Hello again from London UK

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Hello again from London UK,

Sorry, no poem today as I am nursing the effects of having proven allergic to new medication. A GP assures me they will not last long, so, hopefully, a new unfinished poem will be completed soon. 

I sincerely hope, dear readers, that you are keeping safe and well, notwithstanding the stress of still having to live with the coronavirus, despite its appearing to recede. Many of us are stressed out, too, of course, by the Russia-Ukraine crisis, now in its 7th day. 

To see a European country become a war zone in 2022 is truly shocking. Russian president, Vladimir Putin, will not be easily forgiven by the rest of the world for his actions. One can understand his nervousness over Ukraine's ambition to be part of NATO, but there can be no excuse whatever for declaring war on a free country, especially without active provocation. History, without a doubt, will not judge Putin kindly.

It is inspirational to see neighbouring countries rallying to offer Ukraine what support they can; various  border checkpoints report a huge influx of refugees, many of whom have been walking and/ or queuing for many hours in bitterly cold conditions; the majority of these are woman and children, their menfolk over the age of 18 years prevented from leaving and expected to stay and fight. At border crossings, food, clothing, blankets and medical assistance is on hand ; many locals are offering to drive refugees for free to wherever they want to go in order to stay with relatives  while others are offering shelter in their own homes.

The physical and mental suffering of these refugees is unimaginable to the vast majority of us who have no experience of war in the 21st century. 

For my own part, I am experiencing pangs of guilt just for feeling poorly in the warmth and safety of my home here in the Kentish Town area of London UK. Never one too cry over spilt milk, I can but press on, but the mind boggles at the prospect of  of those refugees, many with no available transport, having to press on in freezing conditions, fleeing home and country, loved-ones too, while watching out for their children and  having to carry what little they have managed to save of their personal belongings for l-o-ng, weary mile after l-o-ng weary mile...

Meanwhile, those remaining in Ukraine find themselves mostly sheltering underground while the sounds of war launch a cruel assault on mind-body-spirits everywhere; most menfolk, as often as not, either actively engaging with Russian troops or keeping a sharp look-out for them, grabbing what little rest they can. 

In years to come, I daresay there will be a movie about it that will keep audiences enthralled, win awards and make a lot of money... while no movie can possibly convey the tortuous Here-and-Now in Ukraine for everyone involved.

Meanwhile, the rest of the world looks on and can but hope Putin will not attempt to pursue his territorial ambitions further afield if and when his forces finally take control of Ukraine...

Take care, dear readers, stay safe and, once gain, many thanks for joining me; it is a huge support to me, especially as I live alone and have to contend with prostate cancer and other health issues, not to mention growing old...😉 We can but nurture a positive -thinking mindset and - in spite of living in a mad,  mad, MAD world - keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, come hell or high water...

Back soon with a poem, hopefully tomorrow,

Hugs,

Roger

Where the Heart Is...

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

"Battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.” Walt Whitman

"In war, whichever side may call itself the victor, there are no winners, only losers." – Neville Chamberlain

"Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed." – Martin Luther King Jr.

As an embattled Ukraine fights on and tens of thousands seek safe haven in neighbouring countries, so the rest of the world pat themselves on the back for supporting Ukraine in every way but meaningful enough to make Putin’s troops withdraw. Supplying arms, sanctuary and applying sanctions are welcome moves, but it is not difficult to imagine the agony of those in Ukraine fighting for their own and their country’s very survival.

Inspirational resistance by Ukraine notwithstanding, it is looking increasingly inevitable that Russian forces will eventually take control. One cannot help but wonder what or who will be next in Putin’s sights? He would not, after all, be the first person - world leader or otherwise - to let one success go to his head...

Meanwhile, as a friend recently commented, we should never underestimate either ourselves or human nature  in general, there being no such thing the 'ordinary' man and woman in the street. We are all of us, each in his and her own way, capable of the most extraordinary acts, not least by taking on various  life forces threatening us; winners all, whether or not we are perceived as losers.

WHERE THE HEART IS...

North, South, East West,
I am that place where I feel safest,
for being able to talk
laugh, engage with loved ones,
friends and good neighbours,
shut out dire thoughts
of being anywhere else but here,
where I can dream in peace of sunnier tomorrows
sure to greet you-me-us

Few dreamers dare to go
where roads ahead grow dark and long,
love needing an outlet,
for such prejudices and hate that invade
my life and personal space
without my consent, yet unable to prevent
their presence in me,
supposedly a passing distraction, even as homing in
on potential self-destruction

Yet, beneath appearances
inviting such comments as ‘but ordinary’
dwell an extraordinary
treasure of life forces, such as bravery
in the face of hard times,
love and compassion able to take a lead,
despite all but surrounded
by conditions even angels may well be wary of treading
for dread of human suffering

Call me’ Home’ wherever I be,
mind-body-spirit in like company, no ordinary
force for living,
but giving as well as taking, fighting its enemies,
defending its rights,
yet unity and friendship always in its sights
no matter such ways of a world
where division is almost second nature where Finance rules,
mistaking ‘ordinary’ folks for fools

They are the fools, though, devils
invading human anxiety, divining their flaws
for strengths by such vanity
as sometimes possesses powers that be, crossing
red lines, the length and breadth
of all walks of humanity,
making out it is in potentially in their interests
while pursuing their own, ever preening themselves in mirrors,
feeding media sources but half-truths

I, though, have its measure, the human heart with such love in it
that alien forces can neither win over nor defeat

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Profiling a Fair-Weather Friend

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Today’s post-poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.

