Poetry Live

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

'There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
 There is society where none intrudes,
  By the deep Sea, and music in its roar;
  I love not Man the less, but Nature more…’ - Lord Byron [Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage]

“Beauty awakens the soul to act.” - Dante Alighieri

“Equality is the soul of liberty; there is, in fact, no liberty without it.” - Frances ‘Fanny’ Wright

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” - Carl Sandburg

Now, yet another a reader asks why I write poetry “…in a world where, let’s face it, poetry is considered ‘old hat’ by most people?”  Most people, perhaps, but certainly  not everyone , given that blogger stats confirm this blog alone has had 212.000+ views since I started writing it up about 10 years ago; my gay-interest poetry blog, too, has had 160, 000+ views.

Nor is poetry 'old hat' in schools, as some people suggest, including a good many schoolchildren; it has its place, among all the arts, on the learning curve that is life

If just one reader enjoys a poem and it gets them thinking about, not necessarily agreeing with its contents… well, that is reward enough for any poet.

For me, all nature is’ live’ poetry; the more people enjoying it and thinking about its contents, I suspect the chances are the more likely they will want to play their part in keeping it alive for generations to come. Combating climate change, for example, is more than a rescue mission for the survival of humankind, but for a natural world that existed long before us and deserves better from us. Even the most indefatigable resilience  can be worn down over time, especially by circumstances (and people) working just as indefatigably against it, knowingly or otherwise.

POETRY LIVE

Sunlight creeping through my window
roused my eyes to a far cheerful awakening
than an unhappy dreaming had led me
to expect, a welcome surprise after a night
of mind-body-spirit’s being tossed about
on such feisty, restless waves of broken sleep
as left heart-and-soul crying out for rescue,
growing more fearful of no help ever happening 
until it heard a skylark singing

Encouraged and inspired by Apollo’s
first kiss on the grassland where it nested,
it rose to greet the morning on wings
of a song bringing a sense of love and peace
forever crying out to be found
among shadows silenced by human fears,
left chasing the sun by day, moon
by night, invariably made to make do with echoes
of wishful thinking for centuries

Ah, but the Here-and-Now can see me
through whatever, if I will only but let it catch
a shadow or two, give the echoes
haunting mind-body-spirit substance enough
to make even half a dream come true,
much as the arts endeavour to do in music, 
poetry and painting, a creative therapy
inspiring such kinder life forces as it always will
an all-embracing heart-and-soul

For every human shadow, may its silences be heard
as pleas for peace around the world

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Hello again from London UK

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

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.” - Albert Einstein

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” - William Shakespeare [Hamlet]

“Let children read whatever they want and then talk about it with them. If parents and kids can talk together, we won't have as much censorship because we won't have as much fear.” - - Judy Blume

Dear Readers

Hello again from London UK. I am working on a new poem, but (very) slowly as I am increasingly unwell these days. I hope some of you may enjoy visiting the archives for earlier poems you might enjoy.

Your support means lot to me as I live alone and every day is heavy-going these days.  Even so, I am only too well aware that there are many people, of all ages, battling with health issues worse than mine; they are an inspiration to us all. Meanwhile, I have the arts and and good friends to help see me through...

Readers sometimes email me to ask how I am coping with the prostate cancer. Well, with difficulty, but it’s Hobson’s choice – press on or give up, and I am a stubborn so-and-so…! Besides, there is always love in in our lives, in one form or another, to help see us all through...

As regular blog readers will know, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer often leave me feeling confused, even frightened sometimes. I read the riot act to myself every day, telling myself to be philosophical in so far as there’s no point crying over spilt milk… easier said than done, of course, but always helps calm me down.

Medicine meant to prevent me having to get up so often during the night to use the toilet, has never worked for me, although I have devised a compromise of sort which involves taking one pill at mid-day, and it helps some nights. Even so, as my first cancer consultant used to say, prostate cancer has a mind of its own!

As I will have said before, sometimes I start to feel panicky and sorry for myself, so I distract myself from negative feelings by engaging with word puzzles. This not only helps calm me down, but also has the effect of restoring my muddled thought processes into better shape, sufficiently to - slowly but surely - put together another poem and get to grips with what is happening in the world. 

