Getting the Better of Demons

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

A Reader asks if I still submit poems to poetry journals. Occasionally, I do, but mostly I publish to the blog. Most editors stipulate that a poem should not have been published elsewhere which can tie up a piece for months while a decision is being made. In the past, I some 600 poems of mine have appeared in various poetry sources, excluding my own collections. I am greatly indebted to those editors for giving me the confidence to believe in myself as a poet.

One of my poems - Skeleton in the Cupboard - was recently published by the Society of Genealogists’ magazine (Vol. 33, No 8, Dec. 2020) here in the UK at the editor's request; it is distributed to members worldwide, so hopefully some readers will enjoy it. Blog readers will find it in the archives (right hand side of any blog page) for February 2018. 

Meanwhile ...

Some 60+ years ago, I used to have nightmares most nights and would sometimes fall asleep in class.  A teacher tackled me about it after school one day, and I told him about the nightmares. He did not ask what they were about, only warned me not to let them get the better of me. 

“Do they scare you, these nightmares?” he asked. I nodded.  

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life being scared? I shook my head. “Then chase them away. Open your mind to people, places, and things that mean the most to you, trust your more positive feelings, and let them convince you you’re bigger and better than any stupid nightmare just for having them. Start believing that, and no nightmare can survive. They are our demons. They love to sound out the worst in us, negative feelings we may not even be consciously aware of. Think positive, Taber, and they’ll run a mile. Try it, and see, yes?” 

“Yes, sir, I nodded, thinking what a load of rubbish, and anxious to be on my way home. 

Even aged 15, though, the sceptic in me could never resist a challenge. I gave his advice a whirl, and rarely have nightmares troubled me since. Moreover, I was a psychological mess for years, and positive thinking has worked wonders for my mental well-being. 

Mind you, getting the better of nightmares is one thing, getting the better of human nature, that's something else.

GETTING THE BETTER OF DEMONS 

I help recapture the best
of all yesterdays, and if darker times
should attempt
to muscle in and get the better of us,
I will summon the power
of love from its very first heartbeat
to drive any demons away
daring to believe they can pick a fight with us
and prove anything but losers 

I help plant and nurture
the finer seeds of all such tomorrows
as try to persuade
the world to turn as nature would have it,
pitted though it be
against the worst of humanity’s flaws
and baser desires
giving it (and us) just cause for a determination
to devise and effect reparation 

I have nursed broken hearts
and minds to a greater sense of wellness
than the very society
that would do them harm in the first place,
not least for its failing
to mark how its population nurtures
a split personality,
its diversity of socio-cultural-religious ideals
erecting fences, building walls 

Call me, Pillow, where hope and love share dreams
of saving worlds last seen fraying at the seams

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Engaging with the Kafkaesquesque OR The Landscape of Nightmare

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

Today's poem has been slightly revised (from 2017) for inclusion in the new collection of poems that I am struggling to put together as my personal circumstances - along with everyone else's - approach Kafkaesque proportions from time to time; although restriction on mobility and retail are starting to lift as the Covid-19 coronavirus appears to be lessening its impact, it is still there, still a threat, and many of us are concerned we may be coming out of lock-down too soon, especially as we look at what is happening around the world, including countries that appear to have been hit by a second wave after coming out of lock-down. Oh, well, fingers crossed ... and let's all be careful out there.

Readers sometimes email me to say they find browsing the blogs a problem as there are so many poems. A good way is to use the search field in the top right hand corner to search under subject;

e.g. history, nature, human spirit, positive thinking, mind-body-spirit  etc. 

Oh, and if you enjoy at least some of the poems please recommend the blog to others... although I really do appreciate that poetry is not everyone’s favourite art form. wry bardic wink

Meanwhile…

I had not been long out of hospital when I wrote the poem a few years ago and on a high dose of antibiotics to keep nasties like sepsis at bay. I'd had a bad night and woke up suspecting I would have a bad day so decided to try and write my way out of what was not a promising start. Well, it worked, for me at any rate, and (who knows?) it may work for you, too. Indeed, the power of positive thinking never fails to amaze me. (Believe me, I needed plenty of it in hospital... )

If dealing with illness - or any dark forces - is a challenge for the human body, it is no less of one for mind and spirit; indeed, I am not sure the three can be separated, and regular readers will have noticed that often refer to mind-body-spirit as one life force in the blogs; add the combined power of love and positive thinking, and it should come as no surprise that many if not most human beings are up for whatever challenges we face, whether they image the landscape of horror, danger, whatever ...

ENGAGING WITH THE KAFKAESQUE or THE LANDSCAPE OF NIGHTMARE

Dark, my world,

animated shapes conveying

little or nothing

to ease a so-restless mind,

unquiet spirit

No cheery sounds

of laughter over corny jokes

or cheery singing

out of tune at the washing-up

after dinner for two

Nothing and no one

to home in on for comfort;

shoulders to lean on

but shades of wishful thinking

on scrap paper

Kafkaesque, dragging

on senses that, oh, but faintly

offer resistance,

yet creating just space enough

for breaking dawn

Light, proving a match

for its nemesis, now a gathering

of sun nymphs

inspiring wings of a skylark

to force an entry

Song, waking the heart

to possibilities and potential

enough for mind, body,

and spirit to be curious, wake up

to the challenges

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in CCandD poetry magazine v291, Scars (US) 2019]

Notes on the Dark Side of Imagination

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

Regular readers will know that I suffer from regular bouts of depression although I usually manage to avoid plunging into The Abyss if only just...

