Up Against It

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

“The fearful unbelief is unbelief in yourself.” - Thomas Carlyle  

“Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness.”- James Thurber

“I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship.” - Louisa May Alcott

“We consume our tomorrows fretting about our yesterdays.” - Persius

“Fear makes us feel our humanity.” - Benjamin Disraeli

 Now, overheard in a supermarket: 

1st person:” I am so tired of feeling up against it all the time. First, the pandemic. Now, soaring prices and having to worry about putting food on the table, not to mention keeping a roof over our heads with flexible mortgages hitting the damn ceiling…"

2nd person: "You said it! Half the time, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, any more than our new Prime Minister if you ask me…"

Yours Truly, guilty of earwigging again, yes! But... reassuring to know that other people are feeling much the same as I do… wry bardic grin

Fear of the unknown is hard to contend with at any time, and people are scared. Hospital cases for  Covid-variant  cases are reportedly on the rise again here in the UK and the cost of living crisis is hitting everyone hard, especially low-to-medium earners, among whom those with families to feed and care for are, as always in times of socio-economic crisis, the hardest hit.

As always, there are no easy answers. We can but keep looking on the bright(er) side of life and trust in a return to it sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we have a common responsibility to do our best to rise above the worst - whatever that may be - and carry as many people with us as we can.

As the shoppers went their separate ways, each flung the other a bright smile. However tough the way ahead is looking, best foot forward with a smile to match has to be a good start, yes?

YES. 

I shuffled on, my bad leg as determined to make the best of past-present-future, whatever, as the rest of me…not ready to welcome the Grim Reaper just yet. wry bardic chuckle 

UP AGAINST IT

I may test mind-body-spirit
through its storms,
while continuing to nurture
heart-and-soul,
far more than it seems to either
casual or intimate eye,
even as I am feverishly plotting
against it by way of doing my very best
to deprive my host of rest

I insinuate the weaker aspects
of all humanity, 
until mind-body-spirit feels
comfortable enough
with my presence to take me
almost for granted, all set 
to be led like a lamb to slaughter
yet, without reckoning on the homing call
of its native heart-and-soul

Confidently, I'll feel my way
through such various
calms and rages as mixed feelings
invariably impose,
only to underestimate the skills
of a human spirit
to catch me out, albeit (too) often 
at the last minute, thwarting my endeavours
to leave no survivors…

I am that fear of a darker past-present-future,
for want of care, resilience and nurture

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Sleepy River

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

"I don't believe in failure. It is not failure if you enjoyed the process." - Oprah Winfrey

“There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere. “ – Jane Austen

"Make failure your teacher, not your undertaker." Zig Ziglar

" To see a world in a grain of sand/ And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand/ And eternity in an hour." - William Blake 

Hi folks,

I hope you are all coping with the exceptionally warm weather, unseasonably hot in some places around the globe, even those accustomed to high temperatures. 

Now, today’s poem was inspired by a favourite song of mine, recorded by the late African-American, baritone singer and actor, Paul Robeson. 

Years ago, when I was still at school and living with my parents, I would sit at the dining room table and do my homework, then sit back and listen to his beautiful voice while letting this particular song lead me through a landscape of dreams. 

Ah, the dreams of the young, so accessible, we would engage with and be inspired by them, whatever the chances of their coming true; all the thrills of fame and fortune with none of the spills that real life so loves to dish us all from time to time...

Relatively few dreams/aspirations of mine ever came true, but I still revisit them, even as I grow old, if only for their remarkability to keep me young at heart... until I find myself looking in a mirror and wondering just where I want wrong in the pursuit of those same dreams. 

Yes. they haunt me now, such dreams that I had, but mostly as friendly ghosts, whose company I have enjoyed, notwithstanding multiple errors of judgement on my part along the way…

SLEEPY RIVER

Walking in the sunshine
by a sleepy river where years ago
we’d stroll, hand in hand,
engaging with a fantasy landscape
of daydreams, destined
never to come to such fulfilment
as mind-body-spirit
aspired, but such is life, and no worries
so long as there’s you-me-us

Reasoning not the need
we’d travel the world first class
among such cloud faces
as had the measure of us, but happy
to keep company with smiles
of intrepid aspiration
as invariably accompany young lovers
wherever and whomsoever
they may be, in all walks of life in a world
where survival is the keyword

Ah, but too often dreams
fall foul of misunderstandings, 
barefaced lies, excuses
and good intentions, like shipwrecks
of which the less said, the better,
fat chance of retrieving 
remains of relationships abandoned
for lack of true staying power, togetherness,
found wanting under duress

Now, I grow old, saddened
for having failed so many dreams,
gladdened, though,
for having battled to see them fulfilled,
nor any sense of failure
in having surrendered them to vagaries
overtaking me, not one dream
forsaking me, but still able to inspire, embrace 
the poetry of personal space

Sleepy river, every tide a collective you-me-us,
every ripple, every wave, a life force...

