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.

Monday 21 December 2015

Happy Sad (Christmas) Memories

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

Christmas is not a happy time for everyone, not least because it is also a time for missing loved ones no longer with us. Remembrance, though, can bring a peace of its own making, but only if we let it.

Happiness may not last, but it is never truly lost. The trick is to take stock of happy memories and nurture that happiness (not add to a growing heap of regrets) thereby sowing the seeds of an inner peace and love for years to come…

Whatever Christmas may mean and bring to you, here's wishing everyone joy in peace and love always...the joy of an open mind, free spirit and kind heart, no matter what manner of hurt this life inflicts.

HAPPY SAD (CHRISTMAS) MEMORIES

I heard a robin singing
just as dawn was breaking
on Christmas morning,
its bells (as ever) promising
Peace on Earth

I saw a couple kissing
while noon happily chiming
as if applauding
true love (as ever) promising
Peace on Earth

Dark clouds gathering,
the air, it smelled of snowing;
home fires burning,
Christmas roses presupposing
Peace on Earth

I wept for your passing,
yet we had no sense of parting,
our love as enduring
as any Christmases promising
Peace on Earth

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015





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Wednesday 16 December 2015

Counting the Cards OR Who's Missing...?


I don’t send Christmas cards because I am neither a religious nor ‘Christmassy’ person. I send poems to many people, but most prefer to have a card they can put on the mantel so visitors can count and see how popular they are. It came as no surprise to me, therefore, that when I stopped sending cards. most people stopped sending one to me. After all, you can’t put a poem on the mantel…

Some people tell me I should send Christmas cards anyway (why bother with a poem?) if only to let those who matter to me know I am thinking of them or keep in touch with those I have not seen or had much contact with for a long time. 

Not seen or had much contact with for a long time? Why not seen or had much contact with for a long time…if they matter to us?

Too often I hear people say they have not contacted someone because he or she has not been in touch with them. Well, if they really matter to us, should we not try and find out why…?  A visit, telephone call, letter, email, skype…most of us have the means to get in touch by at least one or other of these means. If we don’t, something is seriously wrong that people to whom we supposedly matter and vice versa need to know about and think through. 

I recently met up with a friend who had just been choosing Christmas cards with great care so each person for whom a card was meant would know a lot of thought had gone onto choosing it. "You have to show you care, don't you?" said my friend adding, "I mean that's what Christmas is all about, isn't it, caring?"  We had been reminiscing about one particular mutual friend  I rarely see  for various reasons but we often chat on the phone and with whom I knew full well did not hear from my caring companion from one Christmas card to the next...

Staying in touch with friends is so important; the occasional phone call or email just to let them know you are thinking of them can make all the difference, especially if that person is ill or having a bad day and close to free fall. Why wait for them to make the first move? Love - in all its various shapes and forms - works both ways, and keeping in touch should not be on the occasional whim or just for Christmas and birthdays...or one day it may be too late.

COUNTING THE CARDS or WHO’S MISSING…?

Festive bells spreading
good news across a sorry Earth,
wringing comfort and joy
from all those needing to believe
in a godly saviour’s birth;
Oh, but let's  reason not the need,
they would have us all
be sure, but keep ourselves snug
by a feisty fire if only to feed heat
and light to despair

Winter solstice passed,
and now it’s the Christian’s turn
to answer questions
on flaws in natural laws exposed
by the origins of religion;
little or no harm done on days
when Apollo joins the fight
to save the heart’s weary cockles
from faltering, till cash for its meter
runs out at dead of night

Early hours, shivering
and demanding answers of a God
inclined to turn a deaf ear
on material demands like how best
to keep out the cold;
where certain spiritual sustenance
always on hand, available
in prayer, even arthritic souls 
obliged to get out of bed, trust they
won’t catch pneumonia

Spending on a charity card
to loved one, friend and neighbour;
best wish them well
on the mantel (for everyone to see)
than save for the meter
in case we should meet in the street,
since they will be sure
find a way to say how mean spirited 
folks can be in spreading festive cheer,
and point the finger

Where Xmas (or any) cards
a roll call for those who play a part
in our lives, big or small,
it should be those plainly missing
that strike mind-body-spirit 
hardest of all, and to whom the ghosts
of human love turn to investigate
reasons behind any absences 
before it's too late to even make a start
on affairs of the heart

Cause for concern about a special someone?
Go on, pick up the damn phone...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2014



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Tuesday 15 December 2015

Tree of Light, Gift of Love OR A Feeling for Christmas

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

It’s easy to get downhearted because Christmas seems to be all about finding money we don’t have for presents, cards, stocking our cupboards with assorted goodies etc.

