Lockdown OR Mind-Body-Spirit, left Licking its Wounds

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Overheard in a supermarket only yesterday:

1^st Man: I feel as if I’ve been waiting in this queue for ages.

2^nd Man: Yes, it’s like waiting for the coronavirus to go away.

Old Lady: Ah, but all good things are worth waiting for,. All it takes is patience, as anyone in love will tell you.

1^st Man: Easier said than done.

2^nd Man: That’s right.

Old Lady: No, dear, that’s life.

LOCKDOWN or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT LEFT LICKING ITS WOUNDS

Feeling as downcast as heavy cloud
in a sky where sunshine might never have shone
for all the light it spreads,
left wondering why bother to get up each morning
when doom and gloom
order of the day, radio and tv trying to paste over
the cracks in everyday life,
distracting any audiences with but minimal success
from the Covid-19 coronavirus

Selective DVDs, Talking Books
and movies with which even an audience of one can
engage and be distracted
from wondering if and when lockdown restrictions
will ease sufficiently
to let family and friends meet as often as they need
without having to fret
about people obsessed with wild conspiracy theories
and refusing to cover their faces

Suddenly, a hole in the clouds appears,
enough to expose a patch of blue, enough to encourage
a weary sun to shine through,
restore a glimmer of light in the eyes of passers-by
sufficient to raise a smile,
encourage cheerful chat, masks and social distancing
notwithstanding…
half-forgotten sounds of laughter, if muffled by necessity,
lightening the load on humanity 

Cloud, closing in on Old Man Sun again all too quickly;
Sun, winking as if to say, “Back soon, you’ll see …”

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

An Unknown Quantity

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

A reader asks why I am not posting an anniversary tribute to those who died and were injured during the terrorist attacks in London, 7th July 2005. No, I have not forgotten. (Has anyone?) I have referred him to a previous post:
https://rogertab.blogspot.com/2012/07/remains-of-day-or-77-remembered.html

and/or my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBo01eRFBKY

Now, today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2011, at about the time my prostate cancer was confirmed. I have revised the preamble accordingly as we are now nine years on, but not the poem since a much earlier revision.

Yes, my prostate cancer saga continues, and I have to say it has helped a LOT in seeing me through the stresses and strains of the Covid-19 coronavirus. A lasting memory from my schooldays is of Mr Partridge, our Religious Education teacher, telling the class that we never know our strengths and weaknesses until they are tested, and inevitably we find out the hard way. I think his words hit home because, at sixteen, I was already discovering signs of both ... the hard way.

l recall my biopsy in February 2011 and having  to wait a month before returning the hospital for the results. It wasn’t too unpleasant an experience and, anyway, it was necessary to find out what kind of tumor is trespassing in my prostate. I was not too worried because my instincts (and body) were telling me that any cancer there is not aggressive. Moreover, some prostate cancers are often so slow to develop they are best left well alone. It is a fact that more men live with prostate cancer than die from it.

The reason I am telling you all this is because I have found that cancer is still a taboo subject with many people, possibly because they are inclined to think the worst and associate it with death. Me, I have every intention of living to a ripe old age. (Here I am at 70+ so not a bad start.) Even so, death, in my experience, is an even more taboo subject for open discussion. Yes, I fear pain. But why should death itself be any less creative a process than birth? Let’s face it. We haven’t a clue, nor will we until our time here is up. Religion may have the answer for some people, but not for yours truly.

I have always been philosophical about these things. For me, the hardest part was not being in control of events. Yes, I hoped the cancer would not turn out to be aggressive and I'd be fine. At the same time, I knew it was but wishful thinking. I had to at least consider the prospect that my biopsy results might be less than favourable. Whatever, I couldn't  do much about it, either way, so there was no more point in my worrying then than there is now. My plan then was (just as it has been ever since) to keep my nerve and stay positive. Never plain sailing, as many bad days (and nights) as good ones ... but ... well, I'm still here to tell the tale so I must be doing something right. Changing my diet to exclude all meat and dairy was a good start.