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

The Leaf

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

“In every change, in every falling leaf there is some pain, some beauty. And that's the way new leaves grow. - Amit Ray

“Storms make the oak grow deeper roots” – George Herbert

“Birth, life, and death - each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.” - Toni Morrison

Not a day passes when I am left wondering if I have another poem in me.  Yet, only a few days ago, I found myself observing a an oak tree leaf, left discoloured by a sustained heatwave, resisting a sudden breeze until finally in full flight from its host tree, dancing freely above my head. Moments later, a heavy shower brought it down and left it fluttering on a bed of dry grass but a few feet away. 

"A metaphor for us all there?" I wondered, as my thought processes began the task of assembling a poem...

THE LEAF

Sad leaf, shades of green,
yellow and brown,
grown weary of resisting
a fun, lively breeze,
employing summer’s wiles
to have it break free 
of host tree and season,
birdsong, a plea  to Earth Mother
to see it true to its nature

Oak, hungry for nurture,
no less thirsting
for rainfall than generations
of kith and kin,
budding flowers and fauna, 
keeping it company
in (far) better times and worse,
trusting Earth Mother to listen well,
as deserves heart-and-soul

Sad leaf, making its bid
for freedom,
persuaded by the breeze
to explore its time
and space within minutes
of welcome shower's
waking flowers and fauna
to a finer well-being, a light rainfall 
reworking heart-and-soul

Leaf’s delight in sailing
on the breeze
sadly, but only short-lived,
wind easing, raindrops 
forcing it to face home truths,
all kith and kin 
left weeping as it lay dying, 
regretting its having finally caved in
to the thrill of temptation?

Dead leaf, oft recalled by kith and kin
to any who care to listen...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: If you enjoy dipping into the blog from time to time, do tell  any others whom you think may also  enjoy some of my poems.  Thanks for dropping by today, much appreciated.] RT

Hi Folks, from London UK

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

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

“Not without hope, we suffer and we mourn.” – William Wordsworth

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” – Helen Keller

Hi Folks,

I am working on a new poem, The Leaf, which I expect to complete today and publish here tomorrow. 

Meanwhile, do explore the blog archives and feel free to email me any thoughts to rogertab@aol.com with “Poetry” in the subject field. I will do my best to reply to all genuine comments; any spammers and/ or trolls will be ignored.

As regular readers well know, writing poetry is a form of creative therapy for yours truly as well as a pleasure, both equally important to me as I grow old. I was diagnosed with a form of perceptive deafness in my early 20’s and have had mobility problems since a bad fall in 2012; these, among other health issues, not least my prostate cancer, would otherwise find me in permanent freefall but for friends, poetry and word puzzles.

Now, you are never too old to discover something new about yourself. My parents were first cousins and I only recently read that the children of first cousins can be born with a cleft palate which, in turn, causes hearing problems. The muscles of the palate are important in allowing air into the middle ear, as well as allowing drainage of secretions from the middle ear; when this process is interrupted, fluid can build up in the middle ear. The channels of both my inner ears are narrow, anyway, due to surgery in the 1960’s that involved graft operations on perforated eardrums; mine was successful with the left ear, but less so with my right ear and the consultant warned me of secretion in later years, which has, in fact, been happening for a few years now. (Something else that doesn’t improve with old age!)

How much my perceptive deafness affects my hearing, for example, is affected by both the pitch of the other person's voice  and local acoustics. At school, I could not understand why I could hear the same  teacher well in one classroom and barely at all in another. Incredibly, no doctor has ever explained this to me. 

However, since there is no point in crying over spilt milk, I just try to take each day as it comes, for better or worse, hoping for the former while engaging with friends, poetry and word puzzles always helps me rise above the latter. (Yes, it works… well, more often than not!)

Take care, everyone, stay safe, keep well and let’s all do our best to stay positive even if the future is looking bleak, for now at least. Hope springs not only eternal, but invariably gets results, if not always when our need is greatest…

Love ‘n’ Hugs,

Roger

A Life in the Day of a Tree

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

“Human nature is not a machine to be built after a model, and set to do exactly he work prescribed for it, but a tree, which requires to grow and develop itself on all sides, according to the tendency of the inward forces that make it a living thing.” John Stuart Mill

 “The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness.” - John Muir

“It takes time for an acorn to turn into an oak, but he oak is already implied in the acorn.”- Alan Watts

“Storms make the oak grow deeper roots.” - George Herbert

“The axe always forgets. The tree remembers.” - Paulo Coelho

Predictably, I've had a few emails complaining, about a couple of recent poems. Reader, A G asks, “Who wants to read gay stuff on a general poetry blog?” Well, any lover of poetry will know that a poem has many layers, just like people. Does A G really believe that only LGBT folks are driven to live compartmental lives, to which not even kith and kin have access to all...?

