Self-Belief OR Destination, Otherworld

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

“The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.” -  Mark Twain

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” - ― Michel de Montaigne

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.”- Marilyn Monroe

“One of the greatest regrets in life is being what others would want you to be, rather than being yourself.” - Shannon L. Alder

“Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.” - M. Scott Peck 

“Be faithful to that which exists within yourself.” - Andre Gide

“People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.” - Elizabeth Gaskell

Foe a variety of reasons, many of us suffer with low self-esteem, sometimes all our lives. I have to admit to being one of the, although I have made real progress over the years in rising above such feelings. Born and raised during the bigoted 1950’s, I was made to feel an inferior person from the time I realised I am gay, at the age of 14. Regular readers will know that I spent years in a lonely closet, rarely confiding in anyone that I was gay until ‘coming out’ to the world in my late 30’s.

Noe was my lack of self-esteem due solely to a rampant homophobia. I am not a very practical person, but found myself in a Technical High School which specialised in practical subjects like woodwork, metalwork, and technical drawing, at all of which I was next to useless and would make the kind of errors that inevitably caught a teacher’s eye; they would, in turn, bring it to the attention of the whole class. Oh, I would laugh it off, but inwardly feel positively sick.

As regular readers will also know, I had a poo relationship with my father, constantly having a go at me for “having my head in a book’ and making me feel a lesser person for that, especially as compared with my older brother who was practical, sporty and all the things my father expected of a son. Rightly or wrongly, I felt psychologically bullied and hadn’t yet learned to effectively stand up for myself without provoking an almighty row.

We are who we are and should not feel a need to justify how we identify ourselves to anyone. Being made - intentionally or otherwise - to feel less of a person by anyone, especially during our formative years or in the workplace, wherever … it can take years, if ever, to shake off a sense of inferiority.

I feel a greater sense of freedom these days, having learned mu lessons the hard way but cannot help wishing I had especially come across the Elizabeth Gaskell quote (above) during my younger years as a bookworm. 

SELF-BELIEF or DESTINATION, OTHERWORLD

Being told this, told that,
and failing to achieve a good result,
gave mind-body-spirit
a sense of falling apart, being unequal
to perspectives on me
I couldn’t work through or begin to share
however hard I’d try,
until I started listening to that voice within
reminding me I'm my own person

All but persuaded to find
my own way in a world confusing me
every step I’d take,
urging I do this or maybe rather do that
to get anywhere,
be the Someone those expecting far more
of me may rest assured
that, if only I’d listened to all they had to say,
I’d have chosen to go a ‘better’ way 

Time and again I’d feel lost,
unsuited and confused by worldly ways
others fell into with ease,
until I stumbled on home truths no-one
had led me to believe,
till mind-body-spirit made time and space
to replace the 'me'
I'd see through other eyes with my very own,
no less from without as from within

I saw a world judging me neither sinner nor fool,
made my peace with heart-and-soul 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2023

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

Hello again, folks, from London UK

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

Hello again folks, from London UK

No poem today, but I am working on one, not only for you all but for me too. As with most people, the pandemic continues to taken its toll on yours truly. As if growing old and living alone was not enough to contend with, I find myself struggling to rise above the kind of depression that comes with battling various health issues - not least, my prostate cancer - on a daily basis.

At least I understand the nature of what I what I am up against and do so with a hopeful heart. Some battles are beyond understanding, prejudice being one of them. Prejudice against another human being is a sickness I find very hard to understand, and I am not speaking simply as a gay man.

Those who nurture feelings of racism, sexism, any kind of hate form against another human being simply because they don't like colour of their skin, their gender or the  nature of their sexuality... or whatever... is beyond all understanding.

Not for the first time, I received complaints about my last post along the lines that "... a gay-interest poem has no place on a 'supposedly' general poetry blog." That may well be true, but the motivation behind a poem is every bit important as the poem itself.

There are many men and women out there to whom the faith in which they were raided remains important to them even if they discover during puberty that they are of an LGBT+ persuasion, which most religious dogma condemns. Homosexuality and gender identity are no less a part of the human condition than any  mind-body-spirit that identifies with and feels a compelling empathy with the religion in which they have been raised.