Then (hopefully) something happens to make us think again and give us (and Christmas) a new lease of life...

Christians celebrates the birth of Jesus. Son of God or no, Jesus was a Man for all Seasons. Whatever our religion or non-religion, should we not always try to celebrate the spirituality we give and take from it in our everyday lives, preferably in a spirit of peace and love, no matter what or where or who?

Some Christians, for example -  even clerics -  reject gay people (including family members) because they interpret the Bible as telling them to do so. The Bible, perhaps, not Jesus. The God of the Old Testament is all but made redundant by the New. Jesus taught that God is no God of vengeance and intolerance, but the very opposite. If I were a Christian or subscribed to any religion, there is no way I would believe God is a homophobe. Thankfully, for humanity's sake, there are many Christians and other religious-minded people who feel the same.


As I have said before (being of a repetitive nature) our differences don't make us different, only human. Take the humanity out of religion and all the ritual and prayers become pointless.

TREE OF LIGHT, GIFT OF LOVE or A FEELING FOR CHRISTMAS

Once 
I found a Christmas tree
discarded in the street,
some of its branches cut away,
the rest looking shabby
(to say the least) needles already
turning shades of brown
like crumbs of toast, a sorry
specimen indeed, and few
passers-by would have spared
a glance, but something
in me responded to that tree
so I bent down, picked
it up, took it home, placed it
in a tub of earth and recall
thinking, oh, how good it was
to restore a sense of dignity
to the spirit of a sad little tree
that, surely, would die,
yet not without playing a part
of sorts in Christmas,
even with someone like me,
hardly the smiling face
of joyous festivity!
I found two dusty baubles,
some sad-looking tinsel
and a lopsided star...
Even so, it seemed to me
the little tree took on
an positive air of triumph,
and celebration, things
 I’d much preferred to forget
at this time of year

By the 25th, it had taken root,
a sight for sore eyes indeed,
one I felt a need to share, 
with a joy and pride felt before, yes,
but never quite like this feeling
for Christmas


Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2016

[Note: This poem first appeared under the title 'A Feeling for Christmas' in A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

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Sunday 13 December 2015

Christmas, the Great Pretender


Even as a child, I had a love-hate relationship with Christmas.Like most if not all children, I loved the festivities and (of course) the presents, but my father would always find a way to spoil Christmas for me and drive home the conviction that it was all a beautiful fantasy, a dream, and sooner or later needs must reality start biting again, fiercer even than any winter.

Regular readers will know I am not a religious person although you don’t need to be religious to appreciate the spirit of Christmas. Religion - Christianity or whatever - is meant to be about peace and love, a fact history may well be inclined to dispute. Whatever, there is a feel-good factor about religious celebration that I suspect its founders would not disapprove. For all the evil and hardship in the world, there is also much good, and for that we must be thankful and spread the word.

The human spirit may well be the epitome of stoicism and resilience, but both feed on hope and the kind of inspiration we see all around us in good people everywhere, no matter their colour, creed, sex or sexuality.

The likes of terrorists and psychopaths such as Islamic State, Boko Haram, and Al Qaeda cannot hope to get the better of the finer human spirit for all the dastardly acts they may inflict upon mind and body.  Small comfort for their victims, but light, at least, at the end of a long, dark tunnel; a light their attackers will never see for all they may attempt to call upon religion to excuse their behaviour.

Religion for the true believer is an inspirational way of life not an excuse for barbarism nor, for that matter, is it an excuse for anti-social behaviour at any level.

How many religious celebrations, I wonder, are enjoyed by those simply playing at religion and/or hedging their bets regarding mortality …?

