The Old Curiosity Shop (and Slumping)

From Roger’s friend, Graham

Browsing Roger’s blog postings offers interesting snapshots through time. A shop of curiosities decked with gems formed in deep poetic musings, tattered postcards of conflicts and whimsical ephemera. Playthings of the imagination, broken artifacts of childhood and sketches of zeitgeists vanished. Garlands of dried flowers from summers past and evocations of smiling snowmen long melted. His inner eye ever seeking out that glimmer of fascination in grey streets and overcast skies. His beautiful soul always aspiring for a kinder, gentler world united by love and not divided by oceans of tears.

I must admit that I’ve never met anyone like him before or since. Such friendship is a treasure beyond riches. With the pressures and distractions of life it’s easily to lose sight of that. Certainly it comes as an overwhelming realization with the wound of loss. Healed by time, true enough, but some injuries feel deep-rooted with a dull ache resonating through months and years. I’m sad that I’m not able to call Roger today to compare notes on life’s ups and downs, make each other laugh and take off into wild flights of fancy. Just here, earthbound; trying to motivate myself…

It’s raining lightly here in Essex on a Sunday morning. Quiet with just the patter of rain and faint drone of distant traffic. A gaussian grey veil masks the sun. Smudges of blue tease with notions of fairer weather. The wide bow of the Thames estuary that I overlook reflects the sky like a dusty mirror. Sluggish and lazy. Even the raucous black-headed gulls seem muted, pensive.

I’m fortunate that I don’t have to work on Sundays. I’ll feed the birds shortly. (You’re never truly alone among avian friends.) And then a riverside jog to restore flagging spirits and vitality. I’ll prepare a vegan roast dinner, laze for a bit, and dive into the raging torrent of work emails! (This mitigates the horror of my inbox at the start of a working week.) Finally, some indulgent escapism with a movie and some un-milked chocolate.

I’ll leave you with a poem which I hope captures Roger’s enduring rallying cry to ‘rise above!’. Thanks so much for reading. Please feel free to dip in to Roger’s blog and trust to serendipity whenever curiosity overtakes you…

 

*  *  *

 

‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.’  Charles Dickens (Great Expectations)

‘The most important thing in life is to stop saying, ‘I wish’ and start saying, ‘I will’. Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.’  Charles Dickens (David Copperfield)

 

*  *  *

 

SLUMP or (ALMOST) IN FREEFALL…

 

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the people I’ve known,
wondering where have they gone?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the things I have done,
wondering where I went wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and choices made from the heart,
wondering where fear played a part?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and lovers who promised to stay
but left within hours of a night or day

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the years wasted on regret
where I should have stood up to fate

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and every epiphany I’ve known,
wondering where did I go so wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and growing older, weaker,
for knowing I could have done better

Slump in a chair, thinking about death,
and all the people I’ve known,
wondering if there’s a hell or heaven?

Slump in a chair, watching television,
soaking up soap opera friends,
lost the plot, left wondering how it ends

Slump in a chair, fret about being alone?
Not this time (slam on the brakes);
will get my life back, whatever it takes

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2008

Hi, folks, from London UK

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Hi, folks, from London UK

Sorry, everyone, no poem today. Yes, I am working on one, though, and hope to post it here soon.

Meanwhile, several readers have emailed me to comment on yesterday’s poem, given that I don’t often depart from my passion for internal and/ or external rhyme. For some years now, I have contributed to a US poetry magazine, CC&D, published by Scars Publications whose editor only accepts blank verse or poems where external rhyme is absent. 

Scars have released a collection book of the January-April 2022 issues which includes my poem ‘Classroom Politics’; the book is called ‘Unfinished Business’ and can be ordered from Amazon; to submit a poem and/ or ask for further details regarding other Scars publications on sale and to access to the works of various contributors, including yours truly, contact: ccandd96@scars.tv for various links.

Another reader, PW, asks how I am coping with my prostate cancer, especially in the light of how years of hormone therapy have messed with my memory and thought processes generally; his mother has recently been diagnosed with dementia. For me, as well as writing up the poetry blogs, Wordsearch books have proven a godsend; they are fun, relaxing and challenge the thought processes all at the same time, much as crosswords do (at which I have never been any good.😉) Wordsearch books are available from The Works stores around the UK and/or can be ordered online.  For more details about these books and other items such as jigsaws etc: https://www.theworks.co.uk 

PW also asks how I "cope generally" with growing old and living alone. Readers often ask this and there are no easy answers. Yes, I get lonely sometimes and family, friends and neighbours friends can be a blessing, of course, but, generally speaking, I guess it’s a case of providing mind-body-spirit with the willpower to deal as best we can with the many and various obstacles that can present themselves to any of us anywhere, at any time; more so, possibly, as we grow old, physically and/ or mentally  less able to run such gauntlets.😉 At the end of the day, though, I suspect it’s all down to that old rogue, Hobson’s, choice…(wry bardic chuckle)

Positive thinking is the key to life, in whatever field we endeavour to excel or at least make our presence felt. For me, it has been the key to surviving health and psychological issues that have plagued me for much of my life; even though it hasn't opened many of the doors I hoped it would, I am still here to tell the tale, so I just focus on the positives in my life - past and present - and try, as far as humanly possible, to avoid the kind of pitfalls attached to any negatives...😉

Now, without digressing entirely, PW also asks if my poetry collections are still in print. Some UK public libraries may have copies in a Reserve Stock collection. Unable to find a publisher in the UK, not least because I insisted on including a selection of gay-interest poems, I only self-published a limited number of volumes of each title. (I probably gave up trying to find a publisher too soon, but health problems took the wind out of my sails.) An American publisher agreed to publish one volume, but messed me about to such an extent that I finally withdrew from a potential contract by mutual consent. I continued to contribute to various UK poetry magazines for some years, but latterly have only published to my blogs. Maybe one day…

That’s it for today, folks. Do browse the archives attached to any of my poetry  blogs, sometime, where you will find an assortment of earlier posts-poems. In the meantime, I will endeavour yet again to stir willpower and thought processes to work on a new poem. As I have said before, I don't expect everyone to like every poem I write. Hopefully, though, everyone will find poems they can relate to and/ or enjoy.

