Shades of Comic Genius (and Quinquagenarian Angst)

 

From Roger’s good friend – Graham

 

Sap is rising, shoots are sprouting and buds are throbbing in anticipation…

Today’s poem ‘Shades of Comic Genius’ offers an amusing take on a couple who rediscover the passions of youth in their later years. A blaze of glory as they surrender to the unbridled urges of nature and cast away, if briefly, the burden of age. It’s an enchanting example of the whimsical aspect in some of Roger’s writing.

Speaking of age, I imagine that cresting past that mid-life hill can be daunting for many of those in my generation. Especially if they find themselves single and there’s an incentive to maintain that sylph-like physique of youth! Although that objective does become a bit of a pipedream, unfortunately, as years advance.

It’s an unsightly truth that age and gravity conspire to steer one’s finest assets on a southward migration. Looking in the mirror recently, I was reminded of one of those mudslide events that you might see in a disaster movie. Although I consider myself fortunate that I can still glimpse my feet between shoegazing moobs. (It’s certainly a stark contrast with the type of ‘hangovers’ I faced during my student days.) Sitting in the bath the other day was reminiscent of a baggy old armchair that had become waterlogged.

As if that wasn’t bad enough I was disappointed recently when my young niece asked me why I appeared to be frowning in some of the family photos. I had to explain that I was just facing down slightly and the mouth was sagging. She was kind enough to offer the assistance of a photo enhancer app although I gratefully declined. (Fastening a large bulldog clip to the back of the scalp might be more effective?)

I remember poor Rog complaining about ten years ago about his midriff getting wider. He was worried about becoming ‘bell-shaped’. I couldn’t think of anything diplomatic to say so I suggested that at least, he’d be the ‘belle of the ball’. Fortunately he was immune to my cheeky banter and laughed. Latterly, his avoidance of dairy products seemed to stop the expanding girth which was some consolation.

Much of the time we tried to laugh about our frailties and work around them. Or imagine, at least, that our salad days hadn’t entirely withered on the vine. Anyway, it’s good to throw caution to the wind sometimes; budding with memories from the bloom of youth…

 

*  *  *

 

‘She said she was approaching forty, and I couldn't help wondering from what direction’. Bob Hope (British-born American entertainer).

 

*  *  *

 

SHADES OF COMIC GENIUS
(For old[er] people everywhere)

We stripped naked under a leafy sky,
saw our bodies turn gold,
for a while forgot about growing old

Rediscovering youth’s feisty passion
we surfed its glorious tide,
put aches, pains and home truths aside

A balmy breeze gave us its blessing
and songbirds sang amen
while halcyon days revisited us again

Though years pass and take their toll,
the spirit of adventure remains
to seize the day, throw off its chains

If love is the greatest adventure of all,
sex is but half the story,
a shared empathy, its power and glory

We dressed quickly, nature applauding
bodies frayed at the seams
acknowledging its comedy of dreams

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010. From the collection On the Battlefields of Love

 

*  *  *

 

I’ve also included a jokey poem that I found in an old email which never quite made the grade for publication (‘Senior Moments…’) . However, it ties in so well I’ve included it. I think older readers will appreciate it...

 

SENIOR MOMENTS or GROWING OLD WITH CHUCKLES
(And, no, Chuckles is not my cat.)

This little poem of mine
may well be missing the occasional line
since senior moments with me
are as common as sugar or milk in a cup
of coffee or tea

Whenever out and about,
I rely on my trusty walking stick’s support,
but will often raise the alarm
when I put it aside and it chooses to hide
(usually on my arm)

An easy to follow recipe
(meant to impress old friends visiting me)
might well prove a mistake
when I get proportions sufficiently wrong
to make us all feel sick

I have hurried for buses
only to find I’m soon counting my losses
for its heading (miles) away
from whatever destination I’d had in mind
and forgetting that anyway

A positive thinking person,
I refuse to let senior moments get me down,
but love to laugh at them
among friends over a few drinks in the pub,
ever toasting, ‘Carpe Diem’

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Partners for Life

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

“The great thing about getting older is that you become much more mellow. Things aren’t as much black and white and you become much more tolerant. You can see the good things much more easily… “  - Maeve Binchy 

“Aging is not uncomplicated. Creativity is an extraordinary help against destructive demons.” - Ingmar Bergman

“We are not victims of aging, sickness and death. These are part of scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change. This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being.” - Deepak Chopra

“The ordinary experiences of aging alter and clarify your view of past, present, and future.” - Edith Pearlman

Now, many if not most of us have to cope with various health issues as we grow old(er). Never easy. The trick is not to let it obscure our perspective on the bright(er) side of life, especially as it is reflected in the kinder side of human nature

PARTNERS FOR LIFE

Growing old,
quality of life much the poorer
just for that, barely 
in touch with a mind-body-spirit
often losing its way
among mixed feelings forever open
to misinterpretation,
of positive thoughts persistently overtaken
by naggings of disillusion?

Looking back
over some shadowy shoulder
at inspiring dreams
left unfulfilled like litter on the streets
where I have lived,
expecting more of a Here-and-Now
than it was able to give,
left wondering what Time may yet yield me
other than... a lonely eternity?