Another reader has emailed to complain that "As you say you are not religious yourself, how can you, a godless person, justify a poem that is a religious allegory - of sorts..."

Hopefully I have explained if not justified the reason for the poem in the previous paragraph and other blog posts. As for my being a "godless" person, I have never claimed to be one, except in the way most world religions would have it. Pantheists believe that God is nature, not its creator. 

Anyone who has experienced as intimate an affinity with nature as with a God that not only doesn't discriminate along such prejudicial lines as some human beings, but neither sees any form of  bigotry as a "natural" element of any mind-body-spirit. Over the years, I have meat many people who share much the same experience, albeit I dare say they my well prefer not to see themselves as pantheists... or poets, for that matter.

 How a person feels, how he or she fills their personal space, that is where human choice lies, and it is only human to make  bad choices sometimes; these can never (quite) rectified, but the capacity to recognise  and change is also innate to mind-body-spirit and it should not require religion to state the terms of  a sinner's repentance or forgiveness. If we can repent and forgive ourselves, it is my belief that the greater, natural part of mind-body-spirit will rest easier for that and form the better part likely to engage with an empathic consciousness in life or death. 

      I'm not asking anyone to agree with me, simply trying to answer (to myself as much as anyone) why poetry helps me get through bad times and lets me feel a sense of spirituality as well as sheer pleasure in better, kinder times. Not an answer that will satisfy some if not many readers, I'm sure, but like everyone else, I can but try to get to the root of such thought processes that many philosophers and many a finer poet than I has attempted to reach for centuries.

Take care, keep well and nurture as positive thinking a mindset as you can,

Back soon,

Roger

Engaging with Conjecture

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

I recently met up with a close friend for lunch in a church garden; it was a lovely, sunny afternoon and we were joined by assorted avian friends (mostly pigeons) hoping for such crumbs as we duly obliged. 

While chatting away, we’d sometimes address the birds directly; some would even seem to understand, if only in our imagination. Maybe they did understand, if not the words we spoke, the tone in which we spoken them? Who really knows what goes on in the head of any live creature, including human beings? It can only be pure conjecture, surely?

 

I put this to a psychiatrist once. To my surprise, he agreed, adding that it was not his job to know what goes on in patient’s heads, but to help them to know and thereby help themselves. “I’m trained to read signs, not to be a mind-reader,” he pointed out, “Before anyone can begin to deal with problems affecting their behaviour, they have to get to the root cause, rather like having to lift an invisible curtain they don’t even realise is there.  It’s my job to point patients towards it and help them find the wherewithal to lift the damn thing. Even then, it’s only a first step...”

 

A naturalist acquaintance once commented along similar lines about conjecture. We were observing a tortoise in his garden. “How does it decide which way to go?” I wanted to know.

 

“Natural instinct,” he said with quiet conviction.

 

“So how does that work?” I persisted.

 

“No one really knows for sure,” he chuckled, “... but we can learn a lot by observation of live creatures and their remains. Even so, all species are different and within any species there will always be individual differences. At the end of the day, even what a specialist learns is only conjecture, but as close to knowing as anyone can get.” 

It was s too complex a conversation for me, though, and I changed the subject...

 

ENGAGING WITH CONJECTURE

 

In a church garden,

two gay men engaging with nature

and human nature  

in such ways as its hosts would

deny us for our being

beyond both their ken or remit,

according to such dogma

as they would share as a ‘God-given’

insight to Heaven

 

Beneath leafy art forms

portraying dream-like cameos

of cloud shapes

and sun nymphs peering down

with watery eyes,

we ate our lunches, two old friends,

tossing breadcrumbs

now and then to birdlife come to share

precious moments there

 

Pigeons, various markings

and colouring, engaging with us;

avian and human,

birds of a feather come together,

truce understood,

a spirit of such caring and sharing,

as even divided species agree

on nurturing, if the going’s looking good

for credit and reward

 

Nearby, a crow has business

of its own with discarded food waste

in open litter bins,

deftly removing sandwich wrappings

and other crumb-potential,

scattering them across public gardens

for passers-by to deplore

such ‘litter-louts’ as never spare a thought

for the environment

 

Observing, though, how much

nature and human nature have in common,

for worse as well as better,

who’s to judge any species of creature

great or small for being

as they are, or any within the human race

made to feel outsiders

by any form socio-cultural-religious dogma

now and forever?