Many thanks for dropping by, 

Take care, stay safe, and keep well,

Hugs,

Roger

[Note: PW also suggests I upload the novels on my fiction blog to Google Books, as well as promoting them, along along with my poetry blogs, on social media. I will certainly give  Google Books some thought as  Blasphemy is already there; Sacrilege  was intended as Book Two of a trilogy, but the American publisher who had showed an interest in publishing the trilogy, lost interest when Blasphemy failed to give him the kind of access to the UK market that he'd hoped for. Subsequently, I lost interest in writing Book Three (Redemption) as I was quite ill at the time anyway. A younger version of yours truly would almost certainly have pressed on, but growing old has a nasty habit of undermining self-confidence. 😉]

You-Me-Us, Lifesaver

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“I don’t think of all the misery, but of all the beauty that still remains.” – Anne Frank

“In all things, it is better to hope than to despair.” - Goethe

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” – Pablo Naruda

As the war in Ukraine escalates, news came through yesterday of Russian forces bombing a children's and maternity hospital in the port city of Mariupol. Ukraine president Volodymyr Zelensky has declared it a war crime.

Meanwhile the flow of despairing people struggling to flee Ukraine in freezing conditions continues with Russian forces persistently ignoring ceasefires.

At home, and across the world, we can but watch, aghast that this could happen in 2022 while, many of us still suffering both mental and physical effects of having to cope with the coronavirus. The situation in Ukraine may well seem a whole lot worse, but Covid-19 has brought despair to many and despair is despair is despair; to the despairing individual, it is as immeasurable as it is indescribable.

In this life (as many, including yours truly, can testify) when standing still is no option, looking back on kinder times is often the only life force available to spur us into moving forward, less with regret for their absence than in a spirit of celebration and hope.

YOU-ME-US, LIFESAVER

In the eyes of sadness
there is only one thing to do,
pluck a cloud
from the sky and hitch a ride
through time,
to wherever mind-body-spirit
has a whim to revisit,
put a smile on the face of a Here-and-Now
that’s forgotten how

There are old friends,
we used to know before our years
took us places
we didn’t always want or choose
to go...
when we’d laugh and play games.
exchange party hats
and silly names, listen wide-eyed to fairy tales,
fly with nightingales

There are special people,
with whom we’d enjoy special moments,
whose genial ghosts
never fail to cheer the soul that’s lost,
taken a wrong turning,
needing to be put right, helped to lighten
the load it bears,
redirected to some far kinder thought process
than ends in tears

Playful pets, too, recalled
to perform such lively acts as likely to warm
a heart grown cold,
for loneliness, grief or on discovering old age
no ‘true-to-life’ movie
here Happy-Ever-After as likely as not to win
Oscar nominations all round,
no dry eyes in the audience, bur tears
of delight, no fears

Ah, many the comfortable
and pleasurable zone we need to make our own.
as and when
we can, and best not delayed as any tomorrow
may yet bring sorrows
enough to urge a saddened eye but open wide,
steer a passing cloud
through as lively a stream of shared consciousness
as You-Me-Us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

 

 

 

 

Partners in Time

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The relationship between any writer and what he or she writes is, in many ways, much like an enduring friendship.  While it isn't always easy easy to find the words to express our feelings with even a loved one or close friend, they will often draw on their knowledge of us to understand what we are trying to say. Such, too, is the relationship between a poet and mind-body-spirit, the latter sensing instinctively what we need to say and encouraging us to find the right words.

Any relationship will, of course, have its ups and downs...but any sound relationship, whether human or  otherwise can, if nurtured, evolve a s a lasting partnership, enough give and take on both sides to reach out to others. Whether a novelist, poet, painter or potter...whatever...those 'others' are such as yourselves, dear readers, in the hope that the poems that appear here on the blog will reach out to you as mind-body-spirit has reached out to me.

Any art form can be as positive a therapy for its creator as for anyone who finds themselves entering into and identifying with it by way of appreciation. In this way, the partnership embraces a third party and achieves - even if only partly - its positive purpose. 

Yes, well, win some, lose some...😉

PARTNERS IN TIME

Sometimes I seem to do
the dirty on you, just when you need
to reach out to me
and you have no idea why I should
behave this way, leaving you
feeling so confused, even afraid we might
be growing apart,
a prospect so scary, it’s sending an S.O.S.
to mind body-spirit

Time passes, people change
not always easy to reason why, accept
and ask ourselves how
we can best look forward with hope
not despair, no moping about
and blaming fate for abandoning us
to the passage of time,
leaving us feeling it’s already too late, even
for mind-body-spirit

Ah, but appearances can deceive,
our relationship seems to be changing,
and change it will,
doesn’t mean I am either giving up
on you or vice versa,
we are as integral to any living landscape
as are sea and sand, earth and sky, bird and nest
to mind-body-sprits

Life may well change how we look and feel,
but the 'ME' in TI-M-E embraces us all

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

Hello again, from London UK

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

Hello again, from London UK

I thought you might be interested to know that, according to the stats on the home page from which I publish my poem-posts on blogspot.com, readership now stands at 203,004. So, a BIG thank you from yours truly for staying the course with me.

I did not think many people would be interested in my poetry when I first started writing up the blog    nearly 10 years ago, especially as feedback from poems I have published in UK magazines and elsewhere was not always in a positive vein. One reader went s far as to complain that “... I don’t see how you can write general and gay-interest poems of the socio-psychological kind you write and call it poetry...