Alternative voices,
familiar enough to any heart-and-soul
having had to rise above
such negative thoughts as sure to haunt
even a positive thinker
whenever life take a turn for the worse,
(as often as not)
tasking us with the greater art of being human,
in starting over, yes, yet again

Oh, mind-and body!
unable to win through, but for letting in
and partnering a native spirit
defying description, invariably taking its cue
from a natural world
no less under threat than a heart-and-soul
continuing to be inspired,
forever working through stages of regeneration;
come mind-body-spirit, in unison.

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2023

[Note: I have been very unwell, but  working on another post-poem has contributed, in no small measure, to my starting to feel a lot better and more positive about looking on the bright(er) side of life...😉 Oh, and I hope some of you will have enjoyed browsing the post-poems in the blog archives during my absence, and will continue to do so.] RT

 

Lakeside

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

“A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.” – William Wordsworth

“Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.” – Wallace Stevens

“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” – Loren Eisley

While recovering from a nervous breakdown some 40+ years ago, I returned to my home county, Kent, often referred to as the Garden of England. I returned to a lake that my mother had taken me to visit many years ago; it helped (a lot) to renew a sense of positive perspective in me.

I guess, going back can help us move forwards, although not a good idea to stay too long and get bogged down in wishful thinking...!

LAKESIDE

One day, I went for a walk
in a local park not far from home,
a light breeze in my hair…
paused by a lake to watch fishes
glide by, glanced down
and experienced a stab of surprise,
failing at first to recognize
a face looking back at me as my own
for looking old, tired and worn

I’d always thought of myself
as one among the young at heart;
no traces of that here,
gazing back at me, all but accusingly,
catching me out in denial
of a Here-and-Now closing in on me
that I cared not to acknowledge
for fear of having to yield to and admit
a sense of loneliness and defeat

Mind-body-spirit then chose
to take me along paths old and new,
past sunny milestones
as well as weepy tombstones,
among sounds of laughter and tears
that have had me ride
such winds, earth and seas across
prose and poetry as have also shown me
a happy, sad ’n’ bad humanity

A face in the lake tossed me a wry smile,
made its peace with heart-and-soul

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

A Word to the Wise

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

"Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive.” – Charlotte Bronte

"You don’t stop laughing when you grow old. You grow old when you stop laughing. – George Bernard Shaw

“Age isn’t how you are, but how you feel.” Gabriel Garcia Marquez

“Everything has beauty but not everyone sees it.” – Confucius

“In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” – Robert Frost 

Now, I started to say that, on the whole, I am not enjoying old age…until I looked again at that telling phrase ‘on the whole’ and realised that age is but the sum of its parts, just as we are the sum of ours. 

Having always had to take the rough with the smooth, better, surely, to keep the smoother in view and put the rougher behind us…?

Smooth is good and life, at any age, is invariably a mix of good and bad, though not forgetting that old standby, muddled…

I well recall that, as a schoolboy in the 1950's,  I once considered the prospect of 'fate' as something to be scared of until I heard Doris Day singing Que sera, sera (What will be, will be) in such a bright, fun, lively way that it never seemed anywhere near as scary any more, just something to muddle through, for better or worse, as best we can; in the case of the latter, once through, best learned from and  moving on...

So, yes, in the course of writing this preamble, I have reached the conclusion that old age is a bit of a muddle. Since mind-body-spirit has always urged yours truly to muddle through whatever and keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, I guess that’s what I’ll continue to do… 😄

You may well ask what  sexuality has to do with growing up and/ or growing old. What, indeed...?

A  WORD TO THE WISE

Growing old, faster than I would
ever have believed it
of as feisty a mind-body-spirit
as always as a part of me,
tugging gently but firmly at the heart 
strings, reminding me 
I’m gay, and nothing wrong with that;
no matter some folks may call us perverse
it’s good, it’s cool. this you-me-us

Growing old, time passing at a pace,
I’d never have though it,
for making the most of mind-body-spirit
in such ways as obliging
its everyday calling in such life forces
as cheering heart-and-soul on
in what has never been a competition,
just ordinary folks but doing their damnedest
to enjoy the best, endure the worst

Grown old, confirms a birth certificate
that’s but a piece of paper,
not a record of its owner’s path in life,
whether or not ever able
to make any sense of such flaws 
in certain life forces set on 
debasing our humanity for so interpreting
various moral agendas as would have us seen 
an enemy of ‘what-might-have-been’

Where age a measure of potential from the start,
come winners all, the young at heart

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: this post-poem also appears on my gay poetry blog today; after all, we all get old, and we’re as old as we feel… like Methuselah some days maybe, but, on the whole…] 😉RT

 

The Lilac Tree, no Fairy Tale

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

“I’ve not much interest in the important things of life. Only in the beautiful things. Just” this lilac here makes me happy. – Erich Maria Remarque (Three Comrades)

“The smell of moist earth and lilacs hung in the air like wisps of the past and hints of the future.” – Margaret Millar

“Philosophy: A purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.” – T. S. Eliot

There was, indeed, a lilac tree in the garden of the house where I was born in Gillingham (Kent); true, too, it was still there when I made a point of passing that way during recovery from a mental breakdown in the 1970’s. True, also, that its fragrance filled me then, as it always has and always will, with the life force that is hope; for every blind alley, a kinder alternative.