Mind you, the world today is such that I often think I am better off not getting to grips with it. After watching The News on TV, I invariably turn to word puzzles or my poetry to distract myself from the usual doom ‘n’ gloom!

Another reader asks why I haven’t always posted both poems on both blogs. Well, not everyone wants to read a gay-specific poem, but when a general poem embraces all readers, regardless of gender, sexual identity, ethnicity etc. I feel it deserves a place on both blogs. Some gay readers have said they use shared computers and are reluctant to access a gay poetry blog. 

One likes to think that we live in more enlightened times as prejudice - of any kind - against anyone belongs to history. Sadly, as we all know, human nature still has a long way to go before everyone acknowledges the harm any form of perceived prejudice invariably inflicts, whether it is driven by religious, political or personal agendas.

Take care, stay safe and keep well,

Back soon,

Hugs,

Roger

A Life in the Death of a Leaf

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

“Solitude is independence.” – Hermann Hesse

“In solitude, the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself.” – Laurence Sterne

“If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.” – Jean Paul Sartre

“Solitude is a good place to visit, but a poor place to stay”. - Josh Billings (alias Henry Wheeler Shaw)

“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.” – May Sarton

Now ,even as a child, I enjoyed a close relationship with nature, the more so when on my own and unavailable to intrusive interruptions.  I did not need to be in a wood or by the sea or even outside my own room. Books and their authors were not only my friends, they were my mentors too; it would only take word or a phrase and I would be transported, across time and personal space, where alter ego would feel free to make a case for… whatever.

The only drawback was – and, I suspect, always will be – that I learned more about myself than anyone else would ever see; warts ‘n’ all….😉

A LIFE IN THE DEATH OF A LEAF

Alone and feeling lonely,
like the only leaf left on a tree
that’s been battered
by an autumnal wind raging 
at… what, exactly?
Whatever, having me empathise,
with a leaf on a tree
I'd barely noticed before, yet, suddenly, 
we are as one, we three

“It is but the way of things,
murmured the tree “that I lose
my dear companions
through those seasons of my life
that our Earth Mother 
would have  them kept safe
for future generations 
to look to see, hear to listen and pass on,
all the wiser for being reborn.”   

A fine calm and quietude 
came over me, lonely no more,
in a splendid solitude
for witnessing a gust tug the leaf
from its tree, each farewell
a burst of happy-sad 
on this heart-and-soul, grown closer,
in all truthfulness, to the bitter-sweetness
of evergreen life forces…  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

In Love and War

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“Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.“ - Carl Sandberg 

“The same spirits which make a white man drunk, make a black man drunk too.  Indeed, in this I can find proof of my identity with the Family of Man.” – Frederick Douglass

“We all carry inside us people who came before us.” – Liam Callanan

“[On speaking of family secrets:] I don’t know how you heal a wound and not let it get some air.”- Barbara Neely

“There’s always another story. There’s more than meets the eye.” – W. H. Auden

The poem below relates to  a friend's  complaining about an elderly maiden aunt’s dour disposition. “She has as much sensibility as a cadaver,” he would say. A few days after the same maiden aunt’s funeral some years ago, my friend visited me to share the contents of a bundle of letters found tucked away at the bottom of a trunk in the old lady’s attic. They inspired an insatiable interest in genealogy that led my friend, several years later, to track down and surrender the letters to the very love child to which they refer.

Now, I loved my maternal grandparents, but never thought of them as extraordinary in any way until my mother told me how her father had deserted the Royal Navy during the war and joined the army under another name. A family secret, indeed, only revealed when my parents decided to marry. Only then were they told that they were not only the offspring of old family friends, but also first cousins...

IN LOVE AND WAR

Clearing out the attic
after a maiden aunt’s funeral,
found a cardboard box,
tied with string, under a pile
of old newspapers,
a bunch of letters inside,
a war diary of sorts, glanced 
at one, soon reading on more attentively,
reworking my family history

Love letters, exchanged
between a dour, but near relation 
and Joe, an army private;
outpourings of passion and desire
addressing such fears
as have accompanied wars 
for centuries, all the tenderness 
and poetry of lovers among war’s horrors,
dreaming of kinder tomorrows

One letter revealed
a pregnancy, the language of love
excelling, shared hopes
shining through every war-torn page,
littered with crossings-out,
and underlines highly charged
with mixed feelings,
every heartbeat, a near-miss bomb exploding,
love’s defences notwithstanding