Having paid for my funeral with Age UK some time ago, made a will, and told everyone I am up for organ donation if I am not too old for it, I can now relax and enjoy myself on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, the Pipes of Pan in one ear and the voices of my late partner, mother, and friends  past and present telling me to be sure and make the best of things, not the worst.

AN UNKNOWN QUANITY

I need answer to no one

nor keep within the confines

of certain rules or dogma

as laid down in any handbook,

manual or legislature;

no one tells me when to come

nor seeks me out

unless no one else on hand

or at the end of a phone 

I may press at the edge

of a crowd, yet it will not part

to let me through, though

I’ll usually find my own way

with comparative ease;

when people hear my name;

though it be but a whisper,

they may well rush to lift-off  

on wings of a prayer

Neither hunter nor hunted,

I wing lark skies, tread the earth

but softly, sail high seas

in pitch blackness, no need

of guide or compass

nor instincts failing or emotions

affecting my destination,

my intention but to make a riposte

of sorts to all life forces

Call me Death, and never fear me,

'live' poetry that's human history

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003, 2020

[Note: This poem is a kenning, written in 2003. An earlier version was first published in an anthology, A Gathering of Minds, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and subsequently in my collection, The Third Eye, in 2004. I am posting it for no other reason than it gives me as good a feeling to (slightly) revise years on as it did to write it in the first place. ]RT

The Line Manager

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I never expected growing old(er)t to be easy, but events conspired to make it even worse, although I (usually) manage to keep looking on the bright side of life and get the better of my demons; among the latter, I count prostate cancer and arthritis. As well as certain prescription drugs, I have discovered several herbal remedies that also help a lot, but always ask my GP or cancer consultant before trying any. Whether or not they really help or it is a case of mind over matter...well, who cares if they help improve quality of life??

An old acquaintance commented only recently on how well I looked; this was after my getting precious little sleep and subsequently feeling awful, but it was nice to hear, not least because he had avoided asking me how I am, and saved me having to either lie or bore the pants off him. No one loves a whinger. Confiding with close friends and family is different; you can share a laugh at the same time. An acquaintance is a different beast altogether; for a start, they can rarely tell when you’re joking or being seriously funny in the true spirit of wry, bottom line humour.

Illness can make a person very moody, and I am no exception. On a bad day, I seek out the company of an old and close friend who will waste no time putting me down for being a miserable old git, to which I will eventually come up with a lively denial which might even pass for humorous riposte, and … Hey presto, mood is on the mend already! Oh, how I miss that as COVID-19 continues to make itself felt around the world and social interaction remains strictly limited.

No excuses, though, as there is always the telephone and other devices we can turn to for for much the same result. Not the same, I know, but any positive communication with others is better than none, and we all need to stay positive during these difficult times.

Now and then, people ask how I’m coping with the prostate cancer. Hormone therapy and a positive attitude, I invariably reply with wry grin. Oh, but doesn’t the hormone therapy make you pee a lot, and keep you up half the night? True, I agree, but I can live with that so long as I can go back to sleep quickly. Oh, but doesn’t the pain of your arthritis keep you awake? Yes, I have to agree, but much less so since I discovered when to take  the right dose of painkillers at the right time, along with an antidepressant capsule, I add, with a cheeky wink,  which goes a long way towards keeping me sane, especially at the moment when I seem to be losing a steady stream of what marbles I can still count in my 75th year....

Unable to lament the state of my mind-body-spirit to the extent they had hoped, and wallow in their own sympathy, people will usually  either change the subject (thank goodness!) or move on with a weak smile that speaks volumes … 😉

“There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.” - ― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

This poem is (yes, another) kenning.