THE LILAC TREE, NO FAIRY TALE

Once upon a time,
a lilac tree grew in the garden
of the very house
where I was born, lived and played
with friends and family,
would see birds and butterflies attracted
by its fragrance in full bloom,
extending a poetry of spring into early summer,
memories to treasure

Come winter, pruning
would bring tears to the eyes
of family and friends,
less hardy than the little lilac tree,
more vulnerable
for having to weather less-than-kind
ways of the world, eager to give it
a fighting chance to thrive, stay safe, be strong,
lend us a focus for living

Grown old and weary,
yet no less spirited for all that,
a whim took me treading
an alleyway in time and personal space
to the same garden gate
of the very house where I was born,
first felt the fragrance of lilac
encouraging heart-and-soul to weather whatever
in nature and human nature

In one corner of a stranger’s garden, I can still see
my lilac tree, sweet smell of eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Hi, folks, from London UK

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

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. 😉]

Hello again, from London UK

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

Hello again, everyone, from London UK,

Sorry, no poem today, but will try and compose a new one soon. I've has traumatic few days and only just rediscovering a sense of normality.. Last week, I found myself locked out of the computer  by Microsoft. As I have preferred to use Google for many years, I had no recollection of the information I was being asked to input. Several times, my screen told me to "try again tomorrow", but the situation persisted , so I had to take the pc into a local store; I needed to save the data so it was a few days before I was able to collect it, in good working order but operational changes to which I have yet to become accustomed.

Years of hormone therapy for the prostate cancer have played havoc with my thought processes and also left me prone to panic, but lots of herbal tea and doing word puzzles helped keep me on an even(ish) keel. I would have coped much better when I was younger (will be 77 later this year), but I suspect that old age as well as the hormone therapy haven't helped the ole thought processes.😉

I had bought a laptop sometime ago, so managed to get it up and running- with a lot of help from my friend Graham (who created the videos where I read poems on YouTube) but getting used to anything new, takes me awhile these days. Problems with setting it up have now been (hopefully) solved and today I collected my pc from the local store.

This pc, too, has significantly different features with which will take me awhile to become comfortable, but (hopefully) I will be up to the challenges ahead. Again, another friend, Richard, kindly set it up for me as I have forgotten much of what I ever knew about setting up computers!😀

So, I am all set to go again, engage with you all and invite you to to (hopefully) enjoy my poems, both on regular posts and in the blog archives.

Although I have always loved writing up the blog and composing poems, I haven't the words to describe just how much the latter, especially, has helped me through the pandemic. So, a BIG thank you to you all for staying in touch. Sadly, we are not over the pandemic just yet, but let's all hope we are at least over the worst of it and there aren't too many Covid variants out there just waiting to pounce. I am still wearing a face mask in shops, on busy thoroughfares and public transport even tough we are no longer legally obliged to here in England; I may be in a minority, but that has never bothered me...😉 Better safe than sorry, I say...

I hope to be back real soon with a poem, but suspect it may take me longer than a younger version of yours truly, to get used to all the changes associated with finding files and logging on etc. 

Take care care, stay safe and keep well, dear readers, and remember to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, no matter how it may drive you up the proverbial wall... as so often happens to us all from time to time😉 Should you ever feel unable to cope, never hold back from asking friends for help; it shows that mind-body-spirit knows best even when we don't... as I have discovered time and again over many years, and done my nest to reciprocate.

Love 'n' Hugs,

Roger

Hi folks, from London UK (again)

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

Hi, folks, it's me again😄

Many thanks for dropping by. No poem for you today, but I'm working on one so it should be ready for posting here tomorrow or over the weekend. To be honest, I was stuck for a theme until a nasty memory block caused me to forget how to log on to my computer. Although years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer messes with my thought processes, this is something I do every day and it left me all but demented until I remembered. I sent a frantic SOS to mind-body-spirit, pleading for a clue. Suddenly my thought processes cleared like an early morning mist, not only recalling my log-on, but suggesting a theme for a poem... addressing mind-body-spirit (yes, again!) and a title along the lines of 'SOS'  a provisional title for now, but I may yet keep it.😉

I am often asked how I cope with memory loss as I grow old, especially as I live alone; it may be predominantly associated with dementia/ Alzheimer sufferers but, believe me, it can happen to anyone. Me, I got into the habit even in my early 60's of writing notes to myself and leaving them on the kitchen table to remind me of any shopping I needed to buy or tasks I needed to set myself the next day... before I forgot. Needless to say, these notes are always left on the kitchen table so I don't forget where I put the darn things. Not an original idea, I agree, but it works well for me, so I guess it is part of my life for keeps now.😉 

Another reader, G L has asked me to say something more about my being partially deaf as he or she thinks they may have a similar problem. As regular readers will know, I have suffered with perceptive deafness since I contracted measles at the tender age of 4 years. There was no vaccination against measles available in those days, so I do urge parents to have their children vaccinated as hearing loss has made my life considerably harder than it might have been otherwise, especially during my long-ago schooldays.