Later letters voiced
a birth and death, victims of war, 
messengers of love, hope 
and peace, meaningless to a mother
made to give up her daughter
to a better life than she could offer,
give mind-body-spirit
a fighting chance to discover Happy-ever-After
amongst the aftermath of war

Finally, a faded photo 
of a woman to whom her family
only rarely referred,
a family of which both she and I share
a past-present-future 
beyond a dusty death among archives
testifying to the lives 
of ill-fated lovers this mad, mad, mad world over,
Family of Man, deserving better

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022 

[Note: Useful UK) websites:  https://www.sog.org.uk (Society of Genealogists)   https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/history-and-heritage/london-metropolitan-archives  (London Metropolitan Archives]

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

 

A Life in the Day of a Tree

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“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

 

A Small World

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

“Equality means more than passing laws. The struggle is really won in the hearts and minds of the community, where it really counts.” – Barbara Gittings

“Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” – James Baldwin

“Openness may not completely disarm prejudice, but it’s a good place to start.” – Jason Collins

Hi folks, although feedback suggests that some readers feel a gay-interest poem has no place on this blog, I cannot, in all conscience, go along with that point of view, although, yes, I do understand it. Even so, we are who we are and being gay has always been a part of who I am, at heart, as reflected in many of my poems.

My prostate cancer leaves me with little energy some days, so much so that I am unable even to look on the bright(er) side of life, impossible were I to start to feel guilty about my sexuality; as far as my poetry is concerned, it is all but irrelevant anyway. 

While I always rally the more positive life forces to my rescue in time, how long it takes them to arrive depends on how soon various other health issues settle down.😉

The poem is based on a fairly recent conversation with a complete stranger with whom I got chatting on a bus while stuck in a traffic jam. It struck a chord with me since, as I have mentioned before on the blog, I once had a schoolboy crush on a prefect at the same school, but was too scared in those days to emerge from my life-sucking closet. It would be half a century later that he’d get in touch after reading this blog and reveal that, even at the time, he, too, was gay. 

Sadly, that was way back in the (very) homophobic 1950’s and he never ventured from the closet they shoved him into, slamming the door after him with the kind of contempt that ignorance continues to breed even in what we would expect to be a more enlightened 21st century.

A SMALL WORLD

It was broad daylight, a watery sun
shedding auras on a local park,
as if determined to resist dark clouds
closing in even as I walked,
eyes wide open, as mind-body-spirit
fought its daily battle,
albeit seemingly poorly armed,
struggling to fend off darker clouds of its own
than in any heaven

I spotted a neighbour I knew, but not well,
reading a book on a nearby seat,
paused, just to say hello, to be greeted
with a smile inviting me
to linger, if only to pass the time of day,
so I did, compelled
by an increasingly darkening mood
to lighten up, conversation invariably a good start
for any human heart

We made small talk, both of us struggling
for something to say besides
wishing potential storm clouds away, sky
taking sides with a sun,
trying to make life a sight better 
for everyone, open invitation
to look on the brighter side of life,
make it more than worth the living, no matter what,
go with mind-body-spirit

Without thinking, I said, “I’m gay, you know."
“No, I didn’t." he said absently,
without turning a hair, surprise registering
in face and voice, that’s all,
no indication his heart-and soul (or mine)
thought any worse of me for it,
but leading him to gently ask questions,
less curious than  interested, no hint of any prejudice
likely to come between us 

Even so, I waited, curious to see just how long
it would take for a storm to break,
relieved to relate how I’d been afraid to say
the words, I’d just dared say,
scarcely believing it hadn’t been as hard
as nightmares had foretold,
my mood shifting for the better, clouds too,
clearing to give the sun a kinder view of the world below,
such as lets its flowers grow

Later, as we parted after agreeing to meet again,
I found the words to thank him
For not minding I’m gay in a world where one
Meets prejudice as often as not,
Mind-body-spirit wary of putting heart-and-soul
In any potential danger,
World politics and religions sowing seeds
of doubt in a vulnerable human nature at every opportunity
to address a ‘common humanity’

“Sorry!”, he laughed, “but I honestly thought you knew,
my brother went to school with you, and he’s gay too…”

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

[Note: This poem has already appeared on my gay-interest blog. I hesitated to post it here, but feel encouraged by email feedback from. 'Anon' to do so... Stay safe, folks, and keep well.] RT

 

Past-Present-Future, Chameleon on the Doorstep

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

I well recall the father of a friend, way back in my childhood, relating how much satisfaction he took from giving local puppet show, “not only in making kids happy, but being in control, manipulating his puppets towards that very end. Sometimes,” he added with a wry grin, I feel like a god out there, pulling the strings..."