 

Such are ways to which life forms

are born, better (surely) to trust than see them

forsworn under duress,

reason the need any heart may protest

at being put to a test

it doesn’t even recognise as fit for purpose,

any more than do two gay men

in a church garden, engaging with local nature

and human conjecture? 

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021 

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

Cookies, Conspiracy Theories & Personal Space

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

COOKIES, CONSPIRACY THEORIES AND PERSONAL SPACE

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

Felt Experience, Diary of an 'Other' Self

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

As we journey through life, the majority of us remain aware of our surrounding and relate to them accordingly; home, school, workplace... 

In what way ‘accordingly’ though’ given that all aspects of life are subject and vulnerable to change, for better or worse, at any given time? 

We can but do our best, on the face of it at least, to relate and adapt to change if only because common sense tells us that change is all but inevitable, part and parcel of life experience. 

How we feel about various changes in our lives, however, may well affect our perspective, not only on any physical change, but our relationship with everything and everyone it embraces, one way or another. Changes for the better will invariably improve our quality of life, not least for its affecting anyone in it who matters to us. 

Similarly, changes for the worse invariably have the opposite effect, worse still for giving rise to such feelings to which we may not be accustomed and make us feel out of our depth, a felt experience which we may be loath to confide in anyone, if only because – as we see it – it doesn’t reflect well on us. 

Sadly, many of us endure the darker aspects of felt experience alone, struggling against a rising tide of anger, shame and other self-deceptive life forces that needs must find an outlet or ‘target’ if only because it I no more the way of human nature to contain its negatives than to share and celebrate any positives. 

No one, even among close family and friends, can read minds; we can try, yes, but may well only see what we want or expect to see, leaving us none the wiser as to how best we can help someone in any given situation. 

Felt experience can make or break us and we need to share it; sometimes, talking to a stranger can be a good start or writing down how we feel to clear our thoughts sufficiently to help us communicate them, if only to ourselves. Whatever, it has to be a giant leap in helping us see how our own felt experience is affecting others and, hopefully, nudge us into devising a way out of the emotional closet in which we are feeling increasingly desperate. 

Nor do I use the word ‘closet’ lightly, so often associated with LGBT people unable to come to terms with their own felt experience of life, but as true of anyone, whoever and wherever they may be... 

FELT EXPERIENCE, DIARY OF AN ‘OTHER’ SELF 

As a child, I believed in fairies,
guardians of woods in which I’d play
with peers who, too, saw a fairy
in every flower, leaf, blade of grass
in which we trusted to keep us
safe from harm until such a time
as needs must we put aside childish thing
as run pretty rings around us 

Older, I tried hard to believe
in the God of more Sundays than I cared
to count, singing hymns to tunes
I'd often play in my head without words,
sing in my heart with silences
all but breaking it for being burdened so
by the absence of such music as I related to,
but never (quite) as expected 

Older, I tried hard to believe
in myself, for all that I’d plainly lost my way,
no clear idea what to do next,
how to reconcile a passionate inner self
with all but sterile masks it wore
as and when the need would (often) arise
to cast reality aside, magic me an alternative
I might even learn to live with 

Middle age saw me looking back
in more anger than pride for my overcoming
this and that worldly obstacle,
only to render mind-body-spirit a subject
of ridicule to its ‘other’ self
for believing it had found its own way
out of the Maze of Life when it had but begged
its guardians to point the way 

There came a time, I broke free
of life forces shackling me to everyday tasks
essential to survival, if not on terms
acceptable to the ‘other’ self in me, as needy
to find its own way out of its hell
as children hoping that fairies are a reality,
can see any real ‘me’ behind its many life-masks,
even if no one else does... 

Growing old, I look in a mirror
and ask my reflection “Why?” Now and then,
it will even reply, lips moving silently,
heart beating furiously, lashing out at mind
and spirit for abandoning teamwork,
expecting humans to get the better of fairies
by... turning to everyday socio-cultural-religious
and political face masks? 