I was 21 years old before my hearing loss was diagnosed and I started wearing hearing aids. A few years later I was confirmed as having perceptive deafness and the NHS here obtained special hearing aids  for me, made in Germany with perceptive deafness sufferers in mind. 

So, why did no one, including yours truly, pick up on the fact that I was partially deaf? Well, perceptive deafness is not so easily perceived because it is a 'pitch' deafness; how much I hear, for example, depends largely on the pitch of a person's voice and local acoustics as well as how clearly they speak. ( A lot of people mumble without realising it and heavy accents can be a problem too.) So, in school, I might hear the same teacher easily in one classroom but with difficulty in another because of different acoustics.  Similarly, at home, I would hear a family member ok in one room, but not in another, especially if there was also background noise from a TV or radio. My Chemistry teacher, a lovely guy, was Polish so I really struggled with his accent.

No one understood my hearing problem for years, many still don't even when I explain it to them whenever there is a misunderstanding due to my having heard incorrectly. Time and again, it would cause problems at home, especially with my father who was always accusing me of not listening to a word he said. At school, too, I was always being reprimanded for giving the wrong answer to a question because I hadn't been paying attention when, in fact, I hadn't heard the question correctly. I often used to sit at the back of classes to avoid being asked questions which meant, of course, that I would catch even less of what was being taught during the lesson!😉

Mind you, my schooldays were all the worse for my being selected by certain education powers-that-be to go to a Technical School when I have always been the least technically-minded person I know.😉

Please bear in mind that it is not only known deaf people who have a hearing problem; many, many others are partially deaf without realising it, so don't be too quick to take offence if the response you get to a question of comment isn't quite along the lines you expected. It may be that you simply need to repeat what you said, perhaps more clearly, not that the other person hasn't been paying attention or is being deliberately rude.  

Being deaf or partially deaf is, sadly, a fact of life for some of us; we don't choose it, if anything, it chooses us... as is the case with so many facts of life to which some people with good hearing do choose to turn a blind eye... or deaf ear.  

Back with a poem soon, folks, hopefully tomorrow if my day improves and inspiration doesn't desert me.😉

Take care, stay safe and do your best to nurture a positive-thinking mindset... whatever life throws at you.

Hugs,

Roger

PS I am delighted to hear that BSL (British Sign Language) is to be included among subjects taught in UK schools. Better late than never...and yes, I do feel guilty for not being familiar with it myself, but there was never a opportunity to learn it. 

Points of View

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

Rising above a deteriorating quality of life these days, mostly due to various health issues, I am rarely in the mood to reply to emails unless they are from friends and/or about poetry or such passions as also provide mind-body spirit with creative therapy as well as a healthy emotional diet.  However, someone who signs themselves ’an elderly male reader’ has expressed despair at being “...unable, for various reasons, to make love to my partner of nearly thirty years.” and worries that the partner “... is already  looking elsewhere, and I will be left alone...”

I am in no position to advise as I have been without a partner for the best part of a lifetime, but I have been in love and I strongly suspect that this reader has nothing to fear. It is important, though, that he and his partner talk about this. Too many of us fail to discuss our more intimate concerns with loved ones; either we are embarrassed and/ or fear the possible outcome. Whatever, it is always better to know than just suspect; the latter can only loose all manner of demons upon us, not the least being jealousy.

As regular readers will know, years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has left me with no appetite for sex in any form; even porn mags don’t turn me on. At first, it left me feeling emotionally inadequate, and I missed the sheer pleasure of lovemaking. Now, though, I take pleasure even more pleasure in such simple delights as meeting up and putting the world to rights (as if!) with friends and/or visiting places I love, whether for real or in my imagination.  

While I don’t miss sex anymore, I can appreciate that it's not the same for everyone, nor do all men of a certain age lose either their appetite for sex or their ability/ inclination to perform. Even so, the expression ‘making love’ is something of a misnomer, to say the least; love is not made, it is created between soulmates who are mutually inspired by letting it grow and mature. 

There is great pleasure to be taken from sex between partners who are physically attracted to one another, and nothing wrong with it at all, but whether or not they fall in love, that is something else altogether.

A heart-to-heart between this reader and his partner will establish the emotional paths both need to take; should the partner need to continue satisfying his or her sexual appetite the reader should try not  see this as a poor reflection on their love for one another. Easier said than done, I agree, but life is rarely easy in every way. Such are the ways of love that they, too, are no less inclined to test mind-body-spirit from time to time, trusting it to pass with flying colours... or not, as the case maybe.

