A Life in the Day of Mind-body-Spirit

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“Make the most of your regrets; Never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it ’til it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

“Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself.” – Gabriel García Márquez  

“Look closely and you will see almost everyone carrying bags of cement on their shoulders. That’s why it takes courage to get out of bed in the morning and climb into the day.” ~ Edward Hirsch

“Happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste.” – Charlotte Bronte

Now, as each day passes, my 77th birthday looming (in December) I am often hard pressed to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. I so miss being young, fit, able to make plans and feel confident that I will be well enough to not only carry them through, but also enjoy and learn from them. I miss having friends around for cosy chats and a laugh; many have moved away now and mobility problems make travelling difficult.

Ah, corny though it may sound, the human spirit really can keep us young at heart and soul, if only we will let it, Rarely (if ever) easy. We can but try, even if, as life itself invariably proves, it’s a case of ‘win some, lose some…’

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

There are times in any life
when the flesh is weak, but the spirit
remains as strong as ever,
whatever its reasons or seasons,
be it a spring, summer, 
autumn or winter of mind-body-spirit;
it perseveres, encouraged
by a heart-and-soul, wiser beyond its years
to sources of human tears

There are times in any life
when waking after a poor night’s sleep 
leaves the body too weary
to even raise a smile at dawn’s rising
above early mist and cloud,
trying to force its way to half-open eyes 
and ears, through drapes 
at windows obscuring Everyman’s perception
of life, love, regeneration…

Finally, though, mind and body
takes its cue from what lends it sense,
sensibility and stability,
from birth to death, whatever in-between
may lie in wait, ready to pounce
and test us to limits sure to weigh heavy
on any host body, 
all the love attending it beseeching its survival
of Humanity’s heart-and soul

Alas, not every ear that hears
can comply with every caller’s bidding;
no call, though, is ever in vain,
no matter of the human outcome be loss,
and pain, in whatever form;
living, partly living, or stored in Memory’s
vault of eternal springtime,
there remain such ways for all selves to choose,
every which way, then…loose?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Needs Must...

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“There is something in the human spirit that will survive and prevail, there is a tiny and brilliant light burning in the heart of man that will not go out no matter how dark the world becomes.” - Leo Tolstoy 

“We are all different. There is no such thing as a standard or run-of-the-mill human being, but we share the same human spirit.”- Stephen Hawking 

“All the art of living les in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” - Havelock Ellis 

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

“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.” - Mark Twain

Now, as I grow old, especially perhaps as I live alone, I find myself taking greater meaning and strength from such common idioms as ‘mind over matter’ - the more so as even everyday tasks become more difficult and take much longer. 

As regular readers know, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have really messed with my thought processes and memory generally. Even so, I find that exercising my mind even just by writing this blog and composing poems helps to lick some of those rogue thought processes into better shape in much the same way as physio exercises help the body.

I used to get so angry with myself - and with time itself - for the way I am. However, by the time I have taken a deep breath, begun to appreciate that I am still alive to tell the tale and how there are many people of all ages and walks of life in far worse circumstances than mine, I invariably calm down and give myself a severe telling-off for feeling sorry for myself rather than attempting to rise to whatever challenges present themselves in the Here-and-Now. 

From feeling lost in a wilderness, the decision to not only look for a way out, but finding one is music to deaf ears…

NEEDS MUST...

Within a mind-body-spirit
common to all humanity, a space
that’s ours alone to fill,
no matter how circumstances appear
to conspire against us
motivating our strengths or preying 
on some native weakness, 
known only to the heart-and-soul, urging us
to make wiser, kinder choices

Whenever circumstances 
make such demands of us as choices
are blurred by feelings
nurtured, cherished within inner selves
and painful to ignore
or even betray, then mind-body-spirit
may well fall apart, 
the faithful heart hurled into such confusion,
no real harm meant, much done

Needs must, we but trust
the inner self to know us way beyond
whatever faces society
may well often require us to wear if only
a façade for fear of being
made to feel, left out of things, unable
or afraid to raise a voice
in protest at this or that buzz of conversation
causing us consternation

The inner self knows us better
than we think we have got know ourselves
while journeying 
through the glorious and less glorious
passages of time, a wisdom 
beyond the confines of worldly demands,
licking us into shape,
an experience as defining an affinity with nature
as its past-present-future

As we pass through the seasons
of life, so mind-body-spirit aids and abets
our adapting to the changes
they ask of us, calling on heart-and soul
to call, in turn, on a native
willpower making us capable of far, far more
than we may have imagined, 
till needs must we rise above misgivings and pain;
no small part of being human

Copyright R N Taber 2022

I, Temptation

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″You are young,’ replied Athos [to d’Artagnan] and your bitter recollections have time to be changed into sweet remembrances.” – Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers)

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.” - Henry David Thoreau 

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings. – W. H. Auden.