“Whatever,” says the mirror,
whenever it has my ear, “what’s done is done,
no point in looking back in anger, regret,
sorrow, even fear of any mask or fairy taking
pot-shots at us in some after-life...”
“Earth Mother knows who and what we are,
more likely to judge us, surely, by good seeds sown
than any stones we’ve thrown?” 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

Nature and Human Nature Revisited

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

How well I still recall the old childhood cry, “Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me...” It was a lie I actually believed until I stood on the threshold of my youth as a gay person; I was 14 years-old and it was 1959, not a good time to be of an LGBT persuasion.

There were so many words, insults, faux stereotypical images behind every one of them; queer, faggot, cock-sucker among the least offensive, likely to be thrown at anyone even suspected of being “not normal” or as morally prescribed by the majority heterosexual point of view.

Yes, I know things have changed, but not for everyone and not everywhere. Whenever I recall barely scraping by as a real person, too scared to come of the damn closet until my early 30’s, I feel ashamed of myself and angry that some 40+ years on, there are men and women continuing to suffer much as I did, courtesy of various socio-cultural-religious agendas for bigotry worldwide.

Homophobia, sexism, racism... these could have been minimalised, if not eradicated altogether, had Education but done its job properly in its various academic settings rather than being made to feel it had to ‘play safe’’ by choosing to confine itself to academic life-forces rather than those at the heart of human nature that have made the world go round for centuries. Some may well argue that it is up to parents, not teachers, and they would be right, only how many parents really talk to their children (at any age) about the wider ‘moral’ spectrum beyond what they have chosen for themselves? If pressed, they will invariably say it’s a teacher’s responsibility, but as soon as a teacher attempts to help a class cross academic lines into real-life issues, its usually parents who are the first to express such outrage as likely as not  to be ‘legitimised’ by a social media that appears to prefer fake news and local gossip to anything approaching the facts of a matter, Consequently, offence is often taken where no offence meant other than to give us what we can expect to find outside the school gates... if we haven’t already experienced much of it for ourselves already...

Thank goodness for a level of maturity among many if not most young people these days, teaching them to recognize and differentiate between such fake news, home truths and stereotypes as academia rarely has an opportunity to home in on; where it does, it needs must walk on ‘eggshells’ - for which, read metaphor and simile least likely to cause offence.

Unfortunately, even the most well-intentioned statutes, such as those embracing Human Rights and Equal Opportunities are fair game for anyone whose power of persuasion (or power alone) is such that we may too easily be led (or misled) by their interpreting words to their own advantage, for negative as well as positive reasons. Whatever, the chances are that various media sources - with their own agendas - will provide them with a global audience...

NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE REVISITED 

Sun, beating down on a Covid-stricken Earth,
humanity encouraged yet again by the glorious rebirth
of nature as seasons come into their own,
seeds sown long ago start to flower, bear fruit, whatever
expected of their species, so human nature, too,
continues to rework stories of love and peace, such joys
of life that help compensate for its darker aspects,
wars and (local) hate crime ever among its chief suspects
besides drugs and people smugglers 

Apollo glaring down on a panic-stricken Earth
as if bringing kinder weather might even yet encourage
its communities to get their acts together,
cease making out that God’s in His heaven and all’s right
with a world so bent on making assumptions
that everyone’s okay with  progress keeping Business
in the loop, while having some folks jumping
through more Hoops of Change, only to find mind-body-spirit
as willing as ever, but less and less able 

Past-present-future starting to fall like fake news
on human ears ever wrestling with such sounds and effects
as now raising hopes, now free-falling us
into a sea of despair, waves crashing, that sinking feeling
almost welcome... but... mind-body-spirit
not finished with us yet, urging us to panic not, but swim
ashore, grab the reins of life once more, steer it
while reasoning the need, paying less heed to certain ‘betters’
whose words but axes grinding us down 

Rain, beating down on a Covid-stricken Earth, lending us time
and (personal) space to rise above its worst 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

Edge OR Mind-Body-Spirit, the Ultimate Adventure

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

I posted today’s poem on YouTube some time ago yesterday while those of you who seem unable to access YouTube can also see the video below; the poem was written especially to accompany it; the alternative title was added later, on the subject of which several readers have asked why I "bother with alternative titles at all." All I can say is that a title is the reader's access point to a poem before he or she even reads a line; it sets not only the tone of a poem but gives it a framework of sorts in which the reader can freely move. Feedback often suggests that my first choice of title for a poem fails in ne or both respects so rather than revise the poem (although I do this, too, sometimes) I revise the access point. No poet should assume that how they access to a poem will necessarily apply to a reader; he or she needs consider critical feedback, and act on it as and when it feels appropriate.