THE LINE MANAGER 

Ignore me, and you will feel regret,

abuse me, and you’ll discover vengeance

is mine (and that’s no idle threat);

treat me well and discover a friend indeed

when mind-body-spirit in pieces,

even a native optimism fast losing heart,

positive thinking in free fall,

and the will to live, but for family and friends

inspiring life forces

I come in all shapes and forms,

demand you consider certain options well,

and never hold back in asking

for help in identifying whatever life forces

need nurturing before feeding

on ego and alter ego until precious little left

for human nature to regenerate,

although never too late to bring self-preservation

into play, and win the day

Such are the ways of human nature

that what helps the goose may kill the gander

despite over-the-fence advice;

knowledge is wisdom, so seek it out, tackle

that hardest of all learning curves,

be sure to bring mind-body-spirit to heel, 
fewer distractions from purpose;

rise above all that’s dragging you down, not least

by addressing me by name

Call me Instinct, line manager for all life’s crises;
together, we may yet get the better of its nemeses

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Mind-Body-Spirit, Garden of Remembrance

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Today, our thoughts fly to the victims of the recent devastating earthquake in Italy; the living and the dead.

Nature, as we have seen, is constantly reminding us that humankind, for all its progress through the ages, remains vulnerable. (As if we need reminding!) No less vulnerable, the human spirit, but also an indomitable life force.

Now, memories are no compensation for reality. Nothing and no one can compensate for the loss of a loved one; family member, lover or close friend. Even so, it has been my personal experience that memories can keep good times as fresh in our minds as when we first shared them, and in so doing any tears - in time -become more like spring rain than some relentless wintry storm.

Such is the power of love that that it will inspire the human spirit for generations to weather any storm, repair close-knit communities damaged by events beyond their control, and most importantly, concede love the victory over grief. Speaking up about it invariably helps, although words can never quite express what mind-body-spirit are telling us all the time.

This poem is a villanelle.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE,

In thoughts so near, so far away,

inspiration visits old Memory Lane,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Whether or not we choose to pray,

love will survive us time and again

in thoughts so near, so far away

Deep sleep, no guiding light of day

nor dark, only kisses like spring rain,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Come despair keeping life at bay,

cue for human love to take the strain

in thoughts so near, so far away

Where a body quits worldly affray,

good hearts repeating its finer refrain;

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Though life bury us in colours grey,

trust human goodness ever to remain;

in thoughts so near, so far away,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

The Hurt Garden

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Most if not all of us have a hurt garden where we prefer not to go in waking moments. Sleep, though, invariably has other ideas …

Dreams may well leave us confused, but mind, body and spirit have a way of making make more sense of us there than any waking moments.

THE HURT GARDEN

Blades of grass

tossing to and fro in the wind

like restless sleepers

trying to make sense of a kind

where logic and reason

have no place, square up to facts

of human nature

from which its indigenous hosts

would run away

but nature will ever have its say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Stems of flowers

swaying to and fro in a breeze

like drunken crowds

on losing their heads to whims

where logic and reason

have no place lest they make more 

of human nature

than excuses its indigenous hosts

from home truths

put aside, inclined to have a say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Dead leaves

drifting here, there, everywhere

like lost children

looking for a place called ‘home’

where logic and reason

concede its predilection for love

of human nature,

lend its indigenous hosts access

to life forces

in denial, ever finding their way 

to us left struggling to make sense

of dreams

Birdsong,

signalling a love of life and nature

to practised ears

in the market (for a guide of sorts)

where logic and reason

have a place, but are never enough

for human nature

whose indigenous hosts ask more

of its humanity

than dream litter left in its garden

on the assumption they will clear up

the mess

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015 

Sword and Shield, a Fight to the Better End

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[Update (Oct 18 2016): It is more than two years now since my fall that resulted in a badly fractured ankle. The warned me tt the hospital that, given my age, I might never walk again, but I was having none of that, kept religiously to a daily schedule of physiotherapy and can now walk quite well with the aid of a walking stick. Yes, walking is sometimes painful still, but it is a great feeling to be out and about. The prostate cancer, too, remains under control with hormone therapy. So...no worries that I cannot overcome by reflecting on my late mother's words, 'If you worry, you'll die and if you don't worry you'll still die one day so...why worry?' I guess we just have to keep a sense of proportion.]

