L-I-F-E, Target Practise OR True Grit

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

I have often been asked why I write poetry and, yes, it is creative therapy, but just how therapeutic, I underestimated for many years. 

I’ve always been more of an outsider than an insider, in practice if not at heart. I would blame my perceptive deafness, once it was finally diagnosed in my early 20’s, not least because it can make group situations and human relationships generally, a (very) trying experience for all concerned. More recently, I have felt inclined blames the side-effects of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer among other health issues, as well as simply growing old. 

Yes, writing has always been an escapism of sorts, but it would be many years before I saw it as part of the very reason I needed to ‘escape’ in the first place. 

One of the first poems I wrote appeared in my secondary school magazine, at the end of the summer term, 1956. I was 11 years-old. My English teacher, “Jock” Rankin asked me why I not only clearly enjoyed, but also wrote poetry. “It always  makes me feel better, sir,” was all I could think to say, and it was true even then. 

“Ah, Taber,” he said with a sigh, “All art forms are a gift, and well may they see us through just about anything. Bear in mind, though, there’s no such thing as a free gift.” he gave me wry smile. 

“Thank you, sir.” I said,” but it would be many years before I’d even begin to understand what he meant. 

L-I-F-E, TARGET PRACTISE or TRUE GRIT

Once, I would regret
how good times fly, leaving me
stranded in some dream place,
having not yet had my fill of company
of the kind all wishing and hoping
in sweet dreams aspires to bring
elements of nature and human nature
to near perfect harmony 

Once, I was too caught up
in the thrill of simply doing things,
going places, smiley faces
taken as read, happy to take potential
at face value, let it make a fool
of me if it will, more stars in my eyes
than tears if only for new skills duly noted
for future reference 

Once, there came a time
when the world would elbow me
into regions of personal space
to which I had all but closed my eyes,
tried to turn a deaf ear,
needing to be part of a Here-and Now
to which I can not only relate, but also see 
past any closet fantasy... 

Mind-body-spirit, refusing
to despair, though standing accused
of giving itself a free hand,
failing to grasp the essentials of a life
for which the price we all pay
is death, so... making a case for those
seeking to improve on a more common feed
without reasoning the need 

Discernment, target for any mind-body-spirit
engaging with true grit

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021