POINTS OF VIEW

At open windows by the sea,
listening to waves telling and retelling
stirring tales of derring-do,
discovery and exploration, lifting
spirits while breaking hearts
of those left counting days and nights
before any returns on dreams
likely to leave pride in tears, love in pain,
time after time, and time again 

At open windows on cornfields,
leafy woodlands and all manner of bird
and beast sure to nurture
its natural surroundings in the time left
before the human race,
cocksure of ways and means to match
any end-of-world scenarios,
continues to confuse its images of progress
with paths of peace and happiness 

At open windows on the world,
expecting even more from its seasons,
in demonstrating our worth,
nature and human nature, each as vulnerable
as the other to kindness
and neglect, pride, disrespect. even violence
as weathered during Earth Mother’s
labour pains for both peopling and colouring
landscapes worth the nurturing 

At dead of night, left to reflect
on such life-forces as have inspired us
to let love light up our lives, thereby creating
a kinder, wiser personal space, addressing
past mistakes, shying away
from a Here-and-Now that’s dependent
on algorithms as may well suffice,
but never replace innate sensibilities, life forces
defining Earth Mother for centuries... 

Reminding nature-and-human-nature how progress
is best judged by its capacity for alleviating distress

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

Beautiful Dreamer

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

When we are young, many if not most of us like to think we are invincible, the world our oyster and every beautiful dream worth chasing. It may well be that we are able to make some dreams come true while others will invariably fall short of the mark. 

An elderly friend once commented along the lines that what he hated most about growing old was that dreaming becomes redundant. “Dreams are about the future,” he insisted, “What future is there for ordinary folks like me who have neither the money nor energy to pursue impossible dreams?” It was meant as a rhetorical question, but one I could not resist answering. 

As I see it, young people making their way in life have no more monopoly on beautiful dreams than religion has on spirituality. As we grow old, our mind-body-spirit is as likely to tune into our past-present-future just as it has always done- if we but let it. 

Aged 75 and living alone, I cannot pretend that old age is as I imagined it years ago, and I don’t see much of a future for myself. Yet, recalling the better, kinder aspects of my past and present along with those with whom I shared them, continues to fill what otherwise would be long, lonely days... nights, too. 

As I have said many times on the blog, love takes all shapes and forms; friends, places, and favourite pastimes as well as lovers. Old age may place limitations on any or all of these by way of various medical, issues, physical or psychological reasons, but they are part of who we are and that may well change outwardly, but not inwardly. 

The inner self is never too old to dream; if it cannot look forwards, it can always look back, and I defy anyone to say they have none of the better, kinder, things in life to look back on, not with regret for their having passed, but with thanks for their having come our way. 

Such is life; such, too, is the stuff of sweet dreams. So, you ask, what about nightmares? Well, many of us have those, awake and asleep; I guess the trick is letting the light of a sandman’s lantern save us from being overwhelmed by the shadows it throws. 

BEAUTIFUL DREAMER 

I am the glow
that lights up any dark
encroaching
on the mind-body-spirit
that’s edging
too close for comfort
to an abyss,
watching over us though we 
embrace or deny it 

I am close kin
to the star we wish upon
as darkness
threatens to leave us feeling
abandoned, scared,
just as we were whenever
we felt much like
ill-chosen pieces of a jigsaw in
an impossible dream 

I inspire the hopes
of things to come when life
is as likely
to fail us as we may well fail
even ourselves
and each other now and then,
by chasing rainbows, 
only to kickstart yet more storms
in tea cups or wherever 

I, am Love, as eternal a companion
as ever lit a Sandman’s lantern 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

A Survivor's Tale or L-I-F-E, Mixed Blessings

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

The only subjects at which I did well at school were English and History; it was, after all, a Technical High School, specialising – as its name suggests – in practical and scientific subjects at which I was next to useless. 

A hearing problem which was not diagnosed until my early 20’s didn’t help nor did my family moving house when I was still in my early teens, taking me away from all my friends.

Even so, I doubt whether I would have hated my schooldays any the less. I did not qualify for a university and moved from job to job for several years. Eventually, I did go to university and got the degree I needed to get a place at Library School to become a librarian, which I had set my heart on years earlier. 

I enjoyed Information work in public libraries for many years, although I was haunted by my sexuality still during the early years; in those days, gay folks were looked upon by most people in anything but a favourable light, to say the least. 

As regular readers know, I tried emigrating to Australia for all the wrong reasons; it was another failure. Then my mother died (1976), after which followed a bad nervous breakdown just a few years later that saw me on the dole for nearly four years. A charity organization then helped me return to work as a librarian, and the years that followed were mostly good years. I had told the world I was gay and made some good friends. 

Now retired and aged 75, I look back at my life with very mixed feelings. I never got to own my own house and my bank account has rarely been as healthy as I would have liked. On the other hand, I had Covid-19 symptoms in early January 2020, and did not need to go to hospital, and have been living with prostate cancer for ten years...

So… am I happy? Not really. Am I unhappy? Not really that either. I ask myself what I have done with my life and am none too happy with some of the answers mind-body-spirit feels inclined to give. 

On my last day at school, I confided in a teacher how awful an experience my schooldays had been, not least for my being a square peg in a round hole, to which he replied, “Well, Taber, at least you survived to tell the tale. And, believe me, the art of survival is probably the most valuable lesson in life anyone can learn. Life is full of ups and downs, learning to juggle with both will stand you in good stead, believe me.” 