CHRISTMAS, THE GREAT PRETENDER

Rudolph, the red nose reindeer
has a very shiny nose,
and makes a wish every year
that on Christmas Eve
it won’t just be cold, but snows,
creating a Christmas world
of peace and love, too rarely   
more real than a beautiful dream
painted on a card

Hey, there, Frosty the Snowman,
Santa’s on his way
so be sure to listen for jingle bells
for quite possibly his elves
have loaded a surprise for you
to ease the bleak midwinter,
rework every child’s imagination,
sure to invite even the holly and ivy 
in on the magic

Christmas time, mistletoe and wine,
cause for celebration,
no matter our social, cultural, sexual
identity or even religion
for the Spirit of Christmas brings
hope, love and peace
to mind, body and spirit, shades
of darkness transcended into angels
on wings of light

Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree,
as good a metaphor for fantasy any…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

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Thursday 10 December 2015

Come the Spirit of Christmas


Some people think I am an oddball because I don’t celebrate Christmas. Well, for a start, I do not subscribe to any religion. Yet, as regular readers well know, I like to think I have a strong sense of spirituality although I fake it from my relationship with nature rather than religion.

I often spend Christmas Day on my own and enjoy watching some great DVDs and not having to make an effort for anyone. Selfish, perhaps, but this time of year brings back many bad and sad memories, and I prefer to get through it in my own way. Yes, I may get a wee moody now and then, but on the whole I can relax and do my own thing in my own way without any well-meaning people telling me what I should do or how I should feel.

Even so, a part of me relates to what is meant to be a celebration of peace and love and togetherness. (Could it be an element of pagan in me, having been born on the winter solstice…?)

Whatever, I wish all family, friends and readers peace and love now and always. (Regular readers will know that I have nothing in common with my own family and those with whom I have got on well, loved even, are no longer with us, but that doesn't mean I don't wish the rest every happiness.)

As for the Christian message of peace and goodwill to all ... would that it it prevail always, and across all socio-cultural-religious divisions. Ah, but if only ... !

COME , SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS

What does Christmas mean to me?
peace and love need no pretty fir tree,
no decorations, no Christmas fare,
only to spread goodwill everywhere 

What does Christmas mean to me?
The sum of all I am that’s my history;
trying to do better by each new day,
and be a better person, come what may

What does Christmas mean to me?
Beggars on streets (give generously);
No in-fighting on wings of prayer,
world religions feeding on its despair

What does Christmas mean to me?
(A cure for HIV-Aids… oh, let it be!)
Let every day be a Christmas Day,
respecting one another, straight or gay

What does Christmas mean to you?
But listen to your heart and answer true
(else we become our worst enemy);
peace and love need no Christmas tree

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2014




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Wednesday 2 December 2015

Squaring up to Potential

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

How often, I wonder, do we convince ourselves time is not on our side as an excuse for doing nothing?

Sometimes, we need to square up to Time and reconcile it with whatever we have in mind. Otherwise, years on, we may well find ourselves rummaging our past and finding it badly wanting, ourselves, too. We have only to look up and see cloud faces looking critically down on us to understand where the blame lies.

As I grow old (I will be 70 on the winter solstice) I find myself having to live with many such lost opportunities and subsequent layers of wishful thinking prior to my  (finally) discovering the self- empowering nature of positive thought. (Even regrets don’t have to be totally negative in the sense that we can learn from our mistakes …if only we make time to do so.)

We need to believe in ourselves if we stand any chance at all of making a better, kinder world for all of us. So don't let anyone put you down for whatever reason but explore your potential and make the most of it.  We can but try. Oh, and however things turn out, be happy, and never let anyone make you feel you could do better and are settling for second best. The chances are, they are jealous that making the most of who you are has made you happy while they regret not having tried harder themselves. 

Oh, and happiness comes in all shapes and sizes, of course, so never let anyone judge you, either. Everyone's potential is different and tailored to different aspirations. As I have said many times on the blogs, those differences don't make us different, just human,

SQUARING UP TO POTENTIAL

Peering down a pit of years,
pin-prick of light at the bottom
reminiscent of birth;
bleak, timeless walls rising
like dark threats,
reminiscent of waiting graves
conjured up
by each day’s passing, homing in
on ends of beginnings, beginnings of ends,
nemeses of ideology

Peering down a pit of years,
letting a tear drop to the bottom,
reminiscent of a dream,
ripples of light chasing potential
into a nothingness
reminiscent of an empty cage
as conjured up
by each day’s passing, homing in
on ifs, maybe’s, would have, should have,
no excuses

Peering up at passing clouds,
putting names to faces I have loved,
reminiscent of meaning
despite neither answers or questions,
only heartbeats
reminiscent of raindrops on a petal,
potentially destructive,
but unable to break the spirit of stem
or flower, beginnings and endings nurtured
by Earth Mother