Clearly that reader hasn’t read much poetry; all poetry attempts to convey a socio-psychological landscape as the poet sees it at any moment in time. As for my gay-interest poems, the title of the blog to which I publish them speaks for itself, surely? Some heterosexual readers have even browsed it from time to time; feedback suggests they have found it helpful in coming to a better (and kinder) understanding of LGBT family members, friends, peers and work colleagues. It is due to such encouragement that I have continued (and enjoyed) writing up all three blogs.

While it is true that my gay poetry blog lags behind this one, stats confirm close to 169,000 views, so I am well-pleased.

There are both gay and general novels on my fiction blog, whose stats are much lower, approaching around 22,000 views. I enjoyed writing my novels, but came to the conclusion that I am no novelist. I cannot deny I was disappointed to discover this about myself, and seeing pipe dreams of fame and fortune burst like playful soap bubbles.

As Robert Louis Stevenson suggested: "To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive." (Virginibus Puerisque,1881.) Besides, nothing, including fame and fortune, is ever quite how it is portrayed by various media which, in turn, brings to mind another old truism along the lines that none of us knows quite what goes on behind closed doors. The rich and famous are only human, after all, and life is no less likely to have its ups and downs for them as for the

Need to rest now. It is inly mid-morning here in the UK, but while growing old doesn't have to be a major issue in itself when like, yours truly, you are having to contend with various health issues as well, it is no picnic...😉 Even so, I continue to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life and urge you to do the same; never easy at any age, but the alternative is we spend our lives peering into The Abyss while life itself passes us by...

Bye for now, folks, and many thanks for dropping in. I am working on a new poem and hope to publish it here very soon.

Take care, keep safe and be sure to treat those who show they care for you with the love and respect they deserve,

Hugs,

Roger

Comfort and Joy, OR A Pandemic called Loneliness

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"If you're lonely when you're alone, you're bad company." - Jean-Paul Sartre

They say you can be lonely even in a crowd. For me, that was never so true as during my closet years. Sadly even in this 21st Century of ours, here are still many LGBT folks who feel unable to leave that same, lonely closet for on reason or another. I respect those reason, of course, but urge anyone who feels they are caged-in, as I did for many years, to find the strength of will to escape it and trust that family, friends and peers will accept that we LGBT folk are only as human as they themselves.

Now, several people have expressed concern that I will be on my own over Christmas, but I welcome the solitude and an opportunity to engage with both a positive-thinking mindset and you, too, dear readers, especially any of you who might also on your own; a mixed blessing at the best of times, even more so  as Covid-19 and its variants continue to rage all around us. 7

As I have said many times on the blog, love comes in many shapes and sizes. I defy anyone to say they have never loved, and/ or  been loved; it may feel like it sometimes, but we only have to look within ourselves to realise we may well be suffering from blurred vision, invariably due to hard times...

I have only  just written this poem, off the cuff, to help reassure all of you, me too, that the world may well be a mad one, but it has a kind heart and a mind-body-spirit more than capable of overcoming any pain and fear if we but engage with and give it its head... Not always easy, true, but what in life is ever easy...?

Perhaps, after all, there is a lot to be said - in many if not most circumstances - for the old adage, 'No Pain, no Gain.'

COMFORT AND JOY or A PANDEMIC CALLED LONELINESS

Alone at Christmas, yet not so,
surrounded by cards from family and friends,
marking where love begins
and any wallowing in self-pity ends
just for knowing they are there
and thinking of me, each part of a memory
that’s fresh and evergreen,
written and signed with such love on the heart,
as to comfort global mind-body-spirit 

Alone at Christmas, yet not so,
fond thoughts traversing past-present-future
with thanks and hope
for things yet to come, feed inspiration,
even a salvation of sorts
in the eyes of whatever God and Earth Mother
engages with the souls
of all creatures great and small if only for trying
to give and make the best out of living 

Alone at Christmas, yet not so,
a sense of peace and joy flowing through bones
that have taken knocks enough
over years of struggling to get by in a world
that would pass us by
if we let it, but for such enduring spirits as Love
and Kindness, invariably there
for us at times of need, not always on time (if ever)
but, true to say, “Better late than never...) 

Loneliness is a pandemic for which no vaccination,
yet, to love and have been loved its sure salvation 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

 

 

 

 

  

Tattered Remains OR The Fall and Rise of Mind-Body-Spirit

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“Sometimes, even to live is an act of courage.” – Lucius Annaeus Seneca (c.4BCE – 65 CE)

In trying to encourage readers around this mad, Mad, MAD world of ours to take heart in whatever life crisis they may be struggling to overcome, Covid-19 and variants notwithstanding, I have to confess that, at the same time, I am addressing my inner self and, yes, urging it to help me practice what I preach. This is why – and has always been why – poetry as creative therapy has invariably worked for me, even as a schoolboy in a school to which I was not best suited, made to move away from friends I had known since early years and struggling with being gay in an essentially homophobic society, as the UK was (predominantly) then.

Hopefully, some of my poems on this often-repeated theme encourage at least some readers to go into survival mode and (eventually) find an inner peace and happiness that is not only priceless, but meaningful to the individual in such a way that no one – even with the best of intentions - should feel entitled to advise on or judge according to their own standards; sadly, of course, the latter is only too common and too many of us fall for it every time.

So, thanks again. dear readers, for not only dropping by, but also being my inspiration, especially at the moment when I really need to lean on its friendly arm.

Take care, try to stay safe and well, and be sure to continue nurturing a positive-thinking mindset, especially in a crisis.

