A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

Name:
Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Saturday 24 August 2013

Real-Life Heroes and Popcorn Soldiers


I know I have said this before but it never ceases to amaze me how, when terrible clips of deaths and injuries suffered during the war in Afghanistan are shown on TV News, some people - especially children and young people - instead of being appalled, become excited, as if they were watching a war movie!

Oh, but it’s a sad reflection on our times if we cannot get across to everyone how to discriminate between fact and fiction.

REAL-LIFE HEROES AND POPCORN SOLDIERS

Dust, sand and blood
on his boots;
dust, sand and blood
on his uniform;
blood, sweat and tears
on his face;
blood, sweat and tears
in his eyes;
only a quiet heart kept
clean if not safe;
as for more of the same,
bags of them

No dust, sand or blood
on designer shoes;
no dust, sand or blood
on custom tee shirts;
no blood, sweat or tears
in high places;
no blood, sweat or tears
in eyes glued to TV,
only the armchair soldier
biting popcorn bullets;
as for more of the same,
bags of them

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2010


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Thursday 22 August 2013

Stoic Spirit, Vulnerable Heart


It is so true what they say about discovering who your real friends are when the going gets tough. Since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February 2011, several people I thought were good friends have rarely if at all even been in touch by phone or email. I am not upset if a little hurt, but mostly a feel a sense of déjà vu, having been here before. Even so, I am fortunate enough to have friends who are very supportive and more than compensate for those that choose to look the other way.

Of course, other people have their own lives to lead, may well have problems of their own they have no wish to share or are simply too busy to put friends first. But real friendship deserves better, surely? Otherwise, it is an illusion. Sadly, too many people see friendship as a one-way street; they take what they can get from it, and give precious little if anything back.

True, we don’t give to receive, but when we put ourselves out for people, show a genuine interest in their lives and try to give support whenever they ask for it, don’t we deserve better than a metaphorical slap in the face?

Few of us set out to deliberately hurt others. It’s just a sad fact of human nature that some people are so blinkered to any if not all home truths.  It can take many years before we call it a day with he or she who has played a significant part in our lives only to let us down time and again. It is never an easy decision, and one many of us are just as likely to retract should he or she ever need us again.

This poem is a kenning.

STOIC SPIRIT, VULNERABLE HEART

I run the gauntlet
of love, life, fun and tears,
trying to make the best
of things rather than complain
about the worst years,
struggling to rise above
the pain human beings
inflict upon each other time
and again

I turn to nature
for comfort and brief respite
from a daily torture
humanity asks me to endure
with all the dignity
and stoicism of someone
always expected to put
other people’s needs before
their own

I lie awake at night
wondering who or what
is wrong or right
amongst all that’s been said
and done in the course
of whatever merry chase
mischievous Apollo
and outcast Cassiopeia care
to lead us on

I am that sense of loss and hurt,
trailing where friendships abort

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011


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Friday 16 August 2013

Warning: Personal Space, Closed for Repairs


I suspect the situation this post and poem attempts to reflect is probably familiar to many if not most of us.

Overheard in a café:

WOMAN: Michael has been trying to get in touch with you. By all accounts, he’s in a bit of a state.  I gather his love life has turned turtle, the poor love.

MAN: No surprises there then.

WOMAN: So why aren’t you picking up or returning his calls?

MAN: Because I have serious problems of my own at the moment. I really can't cope with Michael's until I sort my own. 

WOMAN: That is so selfish! It’s all right for you. You’re strong. You know how needy poor Michael is.

MAN: Yes, well, right now I’m needy too. I need to sort myself out, and I can’t do that if I’m stuck with sorting Michael out...again.

WOMAN: But, poor Michael...

MAN: Poor Michael needs to grow up, and if you think he’s so needy, YOU go and sort him out.

The man left abruptly. The woman caught my eye, shrugged and sent her eyebrows into overdrive while mouthing, ‘Some people!’ ...before returning to her snack.

My sympathy was entirely with the man (I’m not being sexist either) having been there myself many times.

Most of us try to be there for our friends, bur some friends take us for granted.  We look around for someone to be there for us when we most need to talk to someone about something that is tearing us apart...and there is no one there; everyone is too busy with their own problems to even consider that we may have problems of our own. After all, we are ‘strong’ and can take care of ourselves; we don’t need anyone. Well, the chances are they are so wrong, and one day they well may look to their ‘strong’ friend for customary support only to discover that that he or she has crumbled under the pressure of disillusionment and the convenient corner shop is closed for repairs.

Some people are naturally strong and others have strength thrust upon them by personal battles hard won. But strong or less strong, we should never forget we are all but human, and much the same basic human needs apply to everyone. Sometimes we have to put our own needs first or we are likely to be of little use to anyone, least of all ourselves. 