When depression strikes, I am inclined to wallow in misery and self-pity until a natural optimism and love for life (in spite of its erratic ups and downs) brings me to my senses, and once again I feel free to embrace the world as I invariably see it from the shimmering summit of Mount Parnassus.

Inspiration comes from all aspects of nature, including human nature, fickle though these can be until (eventually) I start to make sense of  who I am; my social, sexual, cultural and spiritual identity...all the parts that comprise a person's whole. It is, after all, the whole that counts, with which all of us need to come to terms, each in our own way, and take pride.

Oh, and, yes, I find the task of hitting on an appropriate title to a poem as challenging an art form as the poem itself; yet another positive step in the survival business.

NOTES ON THE DARK SIDE OF IMAGINATION

Now among friends, now left alone,
wandering a gloomy, scary by-way,
thorns like vampires in fields of stone
under a jaundiced sky turning grey

No one in sight, man, woman or child;
gargoyles on Heaven’s outer walls
perpetuating horror, while as beguiled
by such arts for leaving me appalled

Tearing at cloth ears, misery and pain
for the end of a world still enduring
Man’s rape for the sake of Power’s gain,
now at Earth Mother’s final reckoning

How many poets, I dare wonder aloud,
have permitted demons to spawn here,
this fine company of gargoyles, allowed
but a grimace, neither a voice nor tear?

Oh for just one kiss of sun on the face,
or garden smells after downpours,
to empathize with a lark’s winged grace,
speak out against the world’s eyesores

Suddenly, the ghastly mirage is gone,
I am back on track, among friends
whose loyalty and love I shall lean upon
where it’s said the track (finally?) ends


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007


[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that appears in first editions of Accomplice to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Rascals on the Run OR The Shape of Things to Come

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

‘Around the rugged rocks, the ragged rascal ran,’ was meant to be nothing more than an introduction to alliteration in the course of an English lesson when I was about 12 years-old. Yet, even as my teacher spoke those words, an image was forming in my mind of some unfortunate lad dressed in rags, bare feet bleeding after running round rugged rocks for no reason other than it was something to do, better perhaps than…well, whatever. (Being in school on a lovely summer’s day perhaps?)

That image will always haunt me. If childhood was no bed of roses, it was no bed of thorns either, but there were times when the going would get rough, not least because I had a hearing problem (perceptive deafness) that would not be properly diagnosed until I was 20 years-old. I’d find myself running round and round various rugged, metaphorical rocks unable to break whatever vicious circle of existence pursued me. Break it, though, I did, time and again if only by exercising mind over matter, a strategy that has served me well throughout my adult life.

Don't get me wrong, there was plenty of love in my childhood, fun times too, but that old adage 
'Children should be seen and not heard' was applied by just about everyone just about everywhere in those days, and having a voice to which people may well lend an ear but without actually listening is a tough nut to crack at any age, especially for a child still very much a novice in the art of language and communication skills. Most children and young people, though, are not only better able to adapt to circumstances than many adults give them credit for, but also have a much better idea of who they are, articulation or not. I know, I did. 

RASCALS ON THE RUN or THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

Around rugged rocks, ragged rascals

run …into a story-poem as (gradually)

mind and spirit start homing in  

on artful shadows penetrating a mist,

outline of a child chasing shadows,

doing battle with hidden fears, taking

a pride of sorts in wiping away the first

of, oh, so many tears

Sea sounds, music to the child’s ears,

fun waves splashing on dream holidays,

TV family laughing, applauding…

till time to wake, give wishful thinking

the elbow, start climbing up walls

where giant spiders have ears, tell tales

enough on cry-baby bed-wettings to give

even a rascal the shakes

One times one is one, two times two,

(time to tie a shoelace, heading for a fall)

distant voices jeering, clapping a rascal

made to stand in front of the class, object

of pretend martyrdom, subject of abuse,

taking a pride or sorts in refusing to shed

a solitary tear, allying with artful shadows

dampening red hot coals   

One times one is one, two times two

(shoelace a sloppy bow, heading for a fall)

dispassionate voices, chasing a rascal

through the streets of town for truanting,

preferring to get high with crack-heads

than some bottomless pit of name-calling

created especially for those unable to keep up

a semblance of appearances

One times one is one, two times two

(best designer gear, evidence of a fall)

no character references for the court,

gets twelve months, no surprises there

for a rascal despatched to learn (or teach?)

a trick or two about climbing walls

where giant spiders with ears and eyes

make short work of flies

Sea sounds, in young-old ears,

fun waves splashing on dream holidays,

TV family laughing, applauding…

till time to wake, give wishful thinking

the elbow, start climbing up walls

where giant spiders have ears, tell tales,

carry knives or guns, and not to kill flies

or give rascals the shakes

Around rugged rocks, ragged rascals

run…into a story-poem likely to haunt

generations of children weaving

fictions around lives unfit for purpose,

branded liars and tantrum throwers

for a want of articulation on an absence

of real understanding in a world obsessed

with its own worldliness

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Insomnia OR Never Let a Sandman Wear You Down.