“All art forms are in the service of the greatest of all art forms: the art of living.” - Bertholt Brecht 

“You can’t really move forward until you look back.” - Cornel West

I was an avid reader from an early age. I first read Dumas’ swashbuckler novel when I was about 10 years old. For all its swash and buckle, it was the quotation above that aught my eye and struck a nerve. I had bitter recollections even then and doubted whether, even in the course of time, they would eve become ‘sweet remembrances.’ 

Time would prove me both right and wrong. While I continue to be haunted by ‘bitter recollections’ from time to time, these have, indeed, been mostly eclipsed by ‘sweet remembrances. ’Sadly, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has deprived me of many instances of the latter; some, I can recall vaguely, of others I have no memory at all. 

The same, it is true to say, can also be said for any ‘bitter recollections’ with which even a failing memory would continue to disturb me but for a creative spirit that is quick to dismiss them, replacing them, if not with ‘sweet remembrances’ in any detail, at least with the spirit of them on which I continue to thrive by courtesy of a creative imagination. 

Now, poetry may well be a form of creative therapy, but it is also an art form. I feel privileged to access each, even as my growing old and accompanying health issues threaten daily, but in vain, to deprive me of both..

I, TEMPTATION

I can make you feel good
or I can make you feel so bad
like you’ve been had,
taken in by so strong a feeling
that’s swept you away
on winds of such desire there’s no escaping,
come willpower’s unresisting

You need to let me pass
let mind-body-spirit be a friend,
and listen well to all
it has to say about staying loyal
to its kith-and-kin,
for knowing a heart-and-soul will be grieving
the company you’re keeping

No battle compares with one
set to undermine better instincts,
give a persuasive alter ego 
pride of place, albeit under cover
of lies and deceit
in such a hellish darkness as defies confession
to make way for absolution

Yet, I will have my wicked way
with you, pour scorn on hindsight’s
attempt to wipe your tears,
haunt any positive-thinking mindset
throughout whatever time
would have mind-body-spirit live with its shame,
a posy of thorns by any other name

Now, however long it may take
to make reparation for any mistake
that’s a sacrilege, surely
against all one purports to hold dear?
Such lessons to be learned,
though they weep us on repentance’s tough rack,
as teach the art of moving on, not back 

Whoever considers walking out
with me needs must give due thought
to tackling the task
of repairing any likely damage done
a fairer, kinder, truer self,
last spotted shadowing an existential imagination
by way of addressing potential salvation

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Endeavour

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“I endeavour to make the most of everything.” – Victoria Woodhull

Art is born of the observation and investigation of nature. – Marcus Tullius Cicero

 “People must feel that the natural world is important and valuable and beautiful and wonderful and an amazement and a pleasure is not what you look at, but what you see.”  - David Attenborough

Now, overheard in a local supermarket recently:

1st speaker: “I look at the world we live in these days and it’s so ugly, I sometimes wonder why I bother getting up.”

2nd speaker: Sunshine and birdsong are enough to get me out of bed. They fill me with hope, in much the same way as art sometime can. And hope has such a beautiful voice.”

1st speaker: (scoffs) Huh!

How dare anyone scoff at nature, the poet in me raged. None so blind as will not see. An ugly dog looked up at me as is to reply with such beautiful eyes that I gave myself a good telling-off for initially thinking it ugly. Indeed, I smiled and said “Hello, doggie” to which it wagged a friendly tail and his owner, a complete stranger, gave me a grin that clearly said, “Too right, he’s a beauty…” 

Nor is it only beauty that is in the eye of the beholder; surely, nature has lessons to teach us also, if only we care to let mind-body-spirit watch, listen - and learn...?