WARNING: PERSONAL SPACE, CLOSED FOR REPAIRS

I am but fragile
where seen as firm, fearless,
appearing strong,
no one suspecting differently
until I am stretched
as far as nature will carry me,
only to be exposed
for an illusion of the kind
feeding on dreams

I deceive no one,
but try to do the right thing
by family and friends,
be there at the right times,
lending a shoulder
to cry on, an ear to listen,
a take on how things
might change for the better
sooner or later

I am but human,
(with needs, too, of my own)
that often despairs
of finding no one there
or shoulder to cry on,
an ear to listen (for long)
or take on ending
this feeling of endless freefall
into empty words

I am the friend
trying to do the right thing,
at the right times,
lend a shoulder to cry on,
an ear to listen,
provide a take on how we
might set about
changing things for the better,
sooner or later

Handle me with care;
even close friends can weary
of being taken
for granted time and again;
no shoulder to cry on
or ear to listen for needing
to take up a little
of someone else’s private space
closed for repairs

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012


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Thursday 15 August 2013

Making a Start


Sometimes everything but everything seems to be going wrong and is almost too much to bear. Then it’s time to take a step back and consider what to DO.

Tell someone, preferably a close friend or relative who knows you well. A trouble shared really is a trouble halved.

Seek practical / professional help and advice. If you don’t know where to get it…ask. (Your local Citizen’s Advice Bureau is always a good start if you have money worries).

Come on, folks. Nothing is ever quite as bad as it looks.

Try resolving things instead of letting them get on top of you. If they cannot be resolved, try making the BEST of things instead of the worst. True, it’s never easy, but always worth making the effort. Don't try and muddle through on your own either. We all need help and support sometimes. There is no shame in asking. Besides, most people - especially those closest to us - LIKE to be asked.

Remember, if no one knows we need help, no one is in a position to give it. We have no right to complain that no one cares about us if we insist on keeping our troubles to ourselves. Yes, sometimes people let us down, society too. We can but try. More often than not, being positive achieves positive results.

So come on, folks. Let’s get a life instead of letting it get to us. [Could it be that Earth Mother has the same idea? Now, there’s a thought…]

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, EVERYTHING TO PLAY FOR

Up to the eyes in debt,
split with lover,
redundancy rumours
hitting harder
than media hits on war, 
famine, floods,
earthquakes, disasters
breaking hearts, 
taking lives, and blaming  
global warming
when we’re not blaming
each other for never
getting it right no matter
how we might vote

No ozone hole to blame
for street crime,
racism or homophobia,
beggars (all ages)
haunting shoppers, kids
all but running riot
in supermarkets because
parents afraid to say
no, stop, don’t, mustn’t
or you’ll grow up
with few social skills
and even less hope
of getting parole halfway
into a life sentence

Must start to get real, nurture
a better, kinder world...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Making a Start'  in Accomplices to  Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]


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Saturday 10 August 2013

Insomnia OR Never Let a Sandman Wear You Down.

The world's differences in socio-cultural-religious and political affairs have always had much to answer for, and one thing in common - a penchant for inviting insomnia...

INSOMNIA or NEVER LET A SANDMAN WEAR YOU DOWN

Tossing and turning, unable to sleep,
a desperate yearning for peace
of mind - but they are unkind to me,
the pillows, the sheets, a mattress
that sags in the middle; eerie shadows
on the ceiling, spiders on the wall,
strange noises rising from the floor,
sounds of partying next door
(I was not invited by the way, slighted
as ever, could it be because I'm gay,
surely not? The twenty-first 21st century
is well under way for heaven's sake,
though you wouldn’t think so for tragic
goings-on in countries like Iraq

So what’s wrong with me that people
always seem to be taking the piss,
leaving me tossing and turning, unable
to sleep, desperate for some peace?
Maybe I should try harder to be nice
or could it be I’m trying too hard,
need to devote more time to listening
instead of being wise after events,
mis taking media pundits for mentors’?
Mind you, at least I have opinions
worth voicing (surely?) less than happy
to settle for recycling everyday gossip
thrown out by Mr, Mrs and Ms Average
so the neighbours can have a say

Ah, neighbours, bless 'em all, the short,
tall and obese, not just keeping up
with the Jones' (and how!) but some keen
to put their money wheresoever mouths
open and shut like constipated goldfish
inviting advertising moguls to get in
on the act, vying to take over the show,
various media pundits busy partying
in Corridors of Power, confusing issues,
(incidentally boosting sales of tissues)
inciting Mr Mrs and Ms to exhibitionism
(credit card fetishism?) as if anyone
really cares but for feeling a need to take
re-evaluate their own affairs, if only to see
if they can (surely?) go one better

It has to be said, most of us are easily led
by any old halter, cattle to slaughter;
Note, I didn’t say ‘sheep’ - the exclusive
property of those unable to sleep
for sweating over, oh, such pretty lambs
(thanks, Mother Nature, you're a star)
therefore not in the same blanket category
as Average and Jones who'll never
lose any sleep over Dolly clones, let alone
war in Iraq, North Korea's intentions,
Human Rights globally, poverty everywhere,
not to mention the likes of that double act,
Bush and Blair, with whom the history books
will hopefully more than get even

Alas, it will all keep, while the rest of us toss
and turn, trying to get some sleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title Insomnia  in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

























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Tuesday 6 August 2013

Fruit of the Acorn, Children of the Oak


Update (July 22 2016): Today is Prince William's 3rd birthday. (See the last photo below.)