For anyone interested, my YouTube channel is at:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Continuing my friend Graham’s video snapshot of Wiltshire, this is the second of three videos and poems relating to the Cheddar Gorge.

See how Graham ventures to the very edge at times while my poem attempts yet again to reconcile human condition and natural world.

Time and again we find ourselves at the edge of life, love, history ... even death ... and we need to call on all the power of positive thinking available to us to take us further or back, as the case may be ... or take a leap into the unknown now and then and trust our natural instincts to see us right. An artist friend once commented that life is all about being on the edge of a great adventure, one that the arts delight in taking us on. I get that, I really do. Any adventure will have its ups and downs; negotiating and surviving the latter on the best terms available to us is as important a feature of life as enjoying the former. Yes, I know only too well that hitting a rough patch is no 'adventure'; my friend would argue that it's getting through it where the 'adventure' lies if only retrospectively. 

Whatever, I discovered many years ago that positive thinking is a godsend, and encourages a sense of adventure through thick and thin. Better, I found out the hard way, to keep a sense of adventure than give up on ... whatever. 

Did I say it was easy?

EDGE 

Where nature goes,

the human mind would follow

to the end of time,

yet there are abysses in between

where even human will

can but gaze from the edge,

look down at the hem

of Earth Mother’s emerald gown,

across to where others

have gone for having dared dream

of dancing on Mount Parnassus

to the Pipes of Pan, glad to let sun,

moon and stars guide them

across bridges only the inner eye

can see that seeks out a light signalling

their finest poetry

Where nature goes,

the human body would follow

to the end of time,

yet there are seas to cross, mountains

to climb, gorge and valley

waiting to see how far a body will go,

how much battering it can take

until it has all but achieved its aim,

to kiss the frayed hem

of Earth Mother’s emerald gown,

only to discover that sun, moon,

and stars may yet refuse poor humanity

a final bonding with eternity

till we dare look down from its edge,

and finally acknowledge the home truths

half buried there

Where nature goes,

the human spirit would follow

to the end of time,

make merry with the its ghosts

haunting corners of the mind

we may well choose to avoid in case

the body cannot take the strain

of having to confess a great weariness

with keeping secrets, signing off

in peace and love while so frustrated

at not being able to make sense

of it all, sick of seeing humanity put down

at the hem of Earth Mother’s gown,

rummaging its frayed edges to retrieve

sufficient bits and pieces of ruined bridges

to rebuild one

Where mind, body and spirit work together,

we may yet save ourselves and each other?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Note: This poem first appeared on the blog in 2012 under the title 'Edge'.

Nothing to Prove

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

This entry is from my gay-interest poetry blog archives for July 2012. I will publish two new poems here one New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, and then only now and again during 2020 while I concentrate on compiling revised editions of my poetry collections - and a brand new collection - for publishing online. Meanwhile, feel free to rediscover poems among the archives for either or even both blogs...

“The only problem I have with being gay,” a much younger Roger Taber once confided to a friend, is that you always feel you have something to prove.

“Bollocks!” retorted my friend with feeling, “Love, affection, friendship...these things have nothing to prove, they just are... What does being gay having anything to do with it?”

Now, is that naive or wise? I know which answer I go for...

This poem is a villanelle.

NOTHING TO PROVE

What is it about love,

breaking our every fall?

Nothing to prove

In dark skies above,

listen for its mating call;

(What is it about love?)

Like hand to glove,

poetry to nature’s spell,

nothing to prove

Songbirds above,

taking us where we will;

(What is it about love?)

Where hunters have

well-honed eyes for a kill,

nothing to prove?

Take hand from glove,

watch it wither, as it will;

What is it about love?

Nothing to prove ...

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Getting Under the Skin

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

We all need something or someone at some time in our lives, but asking for help is not always easy; sometimes, pride gets in the way or we may well be at such a low ebb that we cannot get the words out.