Hugs,

Roger

TATTERED REMAINS or THE FALL AND RISE OF MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

Worry, worry, worry,
all but getting the better of me,
confusion giving way
to apprehension just for trying
to make sense
of a society struggling to deal
with a global pandemic,
world leaders sending out mixed messages,
having to rely on their scientists

Scientists, in their turn
having to interpret emerging data
as it comes through,
though what it suggests we do
may well conflict
with political aims and policies
declared by this or that
Party in this or that race to convince society
to let it take overall responsibility

Responsibility, a sword
that’s double-edged, spur to ambition,
may well promote
peace and goodwill, at least until
Crisis rears its ugly head
opinions divided as to what to do,
put Party before Society
and bluff it out, or be seen to give priority
to a weary, stressed humanity?

Humanity, left battered
and feeling as if in tatters by pandemic
or governments or both,
yet as loath as ever to concede defeat,
reassembling its life forces
to rise above any growing despair,
restore a positive mindset,
let love and friendships rise above our pain
see us all start over again...

Time, not always on our side when in need,
but kinder life forces, good friends indeed...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

[Note: Back with another poem soon, a lighter theme, I promise. 😉]

 

 

 

Hello again from London UK

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Reader A J asks if he or she can put the URL for my blogs on social media “since you seem to disapprove of social media and avoid it yourself...”

I don’t entirely disapprove of social media; it has its merits, but having tried it once, I have no wish to return to it. However, should any readers feel they want to share the blog URL, they are welcome to do so; all three blogs - general poetry/ gay-interest poetry and fiction + archives can be accessed from:

https://rogertab.blogspot.com

Anyone recommending the link may well wish to add that I do not publish comments, complimentary or otherwise. Neither do I reply to emails now - except from friends and regular blog readers - as various  health issues include poor eyesight.

Any LGBT poetry lovers may well be especially interested in that blog’s archives as I rarely add gay-specific poems these days, mostly due to lack of inspiration; years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have left me sexually inactive and less able to relate to and enter into the spirit of the poem.

In spite of health issues, I am hoping to self-publish limited (print) editions of new collections which, as previously, will include a gay section as well as some poems of interest to LGBT readers in other sections; with any luck, these will also be available on-line at a later date. However, prostate cancer has a mind of its own so there will come a time - hopefully sooner rather than later - when there will be no more tomorrows for yours truly. Whatever, c’est la vie, so better to make the most of what we have while we have it, each in our own way...?

Years of hormone therapy may have played merry hell with my thought processes, but writing poetry helps keep them in some sort of order, so I will continue to add to the poetry blogs as long as I can.

Another reader asks if I intend to add to my fiction blog. Sadly, it is very unlikely as I couldn’t even interest any in my fantasy novel, Mamelon and don’t have the energy these days, let alone inspiration. Even so, I enjoyed my foray into fiction, so no regrets.

Meanwhile, I take each day as it comes, treat it as a bonus and do my best to nurture a positive-thinking mindset. 

I am working on a new poem, and hope to publish it on the blog soon. Sadly, poems take me a lot longer to write these days, but I enjoy making the effort; as I have said many times on the blog, it is a form of creative therapy I can throw myself into and temporarily forget health concerns, pandemic implications and other worries. As my mother used to say, “If you worry, you’ll die and if you don’t worry, you’ll still die, so...why worry?” 😉

Take care everyone, and try to stay positive, whatever life throws at you; time may not heal altogether, but - partnered with good sense and sensibility - it can do a pretty good job, if we let it...

Bye for now,

Hugs,

Roger

The Rose Garden OR Missing, the 'I' in a Jigsaw

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Not infrequently, older folks like yours truly express regrets that life hasn’t panned out quite how they wanted or even expected. Oh, how well I know that feeling! 

A reader recently emailed to say he enjoyed my fantasy novel ‘Mamelon’ on my fiction blog and thinks I should have tried harder to find a publisher. Many thanks for that, it made my day. Even so, one of many home truths I’ve had to face up to over the years is that I don’t have what it takes to be a good novelist, and wasn’t prepared to be a second rate one. 

I have no illusions about my poetry, either, but it has always been a favourite art form of mine and I not only wanted, but needed to try my hand at it, not least because it is one part of my jigsaw that more than compensates for my never quite getting to bring the picture on its cover to life. Not having a partner or children, I wanted to leave something of myself behind, if only a portion of healthy food for thought. (Yes, well, hmmm... ) 

Writing poems encourages my innermost thoughts to find a voice; hopefully, they may encourage others to do the same; too often we become frustrated, angry, tearful... whatever... because we cannot put a finger on what is persistently nagging away at us. A good counsellor can help, but a bad experience with a psychotherapist to whom I was referred years ago convinced me to stick with the poetry. 😉 

So far, so good... in spite of growing old and wrestling with implications unique to each and every one of us on a daily basis. Poetry as creative therapy alone, brings purpose to my life, much as the gardeners among us find purpose in nature and nurture; more reason to look forward than back, always important, but perhaps more so in our later years. Oh, not every seed we sow will grow and flourish, but as my mother used to say, “Better to live with hope than without it...” 

Who knows, we may well live to enjoy our very own rose garden; my guess is that more people do than don’t, given the inner eye’s innate gift for homing in on missing pieces in human time and (personal) space... 

THE ROSE GARDEN  or MISSING, THE ‘I’ IN  A  JIGSAW  

Jigsaw, depicting a rose garden scene,
almost complete, but for missing pieces
I can’t find for looking high and low,
tears of frustration but a small measure
of my anger at being unable to see the task
through to its completion 

It’s parts of a tree that’s missing leaves
that’s left me in despair, though not worth
a tear (I hear a voice in me sighing);
such is the way of life, parts gone missing,
gaps that need filling or else we’ll be judged
for not even trying... ?