ENDEAVOUR

I was like a thwarted stream,
despairing of ever flowing free again,
being at one with a world fairer
by far than it may seem at first glance - before
heavy rains came, left me a prisoner
of myself, time passing through a sad heart
like the trickle of a stream
struggling to find a way past a sudden rockfall,
answer its main flow’s frantic call

Progress, slow but sure, a familiar,
voice in my ear urging I find a way to ease
ts pain, let it be whole once again,
as nature first intended before blue skies
filled with angry clouds
bent on letting rip with a heavy rain,
as if expressing tears of pain  
and disappointment in nature and human nature
increasingly at odds with each other

South wind, strong enough to shift
a few unsettled rocks, enough to let a trickle
run free, eventually reunite 
with its main flow, not quite as vibrantly
as before, but time yet to prove
worthy of serving the needs of natural
and human worlds, 
whither they may yet go, as driven by life forces
plotting their courses over centuries

Heavy rains, they come again, again,
eventually make way for clearer skies, if less so
than we might wish, distracting
ourselves by having singing and dancing chase
dark fears away as haunt 
such dreams as have us negotiating streams
of consciousness, no less vulnerable 
to rockfalls than any other or less able to negotiate,
nature and human nature, ready or not 

The beauty of nature embraces a spirit of endeavour
that's our our mentor, too, and joy forever...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Hi, folks, from London UK

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Hi, folks, from London UK

Sorry, everyone, no poem today. Yes, I am working on one, though, and hope to post it here soon.

Meanwhile, several readers have emailed me to comment on yesterday’s poem, given that I don’t often depart from my passion for internal and/ or external rhyme. For some years now, I have contributed to a US poetry magazine, CC&D, published by Scars Publications whose editor only accepts blank verse or poems where external rhyme is absent. 

Scars have released a collection book of the January-April 2022 issues which includes my poem ‘Classroom Politics’; the book is called ‘Unfinished Business’ and can be ordered from Amazon; to submit a poem and/ or ask for further details regarding other Scars publications on sale and to access to the works of various contributors, including yours truly, contact: ccandd96@scars.tv for various links.

Another reader, PW, asks how I am coping with my prostate cancer, especially in the light of how years of hormone therapy have messed with my memory and thought processes generally; his mother has recently been diagnosed with dementia. For me, as well as writing up the poetry blogs, Wordsearch books have proven a godsend; they are fun, relaxing and challenge the thought processes all at the same time, much as crosswords do (at which I have never been any good.😉) Wordsearch books are available from The Works stores around the UK and/or can be ordered online.  For more details about these books and other items such as jigsaws etc: https://www.theworks.co.uk 

PW also asks how I "cope generally" with growing old and living alone. Readers often ask this and there are no easy answers. Yes, I get lonely sometimes and family, friends and neighbours friends can be a blessing, of course, but, generally speaking, I guess it’s a case of providing mind-body-spirit with the willpower to deal as best we can with the many and various obstacles that can present themselves to any of us anywhere, at any time; more so, possibly, as we grow old, physically and/ or mentally  less able to run such gauntlets.😉 At the end of the day, though, I suspect it’s all down to that old rogue, Hobson’s, choice…(wry bardic chuckle)

Positive thinking is the key to life, in whatever field we endeavour to excel or at least make our presence felt. For me, it has been the key to surviving health and psychological issues that have plagued me for much of my life; even though it hasn't opened many of the doors I hoped it would, I am still here to tell the tale, so I just focus on the positives in my life - past and present - and try, as far as humanly possible, to avoid the kind of pitfalls attached to any negatives...😉

Now, without digressing entirely, PW also asks if my poetry collections are still in print. Some UK public libraries may have copies in a Reserve Stock collection. Unable to find a publisher in the UK, not least because I insisted on including a selection of gay-interest poems, I only self-published a limited number of volumes of each title. (I probably gave up trying to find a publisher too soon, but health problems took the wind out of my sails.) An American publisher agreed to publish one volume, but messed me about to such an extent that I finally withdrew from a potential contract by mutual consent. I continued to contribute to various UK poetry magazines for some years, but latterly have only published to my blogs. Maybe one day…

That’s it for today, folks. Do browse the archives attached to any of my poetry  blogs, sometime, where you will find an assortment of earlier posts-poems. In the meantime, I will endeavour yet again to stir willpower and thought processes to work on a new poem. As I have said before, I don't expect everyone to like every poem I write. Hopefully, though, everyone will find poems they can relate to and/ or enjoy.