There is no shame in asking for help; the first step is acknowledging to ourselves that we need it while the next (sometimes the hardest) is finding someone we know well and can trust to listen without judging us or simply telling us what they would do in our situation. I, for on, always avoid giving advice but will always offer various options and alternatives tailored to my knowledge of the person. Where the listener can offer practical help that is always, of course, as good a place to start as any.

Failing at the second step is invariably down to the inability of many if not most people to use their knowledge of a person to be able to offer constructive advice. We are individuals, all different; telling someone what we would do in their situation is rarely much help.

The listener is the greater source of inspiration because any advice forthcoming will be based on what he or she has heard; heard us out, encouraging us now and then by all means, but not interrupting or prompting along lines we think the other person is trying to say,

Need is not always obvious; too often, it is left to fester simply because there are none so deaf as will not hear. Where the listeners of this world are a rare breed, the friend who listens is a friend indeed.

This poem is a kenning.

GETTING UNDER THE SKIN 

I haunt the human spirit

as an alley cat might its territory,

fight off every challenge

until grown weary with battles,

ready to admit defeat,

yet without (quite) conceding

surrender of the kind

that sheds dignity like a second skin

for caving in to despair

I worry the human mind

as a dog might a flock of sheep

that knows no better,

simply goes with basic instinct,

chancing life and limb

to the farmer that will shoot

on sight, worth the risk,

beats gnawing away at an old bone

just because it’s there

I taunt the human heart

where expectation often misled

by parental satisfaction,

peer-led competition, egged on

by target-centred education…

chalices passed from generation

to generation, mistakes

coursing its veins like a slow poison

too often left untreated

Call me poor, inarticulate Need;

on life’s leftovers, I feed …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Dressing Table Wars

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

I suspect that aspects of the human self are as often at war with each other as suing for peace it is a confusing, even distressing scenario of which mind, body and spirit not unsurprisingly or infrequently grow weary, sometimes all at once, and we sink into depression.

Sadly, there is still a stigma attached to any form of mental illness, not least because few people understand it unless they have been depressed through it themselves or close to someone who has. It was much the same when I experienced a severe nervous breakdown some 30+ years ago. Few people understood what I was going through, and it was only after a long, lonely battle over several years that I began to feel well again. I even managed to find and hold down a job although it would be a few more years yet before the sense of fighting a losing battle would leave me once and for all. Well, not quite once and for all, but I can honestly say that my quality of life and resistance to despair improved beyond measure as the years passed. I still take a m low dose (25mg) of antidepressant nightly and – as regular readers well know – writing has been more a creative therapy for me than an art form even as a child. (I will be 70 this year.)

Being depressed is nothing like being fed-up; it is a soul-destroying nightmare from which the depressed person can take a very long time to awaken, if ever.  An invisible illness, it is easily misunderstood. Sadly, one of the last people to recognize depression is the depressed person him/herself. Uncharacteristic mood swings, aggression, rudeness, bouts of crying for no obvious reason, over-reacting and getting things out of proportion…all these can be signs of depression, likely to culminate over a period of time in a firm of mental breakdown unless professional help and support is made available.

While the best help and support can be provided by family and friends, not everyone has family on hand while some friends feel so let down by a depressed person’s attitude towards them that they drift away; they SEE the same person, but have no idea of the emotional turmoil that person is going through and which, if left unchecked, may well permanently damage his or her whole personality.

To be fair, none of us are mind readers. Even so, the more sensitive and discerning family member or close friend will suspect something is wrong. Suggesting to someone they may be depressed will almost certainly meet with a hot denial in the first instance. Please don’t give up, but stick with it, no matter how tough it gets; and it will get tough, almost as much for the person who is trying to help as for the person who is mentally ill.

There are degrees of mental illness, of course. Whatever, there is no shame in it, especially in the kind of stressful, even dangerous world we live in with stress often coming at us from all sides to such an extent and at such a rate that even the strongest body, mind and spirit feels under siege.