The tragedy is that the attraction of power and the potential opportunity to ‘play God’ attracts too many in the adult world for all the wrong reasons...

Terrorists are probably the best examples of such people, convinced they are acting with the best intentions, albeit (literally) as a devil in them drives, but they appear in all shapes and sizes in most if not all areas of modern life, wherever the better part of human nature is inclined to lose its way, often without even realising it.

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, CHAMELEON ON THE DOORSTEP

I come in peace, a force for good,
yet am often abused, ill-used by those
unable to channel the full force
for better rather than worse, opening
personal space to private ambition,
Time left to make of what it will,
if not any final say, given all history’s
various ways with words, not to mention
measured invention

I bring hope where weaker forces
sure to fail, yet so easily misunderstood,
misled even into enemy territory,
where mixed feeling would threaten
to confuse issues, take control
for illicit purposes harbouring agendas
comprising a measured tissue
of lies that will, to all intents and purposes
tick all the right boxes

I offer stability wherever promising
enterprises are in danger of foundering
along with all invested interests;
at the same time, I am easily tempted
to play the hero, persuaded even
by my own convictions that any potential
for universal gain has to come
before settling a lasting peace and happiness
upon my personal space

I dress the bones of history with flair,
who am that old chameleon, Power

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2012; rev. 2021

[Note: The original version of this poem was written in 2009 and was first published under the title ‘The Designer’ in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.] RT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Addressing Time and Personal Space

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

While out shopping the other day, I overheard someone say, "Growing old is bad enough without having to deal with Covid-19 as well..." I can empathise, especially as I will be 76 in December. Even so, I take the same view as Her Majesty the Queen who, at 95, recently turned down a 'Golden Oldie' award on the grounds that "You're as old as you feel."  Or as young, as the case may well be.

Mind you, I defy anyone to say they never feel their age. Some days...!

Here in the UK we need to put our clocks back an hour before going to bed tonight. Oh, and still on the subject of time...😉

ADDRESSING TIME AND PERSONAL SPACE 

I grow older,
my life is full of ghosts
inclined to taunt
and haunt me with its ebb and flow
of hopes and dreams

I grow older,
needs must find ways
to adapt to changes
progressively haunting, taunting me
with mixed feelings 

I grow old,
looking back in anger, love
and tears for all I am
that’s bent on breaking ties that bind
mind-body-spirit 

Young, once,
a part of me that will always
bask in a kinder
past-present-future that insists I stay
the course...

Younger, once,
on a learning curve that’s taught me
to keep looking
on the bright(er) side of life, whatever
it throws at me 

Younger, once,
discovering the art of letting laughter
get the better of tears,
happy talk giving alter ego more time
to swim than sink 

I grow older,
memory bent on playing tricks on me
while imagination
conjures up a positive thinking mindset
that’s ageless 

I grow older... so?
If youth and old age are but seasons
of life, let’s engage
more with rainbows than rain, roses
than snowdrops? 

Time, having us run
its gauntlet, reasoning not the need;
Earth Mother,
taking me to heart who has given it
my best shot 

Me? I am humankind,
evolving in personae after personae
as its 'live 'poetry
reaps the harvest of such memories
as it can bear 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

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.]

 

Mind-Body-Spirit, Subject to Time and Consequence(s)

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

A wise woman, my mother. She died 25+ years ago, but I probably listen n to her more now than I ever did. I could be a naughty child (who isn’t?) at which times she would teach as well as scold. She once pointed out that almost everything we say has consequences, for better or worse, for ourselves and/or others; the latter, especially, we may never be made aware of... 

All the more reason, I eventually understood, to think before we do something, or don’t do it as the case may be... 

Easier said than done, of course, yours truly no less guilty than anyone else of forgetting to look before we leap and risk feeding this or that cliché its potential for truism. 