Since my fall, five weeks ago, I have had to exercise a degree of patience I did not know I possessed. I am always out and about, but have been housebound as the front steps are too many and steep for me to negotiate with crutches. Unable to put any weight on my left foot, a Zimmer frame gives me greater mobility around my flat. It has taken until last week for a CT scan to reveal a fracture in the heel so now I have a cast and must continue hopping around on the Zimmer for at least another five weeks. The heel may mend or it may not. I must wait and see…

I live alone, but friends and my lovely neighbours in the flat below have been a godsend, helping with shopping and everyday tasks around the flat that I cannot do myself. Their support means everything. Even so, there have been moments when I have felt very low; it was at just such a time that I had a spirited debate with Pain and wrote the poem, a kenning.

SWORD AND SHIELD,  A FIGHT TO THE BETTER END

True, I am no friend

but do not mean you harm,

will arrive uninvited

(and most unwelcome)

yet do my best

to make my stay as bearable

as possible,

coaxing mind, body and spirit

to comfort, find peace

I may bring clouds

and wintry days, but always

call on spring flowers

and scents of halcyon days

to brighten dark corners

where you may well cower

from everyday hardship,

and a growing sense of bleaker

times yet to come

True, I am no friend,

but I have the power to make

stronger person of you

if you will only rise above

the worst and make

the best of our time together,

let mind, body and spirit

make peace with even a wretch

the likes of me

As Pain its makeshift sword wields,
so peace and love, lasting shields

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Riposte to the Darker Side of Nature

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While only some of my poems are semi-autobiographical, all are personal to some degree or another while I try to leave space enough for the reader to move about within them. 

Today’s poem is a particularly personal poem, given my non-aggressive (so far) prostate cancer, it is also an explanation (of sorts) to those well-meaning, religious minded people who have expressed genuine disbelief ,if not horror, that it hasn’t compelled me to seek out the God of Holy Books.

For a start, I have every confidence in the hospital team responsible for my (hormone therapy) treatment.  Moreover, only as a very young child did I ever enter into any conception of a personified God. My mother did, and I believed her until I was old enough to make up my own mind, convinced at an early age that we make our own Heaven or Hell here on Earth.

As regular readers know, I turned to nature for spiritual reassurance many years ago. Nor do I honestly think it had anything to do with feelings of alienation as I proceeded to confront my sexuality. Possibly, what some call 'God' is nature although I dare say they would argue that He (or She?) created nature for human beings to enjoy. (Yes, enjoy, not attack and destroy.)

Who knows? Each to his or her own, I say. Oh, and isn’t it high time we all started respecting each other’s beliefs, life choices, natural instincts (like sexuality) and stopped fighting amongst ourselves over who may be right and who may be wrong?  Too many people so love to take the moral high ground, they lose sight of morality in the process. It has to be one of life’s greater ironies that sickness and disease provide a common humanity with the one common denominator likely to bring all sides together…if only until it has run its course.

My mother used to tell me that whenever the going gets rough, the only way to think is positive. It was GOOD advice, especially for a young gay lad growing up in a predominantly gay-unfriendly society. (I never make an issue of being gay, but neither do I see any reason to hide the fact, hence a gay-interest as well as general poetry blog because a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is a person ... regardless.)

RIPOSTE TO THE DARKER SIDE OF NATURE

Gripped by fear,

I could but direct it elsewhere,

yet it keeps returning,

this awful cancer stalking me

like a predator

Away, dark fear,

and let me get on with my life.

Go, feed elsewhere.