So… has it all stood me in good stead? Well, yes and no. Do I have regrets? Yes, of course, and plenty of them. Do I wish I had never been born? Now and then, yes, but mostly I am as I have always been a Happy(ish) Bunny. 😉

A SURVIVOR’S TALE  or  L-I-F-E, MIXED BLESSINGS

Growing old, looking back
at life and love, pain and laughter,
all that got in the way
of the happy-ever-after ending
they promised, the tales
I devoured as a child so in awe
of the world as its fictions
would have it, beyond doors slamming
and windows misting over 

Growing old, looking back
at how far I’ve come, yet how little
any progress made
compared with hopes and dreams
of that younger self,
dead set on answering “Here!”
to the roll call of names
inspiring generations to make their mark,
on history, whatever it takes 

Growing old, left looking on
at a world to which I can barely relate
for all that has changed
by way of impacting our perspectives
on local communities,
for better or worse, richer or poorer,
no answering “Here!”
on any role-call of heroes, but happy enough
to have lived through it all 

I, Survivor, having learned my lesson well,
am still loving the learning, succeed or fail

 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: I started writing up the blog about 10 years ago. Some readers may enjoy browsing the blog archives, accessible from the right hand side of any blog post.] RT

 

 

 

 

M-U-S-I-C, Life Forces

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

I am partially deaf, cannot play an instrument and certainly don’t have a good singing voice… and that's not even the half of it...BUT… what the heck? 

My mother had a lovely singing voice; she died in 1976, and sings to me all the time .

Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow… I will have music wherever I go.

Thanks for dropping by the blog, everyone. At 75,and living on my own here in London UK (especially at the moment, with the Covid-19 variant spreading fast...)

Take care, be safe, keep well and be sure to nurture a positive thinking mindset,

Roger 

M-U-S-I-C, LIFE FORCES 

There’s no finer a music
of the heart than speaks to us of love
and helps us rise above
even the worst life can throw at us;
as years pass, and we grow old,
memories fading but for an inner eye
inspiring us helping us feel
the finer, better, greater part of such times 
as saw us engage with joie de vivre 

Romantic refrain or rave,
there’s nothing like the magic of music
for getting mind-body spirit
to engage with its other self, one seeing
the best in others,
keeping in touch over years with those
with whom it can share
tears of joy as well as the pain of unforeseen
tomorrows likely to catch us unawares 

Where passion a hymn to life,
needless to say, it may well be a pop song
lending us an ear
to what goes on in corners of the heart
that’s harbouring feelings
it has yet to acknowledge, explore, dare
(or ignore) a need for someone
ready and willing to dance to whatever music
brings the same two pairs of feet to life 

We grow old, mind-body-spirit
close to curtain call but for such sound
of music as keep us all
on our toes, in each other’s arms, wherever
they take us… high notes,
low notes, middle-of-the-road notes,
(as well the case may be)
through to our journey’s end, be it near or far,
its more enduring steps played by ear 

Pride of place among memories we have made,
the music played...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Passing Through

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

A new poem today, written for lovely lady, mother of a friend from my student days some 50 years ago; she will be 97 today. I am hoping to find a publisher for a new collection of poems; if not, I will self-publish again. Whatever, I will post details on the blogs

Now, growing old is rarely if ever easy for anyone, but especially for men and women living alone without much of a support network. For many, too, there is a sense of time running out, an end to all we have known and loved.

Ah, but love never dies and the human spirit, unique in its own way to each and every one of us, is immortal.

Life as we know it allows us to pass through time (as we know it) but - as history and family history teach us - there is far more to time than any Here-and-Now; a kind act here, a kind word there, whether to a loved one or total stranger, may well reverberate across centuries, engaging with a living mind-body-spirit here, there, everywhere …

Where world religions would have it that any after-life takes us to a Heaven or Hell of sorts, I believe we make our own Heaven, our own Hell, in the course of our own lifetime; not least, courtesy of Love and Conscience.

I put it to you that, just as followers of any religion are entitled to our respect for their points of view, those of us who subscribe to no religious dogma are no less entitled to the same. As I often ask in the blogs, instead of putting someone in the wrong, even despising them for engaging with points of view other than our own … what’s wrong with agreeing to differ?

PASSING THROUGH

The years, they pass,
and childhood becomes a dream
to treasure as we grow old

among such memories as inspired us

to enjoy such seasons

of our life as mind-body-spirit

chooses to see us through

each winter of the heart to that spring

where bluebirds sing

The years, they pass,
and the Garden of Life sees changes

for better, for worse,

while mind-body-spirit sees us through

happy times and sad,

a positive thinking mindset

taking pride of place,

sure to inspire the human heart to shine,

come into its own

The years, they pass,
but nothing and no one left behind,

for first among equals

remains the Spirit of Love, inspiring us

to see past-present-future

as a continuum, no end in sight,

and love, it never dies,

passing through generation to generation

in 'live' imagination

The years, they pass, but treat us as they may,

the kinder spirit ne'er calls it a day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today]

You-Me-Us, a Posthumous Consciousness OR Remembrance, Mentor Extraordinary

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

Today's poem appeared on the blog some time ago.