Peering across a garden lawn,
restoring sight enough to open mind,
body and spirit
to the enduring spirituality of life,
love and peace
that cannot deny prison, pit or cage,
but knows better
than to let either surfeit of questions
or want of answers leave us in the dark
from womb to tomb

Trust body, mind and spirit
to flush out inner, kinder, better selves,
reminiscent of solutions
to unanswered questions left to climb
bleak, timeless walls,
spurred on by pin-pricks of light
competing to engage
humanity with pride for homing in
on timeless heavens, no end of potential
in its sights

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

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Monday 21 September 2015

Waking Up to the Power of Positive Thinking

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

Please remember that my blogs do not accept comments, but I always reply to emails. Some readers have said they have problems using AOL; in which case try taberroger@yahoo.com. I look forward to hearing from you.

Now, who hasn't despaired now and then of even getting up in the morning?

People sometimes tell me that they have given up on love. I tell them, never even think about it.. Love can happen along just when you least expect it. Besides, as I’ve pointed out many times on the blogs, love expresses itself in many shapes and forms; it doesn’t have to be sexual. Love between lovers is special, yes, but then any love is special; for family, friends, pets, even places.

Give up on love and we might as well not bother to get up in the morning, for all life is worth without love in it. We just have to see what’s on offer and GO for it. Take me, for example. On days when I feel down and there’s no one around to talk things through with (or I may not feel like talking to anyone anyway) I’ll most likely take myself off to be by the sea for the day, often Brighton (Sussex) because I love everything about the place and always feel so much better for going there.

Oh, and as regular readers will know, just because I am not religious and don’t accept the God as portrayed by various religions, doesn’t mean I'm not receptive to succour from a sense of spirituality. Only, I get it from nature, not religion.

This poem is a (yes, another) villanelle

WAKING UP TO THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING 

No heart beating in vain
under anaesthetising darkness
at a new dawn

Left wondering when
(if ever) its turn for happiness…?
No heart beating in vain

Will sleep’s half-open
portals close on or let in distress
at a new dawn?

If dreams bring pain
where life and death paths cross…
no heart beating in vain

Late invitation
to troubled souls seeking redress
at a new dawn

Where light bursting in,
nature filling us with its life-force,
no heart beating in vain
at a new dawn

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2015

[Note: Revised (2015) from an earlier version that appears under the title 'Heartbeat' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

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Saturday 19 September 2015

Whispers in the Wind


History is a great teacher of love and peace; the pity is that humankind is (such) a slow learner in respect of either …  

Oh, there is peace in many parts of the world, but only where we define pace as the opposite of war ; it is an uneasy peace with societies refusing to reconcile with core differences threatening to undermine national (even global) stability at the best of times ; similarly, there is love, in all its shapes and forms, so long as we don't look too closely at the various shortcomings of human nature.

WHISPERS IN THE WIND

Whispers in the wind
like autumn leaves, ever drifting
time and space…

Love poems in the heart
like tears of a rose, harbinger
of autumn

Hymns to nature voicing
hunger for change and peace
of mind

Bogeyman at every corner
waiting to pounce, force-feed us
its prejudices

Drop-ins along every street,
ready to lend an ear, teach us
fight-back

People of all persuasions
asking no more of life than love
and peace

Grim Reaper harvesting
humankind’s failure to settle
its differences

Whispers in the wind
like deaf ears, perpetually drifting
time and space…


Copyright R. N. Taber 2015



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Tuesday 8 September 2015

L-i-f-e, Beachcomber Tales


Now and then, readers of one or other (even both) my poetry blogs  - all ages, both sexes, gay and straight - email to say they are in London or coming to London and would like to meet up for a chat (about anything and everything) over a few drinks or a meal. I always enjoy these get-togethers, have met up with some very interesting people and keep in touch with many of them if only by email. So feel free to contact me any time, even if a meet-up is never likely to be on the cards. While I don’t allow comments on the blogs, I will always reply to emails; a lively exchange of views and opinions is always enjoyable.

Meanwhile...