Now, regular readers will know how I love trees…

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF A TREE

Once, we children would play 
in an old oak tree, stifling laughter
at the antics of passers-by…
now lovers, now friends, now strangers,
couples, singles, all sorts
from all walks of life taking the air,
unaware of our observing
every mind-body-spirit’s words and silences
likely to sharpen and shape us 

Oak leaves, anxiously whispering 
such facts and fictions as generations 
would make sport with us,
call it history, encourage scholars
to argue over, the rest of us
meant to take sides without losing tempers,
while simmering with rage
at page after page of political persuasiveness
further sharpening and shaping us 

Birds hover, only to fly away, fearful
of our presence, unaware we mean them
no harm, but, on the contrary
welcoming their cheeriness and beauty
into our consciousness
as trees worldwide have done, passing on
dreams of love and peace,
invoking the natural world since its first run-ins
with the cutting edges of humans

All grown old now, us kids, oak tree
older still, continuing to lend peeping eyes
and tongues mixed feelings,
yet to find a true voice or path to follow,
once starting to make sense
of such thoughts as cares ti share with us
before the world gets to impose
its own, providing powers that be time and space
to home in, sharpen and shape us

Yet, like a tree, the mind-body-spirit grows as it will,
no axe a match for heart-and soul

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Lines on Nature

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“We say
This changes and that changes. Thus the constant
Violets, doves, girls, bees and hyacinths
Are inconstant objects of inconstant cause in a universe of inconstancy.” - Wallace Stevens

“Birds do not sing in caves, nor do doves cherish their innocence in dovecot.” - Henry David Thoreau

“Don't kill doves in the garden. You kill one and the others won't come.” - Malala Yousafzai

Now, I am often criticised for being critical of some world religions, especially those whose agendas are opposed to and even encourage certain prejudices LGBT+ folks and anyone else who cannot go along with its narrowminded perspectives on life. 

However, each to their own, and I can respect anyone for that; if they can equate the sense of spirituality their religion offers them with that same narrowmindedness, more’s the pity, but … so be it. There is, after all, much comfort to be had in the constancy of any religion, albeit dependant on our (constant) perception of it.

Now, many hearts around the world will be with the families of at least 19 children and 2 teachers massacred by a teenage gunman at an elementary school in Uvalde Texas just a few days ago. President Biden is not the first US president to demand a change in the country’s gun laws, but the gun lobby there is so strong that I suspect, yet again, little if anything will change. Meanwhile, yet another town is left dealing with unimaginable grief.

In times of overwhelming emotion, especially grief, many people turn to their religion for comfort. I get that, I really do, but have only ever found comfort in nature. 

Earth Mother has no hidden agenda, but is there for us all, from all walks of life, regardless of ethnicity, sexuality and whatever creed they may choose to follow. 

Me, I will stick with nature and continue to think of myself as a pantheist.

LINES ON NATURE

Happiness, among birds, trees
and creatures left to wander freely
such water, earth and seas
as would have them stay free to live
and die, but for certain forces in humanity
indifferent to cruelty

Spirituality, in the natural world
lending peace to any who seek it,
needing respite from ways
of humankind, inclined, to see itself
free to undermine nature’s every fine creation
for its duration

Beginnings, endings, grand finales,
facts or fictions, firing the imagination,
world religions and expectations
the world over, gut feelings made to run
for cover, confused, fearful - and where better 
than to nature…

Nature, its only agenda such peace
and quiet come to lend the human spirit
such perceptions as elude us
in the general rush of everyday forces
will challenge, divide us, tug us this way or that
and all for.…what?

Listen out, too, for a mourning dove,
sending a message from its leafy world,
giving thanks to Earth Mother
for sharing, serving its every heartbeat well.
not only in sunshine and misty rain, but passed on
to every human 

Happiness, among birds, trees
and creatures left to wander freely
such water, earth and seas
as urge that we, too, endeavour to stay true
to whatever past-present-future would hold us all,
heart-and-soul

As nature may give, take, yet restore as and when,
so shall mind-body-spirit come into its own…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

Blur, Root and Branch

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“Expectation is the root of all heartache.” – proverb (often attributed to Shakespeare)

Sometimes we see what we expect to see rather than what is there; in much the same way, our feelings are similarly clouded by not feeling what we expect to feel.

Another old saying about looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope springs to mind. The rogue root and branch in nature and human nature plays up to just such imperfections; we fail to spot them because we do not expect to find them there, any more than we are willing to see imperfections in ourselves.

Invariably, blurred vision will eventually clear and rogue elements exposed once common sense alerts us to using the telescope correctly, often than not with the assistance of those better able to focus than ourselves on whatever it may be that we are gravely misperceiving.

Nothing new about either sentiment, I agree, but, hopefully, as good a preamble to the poem as any...?