The child I was, so much older now,
still frets over a jigsaw never completed,
angry at being made to feel defeated
by circumstances beyond human control
mind-body-spirit still aspiring to pull roses 
out of its very  own top hat 

I’ll never forget that damned jigsaw,
its picture garden incomplete to this day,
but no tears, only more sighs for lies
by ways of a world promising a rose garden
whether or not a global consciousness is (ever) 
up to either nature or nurture

Though humanity the sum of our parts:
age, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, etcetera,
and we may never get to see the picture
as a whole, for all we may do our damnedest
to copy its cover; no matter, while we can say,
hand on heart, we made a start? 

Few of us truly expect a rose garden
by way of life’s fulfilling all sweeter dreams,
but not all other dreams are second best,
or all missing pieces Black Holes in our history,
nor our fault either if we can’t see for looking out
for parts of such jigsaws as we're not

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

Engaging with Life Forces OR A Universal Passion

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Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2018.

Love, dialogue, politics, religion, culture, peace of mind, inspiration, positive thinking,  taking people as we find them and rejecting prejudice and stereotypes …these are but some of the many life forces some of us are inclined to forget, even dismiss, and fail to call upon to sustain us during the worst of hard times for which we are often too busy employing the Forces of Blame.

First among equals, of course, is love - in all its shapes and forms; a close second, though, is dialogue, something in which too few people, communities and, yes, family members, too, are inclined to engage, preferring to rush to judgements fired by such speculation as incited by personal ego.

Now, if we really want to achieve something in which we passionately believe, we need to be prepared to stick at it every step of the way though the going be rough or smooth. Maybe if the British Government believed more passionately in Brexit, they may well have achieved it sooner instead of alienating all sides and homing in on a compromise; as it is, our relations

with the E U are looking shaky if not irreparably damaged.

Certainly, if the LGBT campaign for equality that began with Stonewall had weakened, even given up under pressure from the eternal Naysayers in society, we would not have come as far as we have, here in the West at least; less so in other parts of the world so while where there is cause for celebration, there remains no room for complacency, and never is. Every cause worth fighting for will always have its nemeses with which to contend and find ways of either defeating or winning over.

Certainly, in an LGBT context, it is good to see how the latter continues to prevail where once it would have been unthinkable. Hopefully, we can sustain the momentum and fling open doors previously slammed shut in our faces. Hopefully, too, a time will come when those societies and communities (including religious groups) bent on persecuting us may yet concede that our differences do not make us different, only human, and embrace an all-inclusive agenda of love and peace.

We are a common humanity, deserving better than certain separatist forces driving us apart; politics, dogma and prejudice to name but a few. At least the Covid-19 coronavirus has encouraged some people to put these aside and pull together, see the light in so far as there is really nothing wrong in agreeing to differ, it is but another life force in which we may freely engage without being divisive or judgemental

This poem is a kenning (or a Who-Am-I? poem as a kenning is sometimes called.)

ENGAGING WITH LIFE FORCES or A UNIVERSAL PASSION 

A worthy ally, and necessary

to keep faith

with the mind-body-spirit 

where its causes just,

and likely outcome much the better

for everyone

engaged in the greater purpose

of making a positive contribution

to raison d’être

Whomsoever engages with me

needs must

feel committed to all ends

in view, no matter

any distractions conspiring to deflect

(even defeat)

such perseverance as treading

a tightrope of conflicting alliances,

no safety-net

Too often, fickle contemporaneity

makes such demands

of those who take me to heart,

expecting compromise,

would all but see me in free fall;

yet, keep the faith,

and count every battle won,

a triumph over the world’s Naysayers

in self-denial

Not for the fainthearted, I, Motivation,

feed momentum to inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

[Note: an earlier version of this poem appeared on the blog in 2018]

Who do We think We Are?OR Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

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

A reader asks  why I appear to differentiate between the human spirit and Holy Spirit and "clearly have no time for the latter". What can I say, other than I differentiate because they are not the same?
The human spirit has a mind of its own, and will sometimes lead s to make mistakes for which we have no one to blame but ourselves and/or 'fate' where is is easier to blame God. Whatever, while I respect those who sincerely enter into (any) religious point if view, we must agree to differ. As do not deny the existential presence of a God, but see God as nature, not as its creator, moreover an all-embracing life force, not the personification of a bigot who would see me in some existential 'hel'l for being gay.

Another reader asks why I post some poems on my general blog and not on my gay-interest blog, .and vice versa, especially as I often empathise that a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is ... whatever or whomsoever. Well, believe it or not some readers enjoy sipping into both blogs and my gay-interest poems are intended, primarily, help LGBT readers around the world feel GOOD about their sexuality, but also educate bigots in those societies and communities that would make us think think badly of t ourselves for it  - just as my own did when I was a teenager and young man, consequently made to journey to hell and back; sadly, many LGBT people around the world still never find a way back.

Now, we are not only creating our own personal history with every thought we pursue and every word we utter, but also recording it with every step we take; all the more reason to tread carefully, consider the feelings of others and avoid treading on toes we have no wish to tread on.

It is one thing to respect the right of free speech, another to bait someone with points of view directly opposed to their own. "No harm in that, either," a friend once commented, "so long as you can agree to differ and discuss amicably if spiritedly." A wise woman, my friend, and I, for one, couldn't agree more, although it is not always east to spot that someone is playing devils advocate; it can be a risky game to play, and can take even the best friendships to breaking point ...

Baiters are often critics of whatever stand we have chosen to take in life, on whatever; while we all need to be challenged, if only to be clearer ourselves as to the where-how-why we take certain stands, make certain choices that subsequently lead us along this or that path in life, we need to respect the other person's point of view even be prepared to modify our own.

Agreeing to differ can be as educational as it can be fun ... so long as neither party assumes he or she has an absolute right to theirs which, as regular readers of my blogs will know, is my problem with (any) religion.