'There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves or lose our ventures.' -  William Shakespeare

Dreams and daydreams are more a part of us than we care to admit, carefully – or even carelessly - stored away in some shadowy corner of the mind waiting for sandmen to come along and explore, rather like a children  rummaging through the contents of an attic and turning it into an adventure as only children can. Quite possibly, too, they instinctively recognize the worth or worthlessness of whatever they find there…as only children can.

Like it or not, few if any of us leave childhood – or at least its natural instincts – behind altogether; naivety and innocence may be tiresome from an adult perspective, while both harbour an honesty unfettered by the so-called ‘wisdom’ that comes with maturity and invariably urges discretion if not total restraint…for (our) survival’s sake if nothing (or no one) else’s.

L-I-F-E, BEACHCOMBER TALES

Sun going down,
leaving our daydreams to float
on waves of twilight
where some are sure to drown,
others washed up
on green-gold shores of infinity,
the rest left drifting
on a vast sea of darkness,
flotsam and jetsam
of human nature to be claimed
in the passing of time
by that old beachcomber, Sleep,
and re-appraised,
reworked by sandmen, guardians
of our secret selves

Twilight dimming,
anticipating thoughts drowning
beneath wintry waves
of abandoned hope, ambition,
darker aspects of nature
and human nature sure to drag
the human condition
into an unfathomable despair
were they not there
to watch over us, keep us safe
in dimensions of Being
beyond its everyday assumptions,
painting picture-poems
on closed eyes anxious to open
closed minds

A Smiley Moon
overseeing black holes for worms
and makeshift coffins
made up of pillows, duvets and sheets
where monsters lurk, waiting
to pounce unawares on consciences
left exposed and vulnerable
in the absence of any conscious effort
to make the kind of excuses
we need to half-believe in or spiral
into a state of half-living,
inciting us to try and beat The Reaper
as his own game,
losers all, we bit players in the greater
scheme of things

Sun resurfacing,
lending passage to lion and lamb
and all of nature’s own
going about the business of living
much as we human beings
if more protective and protecting
of its species and spaces
in spite of the world’s demanding
of Earth Mother far more
than its share of natural resources,
but all’s fair…(so they say)
and the human beast needs must
be the best of a bad bunch
occupying Her territories, fighting
over them for centuries

Cold light of day,
taking us through everyday motions
many if not most of us
think of as living, taking for granted
every ripple, every wave,
carrying us to the very edge of a world
created for ourselves,
all-comers welcome while remaining
in their seats lest they rock
this Ship of Fools chartered by ‘betters’
to take the rest of us
towards a landfall some call ‘Heaven’
where no going down
of the sun, no pillow promises made
at dawn cruelly broken

Selfies, everywhere
like dogs at a bitch on heat inciting
priority attention
as becomes nature’s motivation to fill in
time’s blank spaces
with living, loving, thriving species,
meant to mature,
(since such is the cycle of natural life)
by filling in their own blanks
with living, loving, thriving issues,
and any black holes
with light enough to show we were here,
we bit players, we flotsam
and jetsam, we bringers of all history
coasting shores of infinity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

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Saturday 29 August 2015

Home Truths, Martyrs to Love


A reader once got in touch to say he feels such a fool because he can’t help loving his girlfriend even though she continues to see other guys. 

That same day, there was an email in my In Box from a gay guy relating how he could not get even begin to get his head around his boyfriend's wanting an open relationship. While I, personally, would walk away, I do not underestimate either the power of love  or of well-meaning (if often ill-advised) pressure from family and/or friends - reminding us of our various 'responsibilities'; in other words, we mustn't be seen to let the side down. (Better to let ourselves down...?)

What can I say except these are among many men and women around the world who, for centuries, have settled for less - sometimes far less - in a relationship than, at heart, they desire and need. Some people, of course, can live with open relationships; for others (like me) it is asking too much.

It has to be one of the saddest facts of life that many potential partners cannot always see the other person’s take on love or…each other. Yet, many of us will settle for a one-sided relationship than no relationship at all, and the threat of loneliness; the latter reason perhaps why the world is full of martyrs to love.

Relationships between two people can only work if both partners want it to work, and neither should forget that everyone has a choice.