Many thanks for dropping by, 

Take care, stay safe, and keep well,

Hugs,

Roger

[Note: PW also suggests I upload the novels on my fiction blog to Google Books, as well as promoting them, along along with my poetry blogs, on social media. I will certainly give  Google Books some thought as  Blasphemy is already there; Sacrilege  was intended as Book Two of a trilogy, but the American publisher who had showed an interest in publishing the trilogy, lost interest when Blasphemy failed to give him the kind of access to the UK market that he'd hoped for. Subsequently, I lost interest in writing Book Three (Redemption) as I was quite ill at the time anyway. A younger version of yours truly would almost certainly have pressed on, but growing old has a nasty habit of undermining self-confidence. 😉]

L-I-F-E, Dreams and Dragons

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I wrote today’s poem to help lift me out of a pit of despair, mostly due to years of hormone therapy for the prostate cancer, but with more than a little help from my landlord and certain neighbours. 

Fortunately, I was able to phone a close friend who encouraged me to rise above the worst of my feelings and hitch a ride on a dragon.

Yes, you've guessed it. Having learned long ago that crying over spilt milk gets no one anywhere fast, I made a stab at thinking and writing myself into a less torturous frame of mind. 

As creative therapy, it worked a treat As for what readers will make of the poem, I can but hope they will be less critical of it than I was a few hours ago of the same mind-body-spirit that came close to failing its host poet altogether... 

Among other things a wise old aborigine told me some 50+ years ago, "The only way to deal with despair is with patience. Look it in the eye, dry its tears, insist things can only get better - and they will... eventually."

L-I-F-E, DREAMS AND DRAGONS 

At the very edge of free fall
peering down into a bottomless pit,
all parts of mind-body-spirit
struggling to rise above such fears
as denied even any tears
for its more perceptive selves left dumb
by their own screams 

Teetering, too fearful even
to take a step either forwards or back,
no real sense of direction,
only an intense awareness of being
an abstraction of sorts,
all or nothing, depending how an inner eye
sees what it will 

A kaleidoscope of colours
attempts to perform art in a vacuum,
succeeds only in confusing
the mind, distracting a body left to rely
on some nameless spirit
to make something or nothing of what’s left
have us act accordingly 

Colours, now finding voices,
intent on transforming any senselessness,
bent on lending it images
such as inner-selves project on clouds,
dead eyes coming alive
for recognising a dragon’s head breathing fire
snatched from Apollo

Legs, recoiling instinctively,
stumbling, now arms flung out to save
from falling, dragon descending;
now clambering its scales, now astride,
flying low over landscapes
I used to know and love, inspiring such worlds
as the best dreams spin us 

At the very edge of nightmares,
waking to the sound of birdsong, sunlight
chasing shadows, creating art forms,
reminding mind-body-spirit (as one again)
that if nothing comes of nothing,
it well may be for failing to let inner selves loose
on the likes of dream dragons.

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

A Rule of Thumb

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When I failed to get enough A-levels to take up the place at Library School that I had been offered, I was in despair as to what my next step should be. My English teacher told me “Never lose hope, Taber, or you will lose everything.” It sounded somewhat trite at the time, and I took little comfort from the sentiment, but over the years I have learned the wisdom of it. 

Emigrating to Australia in 1969 was more impromptu desperation than a plan, doomed to failure from the start. Even so, it gave me six weeks to think things over during a voyage on the good ship, Southern Cross. I couldn’t get a job, ran out of cash, and ended up sleeping under Sydney Harbour bridge. Then I met an old Aborigine who not only gave me hope, but also told me how to get back to the UK (without having to get into debt) and make a fresh start … which I did. 

A few years after I returned to the UK found me at university and doing OK.  Seven years later, mother died, the only member of my family who really understood the problems I faced with perceptive deafness and how it had contributed to my not having achieved as much as I’d hoped at the ripe old age of 30. Consequently, three years on found me doing battle with a nervous breakdown. Again, I am ashamed to say my first instinct was to run away and I took an overdose. Life, though, had other plans for me, demanded I get real, let hope back in and make the best rather than the worst of my situation. I started writing again, and that was a GOOD start. With the encouragement of several people in my life (not family) providing an invaluable support network, I eventually got another job as a librarian four years later, and stayed there until I retired in 2008, although I went part-time after 13 years in order to make time for more creative writing,  a life-saver  as depression was starting to take over again. 

I will be 75 in December, not a good age to find oneself in the midst of a pandemic, but I continue to seize the day, give depression the old heave-ho, and let hope take its course if only because there is no workable alternative. After my nervous breakdown, I had promised myself that I would never again wake up wishing that I hadn’t. So far, so good...