WHO DO WE THINK WE ARE? or NOTHING VENTURED, NOTHING GAINED

There’s a reality that is but a dream,

life stories told in quickly turning pages

(not the mediocre fiction it may seem)

tracking the poetry and prose of Ages

wherever ordinary men and women 

share life’s adventures (everyday heroes);

life’s ‘failures’ exceeding expectation,

its poor getting by on election promises;

the self, exposed to ever prying eyes

waiting to catch us out, see us take a fall;

minds, trying  to make sense of chaos,

human spirit, left to try and rise above it

Half the world pressing on with ambition,

the rest of us left trailing imagination ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in Ygdrasil, Journal of the Poetic Arts (December, 2004) and subsequently in  A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Give a Dream a Go

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Once, I read something along the lines that the ‘dreams’ we most vividly recall are but leftover, half-formed thoughts inclined to either embrace us or knock us for six as we necessarily negotiate an emotional landscape that finds us close to waking up but unable (quite) to let go of whatever it is about sleep that insists we stay; cave in to the latter, and we risk making of our lives an open prison.

We are used to being told that certain political and legal moves are in all our best interests, but there is often a hidden agenda that benefits some people most if not all the time and the rest of us ... well, some of the time at least, we hope. We only have to look at what is happening in super-power countries like China and Russia, but political strategies worldwide have much to answer for as far as the principles of personal freedom are concerned. Oh, and yes, I include the UK. Whatever, though, the human heart is still a free country, and mind-body-spirit is not without certain strategies of its own to keep it that way.

Now, more than once, contemplating the day ahead over my breakfast has felt like being pulled one way or the other by complacency and positive thinking, each in the form of a viable escape plan from the other. Usually, but not always, a few slices of toast and several cups of coffee will summon a strength of mind-body-spirit resolved to let the more constructive alternative run its course.

Sleepwalking through life (with eyes wide open if eyelids drooping) is sadly, all too common; going through the motions of life instead of living it the way we want not as other people, convention... whatever...suggest we should. At the same time, we need to bear in mind that not everyone's idea of 'living' is the same, and it is unfair to compare, even more so to set ourselves up as judge and jury as so many people I know SO love to do...

Life, of course, doesn’t always give even the best of motives their head, but our options are often limited through no fault of our own. Even so, where an opportunity to improve not only our own lot but others, too, does present itself, we owe it to ourselves (and them) to GO for it, no matter what some might say or think. Some readers may argue that's just selfish, but in my experience, letting someone prevent you from doing something you really want to do can but end in tears; more often than not, any who appear to  begrudge us the opportunity are simply employing a get-out clause for not pursuing a dream of their own.

Life is rarely easy and sometimes makes demands of us we might well prefer to put on the proverbial back burner, but where there's a will, there's usually a way ... and that's where mind-body-spirit comes into its own. Yes, win some, lose some, but better surely to find ways of putting a dream to the test if only because it's how history and personal history come together and make history ...

'What is not started today is never finished tomorrow.' - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (German Playwright, Poet, Novelist and Dramatist. 1749-1832)

GIVE A DREAM A GO

Sometimes, the human body

will not (quite) emerge from shadows

(courtesy of sleep) conveniently

induced by selective half-memories

of fonder (kinder) times

when body and spirit took a stoic stand

against the more aggressive

(egocentric) interpretations of what it is

to be a practising human being

Sometimes, the human mind

can't (quite) escape a darker, weaker side

(courtesy of conscience)

invaded by selective half-memories

conveniently (almost) buried

under layers of regret, pain, wishful

thinking for turning back

the ever-spilling clock measuring out

human life in grains of sand

Sometime, the human spirit

refuses (quite) to justify being slow

to do the right thing

by all that’s integral to the integrity

even of those children

of a lesser god than it chooses to put

above reproach, especially

when available to call upon to excuse

the plainly inexcusable

Eventually (with luck) we wake

to choral music promising us heaven

of a kind not (quite)

as interpreted by various Holy Books

if only to keep us quiet

in the face of pain and regret stoically

managed but self-inflicted

all the same, especially upon others

who mean us no harm

Day dawns, and life goes on

so we need to pull ourselves together,

put the world to rights

and put any irksome misgivings down

to common misdemeanours

attributed to quirks of sleep expressing

(only human) anxieties

of a far less forgiving ego than likely

to meet the eye over breakfast

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

I'm a Poem, Get me Out of Here

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

Only recently, I managed to extricate myself from a contract with a poetry publisher with which I became more and more unhappy as time passed; a member of its editorial team even asked me to shorten some longer poems to fit the page. I responded that a poem becomes a living organism as soon as a reader engages with it, and what they were asking was tantamount to an amputation.

I well recall how, many years ago, my English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin asked the whole class (of teenage boys) to write a poem for homework. "It doesn't have to include any  rhyme," he added for the benefit of those of us who were under the impression that rhyme was compulsory for all poems.

Yours truly wasted no time rising to the challenge, but few others submitted anything, complaining along the lines of "I don't have a poem in me, sir, it's just not me." The same cry could be heard again after some poems were read out in class later in the week, and Jock expressed disappointment in relatively few people having made the effort. "There is a poem in all of us," he insisted, "We just have to tap into that aspect of ourselves which is especially meaningful to us, and the chances are there's a poem there champing at the bit to get out. Come on, you sporty types, let's have a sporty poem from you or any of you with hobbies you love, let's see what you can do".

The response this time was an eye-opener as everyone managed to write a poem, even the more bullish and macho among us; indeed, they were the proudest and more boastful of their achievement. Gone forever was the notion that writing and enjoying poetry was 'a girly thing'.

"You see," said a well-pleased Jock, "...there are as many subjects for a poem as there are people, each one with something different to say. We may like, dislike, agree or disagree with what it has to say, but that's life, each to their own points of view. Whatever, that poem or point of view struggling to get out of us deserves to be free to say its piece, right?" "Yes, sir"  everyone  yelled at once.