HOME TRUTHS, MARTYRS TO LOVE

You warned me not to fall in love with you,
that it was sex alone, never love, spurring us on,
for love is only for fools (you said) its course
set and steered by wet dreams; we worldly types
know better (you said) while tonguing words
of intimacy as if rites for a benign conspiracy

Keeping up appearances, it was nothing more
(never love) fuelling inspiration. Gladly I’d let
your fine body take mine, clung to the hope
that you’d come to love me, despairing as each
frantic, mindless, orgasm ripped through us
like that double-edged sword we call honesty

A culture of hypocrisy concealing human needs,
never quite able to satisfy the loneliness it feeds
  
Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2015



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Saturday 22 August 2015

Progress, Bitter-Sweet

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

Now, can we honestly call the rape of our forests and woodlands…progress?

Humankind needs to balance its own humanitarian needs with the needs of nature to help sustain them. If we are not careful, nature will get the upper hand sooner rather than later, destroy us before we can destroy it or even ourselves.

Whatever, to the victor, the spoils as the march of today’s Titans of big business and entrepreneurial skulduggery proceeds all but unchallenged...

PROGRESS, BITTER-SWEET

Shadows gathering
like crowds for an execution;
storm clouds rumbling
like a malediction on the planet
challenging us to bow out
here and now or put things right
(if it's not already too late)
to bequeath our children a future
in harmony with nature

In a spotlight of sunshine,
luminous corn circles invoking
the mystery of eternity,
human parts all but played out,
hearts put to rout,
hounded by a native savagery
plaguing the purer, simpler,
beauty of a common humanity
haunted by its history

‘Progress’ a bitter-sweet victory
over an earthly vulnerability

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in the Poetry Now [Forward Press] anthology series, London and Home Counties (2001) and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]



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Wednesday 5 August 2015

Dead Cool, Macho Man


Overheard on a bus:

TEENAGER 1: It’s all very well for people to say don’t carry a knife or a gun, but what do they know, yeah? It’s dead cool, right? Besides, you gotta protect yourself. F**k the do-gooders. What kind of world do they think we live in? You gotta get real, yeah?

TEENAGER 2: What if someone gets hurt, killed even?

TEENAGER 1: So it ain’t gonna be me, right?

TEENAGER 2: I dunno…

TEENAGER 1: (Rising to leave as bus stops) You dunno know f**k all.

An elderly lady sitting next to me shook her head, "He’s right about one thing. What do we know about the world they live in? And whose fault is that, I wonder...?"

I said nothing. What could I say?

There is nothing either cool or macho about carrying a knife or a gun even if (potentially) in self-defence, and who's going to care anyways if you end up dead?

This poem is a villanelle.

DEAD COOL, MACHO MAN

Finally, managed to get me a gun
and spreading the word,
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

At first, life was a buzz, good fun,
but all that disappeared;

finally, managed to get me a gun,


Needed to prove I was someone,
get me some street cred;

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,
but no one ever heard;
finally, managed to get me a gun,

Joined a gang, mustn't let 'em down,
show I was shit scared;
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Got into a street fight, shot down
dripping with blood...
Finally, managed to get me a gun,
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

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Monday 3 August 2015

Innocent, Until Proven Human (As Defined by Rites of Conscience)

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

I once saw a foal and a child born at different times of the same day. One had no conscience and would remain a picture of innocence until its slaughter for human convenience; the other would soon become wise to the ways of the world and learn to manipulate them … one way or another.

INNOCENT, UNTIL PROVEN HUMAN (AS DEFINED BY RITES OF CONSCIENCE)

Every birth, a celebration,
history redeeming
the very nature of creation

At break of day, an ovation
for each living thing;
every birth, a celebration

From its time of hibernation,
a glorious spring;
the very nature of creation

At the heart of every season,
find love enduring;
every birth, a celebration

If history pauses for no one,
find in its evolving,
the very nature of creation

Seeds of a world’s salvation
here for the nurturing;
at every birth, celebration,
the very nature of creation

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2015

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Sunday 2 August 2015

Catcher in the Eye done Good

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

Years ago, I saw a painting in an art gallery that has made me reflect on the beauty of memory, capturing and preserving a precious moment in time. Yes, a photograph can do much the same, but a painting is so much more than a photograph; it reads aloud to the inner ear, thus inviting the inner eye to appreciate its every deliberate brush stroke in much the same sense and sensibility as one might appreciate iambic meter in a poem. As with all creative endeavour, the art lies in its artlessness, artist rewarding observer with an insight to a process that requires we tap into reserves of feeling of which the chances are we are not consciously aware.