BLUR, ROOT AND BRANCH

How came by first seeds
to take root and nurture us ever after
through the various seasons
of such time and personal space,
as we can but suppose
was a well-intended force for good,
advantaging kindred also
in woods and gardens, in fields or wherever
thought best by Earth Mother

Root and branch, though,
rely in no small part on circumstances
and surroundings to encourage
growth and such appearance as likely
to appeal any who tend, observe
and take to heart, or not, as the case
may well be, even allowing
for any unforeseen flaws, in the taking care of it,
seeing its basic needs well met

Intended to bear such fruit
compatible with whatever circumstances
and surroundings they grow,
these may well change as time passes,
fewer admirers raising glasses
to toast any finer attributes, but seeing ways
of cashing in on such flaws
as lend temptations of flesh and blood credulity
among certain powers that be

Rogue elements, they mean
nothing personal to whom any harm be done,
led on by various permutations
that have abused their originals
across generations,
inclined to play fast and loose with nature,
the better to take their cue
from assorted but well-established powers that be,
self-interest, ever a first priority

In nature and humanity,
find various rogue species going their own way,
disrespectful of any code,
leading its society, unknowingly, by the nose,
yet, their come-uppance
assured, one way or another, caught out by chance,
word, deed or gesture, enough to alert
their contemporaries to such goings-on as needs must
be exposed for betraying its trust

For every rogue root undermining a species’ well-being,
find many, many more well worth the nurturing

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022 

Peace

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

We may or may not face a difficult winter with Covid-19 continuing to spread among our neighbours in the European Union, not to mention the risk of illegal immigrants passing through and crossing the channel from other parts of the world.

Myself and most of my friends here in England think it was madness to relax basic safety precautions such as wearing face masks in busy areas, shops and on public transport, especially when N.I., Scotland and Wales have had the good sense not to do so. I, for one, will continue to do so as I do not share our Prime Minister’s optimistic approach.

Yes, the vaccination program is a huge success and the booster jab will provide greater protection; science appears to confirm that effects of the first two vaccinations are likely to significantly diminish without it.

Meanwhile, I try to keep an image of the first Peace rose of spring in my head and let it inspire me to find and nurture peace of mind, whatever the coming winter may hold for any of us during these trying times.

PEACE

It’s a hybrid rose called Peace
come to carry spring into summer,
letting its petals fall in autumn,
like memories to shield human hearts
from the worst of winter

Coloured yellow, the Peace rose
is for reminds us of good times past;
where love, like a rose, endures,
so Earth Mother nurtures, promising
kinder times just ahead

At any time of year, whenever
we yearn to inhale love’s perfume,
the Peace rose feeds us images
to delight the eye, lifting other senses,
lightening other burdens

Sometimes, loved ones are called
to serve in wars, maybe never return;
if they do, never quite the same
person we knew before, human nature
left to endure to survive

If the awful reality and casualties
of wars across centuries their ghosts
try to warn us, and only fools ignore;
the Politics of Power is such that it cares
little for Peace roses

At such times, we must be strong,
take well-worn paths the heart knows
and loves, for where here’s love
there is always hope for a kinder spring,
and a new Peace rose

Copyright R. N. Taber c2010; rev.2021

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – written in 2009 - appears in my collection On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

On Reading the Hand that Writes us Up

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

The Climate Change Summit in Glasgow has had a lot to say on the subject, but one cannot help wonder how many will translate into meaningful action. Even so, Hope springs eternal...

As important as weather patterns,  we need to keep a close eye on human behavioural patterns and not underestimate how they are affected by changes in our personal lives that are constantly taking place, not always for the better. 

The coronavirus pandemic has affected all us and  humanity will need all the life forces it can call upon and sustain during and after it has run its course; the effects on its collective mental as well as physical health will, of course, vary from person to person, country to country, but of one thing we can be sure - nothing will ever be quite the same again, whatever...

ON READING THE HAND THAT WRITES US UP

There's a hand that caresses the first seeds of spring
and bids them grow;
it moves among summer corn in time for harvesting,
courtesy of Apollo

Where autumn's leaves making ready for its turning,
it bestows a blessing;
when winter brings us to its knees, of life despairing,
it guides us into spring

Where we run the gamut of love, hate, peace and war,
find, too, Earth Mother;
better to have its caresses smooth over a troubled brow,
rescue the Here-and-Now 

The question arises, dare we bite the hand that feeds us,
face the consequences
or do we accept it in a spirit of goodwill to all humanity,
put aside our differences?

Beware, or hands rocking our cradle may yet let it drop,
our world breaking up;
it's to read the hand that's writing us up we need to learn
or else... Armageddon?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; rev. 2021

[Note: The original version of this poem was written in 2009 and appears in my collection Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012'; it has only recently been significantly revised.] RT

Enough is Enough

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

Why is it, I wonder, that many world leaders are only just waking up to the threat of climate change and facing up to their responsibilities, at least as far as gathering material for speeches intended to impress the electorate is concerned; sadly, much of that same electorate remains under the illusion that global warming is some kind of capitalist conspiracy propagated by those most likely to gain from it.