Depression is not a battle that can be easily won, and certainly not alone. If you are depressed, don’t wait, as I did, for depression to get the better of you. Strike first. Ask for help or at least try and express something of how you feel to someone you sense will understand and help you to help yourself. Easily said than done, as I know only too well… 

DRESSING TABLE WARS 

Wall, shining like a mirror,

shadows dripping drops of light

like sweat on a battlefield

Words, pitting foe against foe;

a roaring in the head like sounds

of battle in a silent movie

Wall, a white board left blank

to any suggestions from the floor

on the subject of peace talks

Words, advancing like armies
on an invisible enemy, worn down
by stomach pains and tears

Wall, questioning the nature

of the beast, philosophy left to run

a lonely gamut of home truths

Words, starting to make sense

of sensibilities modernity so loves

to camouflage in Rat Race gear

Wall, a collage of human selves

reflecting vulnerability to life forces

and potential for common sense

Words, moving lips in a mirror,

rehearsing a plea for help in repairing

any cracks in mind-body-spirit 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Manipulator

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

There is nothing wrong with ambition, but sometimes motivation is less clear sighted than we like to think., and we lose sight of our priorities if only temporarily; worse, we risk losing sight of who we are in our anxiety to prove we are more than a match for someone else…

Comparing ourselves with others is rarely a good idea as we will almost certainly go through life feeding an inferiority complex. Everyone is different, with different strengths and weaknesses. We need to lose any self-consciousness and develop the self-confidence to focus on ourselves and those people and issues that matter most to us. Otherwise, in attempting to prove we are as good as or better than someone else, we risk losing everything that really matters.

MANIPULATOR

You hardly notice

I am here, and should you care

to look over your shoulder

the chances are you’ll not see me;

if the light is right I’ll fade

from sight, or (better still) no light

at all where I have taken

what I can of your mind and soul,

made them my own

You don’t fear me,

though you should, for am surely

your worst enemy;

you carry on with this and that,

making your way

in life, believing it’s your own

while all the time it’s mine;

my ambitions you aspire to fulfil,

rarely your own

Oh, but I am clever,

and would never lead you so astray

that you become lost

in a maze of conflicting emotions

and cannot find your way back

to where I intend you should be,

feeding you (now and then)

a hollow victory, its celebration

mine, all mine

You, my puppet, I, your puppeteer;

One upmanship, the Manipulator

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2014

Rascals on the Run OR The Shape of Things to Come

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

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

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

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

RASCALS ON THE RUN or THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

Around rugged rocks, ragged rascals

run …into a story-poem as (gradually)

mind and spirit start homing in  

on artful shadows penetrating a mist,

outline of a child chasing shadows,

doing battle with hidden fears, taking

a pride of sorts in wiping away the first

of, oh, so many tears

Sea sounds, music to the child’s ears,

fun waves splashing on dream holidays,

TV family laughing, applauding…

till time to wake, give wishful thinking

the elbow, start climbing up walls

where giant spiders have ears, tell tales

enough on cry-baby bed-wettings to give

even a rascal the shakes

One times one is one, two times two,

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

distant voices jeering, clapping a rascal

made to stand in front of the class, object

of pretend martyrdom, subject of abuse,

taking a pride or sorts in refusing to shed

a solitary tear, allying with artful shadows

dampening red hot coals   

One times one is one, two times two

(shoelace a sloppy bow, heading for a fall)

dispassionate voices, chasing a rascal

through the streets of town for truanting,

preferring to get high with crack-heads

than some bottomless pit of name-calling

created especially for those unable to keep up

a semblance of appearances

One times one is one, two times two

(best designer gear, evidence of a fall)

no character references for the court,

gets twelve months, no surprises there

for a rascal despatched to learn (or teach?)

a trick or two about climbing walls

where giant spiders with ears and eyes

make short work of flies

Sea sounds, in young-old ears,

fun waves splashing on dream holidays,

TV family laughing, applauding…

till time to wake, give wishful thinking

the elbow, start climbing up walls

where giant spiders have ears, tell tales,

carry knives or guns, and not to kill flies

or give rascals the shakes

Around rugged rocks, ragged rascals

run…into a story-poem likely to haunt

generations of children weaving

fictions around lives unfit for purpose,

branded liars and tantrum throwers

for a want of articulation on an absence

of real understanding in a world obsessed

with its own worldliness

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014