A RULE OF THUMB

Dour mist lifting,
late morning sun, a smile on its face,
rescuing us from doldrums,
whisking us to a better, kinder place,
encouraging divisions 
to reconcile, religions to come together
in the same love and peace
whose rhetoric its peoples would have us
engage with its principles 

Birds singing,
as if telling us not to despair of winter,
but remember best summers,
look to spring, when the chances are
Earth Mother will bring
new leaves for our trees, new flowers
to cheer home and planet,
a burst of incomparable colour
having us engage closer with Earth Mother
and also with one another

Humanity, waking up,
resolving to put aside any cares of the day
long enough to listen
to what mind-body-spirit has to say
about how best to rise
above dark scenarios closing in
on the Spirit of Morning,
re-engage with a sense of hope-faith-charity
that characterises humanity

True, we well may argue “Easier said than done …”
but that’s a rule of thumb for everyone 

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

 

 

Never let a Wrinkle have the Last Word

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I was 70 on the last winter solstice, and more than one person has expressed well-meaning sympathy for my growing old. Well, I am happy enough...most of the time.

Yes, I get aches and pains in unexpected and often inconvenient places and, yes, my treatment for prostate cancer doesn’t exactly agree with me. Even so, whenever I start feeling sorry for myself, and lamenting my lost youth, I recall a lovely old lady in her 90s whom I used to visit when I was on the staff of a local Home Library Service. She was housebound, and suffered with severe arthritis, but had a smile for everyone. I asked her once how she coped with not being able to get out and about. "Oh, but I do," she said without hesitation. "I read, watch videos and TV, listen to the radio...and let my imagination take me places you cannot imagine. Yes, I miss walking, of course I do, and neither my eyesight or hearing are are too good these days, but imagination...well, that lasts forever just so long as we give it its head and don't let real life have its wicked way with us..."

Life is what we make it at any age.  We all want different things from life, and it is down to each and every one of us to get the most out of the time we have, on the best terms available to us, instead of constantly brooding on the worst.

Did I say it was easy?

NEVER LET A WRINKLE HAVE THE LAST WORD

Growing old can be scary,

but there’s not much we can do

about it…?

So shall we take the dog

for walkies, put the world to rights

with next door’s cat, indulge

in some chat TV, watch a DVD

and leave it at that?

Ah, but there’s more

to life than our practising

the art of killing time

even if time is no friend

(or real enemy either)

Oh, and I haven’t heard

from so-and-so for ages so time

to get in touch and find out

when we can meet up, catch up,

(maybe even make up?)

The grapevine has it

a new class is starting up;

Now, was it art, crafts

or yoga? No matter, time enough

to find out more

I’ve always wanted

to do things folks said I couldn’t,

see places they said

I really shouldn’t ‘at my age’

(Yes, even then...)

Although time does us

no favours (or is it vice-versa?)

we can put records straight,

marginalise wishful thinking

and regret

Time to wake up, get up,

make up for missed opportunities,

(at least in part) though aches,

pains, and all sorts may have lots

to say about that

Time to call on an old pal

(Will Power) to haul him out

of his comfy armchair

and make damn sure he’ll start

pulling his weight

If growing old can be scary,

there’s no end to what we can do

about it…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2016

Proof of Life

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Inspiration for life, love, hope, happiness…you name it…comes in many shapes and forms. But it's out there, folks, just waiting for us feel our way to it with mind, body and spirit, absorb its energy and let it go to work on our senses, including that old chestnut, sheer willpower. 

This poem is a kenning.

PROOF OF LIFE

When people ask who I am,

I tell them to look within themselves

and to each other, perhaps

uncover those mysteries that haunt us

as we journey through life...

How come we here, why, going where?

Questions on the lips, reason

at the inner ear brooking yet more,

answers found wanting

When people ask who I am

I tell them to look around, take in all

they see, feel, need to explain,

justify or change (but how?) perhaps

expecting me to provide

the cure for a sick world, solutions

to its failing societies,

religions losing sight of a vocation

to reunite who they divide

When people ask who I am,

I tell them to learn the body language

of family, friends, workmates

in the staff room, complete strangers

at bus stops, commuters on trains,

probe those subtle discrepancies between

what we say and what we mean;

stop playing a political correctness game,

give truth its proper name

Who am I? I am the philosophy

that defines who you are

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2019

[Note: The last couplet differs slightly from the version of this poem that appears in  Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

High Seas Rescue

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Now, I've met many people who have managed to turn their lives around in a constructive, positive way, survived high seas and made it to a safe shore. In my edition of the Book of Life, they and their like are real heroes.

True, getting the better of the darker self it’s never easy...and all more heroic for that.