 If it is a rule of thumb never to underestimate one’s adversary, never was it more of a truism than in the context of humankind v nature; in the longer term, at least, and – let’s face it – as far as our time here on Earth is concerned, it’s the longer term that really matters. 

How can those of us who so love to engage with the natural world excuse years of  failing to speak up in its defence... albeit, until now, any protests have fallen on deaf ears and/or justify such in the name of 'progress' or (worse) leisure interests? Yes, that's human nature and better to progress than regress...but  we can hardly expect nature to keep paying the price it is expected to pay without making any protest.  

There comes a time when, for any of us, enough is enough; for Earth Mother, I suspect that time is now;  humankind needs must to make reparation before it is too late.... if it is not too late already. Hope, though, springs eternal and they do say "Better late than never." 😉

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Oh, world of love and beauty,
nature’s glory all around;
sadly, a devil’s cruelty in Man’s
own story found

Oh, world, such creatures in it
of every shape and colour;
Man, bent on killing off the planet
for an easy dollar

Oh, Eden, long since abandoned,
History repeating its mistakes;
lion kings in eco-zoos, mercenaries
raising the stakes

Oh, world, defying an ozone crack,
beware! Nature’s fighting back...

Earth Mother, inclined to cut up rough,
"Enough is enough...!"

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; rev. 2021

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised since it first appeared under the title 'Global Warning' in an anthology – A Celebration of Verse, Anchor Books, 2001 - and subsequently in my collection, First Person Plural, Assembly Books, 2001.]

 

Cookies, Conspiracy Theories & Personal Space

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

I heard someone comment only recently that “With any luck, we’ll get out freedom back on July 19^th when life returns to normal...” She was referring to the provisional date set by the Government to end Covid-19 safety precautions here in England, depending on how the Delta variant progresses and affects hospital admissions. 

Hopefully, he’ right, but I can’t help wondering just how “free” any of us really are any more in a world where the concept of ‘Big Brother’ created in George Orwell’s classic novel 1984 has long since stepped out of fiction into the real world...? 

In a world of ‘political correctness’- to which any decent person would subscribe in principle - we have to watch what we say or risk having it taken out of context and used against us. Meanwhile, the Internet, along with other aspects of new technology, comprises the epitome of a double-edged sword, working both for and against us at the same time. 

More than sufficient reason (surely?) for the human mind-body-spirit to stay alert to the more positive life forces around us, especially given that these remain in the majority, thanks to the better, bigger, kinder heart of human nature. 

Alternatively...? Well, we risk being overwhelmed by a growing army of negatives, actively encouraged by bigotry and gossip - particularly of the kind that make media headlines - to rework and propagate misleading stereotypes. 

My money’s on the positives, notwithstanding every Here-and Now’s reminding us 24/7, that personal space remains as vulnerable as it is precious.

COOKIES, CONSPIRACY THEORIES AND PERSONAL SPACE

I am that contradiction
among the greater part of a humanity
that needs to run wild and free
while knowing there’s a place to go
where a mind-body-spirit
grown weary of the world’s pace
can rest, recharge in safety
and privacy, without being made to reason why
it’s never (quite) enough to do and die  

While human hearts travel
such seasons of personal space as quirks
of time-and-circumstance
see fit they should, so well may they
beat all the faster, the thrill
of adventure as likely as not taking over,
nor reasoning the need,
but leading with a sense of being as wild and free
as mind-body-spirits deserve to be 

At the end of every dream-garden
the heart nurtures, a trellis gate beckoning us
to make of our futures
whatever its desires would have us do,
succeed or fail as well we may;
such are the life-forces of human choices,
but no point in our refusing
a gate’s invitation to explore some Great Unknown
if we can’t do better by Home Grown 

Call me a socio-cultural-political consciousness of sorts,
no less engaged in stabbing backs as winning hearts 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

Engaging with Forget-me-nots OR A Gardener's Tale

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

Several friends are keen gardeners; their eyes brighten up even the dullest of days as they enthuse about spring, its longer, lighter days and splashes of colour;. One mentioned only yesterday that a favourite flower is the forget-me-not.

Now, yesterday was Holocaust Memorial Day. As my thoughts turned to the horrors of Hitler’s Germany, they also took to heart such loved-ones as each and every one of us have lost in past and present times; just as they were a part of us once, so they remain, missed for their physical absence, yet continuing to inspire our every heartbeat.

Such are our fondest memories; flowers that comprise a Garden of the Heart where, once planted, the seeds of remembrance  are as likely to spread no less a burst of colour than time itself… if we but let them.