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, SUBJECT TO TIME AND CONSEQUENCE(S) 

Surely, the tide,
as surely life’s sweet dreams saving us
from ourselves and each other for offering
alternatives? 

I see your face
in a brave moon, straining to shine on,
but in vain as needs must it, too, take its cue
from Apollo

 Surely, the tide,
as surely as high hopes of fame, fortune
superseded by life-images of lovers kept busy
building bridge 

They laughed us
off the planet, yet we’d take it on the chin,
find a white horse to help us find our way back,
time and again 

We rode to hell
and back, you and I, joining Earth Mother
in races against the clock, win some, lose some,
no going back 

Yes, we fell prey
to a collective giving, taking, having to settle
for less than we bargained for, our personal space
a saving grace 

Now, a sure tide’s
surfing me still (always will), moving me on
to that one-and-only shore proving longer than life
for being loved

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021 

[NB: This poem has its origins in an earlier poem, Surfing, that appears in my first collection, Love and Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2000 (see also Gay blog, March, 2011); it had already appeared in several poetry journals and worked well enough at the time, but 20+ years on, subsequent changes in form and content defy my referring to it as simply a revision.] RNT

Disturbing the Peace

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

A reader comments that he has been very lonely during this second UK lockdown, and has coped far worse than during the first. I suspect this is true of many people, especially those of us who live alone and. or are unable to get out and about too well due to mobility problems. All we can do is keep looking on the brighter side of life, take each day as comes and trust that the vaccination program will see and end to all safety restrictions sooner rather than later. Even so, it is hard to nurture a positive mindset here in the UK when a third wave of Covid-19 is sweeping the continent. 

Many people are experiencing a range of emotions with which they are unfamiliar, not the least of which is fear. Several readers have emailed to say they feel scared as soon as they wake up each morning, dread having to face another day of having t cope with the Covid stress that is taking its toll on everyone. “The worst thing is,” a reader confides, “…is that I cannot tell anyone I am so scared as I’d feel such a fool.” Believe me, most people would be only too happy to have an excuse to share e the very same feelings. 

There is an old saying that a trouble shared is a trouble halved; fear is no exception. 

Having grown up the very homophobic 1950’s, I was afraid to tell people – especially family – that I am gay. Had I been able to share my fears with someone would have made a huge difference. As it was, my family were content to discuss the likelihood that I was gay, but no one thought to bring the subject into the open and talk to me about it until untold damage had already been done. When I finally came out to the world as a gay man, it was an indescribable relief. 

As I have said before, on both poetry blogs, I feel encouraged on behalf of young LGBT people these days that fewer are likely to be treated like freaks of nature - or 'sinners' as various world religions would have it - simply for the nature of their sexuality. 

Sadly, human nature being the complex organism it is, certain societies and communities worldwide still have a lot to learn - and become reconciled to - as far as same sex lovers and human rights are concerned. Hopefully, the pandemic will at least have brought home to many if not most that, for all our differences, we are (all) but human.

DISTURBING THE PEACE

Unwelcome visitor,
anytime, anywhere, day or night,
I may well depart
without even giving my name 
if only to be sure
you will know it when I call again,
mind-body-spirit
(always one for a game of chance)
offering suggestions at every blind turn
inciting desperation 

Deny me if you will,
I’ll not be deterred from haunting
and hurting you,
making you regret whatever it is
you would hide,
though there’s no sure hiding place,
the only solution,
head-on confrontation (always your call)
winner risking all… 

I haunt all creatures
great and small, but it is humankind
I most love to taunt
with unspoken threats the heart
hears only too well,
but would prefer to ignore, finds hard
to share or explain
lest it be caught out, made to give a name
to some guilt or shame 

I am Fear, last heard of breaking down doors
kept shut for years

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Frame (Again)

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Many people in denial are not consciously aware of it. Ask someone if they are homophobic or racist, for example, and the chances are they will deny it even if their behaviour suggests otherwise. Yes, they may well not want to openly admit they are guilty of something they know in their hearts is morally indefensible, but some people are genuinely in such denial they cannot and will not accept any such accusations. 