Memory may fade, but the art-poem remains a part of us and will be sure to manifest itself in our approach to life, love, nature and human nature…; indeed, to  just about everything.

‘Oh,’ I hear some people say, ‘but that’s only if you have the imagination…’ Bollocks, to that! Imagination can and does work on our consciousness, yes, but it also works on the subconscious, possibly to even greater effect. So never let anyone lead you to believe you have no imagination; the human condition is better than that even where, sometimes, human nature fails us. 

Imagination is that Catcher in the Eye of which we may or may not be well aware but which, in any case, remains one of the sweeter mysteries of the human condition. 

CATCHER IN THE EYE DONE GOOD

Young girl with daisies
in the hair darts across a greeny field;
though brooding sheep
keep a sidelong watch on playful lambs,
the merry scene
attracts a frisky foal, prancing
at a boundary fence

Innocence

Young girl with daisies
in the hair glimpses a pretty butterfly,
gives laughing chase;
one tangent wing at a finger's tip,
angel face glowing
hope’s pink blushes, elusive happiness
caught on canvas

Copyright R. N. Taber 1974; 2001

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'Brush Strokes' - first appears in Love and Human Remains: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

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Monday 27 July 2015

Humanity, a Self-Portrait in Shades of Light and Dark


Now and then, readers get in touch to say they will be visiting London and ask to meet up for a chat over a coffee, beer, or perhaps a meal. I have met people from all over the world, male and female, gay and straight, and it has always been a delightful experience. 

It is not only very encouraging but also fulfilling for a poet to meet his readers, and I hope more of you will feel free to meet up with me. Oh, and fear not, I appreciate plain speaking and don’t expect everyone to like or even agree with everything I write. Needless to say, I always enjoy a friendly argument…

Feel free to email me any time: rogertab@aol.com

Meanwhile…

On wintry days (not necessarily of the seasonal variety) it can sometimes seem as if darkness must inevitably get the better of us, such is the nature of things, that we human beings will never shrug off its nightmares for long and any light of day revisited but a cold one.

Ah, but never, never, say ‘never’ or underestimate the capacity of the human spirit for love and light in all its shapes and shades…or the enduring power of either. While there is no greater power of remembrance than love, there are aspects of character and personality in all of us that are likely to make an impression on others to form part of a posthumous consciousness that lends us a sense of immortality, passed on from person to person, generation to generation, ad infinitum ...

Photo: from the Internet

This poem is a villanelle.

HUMANITY, A SELF-PORTRAIT IN SHADES OF LIGHT AND DARK

Though death’s dark canopy,
our lives may obscure,
to light, the final victory

Along thorny paths of history
let us tread with care,
though death’s dark canopy

If few life choices made easy,
consciences left clear,
to light, the final victory

Among triumphs over misery,
to light, the greater share,
though death’s dark canopy

Where shades of inhumanity
feed on hate and fear,
to light, the final victory

Let self, its own worst enemy,
love’s true colours wear;
though death’s dark canopy,
to light, the final victory 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title Darkness and Light in  Expressions from London and Home Counties, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2004 and subsequently in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]


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Monday 20 July 2015

Getting the Better of Rock and Hard Place


It often strikes me as one of life's more bitter-sweet ironies that it's the heart in winter that focuses most on spring...

Me, I have never been as happy as the too few years I shared with my late partner a long time ago. Even so, I learned to be happy again. Oh, I have never met anyone else with whom I wanted to share my life, but I have made some good friends, found a curious peace, comfort and joy in my poetry as well as being blessed with a natural optimism to see me through. I may not be a very successful writer, but success has never meant as much to me as enjoying life in my own way.  [Yes, I have prostate cancer, but have all I need to see me through that too.]

Love comes to each and every one of us in all shapes and forms; its effect on us never (quite) fades even though sometimes it may be but a visitor, passing through. The past, too, is a part of us and never forgotten, whether or not it needs to be tempered by forgiveness, nor should it ever be where it has made us happy. Ah, but it's building on that happiness, making the most of the present, each of us in our own way, and looking forward to the future that counts…no matter what. As for various socio-cultural-religious dogma/conventions refusing to take our side for one reason or another, the human spirit knows better; religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality any more than conventions have rights or dictatorship.