I’m only human, but no easy

prey for a predator

Seized by doubt,

I can but trust positive thinking

will yet prevent

this awful cancer turning me

inside out 

Away, negativity,

always the first to undermine me

wherever I lend an ear  

to voices arguing the wisdom

of my choices

Let me not resist a need

for comfort food and fiercer hugs

than ever before

to restore poor self-confidence,

give love its head

Come, Earth Mother,

and never let go of my free hand

as with the other I’ll sign

to mind-body-spirit and the world

we’re not done

Yes, I will survive

whatever this cancer throws at me,

instincts insisting I embrace

all a feisty spirituality has to give

in its place

Let nature have its way;

together, we will no more concede

any disease its V-Day

than see human beings put down

just for being gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Unfinished Symphony

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Strange, isn't it, how one recalls the oddest things about school days...?  I was listening to a bird singing its heart out on our classroom window sill and missed a question put to me by my English Teacher. Without thinking, I confessed the reason, adding for good measure that it sounded as if it was trying to tell us something. (I was known to be something of a dreamer even in those days and had written poems for the school magazine for which I was often mocked although never nastily). 

The rest of the class burst out laughing. 

My ears burned on receipt of some good-natured jeering. Expecting a reprimand, I was surprised (and not a little relieved) when the teacher commented, 'Nature is always trying to tell us something, Taber. The trouble is, only the likes of painters and poets can ever be bothered to listen. Now, where was I...?" whereupon he proceeded with the lesson without my ever knowing what his question had been. Such is life, I guess, where time - up to a point - is customised, and rarely (if ever) finished with us until we are finished with it.

This poem is a villanelle.

UNFINISHED SYMPHONY

Music of the Earth
invoking its biography,
at birth and rebirth

Come sorrow, mirth,
(womb-tomb of history)
Music of the Earth

Playing up to a dearth
of uncommon humanity
at birth and rebirth

Testament to its worth;
(crescendo, an epiphany)
Music of the Earth

At humankind's hearth,
an unfinished symphony
at birth and rebirth

Nature, eternal wreath
celebrating Man's integrity;
Music of the Earth
at birth and rebirth

Copyright R N. Taber 2009; 2018

[Note: I only recently revised this poem, and I dare say those readers who had already taken me to task for indulging in so-called 'poetic license' regarding its rhyming scheme will be disappointed, but that's poets for you, we cheat sometimes...]

Twilight on a Lake OR Nature, an Everyman's Guide to Infinity

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As I grow old, some memories dim while others take on a whole new perspective, probably because we don''t always realize at the time just how much certain occasions mean to us or those with whom we get to share them. 

I have made some changes to this villanelle that I wrote during a wonderful weekend in the Lake District some years ago.

 Twilight at Ashness Bridge (Lake District)

TWILIGHT ON A LAKE or NATURE, AN EVERYMAN'S GUIDE TO INFINITY

Though pain a part
in our lives surely take,
play on, glad heart

There is a beauty art
strives its copies to make
though pain a part

When life falls apart,
and fragile promises break,
play on, glad heart

Cherish from the start
each dip in passion’s lake
though pain a part

Where the stars chart
our every move, mistake,
play on, glad heart

May love’s winged dart
find its mark for our sake;
though pain a part,
play on, glad heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2016

[Note An earlier version of this poem was first published in an anthology, 'Chasing Shadows', Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised ed. in e-format in preparation. The poem was slightly revised in 2013, and an alternative title, added 2016.]

A Colouring Book

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Now, when we use colour, we choose carefully because we want to make an impression although what impression we make is likely to vary from observer to observer.

So it is, I suspect, with nature, just as the impression Earth Mother intends to make will vary and quite possibly leave many if not most of us none the wiser.

A COLOURING BOOK 

Blue, blue, the colour
of a morning sky;
golden the sun, risen high;
green, green, the grass
where lovers lie, giving us
reasons to care

Red, blood red, crushed
poppies in the hand
like a fallen soldier’s wounds,
attempting to atone,
and only a solitary skylark
left to mourn

Grey, a silvery grey,
dusk’s sad pall;
tears of Earth Mother, nurture
for sweet dreams
of peace and caring better
for each other

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was published in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]