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

The world's differences in socio-cultural-religious and political affairs have always had much to answer for, and one thing in common - a penchant for inviting insomnia...

INSOMNIA or NEVER LET A SANDMAN WEAR YOU DOWN

Tossing and turning, unable to sleep,
a desperate yearning for peace
of mind - but they are unkind to me,
the pillows, the sheets, a mattress
that sags in the middle; eerie shadows
on the ceiling, spiders on the wall,
strange noises rising from the floor,
sounds of partying next door
(I was not invited by the way, slighted
as ever, could it be because I'm gay,
surely not? The twenty-first 21st century
is well under way for heaven's sake,
though you wouldn’t think so for tragic
goings-on in countries like Iraq

So what’s wrong with me that people
always seem to be taking the piss,
leaving me tossing and turning, unable
to sleep, desperate for some peace?
Maybe I should try harder to be nice
or could it be I’m trying too hard,
need to devote more time to listening
instead of being wise after events,
mis taking media pundits for mentors’?
Mind you, at least I have opinions
worth voicing (surely?) less than happy
to settle for recycling everyday gossip
thrown out by Mr, Mrs and Ms Average
so the neighbours can have a say

Ah, neighbours, bless 'em all, the short,
tall and obese, not just keeping up
with the Jones' (and how!) but some keen
to put their money wheresoever mouths
open and shut like constipated goldfish
inviting advertising moguls to get in
on the act, vying to take over the show,
various media pundits busy partying
in Corridors of Power, confusing issues,
(incidentally boosting sales of tissues)
inciting Mr Mrs and Ms to exhibitionism
(credit card fetishism?) as if anyone
really cares but for feeling a need to take
re-evaluate their own affairs, if only to see
if they can (surely?) go one better

It has to be said, most of us are easily led
by any old halter, cattle to slaughter;
Note, I didn’t say ‘sheep’ - the exclusive
property of those unable to sleep
for sweating over, oh, such pretty lambs
(thanks, Mother Nature, you're a star)
therefore not in the same blanket category
as Average and Jones who'll never
lose any sleep over Dolly clones, let alone
war in Iraq, North Korea's intentions,
Human Rights globally, poverty everywhere,
not to mention the likes of that double act,
Bush and Blair, with whom the history books
will hopefully more than get even

Alas, it will all keep, while the rest of us toss
and turn, trying to get some sleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

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

Home Grown

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

[Update 20/4/17: Yet again our hearts go out to the people of France after a police officer was killed and colleagues wounded in a terrorist attack on the Champs Elysees in Paris; our thoughts are with their families and friends as well as other colleagues who, of course, risk their lives every day during these dark times. On Sunday the French people will elect a new president. He or she will face a tough task ahead, not least - along with security forces worldwide - in thwarting the growth of home grown terrorism. Open borders are a wonderful sentiment, but impractical given the times in which we live; border checks are a necessary evil and anyone who cannot see that is well and truly blinkered. It would appear that prisons, too, are a breeding ground for home grown terrorism so security forces worldwide need to monitor anyone released who may be suspected of being radicalised; this is not an infringement of civil liberties, but plain common sense.]

Terrorism remains a global threat from fundamentalists and fanatics who think they are right so everyone else must be wrong. Tragically, their message is one of warped idealism, but idealism all the same to which young people especially are vulnerable; few have sufficient experience of life to appreciate that there are more subtle (f no less effective) ways to help initiate change for the better in what, after all, is a much flawed world for all its focus on progress.

Most if not all of us, too, have our own private terrors within our own personal space; many of these are spirited away into the rose coloured mists of time by kinder forces to which we become more sensitive we grow up, but ... rarely if ever completely.

Before we can hope to defeat global terrorists perhaps we (and they) need to address and rise above our own private terrors?

HOME GROWN

A cry in the night, could be

human or beast,

sneaking past the Old Man

like a snake

A stalking star, fallen upon

its victim?

Feet dead, thought paralysed

by indecision...

Someone badly needs help,

but in what direction?

Probably a cat, trapped in that 

dark alley’s jaws

Quiet. Blood rediscovering its

everyday route...

Mind functioning sufficiently

to agree inaction

Body heading for home, as if

never disturbed

A cry in the night, marking us

for human or beast;

heart beating madly, madness

everywhere

Of global terrors, none greater

than home grown

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Note: The original cover design for this collection is by my dear friend Graham Collett who has designed  covers for (many) other books besides mine in the course of his full-time job as a graphic designer. He also finds time to shoot the videos for my You Tube channel:  

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber. 

I am fortunate indeed to call him my best friend.