Meanwhile...

Whatever their feelings about the monarchy, only a killjoy would not wish HRH Prince William, Catherine and family happiness.

The formative years for any child are so important, the greater influence on these being the home environment. As privileged or poor as that environment may be, the child growing up among those who love and care for him or her, while respecting his or her right to develop as an individual, will always have the greater chance of discovering and tasting the sweeter fruits of life. Let’s face it. Few of us will never get to taste its sourer fruits.

Royal children don't have easy lives. Constantly in the public eye they have to learn to juggle private and public pleasures and responsibilities. (I, for one, would hate that.)

As for the common accusations regarding wealth and privilege, every child deserves the best life has to offer. Given that we all want and/or expect different things from life, I suspect more of us achieve this than first glances often suggest.  It is never a good idea (or fair) to make comparisons.


HRH Duke and Duchess of Cambridge with Prince George as a baby (Internet)

[Update May 2nd 2015: The Duchess of Cambridge has gone into labour with her second child this morning, and was admitted to St Mary's Hospital, London, at 6:00 am. + It's a girl! Born just after 8:30am.] (RT)
Photo of Prince George and proud dad released just prior to his 2nd birthday (Internet)

 HRH Duke of and Duchess of Cambridge with new baby daughter, Charlotte (Internet)

HRH Prince George and Princess Charlotte, 2015; photo taken by their mother. (Internet)

Family photo, Christmas 2015 [Internet]


Prince George at 3 years-old (July 22 2016)

FRUIT OF THE ACORN, CHILD OF THE OAK
        (written at the birth of Prince George)

Fair of face and born to be king,
(world’s cue for love and peace)
in a millennium, itself, a seedling

On him, nature’s every blessing,
to loved ones, a rare happiness;
fair of face and born to be king

For him, let nations unite to sing
(a fine lyric for love and peace)
in a millennium, itself, a seedling

No matter what time’s tides bring,
may his be a spirit of openness;
fair of face and born to be king

For a long, happy, life bells ring,
lifting hearts to love and peace
in a millennium, itself, a seedling

Come a private or public viewing,
may his heart beat true, at ease;  
fair of face, and born to be king
in a millennium, itself, a seedling


[London: July, 2013]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

[Note: For the benefit of anyone unfamiliar with it,  'Fair of face' is from the old rhyme, 'Monday's child is fair of face...']




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Sunday 4 August 2013

Listening Out for a Love Song


Only fools take little or no care to create and store happy memories as they go through life or on wintry days, when a north wind blows, they will have little or nothing by which to warm themselves, take hope, and feel inspired. 

Be sure, second hand memories won’t do the trick.

I have said much the same thing before and a reader got in touch to say that his partner has Alzheimer’s so what use are their happy memories?

Well, I believe that a person does not have to articulate on happy memories to enjoy them; the spirit of that happiness never dies and will sustain us through just about anything. In my experience, where that spirit is weak or absent, the human heart tells a very different story. 

I have known people with Alzheimer's and other forms of  dementia  Carers  have related experiences about loved ones with the illness as it progresses; many of those who have it seem able to convey and live (for much if not all the time) in the spirit of a happy past even though they cannot recall it in much or any detail. Perhaps this is wishful thinking of my part, but an overwhelming impression all the same.

A time may well come for ny of us when we forget the life we've had in the sense that we cannot articulate on it in any detail, but it will have left a trail of felt experiences that never quite leave us; our feelings can take us anywhere we want to be, and we do not need to choose as we are guaranteed a happy ending, if only because mind-body-spirit will be immune to anything less. 

A husband and devoted carer once said much the same thing to me so it isn’t just a poet’s rhetoric. ‘It keeps me sane,” he told me, “knowing that the spirit of the love we have shared for the best part of a lifetime is still there, intact. True, its human container is outwardly more than a shade battered, bruised and all but beyond recognition, but its contents will remain as fresh, pure and precious as ever for as long as at least one of us continues to draw breath. After that…who knows?”

Who, indeed  ...?

LISTENING OUT FOR A LOVE SONG

A north wind, penetrating within,
purging the soul, tearing skin
from a body staring ruin in the face,
and no way back to how it was.
(hope but a leaf or flower away)
swept along the wrong track,
hope fading, fear rising of losing
all mind-body-spirit that makes me 
who I am ... 

Blows a cruel wind, tears freezing,
faces turned heavenwards
seeking aid, mercy, grace, forgiveness
for the error of our ways,
judgments cast in stone to boost egos
begging their superiority
over minorities, teeth showing
like the smile on the face of a tiger
selecting priorities

We persevere. Let fear do its worst,
we shall endure, see the sun shine
in our faces again, belie the damage
of acid rain, camouflage our pain
under slick, blank sheets of copy paper
signifying nothing, signing us up
for whatever the world cares
to have us say we feel, no matter
what’s just or real

Listen. Above a howling of wolves,
a love song making itself felt ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2019

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


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