Why then, I can't help wondering, do we not get to read and hear more poetry on a gay theme, not least because many poetry publishers seem to think it will adversely affect sales...? Oh, well, gotta keep looking on the bright side of life...if only because the alternative is unthinkable.

I'M A POEM, GET ME OUT OF HERE

Why any heartbeat
demanding mind-body-spirit
free it from its closet,
left to go wherever it will,
no slave to hypotheses,
but deserving better,
not least to find a voice,
and ways to make itself heard
by the poet within...?

What is this sound,
like the cry of a lost child
negotiating its way
all but blindly along frantic
highways and byways
whose names but posturing
as spelling lessons
in its past-present-future eager
to make itself felt...?

What is this presence
calling on inarticulate reason
for expression, as clear
at first as dawn mist reluctant
to let any sunshine
into a persona grown frantic
for a comfort zone,
offering as close a sense of safe
and sound as any...?

Why this falling apart,
now closing any yawning gaps
in a consciousness,
weathering mist and murk,
only to find itself
burning bridges across rivers
of rising passion,
anxious to find release in at least
explaining the smoke?

No end in sight - lost;
left to others to find and help me
if they can, or make time
for a poem give self-awareness
a clear heads-up
in negotiating the complexities
likely to characterise
any literal or existential soundings
taken from a human heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog -' G-A-Y in the Subject Field' - today.]

I-D-E-N-T-I-T-Y, Parts of a Whole

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

A reader has emailed to ask why I frequently refer to mind-body-spirit as a whole in my poems (and subsequently in the Labels column for the purpose of word searches) rather than mind, body and spirit as separate phenomena if only for convenience or (as I see it) paying lip service to convention.  The poem below is by way of offering an answer. 

We are all of us different, each in our own way, and it is our differences that make us human.The inner eye discerns this, that, or nothing at all; the body has different demands depending on how we prefer to define our sexuality; the human spirit turns on how the sum of those differences occupies our personal space whether (or not) inspired by socio-cultural-religious conventions written on tablets of stone. 

Like the human heart, the mind-body-spirit is a free country; sadly, for many people, it is only truly accessible by way of personal space, that part of us where Freedom really keeps its word; people may well do their best to intrude, even force an entry should we not wish to let them in, but no one can altogether usurp or even destroy it however much they might try. 

Those who would (and do) exploit our weaknesses, invariably underestimate our strengths; strengths supplied by mind-body-spirit as a whole, not its parts. Whether we identify as Gay, straight or transgender, human nature is likely to harass us from time to time because it is a complex organism for which there is no standard template; fortunately, that whole comprising mind-body-spirit provides an open-all-hours sanctuary from its worse aspects while encouraging us to appreciate and enjoy its kinder side. Moreover, something about it is clearly capable of infiltrating human thought in the form of remembrance after it ceases to occupy the human form; death as loss, is hard on all of us, but as a posthumous consciousness it may well continue to inspire is ... if we let it.

We are, each and every one of us, the sum of our parts; it is, of course, the whole that really counts; we should not dissect to make a point, homing in on any those parts with which we may take issue, although human nature being what it is, we are often inclined to do just that.

This poem is a kenning.

I-D-E-N-T-I-T-Y, PARTS OF A WHOLE

I am Mind, part of a whole

bent on solving crises,

finding ways to neatly avoid

the slings and arrows

of human nature, rise above

even its worst flaws.

look on the bright side of life,

through thick and thin, stay true

to a kinder philosophy

I am Body, part of a whole

whose every heartbeat

is listening out for like souls

made to run the gamut

of prejudice, discrimination,

and, yes, even worse,

finding solace in those sins

certain world creeds and cultures

oh, so love to hit out at

I am Spirit, part of a whole

where personal space

provides the ‘live’ poetry of peace

and love insisting Mind

and Body direct the inner eye

where it needs must go

to avoid jumping to conclusions

comprising circumstantial evidence

provided by stereotypes

I am Mind-Body-Spirit, the person

often dissected for being human

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Back to School OR Rediscovering Letters on Building Bricks, Learning Tools for Grown-Ups

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

While I will always refute the notion that schooldays see us through the best years of our lives, I will always be grateful for a less than happy learning experience that has brought me to where I am now; one which, for better or worse, has more yet in store for me. For just how much longer, only time will tell; no life experience teaches us all the answers although there never was any harm in speculating and trusting that a few, at least, will filter through.

I was like a fish out of water at school for all kinds of reasons, not least because no one picked up on my partial deafness so I missed much of what was being said. Moreover, I am not a very practical person and hopeless at subjects like woodwork, metalwork and technical drawing, which, it being a Technical School, were primary subjects. I learned a lot, though, if only by way of survival skills that would see me through the rest of my life.

Although a ‘low to medium’ achiever’ at school, I had some great teachers and learned a lot; e.g. how to compensate for my deafness by developing a wacky sense of humour that would get me out of all kinds of scrapes; feeding my imagination on classic children’s poetry and literature that would soon find me devouring adult works that, in turn, would serve me well as a mature student at university;  enjoying my ups by coming through my downs with a real sense of having learned something although (of course) I hadn’t thought of it as a learning process at the time; discovering at first hand that self-pity is a waste of any potential for mind, body and spirit left waiting in the wings, demonstrating (only too well) the futility of going nowhere fast.

Oh, and last but not least, those less-than-happy-but-worth-every-minute schooldays taught me to live with myself, warts ‘n’ all. (Rarely a flattering image, but, what the heck…? Sure, escapism by whatever means is all very well, so long as we can get real - with ourselves if not always with each other - whenever needs must.)

Yes, 71 now and still discovering what letters make what words on what building bricks used to make a world...