The subconscious, however, has no such inhibitions and it can lead to a sense of confusion that, in turn, can cause depression. Take yours truly, I was never in denial of being gay from about the age of 14; not to myself, that is. True, in those days, LGBT folks were not, on the whole, well received by society so I  I decided it was better to keep my sexuality to myself. It was not until after my mother died when I was 30 that I came to realise that it was not my sexuality that had kept me in what had been, for the most part, a very lonely closet for years but my family. I'd had no doubt in my mind that - with the exception of my mother – my family would not be supportive.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. More than 60+ years on, I'll never know for sure any more than I suspect they will either.

So … what did this say about me, as much as my family? It took a nervous breakdown to finally admit that I had no real sense of family, and my subconscious had been wrestling with this since my schooldays. If we had been a family that talked things through and could really talk to each other, things might have been different, but it was as it was; no one to blame except perhaps ‘society’. Whatever, the emotional estrangement I’d felt with my family took a physical turn, and I doubt whether any of them will every understand why. I blame myself for not standing up for, LGBT rights, letting anger, hurt and resentment get the better of me …and more. But any attempt at reconciliation would be a waste of time, nt least because I don’t want one any more than I suspect, at heart, they do. 

If I could put the clock back, the one thing I would definitely do would be to insist we talk to each other as a family, no rushing to judgement. Sadly, though, 1950’s society was inclined to rush to judgement on many matters that continue to haunt even a so-called ‘progressive’ e 21^st century when it comes to prejudice and discrimination to which, notwithstanding Human Rights and Equal Opportunities, many societies and communities around the world remain in denial.

IN THE FRAME (AGAIN) 

Whenever I am feeling low,
I stroll in a field where sunflowers grow,
reaching for the sky, as do I
when moods have me slump in an armchair,
wondering where I go from here,
searching a wall for answers
finding none, inspired to go searching in a field
of sunflowers  

Engaging with me, my sunflowers
talk me through all that a mind-body-spirit
in free fall needs to know
if to prevent a battering from the such winds
and rain as even humankind 
finds hard to bear, all but beaten to a pulp
by mixed emotions, times changing for the worse,
no easy solutions 

They will touch upon ancient myths,
these giants of their kind, rework them for me,
place them in a Here-and Now,
where, just as Apollo failed to win Daphne
for his own, so, too, must I home in
on any suspect motivation and blind speculation,
fuelling apprehension and self-doubt, obey instincts,
make a decision 

All thought processes now hopefully
more open to home truths and common sense,
time to focus, get real,
leave a field of  sunflowers on my wall
to its fading, antique frame,
shake off my slump, demand all mind-body-spirit
pull together, reason the need and dare give it a name,
put it back in its frame

Yet another existential traveller, looking for answers  
in a field of sunflowers...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Engaging with Epic Poetry

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2017.

In July 2009 I was privileged to participate in "One and Other", sculptor Sir Antony Gormley's 'live sculpture' project on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square; I gave a poetry reading. At the time, I thought reference to its being a 'live' sculpture simply referred to those participants invited to do whatever for an hour, July- October. I became aware that I was part of an epic poem of sorts, which subsequently inspired the poem.

Now, text-speak may well be as relatively a new phenomenon as the mobile phone itself, but conversations with the inner self are as old as humankind.

Invariably, we think of mind, body and spirit at separate entities, and I am often criticised for suggesting they are. Yet, each engage with each other in such a way that maybe it is high time we started thinking of the whole rather than the parts? After all, it is they that would see us (as a whole) engage with time and space... for better, for worse; it is they, also, to, whom we invariably turn when we are stressed out for whatever reason.

Exercising mind and body is a form of creative therapy that can encourage the human spirit to wake up to whatever reality we are avoiding and help us reach a constructive decision as to how best to proceed - or not, as the case may be.

Poets make much of Poetry of the Heart, but there is a  sense in which we are all, each and every one of us, living poems; the whole of us, as individuals, not just this part or that. 

There are many who profess to hate poetry, find it glib, trite, weak; those same people, simply by engaging with life itself, who are creating the Poetry of History, an epic poem about the human race as beautiful - not least for its very diversity - as any prose.

