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in my collection.

Looking out and not being a part of things can make a day pass very slowly.

Looks like it’s decision time…

This poem is a villanelle.

TURNING POINT or TIME TO MOVE INTO THE FAST LANE

Time, it goes slow,

ticking like clock faces 

at a lonely window

Seasons come and go;

world, its shadow chases;

time, it goes slow

Tears may well flow

for a love the mind places

at a lonely window

Oh, dare not follow

where the pulse races ... ?

Time, it goes slow

Heart gouged hollow

as the beast, Fear, surfaces

at a lonely window

Come, adrenaline. flow,

put life through its paces!

Time, it goes slow
at a lonely window

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004

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

Care In the Community (Where Actions Speak Louder than Words)

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

Here in the UK, it is no exaggeration to suggest the social care system is in crisis. At the same time, the coalition government is pressing ahead with its Health and Social Care Bill that threatens the very fabric of a National Health Service that is the envy of the world.  [Many Americans, especially Republicans, may despise its principle of Health Care for All, but many more come here every year for some of the best medical treatment in the world because they can’t afford the same in their own country.]

Despite the obvious fact that people are living longer with illness and disability, our care system here is  chronically underfunded according to informed reports. Social Care budgets in England, for example, fell by an estimated £1 billion according to the Association of Directors of Adult Services.

It looks like it’s up to all of us to keep an eye on the vulnerable in our neighbourhood. The awful tragedy is, and always has been, that in large towns and cities, that is less likely to be the reality than wishful thinking.

Not everyone can rely on family support. (I certainly can’t.) I am only 66 and have a relatively small but close network of friends to keep an eye on me. Many people who live alone don’t have that, and living alone can get very scary for anyone as they grow older and increasingly vulnerable.

This poem was written ten years ago.  As I look around me, I don’t get the feeling much has changed.

CARE IN THE COMMUNITY (WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS)

Knocked at an old house
in the Square

"Is anybody there?"

At its grubby letterbox, 

bending to peer

"Is anybody there?"

Catching a nauseous whiff
of mouldy air

"Is anybody there?"

A squeaking, (sobs, mice
on the stair?)

"Is anybody there?"

No one replying, but prying
curtains everywhere

"Is anybody there?"

Moving on, plenty more

with time to spare ...

"Is anybody there?"

Asking the very question
no one wants to hear

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

The Saddest Swinger In Town

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T

When we talk about poverty here in the West we invariably think of Third World countries. Yet, the West has its share of poverty too, even the great USA although it prefers to hide it behind a glossy corporate image. In the UK and across Europe there are beggars on the streets and families living below the bread line
Statistics tell us that poverty kills more than 50,000 people every day. Oh, but to hell with statistics, they are academic. (Who takes any notice of them anyway?)

Every statistic is a real person. Behind every statistic, is someone trying to get a life.

A year ago, I spotted an enigmatic young woman in a bright orange dress on the dance floor at a London bar. Months later, I read that she had been found dead in her home. She wasn’t the victim of a violent attack or a drugs overdose; she had been unemployed for several years and died of malnutrition. So why didn’t anyone realise? Why didn’t she ask for help? You tell me...

This poem is a kenning.

THE SADDEST SWINGER IN TOWN

I am a friend to none,
but embrace all, yet it is not
out of vindictiveness
I swing for every man, woman,
and child on the streets
of a world fast losing the plot
when it comes down
to getting its priorities right
(looking after its own)

Some call me The Teaser,
calling on Life to flirt with Mercy,
dragging kindly souls
deserving far better than this
to an untimely death;
small comfort in Earth Mother’s
lasting kiss for those
left to grieve for the greater
of love’s tragedies

I spare none, but feast
on shadows, waters of the womb
and leftover dreams;
Yet, even I can be beaten,
forced to retreat,
were the world to take arms
against its penchant
for glossy storylines, take issue
with home truths

Poverty, the saddest swinger in town
for society's denial of failing its own

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: This poem will appear in my next collection, Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Bools, 2012.]

Potential for Escape

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

There is a strong case for associating depression with the weather, especially here in the UK, not renowned for its sunshine. The sad truth is that any of us can fall victim to depression any time, anywhere. It is usually the result of various tensions that life has a nasty habit of laying like animal traps for us to fall into. We feel isolated, threatened, scared and - perhaps worst of all - helpless.

Breaking free is never easy and will take time. Whenever it (frequently) happens to me I struggle to take my cue from that old truism, ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’. The first giant step, of course is recovering that will; the next, finding the way, then we need to stick at it, no matter what.

It’s never easy. There are no quick fixes. Anti-depressants, counselling/ therapy...these can help along with (even more important) the support and understanding (and patience) of family and friends. Sadly, too few people have much understanding of depression unless they have been depressed themselves or are close to someone else who is prone to depression. Far too many run a mile from mental health matters.

Society could and should do more to promote Mental Health Awareness. Yes, where there’s a will, there really IS a way….but it’s down to us.

Someone recently asked why I often write about depression in my poems as it is such a depressing subject! Well, apart from trying to raise Mental Health Awareness, writing positively about depression helps me beat the frequent bouts from which I continue to suffer.

Many years ago, I began the long, slow, painful climb out of a nervous breakdown.  I swore I would never hit rock bottom again. If  just one poem can help prevent just one person descending to that same pit's stone slab bottom, it will have been worth the writing.

POTENTIAL FOR ESCAPE

I lie in a pit staring up at the sky,
wondering if cloud faces passing by
can see my lips move (no sound)
might even let someone know where
to find me, so cold, frightened,
unable to move, every limb refusing
to answer frantic screams for help
from a mind whose live connections
all but severed by its distress

Clinging on to a failing willpower,
I feel my frail grasp slipping in this,
what must surely be my coffin?
Yet, it’s not my past I see unfolding
before my eyes, only blank sheets
of paper…slowly coming to life, words
I can’t quite make out but vaguely
recognize shapes comprising a prose
and poetry ascribed to nature

All my eyes cannot see, my heart
begins to acknowledge as the words
(now bombarding all my senses)
demand entry at the doors of a mind
shut by fear and excuses, forcing
it ajar, piling in like old friends arriving
at a reunion, figures in clouds
assuming human form, Earth Mother
resolving to be kind but firm

Hostage, seeking to break free (again)
from a dark prison called depression

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010