BACK TO SCHOOL or REDISCOVERING LETTERS ON BUILDING BRICKS, LEARNING TOOLS FOR GROWN-UPS

Old building,
groaning for developers
knocking it down

Empty rooms,
full of jeering ghosts
putting me down

Nightmares,
haunting my every step,
bringing me down

Old school tie,
noose around my neck,
dropping me down

Formative years,
lessons but half learned
letting me down

T-I-M-E, choices
breaking us in, schoolkids
on a joyride

L-I-F-E, a half-ruin
waiting upon developers
to reconstruct us

N-A-T-U-R-E,
kinder ghosts, ready to lend
a helping hand

L-O-V-E,
better teachers, overriding
lesser mortals

P-E-A-C-E
but graffiti on a blackboard
till we can spell

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Progress, Bitter-Sweet

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

Now, can we honestly call the rape of our forests and woodlands…progress?

Humankind needs to balance its own humanitarian needs with the needs of nature to help sustain them. If we are not careful, nature will get the upper hand sooner rather than later, destroy us before we can destroy it or even ourselves.

Whatever, to the victor, the spoils as the march of today’s Titans of big business and entrepreneurial skulduggery proceeds all but unchallenged...

PROGRESS, BITTER-SWEET

Shadows gathering
like crowds for an execution;
storm clouds rumbling
like a malediction on the planet
challenging us to bow out
here and now or put things right
(if it's not already too late)
to bequeath our children a future
in harmony with nature

In a spotlight of sunshine,
luminous corn circles invoking
the mystery of eternity,
human parts all but played out,
hearts put to rout,
hounded by a native savagery
plaguing the purer, simpler,
beauty of a common humanity
haunted by its history

‘Progress’ a bitter-sweet victory
over an earthly vulnerability

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in the Poetry Now [Forward Press] anthology series, London and Home Counties (2001) and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Marking Up the Calendar

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

All human relationships - including friendships - have their ups and down. If they matter to us, we must work at them. Should they flag and all but fail, we must do our best to revive them. Nor can we let foolish pride get in the way.

If we want to build bridges with someone badly enough, what does it matter who makes the first move?

Sadly, sometimes we have to face the fact that a relationship was never as worthwhile as we thought in the first place.

Let’s be honest though. It is too easy to find excuses for doing nothing. Doing something, on the other hand and…well, who knows?

MARKING UP THE CALENDAR

One day to remember,

one day to forget;

one day together - another,

cruelly torn apart

One day for friendship,

one day for rage;

one day for love - another,

blotting its page

One day to be, oh, so sure,

one day to doubt;

one day so in love, - another

in a rush to get out

One day, love and peace,

promising to endure;

one day it’s spring - another

already mid-winter

One day, life’s lessons

to learn and share,

we students of life - another

finding us still there

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2007; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'One Day' - first appeared in Awakening of the Soul, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 & subsequently in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

To The Lighthouse

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

It isn't only sailors that need to watch out for a guardian light.

We all need to keep an eye on light at the end of whatever tunnel we may sometimes find ourselves in; it may dim sometimes, but will never go out...unless we let it.

The poem is a villanelle, its title inspired by a novel of the same name by Virginia Woolf. Even so, where her brilliant, deceptively simple tale might well be seen as a literary variation on the old adage, it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive, my poem could only ever aspire to be, at best, a distant echo. It is true, though, that all that goes into getting there counts even more than reaching (or not reaching) any goal.

Regrets? Yes, of course, we all have them, but we also deserve credit for trying...well, don't we?

TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

It’s a light that I will always see

wherever I go…

in spite of shadows crowding me

Day or night, it will constant be,

come rain or snow...

it’s a light that I will always see

I take heart that others can see,

be in the know…

in spite of shadows crowding me

On land or sea, a born sexuality

like a lighthouse glow...

it’s a light that I will always see

It lends me a sense of spirituality

as through this life I go…

in spite of shadows crowding me

Come a time we are but history,

let others follow...

it’s a light that I will always see,

in spite of shadows crowding me

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

The (Human) Jungle OR The Secret Life of a Nine-to-Fiver

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

This poem appeared on the blog in 2010 as 'Where The River Bends'. Readers ‘Petra’ and ‘Karl’ have approved the new title and suggested I repeat it to help make returning to work in rain, snow or whatever after the Christmas and New Year breaks just that little bit more bearable. True, and it used to work for me every time before I retired in 2008, and still does, especially when I'm having a bad day with various health issues ...

Oh, but isn't imagination a wonderful thing?!

THE (HUMAN) JUNGLE or THE SECRET LIFE OF A NINE-TO-FIVER

Tracking a path through a forest of pine,

nature music all around, leading me where

feisty river’s twisting here, turning there,

and I pausing at each bend to cock an ear

for a lyric like no other, hidden away

in a mystic mist hugging me as if to keep

me safe from surly giants on the prowl

though (for sure) they mean me no harm

Silver, the river, blending with mist and sun,

covering me so that I am like royalty dressed

for a state occasion, needing only a crown

to let me call this fairy tale kingdom my own

and if a part of me knows (for sure) I dream

I cannot resist but must follow, follow, for all

its twists, turns, glorious music and a lyric

I can barely make out, straining to interpret

Birds and beasts of the forest shadowing me

as if at Earth Mother’s command, she concerned

for me as I track the eternal river through

a forest of pine, alone, ill-prepared for its twists

and turns and a mist cloaking me in silver,

making me into something, someone, I am not

yet I love how it shines me against the dark

enough (for sure) to scare off any malign spirits

Oh, to walk free and safe among Nature’s own,

let my senses run wild yet still retain a keen sense

of proportion, equilibrium, a feeling for fair play

that lets the river run, the trees grow, the birds sing

and beasts live, learn, and teach before dying

about the meaning of it all; no exceptions, even

for the likes of you and I. Stop! Look and see

the concrete jungle we’ve chosen for our reality

No fairy tale ending. Magical forest and silver river

insisting I cross the damn road, get to work on time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015