ENGAGING WITH EPIC POETRY 

Life,

spiralling me downwards

from cradle to grave…

often when I least expect it,

leaves me clinging

for dear life at straws in an ill wind

raised by a helter-skelter

of events conspiring to drag me

beyond imagination,

test ego (and salvation) to limits

rarely conceived

even by those daily enduring

a world of nightmares

Love,

spelling out such promises

as sweet dreams

are made of, offering (for free)

a magical-mystery-tour

of mind-body-spirit asking only

that I stay true

to the end of a line drawn

not (whimsically) 

in sand or clay, but in good faith

that 1 + 1 is equal,

to the sum of all its frictions,

and, yes, I can add up

Hope,

bringing me the best of things

at the worst of times,

reshaping the obstinate clay

of human nature

as a potter’s wheel might

its tasks in hand,

demanding the poetry of art

speak up for Beauty,

fair chameleon exposing masks

of the Beast

for human waste washed up

by the tides of life

Centuries of anticipating eternity 

for engaging with its epic poetry

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

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

Cascade

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Today's post-poem is another from the blog archives (since removed) and first appeared here in 2013. Do explore the archives for yourselves as I will only be repeating a selection; they can be accessed on the right hand side of any blog page.

Some readers who link to my YouTube channel think 'too much' background noise detracts from the poems I read. While I take their point, it is unavoidable when filming outdoors with my (cheap) camcorder. There is no way to subdue all background noise without killing the reading. For me, reading outdoors brings the poem to life. Moreover, the location often relates to the poem. For example, I wanted to read Autobiography of a Beach where I began to write it, on Bournemouth beach.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKzi9VRjuq0&t=132s

Latterly, anyone who has ever dipped into my You Tube channel will have seen that I have started reading poems over the video, thereby reducing background distractions since I record the poem in the relative peace and quiet of my London flat. This appears to work quite well and I will probably do this in future.  I suspect it would have been better to start off this way, but my best friend (and cameraman) Graham and I are only amateurs and did not hit on the idea until we discovered that we had a growing audience. We intend to record more videos/poem later this year as and when time allows:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile …

Someone close to me was a keen gardener and loved the seasons. When she lay in hospital dying, she told me not to be afraid. “There’s really nothing to be afraid of. Nervous, perhaps, but who isn’t nervous of change?  As for being afraid, though, no one with a passion for spring need ever be afraid of winter.”

CASCADE

Many a scary night, I'd stumble along

the lonely, winding passages of birth,

let moon, stars and love’s sweeter song

lure me into the killing fields of Earth

By history’s first light, I’d dried my tears

(said to make all who nurture us proud);

by noon, I’d joined a stream of refugees

fallen foul of some scapegoat of a God

In the twilight of my years, I found peace,

(yes, even in a world living with terror)

for letting a cascade of spring’s finer joys

absorb tears long shed for a bad winter

Come Death's free falling us back to nature,

a cascade of life forces minding us forever

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

A unique Species of Rose

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[Update: 11/7/2020: I am often criticised for rarely using full stops at the end of stanzas; fair enough, but I see a poem (like life and time) as a continuum; it is meant to give the reader food for thought; for much the same reason, I often hyphenate words to bring them together, such as yesterday-today-tomorrow in the poem below. Hopefully, the reader will continue to consider the implications and relation to the poem’s theme/s long after they have forgotten the poem itself.] RT

In the closing scenes of a classic movie Gone with the Wind - based on a novel of the same name by Margaret Mitchell - its heroine, Scarlett O’Hara, magnificently portrayed by Vivien Leigh, briefly considers confronting some uncomfortable home truths before backing out with the immortal words, “I’ll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

How many of us, I wonder, have told ourselves much the same thing, and for how many of us has that changed much, if anything …?

Me? As guilty as sin … as are most if not all of us.

Meanwhile, while time passes and, for the most part, poor, misunderstood humanity persists in pausing at the brink of self-awareness … if only to excuse this or that course of action (or inaction) should it ever be called to account.  

Time, marking the days that come and go in our lives, may well be much the same for everyone; it is how we choose to nurture those days (or not, as the case may be) that makes them unique for each and every one of us, whoever and wherever. Raison d'être, too, is unique, to every individual even in shared circumstances like relationships; I dare say the world would be a better, kinder, place if only we were (all) to remember that, more often, especially those among us - in all walks of life - inclined to rush to judgement.