GETTING THE BETTER OF ROCK AND HARD PLACE

I walked in a wood one winter
as I had with my true love one spring,
promising ourselves to each other;
the trees were bare, yet so splendid,
whose leaves happy enough to perform
the music of life just for us

Heavens, near empty and grey,
whose wings of light once, our spring,
gaily affirmed Earth Mother’s love;
world, a spread of snow where flowers
(all kinds and colours) created an ocean
of brave dreams just for us

I let my heart fall to the ground
where you lay your raincoat one spring,
our first lovemaking blessed;
yet, my heart refused to stay long,
but spread wings (just as it had before)
meant to survive all weathers

I’ll not let it grieve me that nature
should liken its life force to a graveyard,
and we among the fallen;
life goes on, poor humanity caught
between its rocks and hard places save
for the enduring power of love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015


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Saturday 18 July 2015

S-E-L-F, Opening Up (After Closing Down)


As regular readers know only too well, I have suffered with depression all my life and still take 25mg of a (fairly) mild anti-depressant. Prozac helped me through a very bad time once, but (like another strong anti-depressant I tried) left me feeling exhausted all the time so I switched to the (far milder) one I take now.

It is important to find an anti-depressant that suits you and always read the information leaflet for possible side-effects. Even so, never rely on anti-depressants to see you through. A positive attitude and any form of creative therapy you enjoy remain a must-have and must-do. (Creative therapy can be anything from gardening, walking, writing, pottery... anything in which success is measured by the enjoyment achieved by simply doing it, not results.) Creative therapy is no quick fix and requires a huge effort if always an effort worth making. Always easier said than done, never try and do it all on your own. 

I suffered from depression even as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. For years, I would be prescribed antidepressants until I started to feel better, and then come off them. This, I now realize was a mistake. I was scared of becoming dependent on them so it was music to my ears when a GP suggested that patients prone to depression should stay on an appropriate antidepressant and dosage all the time. I suspect my life would have taken a hugely significant turn for the better had I been given this advice a long, long, time ago. 

A friend who suffers from depression has paid a lot to visit counsellors but they don’t help everyone and it all depends who you see and how good (or bad) they are. I think it is important to get feedback from a counsellor; too many just sit back and let you talk, which is not a bad thing, but I personally would need positive feedback to feel it was worth parting with my money.

My friend says she hasn’t the self-confidence to do anything new whether it's meeting new people, studying a subject in which she is genuinely interested etc. She says she 'cannot' do anything new until she gets her self-confidence back. I sympathize, but take the opposite view. I believe we only get our self-confidence back by doing things, setting ourselves realistic targets etc. These need not be too ambitious to start with, and if they don’t work out quite as we hoped we should not see it as a failure but give ourselves a pat on the back for giving it a go…and try something else.

Many people think I am a strong person because (most of the time) I manage to beat depression. Believe me, though, when I say I am not strong. It is (very) heavy going. I make the effort because the alternative is even worse to contemplate. 

True, it isn’t always easy to find someone to listen; certain family members and friends won’t recognize the danger signs and will fail to appreciate a depressed person’s depths of personal crisis, handing out well-meaning platitudes like a plate of biscuits to make matters (much) worse. Even so, never give up; there is invariably someone who can help if we let them and are honest with them about how we feel. Talking to a pet can help, too, if only because the worst seems so much less bad once we give it a voice.

There is no shame in feeling less able to cope. Putting on a brave face is never a good idea. (No one can read minds.) For example, if  I had only opened up to someone - a teacher or counsellor perhaps - about my sexuality (among other things) much earlier, I may well have been spared years of anguish, culminating in a bad nervous breakdown and suicide attempt in my early 30's.

S-E-L-F, OPENING UP (AFTER CLOSING DOWN) 

Envelopes unopened;
scared to look, acknowledge even;
feelings like flowers left
at a grave if only to give the dead
a raison d’être

Profiles of the Great
interrogating me wherever I go
about my response to the cost
of living, voices chanting dark spells
at every checkout

Fear, clammy hands
on matchstick arms, humanity
strutting its hour on stage
(art of least resistance) chalking up
mock victories

Words, like mandarins
in white coats supervising a trainee
working from a manual
on staying bottom of the class without
really trying 

Envelopes, daring me…
Fingertips fumbling with terror
(Can I really do this?)
No stigma in old wounds ruling out
perfection

N-O-W, opening up...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – under the title ‘Prozac Nation’ - appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

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