                                                 (Forget-me-nots (photo from the Internet)

ENGAGING WITH FORGET-ME-NOTS or A GARDENER’S TALE

There is a time to forget,
a time to discard, a time to re-engage
with a native soil
that’s been prepared, cared for,
nurtured in readiness
to give life, hope, and happiness
in a process of renewal
meant to regenerate the Spirit of Spring
in the wake of winter 

Ah, and who can ever forget
such clouds of frothy blue as may well
be gifts from Apollo
from heavens seeking to inspire us,
compensate us in part
for life stories that leave little left
to tell, even less to show
a curious world who or what from the start
engaged a human heart 

I look out on a garden struggling
to survive, its natural zeal encouraging
it to live, root and branch,
letting the eye see what nature can do
given time, space, heart
and hands blessed with an affinity
for an imagination inclined
to keep inner eyes on such moving fingers
as lighten up our seasons 

Bright are the colours of a garden
that temper all weathers with anticipation
of even brighter tomorrows,
sure to lift even the saddest of hearts
above its darkest sorrows,
reminding us of song and laughter
and such sweet truths
as  much-loved ghosts can hear, share with us
its finer, greater treasures 

Copyright R N Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apprentice to Nature

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

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

Since the Covid-19 coronavirus struck earlier this year, I have made many references to the fact that – especially as I live alone – writing up the blogs and working on a new collection of poems (albeit more slowly than I would like) has been a (very) welcome distraction and very therapeutic in the sense that it has saved me from getting too depressed and going into freefall. 

Several readers have emailed to say how attending to their gardens has worked for them in much the same way. I guess few activities beat actively participating in the growth of living things, whether it be a plant of a person. Me, I do not access to a garden, but look over one surrounded by trees, so can enjoy watching the birds and other life forces from my kitchen window.

One reader writes, “I live alone and do not have a garden, but I have a small dog and pot plants that help keep me sane. If I had to focus only on myself, I would be in dire straits by now …”

While the pandemic is a nightmare for everyone, dare I say it I so much worse for those people living alone are having to focus on themselves in the absence of much support from family and friends who may well not be able to visit; contact by telephone and/or video sessions help, but can make us feel so much worse once the sessions ends and the harsh reality of being alone attacks our senses with a vengeance. If ever there was a global need for

positive thinking, it is now as some countries like the UK emerge from lockdown while dreading a return of the coronavirus before a vaccine can be found.

My mother loved gardening. She saw herself as foster mother to the plants, flowers and wildlife she took under her wing. "It's much like bringing up a family," she once commented wryly, "they give far more pleasure for pleasure's own sake than by way of any compensating for what's best forgotten..."

Audrey Hepburn is often quoted as having said, 'To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.'

Now, I have always been a Hepburn fan, not least because I, too, discovered years ago that positive thinking will see us through just about any of the negatives life throws our way or puts in our heads; we just have to believe in tomorrow. (Did I say it was easy...?)

Stay strong, folk, and think positive.

This poem is a villanelle.

APPRENTICE TO NATURE

Proudly, much like a lover,

a flowering of its time like no other,

creating an evergreen border

Watching it grow, mature,

as per laissez-faire of Earth Mother;

proudly, much like a lover

Every second, minute, hour,

dreams to share in, store and nurture,

creating an evergreen border

Mixed emotions undercover

yet rising to every occasion (whatever)

proudly, much like a lover

A pupil-apprentice to nature,

the best part of any past-present-future,

creating an evergreen border

Humanity, common gardener,

marking the fruits of selfless endeavour;

proudly, much like a lover,

creating an evergreen border

Roger N. Taber 2016

[Note: If you ever want to contact me - rogertab@aol.com - please put 'Poetry' in the subject field or it will be ignored. All non-spam emails will receive a reply although there may be a short delay as I have various health problems at the moment.]

Placing the I's in (Family) History

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We are all part of history, not only our own but other people's as well; one way or another, we all bring something to the behaviour and understanding of others, not just family members and friends but complete strangers we might have chatted to on a train or in a bus queue ... wherever.In much the same way ghosts, too, play their part in developing not only the national consciousness, but the human consciousness too. I often refer to a 'posthumous consciousness' in my blogs, a sense of drawing on the wisdom of those long dead to help us make a decision, just as we may well draw on someone else's bad experiences in a similar context. Nor do our ghosts need to be part of our own or family history; history itself is a living text book about successes and failures, do's and don't that school children he world ocer carry with them all their lives, whether they realise it or not.

When our circumstances take a nosedive, there are invariably many factors to take into account. Oh, but how most if not all of are quick to play the blame game!  How many of us, though, consider pointing the finger at ourselves sometimes…especially when, at heart, we know we should…?

Ah, but when those same circumstances improve, especially by leaps and bounds, who among us is not quick to take most if not all the credit…?

As I was writing this poem, I could not help but recall a severe nervous breakdown I suffered way back in the 1970’s. It was four years before I could work again. During that time, I had the support of three wonderful people – Joyce B, Dick L and Malcolm P who encouraged me to (eventually) start writing again. As creative therapy, it was a huge boost to my mental health and general well-being. I owe those three people so much, not least for helping me to help myself. (One died before I was able to find a job and start living again while I am ashamed to say I was so desperate to put those awful years behind me that I lost touch with the others after I moved away.) These people will always have a special place in my consciousness.