“It’s the time that you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important…" 

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

A UNIQUE SPECIES OF ROSE

Yesterday, I’d traverse deserts,

goaded by false images to kneel and drink

from oases of illusion

Yesterday, I’d climb leafy trees

browse the words of ancient philosophers

in passing clouds

Yesterday, I’d swim in the oceans,

bear witness to creatures choking to death

on human waste

Today, I’ll try to pass on something

of lessons learned by the mind-body-spirit

in poetry and prose

Today, I’ll try stirring cloth ears

all but glued to mobile phones into hearing

global warnings

Today, I’d do an Internet search

for answers to questions ever plaguing me,

but, alas, no wi-fi

Tomorrow, I’ll join other nomads

(still) misled by fake news, kneeling to drink

from oases of delusion

Tomorrow, I’ll ask the few trees left

how Earth Mother might have had us comply

had we but listened …?

Tomorrow, I’ll start thinking of ways

to prevent stereotypes slamming down the lid

of the box they put me in

Yesterday-today-tomorrow, live streams

of consciousness calling on Earth to reconcile

nature and human nature

Yesterday-today-tomorrow, last spotted

sailing under false colours where imagination

having settle for cast-offs

Yesterday-today-tomorrow, making hay

in the sunshine, world clocks winding us up

and down, up and down ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

The Dresser OR Contemporaneity, lead Figure in a Docudrama

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2012.

I have to agree with Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, when he recently declared his his objections to our trying to 'photoshop out' the worst aspects of our cultural history; as bad or ugly as it may well have been sometimes, we need to be reminded of it if only to avoid making the same mistakes.

As for pulling down statues and editing out any media footage that might cause offence, we need to remember that they are products of their time. We cannot and should not deny history, but nor should we dress it up with what amounts to fake news once we start cherry-picking those aspects we prefer to emphasise because they put us in a kinder light.

Regarding some public statues, it is, I suspect, the inscriptions they bear more than the sculptures themselves that cause offence; honouring those, for example, whose financial contribution to society at the time was not least on the back of their being slave owners. Slavery was an abhorrent, inhuman practise, and we should never be allowed to forget that. While I support the Black Lives Matter movement, I would prefer to see the darker aspects of any cultural past confined to a museum rather than provocatively placed in a city centre or wherever and/ or inscriptions changed to reflect those elements of historical fact that dont deserve to be celebrated. At the same time, I have to say that it is a GOOD thing that inequality and prejudice have been given a public platform in the course of recent events; hopefully, we will see world and society leaders take appropriate action to tackle social injustices that have no place in a 21st century.

It has been my experience that certain social, religious, cultural and, yes, even sexual elements of human nature are inclined to conspire against us (supposedly for our own good) in order to establish themselves in this or that driving seat; not infrequently, they choose to ignore that, ultimately, there can only be one driver, who may may well choose to take an alternative route. 

Such is the nature of the human ego that it can be something of a control freak ... as and when it suits. Nor does anything bring this home perhaps than when browsing archives, not least those, relating to family history; reading and capturing the imagination like a docudrama portraying human nature at its best and worst, strongest and weakest, all-enduring despite (even because of) the very flaws that comprise it.

“The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.” - George Orwell 

“Study the past if you would define the future.” - Confucius

“The great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously controlled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do.”
- James Baldwin,  The Price of the Ticket: Collected Nonfiction 11948-1985

This poem is a kenning.

THE DRESSER or CONTEMPORANEITY, LEAD FIGURE IN A DOCUDRAMA

I come in peace, a force for good

yet am often abused, used to make war

on lesser forces unable to resist

the strength of my will giving ambition

and determination their way;

for good or ill, time will have its say

and those, too, who endure

the wait to see if they can (ever)

put their trust in me 

I bring hope where weaker forces

sure to fail, yet can be misunderstood,

seen as an enemy, threatening

to take control for my own purposes,

harbouring a secret agenda,

a measured tissue of lies and half lies

an impenetrable camouflage

for self-interest convincingly ticking

all the right boxes 

I offer stability where foundations

of enterprise are in danger of collapse

along with all invested interests;

yet, I am easily distracted in playing

the hero, even persuaded

by my own convictions that any potential

for universal gain has to be better

than settling for less on the grounds

it bring happiness 

Personal Assistant to that chameleon, Power,

I am charged with dressing history with flair 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Lead Player in a Docudrama' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]