HIGH SEAS RESCUE

Once I didn’t give a damn

about where I was or who I am,

even less what I was doing

or where I was going, the kind of life

I was generally leading…

no time for forward planning

or positive thinking,

content just to get high on drugs,

and binge drinking, no matter

the cruise liner I am on is sinking;

suddenly a cry, ‘Abandon ship!’

dived into the dark high seas of hell

and woke up in hospital

Among the survivors, only I

lived to tell the sorry tale of a life

that had no meaning,

everyone in it long past caring

about what I was doing

or where I was going, the kind of life

I was generally leading…

no time for forward planning

or positive thinking,

content just to get high on drugs 

and binge drinking, no matter

I’m close to hitting self-destruct

and time running out

Those wasted years made me

the kind of person I try to be now,

telling everyone I meet how

life only has purpose and meaning

when you’re kind and caring,

make time for forward planning

and positive thinking…

say ‘no’ to getting high on drugs

and binge drinking,

offer a helping hand to others as you

would have them do,

if only to be saved from drowning

in those killer seas too

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

To The Lighthouse

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It isn't only sailors that need to watch out for a guardian light.

We all need to keep an eye on light at the end of whatever tunnel we may sometimes find ourselves in; it may dim sometimes, but will never go out...unless we let it.

The poem is a villanelle, its title inspired by a novel of the same name by Virginia Woolf. Even so, where her brilliant, deceptively simple tale might well be seen as a literary variation on the old adage, it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive, my poem could only ever aspire to be, at best, a distant echo. It is true, though, that all that goes into getting there counts even more than reaching (or not reaching) any goal.

Regrets? Yes, of course, we all have them, but we also deserve credit for trying...well, don't we?

TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

It’s a light that I will always see

wherever I go…

in spite of shadows crowding me

Day or night, it will constant be,

come rain or snow...

it’s a light that I will always see

I take heart that others can see,

be in the know…

in spite of shadows crowding me

On land or sea, a born sexuality

like a lighthouse glow...

it’s a light that I will always see

It lends me a sense of spirituality

as through this life I go…

in spite of shadows crowding me

Come a time we are but history,

let others follow...

it’s a light that I will always see,

in spite of shadows crowding me

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

Potential for Escape

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

There is a strong case for associating depression with the weather, especially here in the UK, not renowned for its sunshine. The sad truth is that any of us can fall victim to depression any time, anywhere. It is usually the result of various tensions that life has a nasty habit of laying like animal traps for us to fall into. We feel isolated, threatened, scared and - perhaps worst of all - helpless.

Breaking free is never easy and will take time. Whenever it (frequently) happens to me I struggle to take my cue from that old truism, ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’. The first giant step, of course is recovering that will; the next, finding the way, then we need to stick at it, no matter what.

It’s never easy. There are no quick fixes. Anti-depressants, counselling/ therapy...these can help along with (even more important) the support and understanding (and patience) of family and friends. Sadly, too few people have much understanding of depression unless they have been depressed themselves or are close to someone else who is prone to depression. Far too many run a mile from mental health matters.

Society could and should do more to promote Mental Health Awareness. Yes, where there’s a will, there really IS a way….but it’s down to us.

Someone recently asked why I often write about depression in my poems as it is such a depressing subject! Well, apart from trying to raise Mental Health Awareness, writing positively about depression helps me beat the frequent bouts from which I continue to suffer.

Many years ago, I began the long, slow, painful climb out of a nervous breakdown.  I swore I would never hit rock bottom again. If  just one poem can help prevent just one person descending to that same pit's stone slab bottom, it will have been worth the writing.

POTENTIAL FOR ESCAPE

I lie in a pit staring up at the sky,
wondering if cloud faces passing by
can see my lips move (no sound)
might even let someone know where
to find me, so cold, frightened,
unable to move, every limb refusing
to answer frantic screams for help
from a mind whose live connections
all but severed by its distress

Clinging on to a failing willpower,
I feel my frail grasp slipping in this,
what must surely be my coffin?
Yet, it’s not my past I see unfolding
before my eyes, only blank sheets
of paper…slowly coming to life, words
I can’t quite make out but vaguely
recognize shapes comprising a prose
and poetry ascribed to nature

All my eyes cannot see, my heart
begins to acknowledge as the words
(now bombarding all my senses)
demand entry at the doors of a mind
shut by fear and excuses, forcing
it ajar, piling in like old friends arriving
at a reunion, figures in clouds
assuming human form, Earth Mother
resolving to be kind but firm

Hostage, seeking to break free (again)
from a dark prison called depression

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010