Our ghosts are a living part of us whether we care to acknowledge them or not; kind and less kind ghosts, where the former invariably more then compensate for the latter, lifting us when we are low,  restoring a sense of purpose should we lose sight of it from time to time; these are more than memories of better times, they are the people who helped make them better, kinder, happier ... and they are no less real than ever, albeit invisible. As I grow old, especially living alone as I do, my ghosts are as real to me as flesh and blood friends; life forces, encouraging and sustaining me through these tough times of Covid-19.

Whatever our ethnicity, creed,sexuality ...  we are all but human; it is in our nature to be wary if not fearful of death. Religion may well offer a safety net of sorts, but it has always struck me as causing more worldwide divisions that it can ever begin to heal; neither, though, do I subscribe to negative thinking.

Whoever, wherever we are, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than look forward to. Not so, though, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? We always need to think positively about that however hard life gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart. There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware. Time, then (if not already) to let mind-body-spirit teach us how to look to see, hear to listen.

Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”

My friend had chosen a career in teaching. I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher. There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful.I suspect he will play an important if unknowing part in their consciousness for years to come.

A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and hope I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.

Much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end. if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make  the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly…and the chances are, we will never know

YOU-ME-US, A POSTHUMOUS CONSCIOUSNESS or REMEMBRANCE, MENTOR EXTRAORDINARY

I grow old alone,

those who may have grieved me

gone into that unknown

some call Heaven, Paradise, 

Hell or whatever, anything other 

than Death

Death, a cruel word,

metaphor for a ghost, last spotted

peering over the shoulder,

such as observes in my mirror

how desperate I've become to get

some sleep

Sleep, harbinger

of dreams, good, bad or too ugly

to ever contemplate

wherever alphabet lanterns 

over my head insist on spelling out 

my darkness

Darkness, companion

to personal space if sure to keep

a (very) discreet distance,

since it would not do to imply

so much as a tenuous connection

with its devils

Devils, such secrets, 

running rings around me, less able 

let gather dust as once

I would, mind-body-spirit loath

to invoke heated family discussions

with repercussions...

Repercussions, haunts

of bygone days, years of answering

to outward appearances,

inner self all but suffocating

in a closet I let few in, among whom 

no one to love

Love, always so near

yet so far, on the tip of my tongue,

but at the last minute

struck dumb by stereotypes

forcing public opinion down my throat,

all but choking me

Ah, but what’s that I hear?

voices out of nowhere reminding me

of words said, soon forgot,

(and to whom) now thanking me 

for helping them turn corners, find hope

get a life...

Alone, yes, but lonely no more;

invisible hands warmly shaking mine,

re-awakening sensibilities

half-forgotten, repudiating despair 

of a life with little to show for it, nothing

much to tell

Ah, but we all have tales to tell, 

how life marries us, for better or worse,

successes and failures,

loves lost and won, dreams come true

and others left to cry ourselves to sleep over,

come a new dawn

Dawn, spreading its light over me,

feeding me such hopes as I hadn't dared,

reassuring me of 'live' ghosts

always on hand to advise me on making

wiser, kinder choices, urging I but listen out

for You-Me-Us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

I

Travelling Light OR Home Birds

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

Today's poem has not appeared on the blog since 2012.

One person may love to travel the world, another may prefer to stay at home. The only reason either may envy the other is if they are unhappy with their status quo, in which case it is up to them to do something about it.

Happiness means different things to different people; it can be elusive, yes, in which case all the more reason to look at why we are unhappy…and DO something about it.

Me? Yes, I like to travel, but at heart I am a home bird, just as well since I have a mobility problem these days and getting out and about is not easy although I have to say I am happy enough in my own way. There are aspects of my life I would like to change, of course, like not having a partner to share it, and growing old with all its associated slings and arrows, but there is not a lot I can do about either so I enjoy what is good about my life and ignore the rest. (Well, most of the time.)

I once overheard one friend tell another that he needed to grow up, get away from home and see the world. "You can't go through life travelling third class in books, TV and films." I will never forget the reply: "Why not? Everyone I love is here, and I love this place. Besides, I only ever travel first class, and it doesn't cost the earth. Oh, and I don't need a passport either." The friend shrugged, lost for words. His companion disappeared into the local public library.

TRAVELLING LIGHT or HOME BIRDS

We’d stroll miles of golden sands,

my love and I, happily holding hands,

exchanging dreams of foreign lands

we wished ourselves to be, suspecting

we’d never, in reality, go there,

book hols abroad by train or plane,
thereby seen as home birds

We’d share our dreams with waves

and ice creams at feisty seaside places

where gulls' cries eager to greet us,

having already let passing clouds know
we would always be up for joyrides
across time and space, though friends
may take us for home birds

Now, showing its age, that lustre,

of sands where we'd stroll, you and I,

yet seagulls still yelling greetings,
waves and foam confiding far shores

such glorious memories but a few 
would credit the likes of you and me,
long since tagged home birds

Our globetrotting haunts me now,

all those faraway places we'd get to see.

for clouds taking us up, up, up 
and away, setting us down wherever,

a part of us forever, kindred spirits 
on a roll, your death failing to part us,
we home birds, still flying high

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, 2020

The Last Word

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

Regular readers may recall that, in my late 60's, I had a bad fall that saw me housebound for several months and having to deal with a nasty clot in my left leg. I made a reasonable recovery, however, and am thankful I can get out and about again, albeit with the aid of a walking stick. Last year (my 73rd) I developed venous problems, resulting in a very painful ulcer on the same leg. I endured, persevered, and eventually came through it all still managing to take my cue from Monty Python and  keep looking on the bright side of life.