Seven years on, we are, all of us, having to cope with a nasty pandemic so are we all rooting for and looking out for each other, neighbours as well as friends and family, at the very least keeping in touch? Hopefully, we do what we can; what may not seem much to the casual observer may well mean more than words can say to someone in need.

Gay or straight, human nature is much the same worldwide. I dare say a good many of you can count at least one or two fair-weather friends of your own. Maybe they might even recognise themselves in what I have to say on the subject, although I doubt it.

Now, my mother rarely had a bad word to say about anyone and would put herself out for just about everyone. But I recall how she once referred to one of her closest friends as a vampire. I was curious. She told me that some people are only after what they can get out of a friendship; once they have taken their fill they will waste no time looking elsewhere. So why bother with them, I wanted to know? My mother shrugged. ‘When people need you, what choice do you have but to be there for them?’

True enough, when we moved and it meant making an effort to stay in touch, the friend soon dumped my mother for someone who was more convenient, and we never saw her again. I was angry on my mother’s behalf, but she took it in her stride. ‘Yes, some people can be very hurtful,’ she explained to boy Roger, but they can’t help it. For them, it comes with being human just as some of us were born to be hurt.’ She said this without a trace of bitterness although she was clearly upset.

I, too, have suffered my share of vampires. Not anymore. There comes a time when you have to escape their clutches or go on letting them hurt you. They are not horrible people, just thoughtless and self-centred. Neither are uncommon traits, but only human albeit aspects of human nature we much prefer to gloss over. 

Fortunately, though, I have also inherited my mother's spirit of endurance, especially while I have to deal with side effects of treatment for my prostate cancer. For now, at least, yours truly is putting himself first. Even so, if a good friend has a problem, its mine too, and I will help as and when I can, not least because another trait from which I try to take a leaf from my mother's book embraces yet another of her frequently repeated sayings; we reap what we sow in this world.

In recent years, I have experienced various health problems, not easy to deal with when you live on your own. Fortunately, too, though, I have some good friends who have rallied round and given much-needed support. The old saying is so true in so far as we never know who our true friends are until we really need them.

I am reminded of a much-quoted wry comment by the poet, Robert Frost: "A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain."  Much the same can be said for some 'friends' too

This poem is a kenning.

PROFILING A FAIR-WEATHER FRIEND

I pose as an ally,

yet in time you will realise

I feed on

the milk of human kindness

and will drain it dry

any chance I get, though it

leave a trail

of hurt and pain I’ll never

turn to see

I speak as an ally,

yet in time you will realise

all I say

turns on all I am, and you

count for little

alongside my needy ego;

even though

I mean no harm, I will

wear you down

I know all the excuses

that spring to mind whenever

challenged to give

thought where thought is due,

but I have little for you,

for where would that leave me

but unhappiness,

one straw less to help

keep me afloat

A fair-weather friend, indeed, am I;

look for me not under a stormy sky

Copyright R N. Taber 2012; 2020

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised since first published under the title 'Being Human' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Human Spirit, the Hand that Rocks the Cradle

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By now readers will know the so-called Arab Spring (2010) has left those countries involved no better if not worse off than before. Well, that's world politics for you...

Civil war has all but broken out in Libya yet People Power continues to make its voice heard across North Africa and the Middle East, ordinary men and women desperate for democratic reform and risking their lives for it.  The human spirit is strong if vulnerable, proving time and time again that it can and will rise above tragedy.  Perhaps, though, if more Western politicians even half understood Middle East politics and neither side did not always assume they know best...

Nature and human nature, they give and they take away. Perhaps, though, if it were even just a shade less inclined to reflex actions that demand it bite the hand that feeds it, humankind might yet find itself in better shape to prevent itself going to the dogs of war that have haunted its every step since the beginning of time...?

The poem first appeared in Poetry Monthly International (2010) and subsequently in my collection.

HUMAN SPIRIT, THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE

There’s a hand that caresses the first buds of spring

and bids them grow;

it moves among summer corn in time for harvesting

by courtesy of Apollo

Where autumn’s leaves making ready for its turning,

it bestows a blessing;

when winter brings us to our knees, of life despairing,

it beckons us to spring

Where we run the gamut of love, hate, peace and war,

find, too, Earth Mother;

let Her fair hand caress and smooth the troubled brow

or we destroy each other

The question arises, dare we bite the hand that feeds us

and face the consequences

or do we accept it in a spirit of goodwill to all humanity,

put aside our differences?

Beware, or the hand that rocks the cradle may let it drop,

our world broken or worse;

needs must, we learn to read the hand that’s writing us up,

go back to school or else... 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was first published in Poetry Monthly International, February 2010 and subsequently Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]