As for any concept of Fate or God taking a hand in things, I remain sceptical. Neither, for me at least, have a place in a positive thinking mindset; it is too simplistic to blame or credit either for whatever. Sadly, few, if any of  us can avoid playing the blame game altogether even though (as I know only too well) it can scar a person for life. We are not puppets. No one pulls our strings although certain politicians would like to think they do ...which is probably why they go into politics in the first place. Some religious leaders are no better, of course; they like to think they are servants of their God and He speaks through them, but many enjoy the power that gives them in much the same way as some politicians who can always pass the buck to whoever happens to be Prime Minister at the time.  

.My History teacher at school, back in the 1950's once told the class, "Never think of history as being dead. History, thank goodness, is alive and kicking.Most people have completely the wrong idea about history.Hopefully, by the time I've finished with you lot, you won't ..."  and I suspect most of us didn't.

You-Me-Us, we are as we are, and we are history.

“The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you are likely to see.” 
― Winston S. Churchill

PLACING THE  I's IN (FAMILY) HISTORY

I wander in the mists of time

where no one, but everyone goes,

pondering the meaning of life 

that no one but everyone knows
plays us for puppets on strings 

Alone, but never quite alone

where no one but everyone goes

giving the lie to a flawless life
that no one but everyone knows
is best left to wishful thinking

I wander in the mists of time

making beginnings of endings

and vice versa, pulling stings,
keeping faith with human beings 
as no one but everyone knows 

No sign of the mist ever lifting,

on a human spirit close to despair,

going it alone, yet never alone

for ghosts of its history throwing
negatives and positives at it

I walk among heroes, head high,

sparing tears for those missing out

on the human spirit’s capacity

to love, learn, put bigotry to rout

(no mere puppet on its strings)

I wander in the mists of time

where no one but everyone goes,

homing in on meanings of life,

lending inspiration to its sciences
and arts deserving an audience

Writing on walls wherever I go
as I pass through the seasons of life
bringing to nature and humanity
senses and sensibilities embracing
past-present-future, such as it is 

Alone, but never quite alone,

where no one but everyone goes,

giving the lie to such 'betters'
the like of whom everyone knows

play us for puppets on strings

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

One of Us

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An English teacher at my secondary school, way back in the 1950's, once commented that ‘It is not the size of a tree but its perfect beauty that makes us feel small and aware of our imperfections, as nature intended.’ I remember that comment some 50+ years on while I have forgotten most if not all the curriculum he ever taught.

Deforestation and the removal of trees for property development worldwide is a sacrilege against nature, but not untypical of human shortsightedness, its being a hugely significant factor in saving us from climate change ...  and ourselves?  A rowing world population mean more affordable housing and this, in turn, requires the land on which to build them. Even so, we must never forget that we need trees for our protection and our mental health in the sense that they are inspiring features of any landscape; their natural beauty can help us stay on top of everyday life at times when we can barely summon the strength and willpower to get through it. 

Regular readers will know that I suffered a bad nervous breakdown way back in the 1970's; it was walking among trees in a local park that played a significant part in my recovery. Since then, I have feared a relapse and sought inspiration from various aspects of nature every single day, simply as a human being who also happens to be a poet.; it has worked, and I cope with stress better than I have ever done.

“All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
- J. R. R. Tolkien (Lord of the Rings)

'When the axe came into the forest, the trees said “The handle is one of us.' Turkish proverb.

Yes, oh, yes, the human mind-body-spirit need our trees ... and not just for axe handles.

ONE OF US or BURY THE LEAVES, SAVE THE TREES 

Splendid tree, shades

of green caught up in combat

with a rising insurgency;

patched-up leaves, shades

of red under relentless attack

from native forces

Branches, groaning

for knowing limitations placed

on input and outcome;

canny leaves, anticipating 

Big Combo, taking advantage

of cloud cover

Falling leaves, piling

at the feet of a parent tree

left to watch and weep;

dying leaves, with more

to offer than a half blind Earth

living with heart failure

Dead leaves, poultices

for wounds News editors

will use for headlines;

splendid tree, hopes pinned

on its surgeon, anticipating spring,

and home birds returning

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, 2020

[Note: An earlier version of today’s poem under the title 'Bury the Leaves, Save the Trees' was first  published in Poetry Rivals: A New Dawn Breaks, Forward Press, 2010 an subsequently in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.] 