Lately, so much has been going wrong that, given certain health issues as well,  I even began to wonder if it was time to let go, and hive the Grim Reaper carte blanche do with me what he will.

Yet again, an inner voice chastised me mercilessly for being negative and demanded I find a way to recover a more positive consciousness. Eventually, I succeeded; not out of the woods altogether yet...but getting there, resolved to give old age a good run for its money, and let love have the last word.

Love, of course, comes in all shapes and forms; human relationships, bonding with nature and the arts, an affinity with the animal world including, naturally, our pets ... 

Nothing and no one has a monopoly on love, whether or not we subscribe to any religion.

Peace Be, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious differences, and let's work at being kinder to and more understanding of each other as, each of us in our own way, needs must runs the gauntlet life throws down. 

As my old English teacher. 'Jock' Rankin warned many years ago, "Never assume anything of anyone until you know them well enough, and that can take a lifetime."

THE LAST WORD

Old age,

hovering like some glittering sword

just above my head

inviting the unkindest cut of all

(before my time)

grown worse in later years, defaulting

to tears

Escape,

promising an eternal peace and rest

from the complications

of everyday existence, made worse

by new technology,

progress, (inevitably) leaving some of us

behind

Streets,

living nightmare, zombies doubling

for human beings,

glued to mobile phones, laptops,

whatever mind games

best distracting from the Here-and Now’s 

demands

Often,

(like me) needing a seat on train or bus,

fishing for eyes

alert to someone else’s struggling

to stay on top of things, only catching sight

of headphones

Old age,

an everyday see-saw, few roundabouts

and swings in play;

ups and downs, sometimes sick

at heart, always having to push down harder

on positive thinking

Memory,

fading fast, the sweeter ones sure to last

If only in part

where the human heart persists

in saving best for last, halcyon days in no hurry

to pass 

Death,  

hovering like the most beautiful thing,

barely out of reach,

and just as well since temptation

no match for a mind-body-spirit set on rescue

mode

Life,

worth every convincing heartbeat for years,

no matter its defaulting

to tears of pleasure, pain, whatever

till I’m up for leaving this mad world, giving love

the last word

Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

Close Encounters of the Third Age

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

Here's another post from the archives of my gay-interest blog, yet another I had to choose where to post given that we are, each and every one of us, only human, whatever our gender, sexuality or socio-cultural background.

The Third Age - or Old Age as many if not most people call it - is whatever we choose to call and make of it; for many, it is an opportunity to make time for people and / or pastimes that - for whatever reasons - we have either neglected or turned a blind eye/ deaf ear to in the past. Consequently, the human spirit undergoes a transformation, a rejuvenation of sorts for looking forward instead of back all the time; the past cannot be reclaimed, and we need to motivate ourselves for the years ahead, no matter that time is no longer on our side.

A gay friend, growing old(er) like me, once commented with some bitterness that he probably would not be on his own in the winter of his years if he wasn’t gay. ‘Gay relationships are so fragile,’ he said.

That's not only 'loser' talk, it's simply not true. It can be true, yes, but only if we let it.

True, many people find themselves on their own as they get old(er). Some relationships are too fragile to stand the test of time, but that has more to do with people not working at them than their sexuality. (Far too many people take their partners for granted.)  Sadly, some partners die while others fade away into a mist of wishful thinking. No one has to be lonely. There are organisation to join, new people to meet, and if you cannot get out and about easily, there are lots of friends to be made on the Internet. (Don't know how to use the Internet? There are classes for all ages in most areas. Do not own a computer or tablet, whatever?  Here in the UK, most public libraries offer free computer access, and it costs nothing to join or use a public access computer; usually, you only pay for any printouts you may want to take home.

Whatever, the Human Spirit (in all its various shapes and forms) will be a good companion for life if we but let it. Moreover, gay or straight, male or female, we are never too old for romance, and never let anyone tell you differently. The way some people pour scorn on relationships between old(er) people where clearly more than just platonic makes me so angry. Take no notice. They are just jealous. (Okay, sex isn’t everything, but nice work if you can get it…)

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD AGE

Clouds broke,

made us run for shelter

in a shop doorway;

you spoke first,

but I didn’t catch a word

for wind and rain

I could but trust

my smile would convey

all I wanted to say

as you closed in,

put your mouth to an ear

straining to hear

Breath on my face

sweeter than a love poem,

and I was smitten,

half-forgotten

dreams of youth returning

my embrace

A dull, grey, day,

bringing people together,

no matter we’re gay

or past our prime

for the Rainmaker doesn’t

give a damn

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011