Catching Up with Raison d'être

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The new year has not begun well for me, not least for having to rise above the stress of mislaying my debit card last week, having to rally my thought processes to report it missing (online) and then grapple with various aspects of acquiring a replacement; all tasks I would have taken in my stride even in my 60’s, but for which my 70’s resisted even acknowledging the necessity. My delight at receiving and registering a new card, was somewhat dampened - to say the least - by discovering my old card this morning… in the lining of my wallet where it had slipped through an invisible hole. I was furious with myself, having searched high and low for the damn thing. A glass of red wine helped calm me; so much for promising myself a dry January…

On Friday, I will have a PSA test prior to seeing my prostate cancer consultant next week.  Regular readers will know that I have been treated with hormone therapy since 2011 when the cancer was   first diagnosed. If it isn’t the cancer taking its toll on me, it’s the hormone therapy although I dare say growing old plays its part. At the same time, I am having to get used to wearing compression stockings following my being successfully treated for a nasty venous ulcer last year.

Regular readers will also know that I am a great believer in trying to look on the bright side of life no matter what it throws at us, and I do, I DO; never easy, but always worth the effort (which in my case, invariably involves writing a poem) if only because the alternative is unthinkable.

CATCHING UP WITH RAISON D'ÊTRE 

We catch up,

with each other time and again,

go for long walks

in sunshine, snow and rain,

hand in hand

as close friends do, yet neither friend

am I to you nor enemy,

we pair comprising but one mind-body-spirit

anxious to break free

Born to take life,

in our stride little or nothing to hide

through formative years,

though vaguely aware of innocence

doing battle

with articulation, keeping our thoughts

from getting too close

to home truths, shadows increasingly taking on

an air of being human

Time passes,

dreams, daydreams infiltrating reality,

compromising us

at every turn, mind-body spirit

resisting its dark side,

yet still they persist, those shadowy figures

with human voices,

making excuses for writing off abuses of privilege

as but rites of passage

Come, mind-body-spirit

learning to see without always needing to rely

on the human eye,

hear the tick-tock of the human clock

as time passes,

inhale the perfumes of nature, dismiss bad smells

as par for the course

for better, for worse, day or night, trust Earth Mother

to see us right

So what is ‘seeing us right’

supposed to mean? No more or less than each

to his or her own...

Some will argue we get our just deserts

in any after-life,

while others depend on religion to secure their place

in a Heaven of sorts;

for most, no matter when or how we take leave of Earth,

there is only death

At journey's end, more questions, 

anxious to distinguish an enemy from a friend,

easier said than done

for anyone whose self-awareness

succours the human spirit, 

even while feeding 

on flaws as sure to spit us out 

behind closed doors as expose any shadowy life forms

for who’s who

Yet, no living thing dies

if only because Memory will always care for its own,

nurturing any seeds

we’ve knowingly or unknowingly sown

that may well, in turn,

have touched the lives of loved ones and strangers alike,

our spirit joining theirs

in rising above much the same fears, wiping a world’s tears

for love and peace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

A Parting Gift OR Mind-Body-Spirit, Bottom Line

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

A new poem today as I work my way through New Year blues, and try to rise above them. Oh, I will get there, but it becomes so much harder as the years pass...

As regular readers well know, I do not subscribe to any religion although I think of myself as a pantheist relating closer to Earth Mother. I was once asked if I feared death as I envisage no Heaven. Well, I don't fear death as such, only any pain that might come first. The human spirit, though, lives on in the hearts and minds of any it has touched during a person's lifetime and it's that posthumous consciousness I see as a kind of afterlife, our parting gift to a common humanity of which, for better or worse,we play a part all our lives.

Many if not most of us look back on our lives as we grow old, good times and bad, wondering if we could have done better, and if we have made any real difference at all; questions to which few of us have all the answers, only shadows; We can but hope our being here has made some difference to someone, somewhere, and for the better.

A PARTING GIFT or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, BOTTOM LINE

As we grow old,

so, too, find us chasing shadows

across the mind;

memories come to haunt us

for good and ill;

dreamy days, nightmare days,

in-between days,

mind-body-spirit left to make sense

of it all

As we grow old,

years like passers-by try to read

our changing faces,

leave us asking of time and space

just how much

of all they see (or think they see)

is fact, wishful thinking,

or home truths we’ve spent a lifetime

hiding from

As we grow old,

our shadows deepen, linger longer

as if daring us

to catch them like butterflies

in a net,

no harm meant, but pleasure spent

in showing nature

who’s king-pin, aware of Earth Mother

looking on

As we grow old,

so tearfully we’ll recall butterfly wings

on a bedroom wall,

rare species, a collector’s boast

for catching the most

in Class 3 B, earning a gold star,

one in the eye

for living things bright and beautiful, great

and small

Ah, but butterflies

enjoy but a brief life span, while old age

(if chasing shadows)

homes us in on splendid dawns,

starry nights,

sunny days of love, laughter,

family and friends,

where a rolling landscape of mind-body-spirit

never ends

Mortality, it catches up

with all live things, its kinder shadows

lending wings

to rise above time and space,

access realms

of least explored consciousness

and spirituality;

passport to eternity by way of life’s parting gift

to humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020