Mind-Body-Spirit, a Flexible Friend

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

Around the world, many if not most of us still subject to safely regulations due to the pandemic are nearing the end of our tether; the stress of having to cope with the absence of loved ones and friends in our daily lives continues to make itself felt.

While we can but keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, it is easier said than done. We have no choice, though, but to fight Covic19 and its variants and let common sense take the lead in playing our part to protect not only ourselves, but others too. Those who view safety precautions as an affront to everyday human rights are simply being selfish.

The police handling of the vigil for Sarah Everard on Clapham Common is a case in point. While I support it in so far as it was not only meant as a show of support for Sarah’s grieving family, but also protesting about violence against women in general, this is not the time to raise our voices. Too many people and too little social distancing at this particular moment in time, when Covid-19 and its variants are still rampant across parts of Europe and a real threat to us here in the UK, was irresponsible; it had been banned for the same reason, not because the powers-that-be are unsympathetic.

Yes, civil liberties are restricted at the moment, have been for some time, and feelings are running high, even more so at the murder of an innocent woman simply returning from visiting a friend.  

Yes, the police may well have seemingly over-acted at times, but what were they meant to do when calling upon the crowd to disperse and some people refusing to move?

Yes, of course women and girls should be able to feel they are free to walk any streets anywhere in the world without fear of being attacked and, yes, their voices need to be heard. Even so, at the moment, large gatherings risk spreading the coronavirus, and that is a threat to everyone.

MIND BODY SPIRIT, A FLEXIBLE FRIEND

Ahead, gloom,
self-confidence all but zero,
no sense whatever
of being able to rise above
a troubled mind
caught unawares by questions
demanding answers
where there are none,
only more of the same 

Ahead, despair,
ego despatched into free fall,
its host body
left battling against all odds
just to exercise
its human right to give as good
as it gets, refusing
to take any cues from either sense 
or sensibility 

Suddenly, a light,
all but dazzling an inner eye
grown weary
if not yet (quite) glued shut
by fear, prised open
for the duration by such forces
as will always
get the better of the worst we suffer
if we let them 

I am Mind-Body-Spirit, would-be adviser;
who heeds me grows all the wiser

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

[Note: Apologies. This poem first appeared on the blog under the title 'A Word to the Wise... until I realised I had used that title elsewhere so had to think again; I could blame lockdown stress, but suspect growing old has a lot to do with it too.] RNT

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beware, I Play Dirty OR Myself, My Enemy

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2013. I suspect most people's self-confidence is being put to the test as Covid-19 continues to rage around the world. As I see it, it's important that we meet the challenge head-on while, at the same time, using our common sense when it comes to everyday risk management. 

Once lost, self-confidence is hard to regain, and we all need to pull together as a common humanity to help restore it; hopefully, less divisiveness, stereotyping or rushing to judgement and more talking things through, accepting that our differences don't make us different, only human.

Now, I am no extrovert. Indeed, there was a time when I was a near nervous wreck for having to go out there and meet people. But every stranger is a potential friend, and that's a good way of thinking to get into.

There was a time, too, when I was more than a little paranoid and thought everyone was looking at me, talking about me, judging me...and not only for my sexuality, but how I look, dress...everything about me. Yet, as my dear, late mother once pointed out (but I ignored at the time) even if that were true, all the while they are having a go at me, they are leaving someone else alone.  I (eventually) managed to substitute paranoia with a sense of stoicism which, in turn, gradually metamorphosed into a growing self-confidence. 

I once commented to a young man buying drinks in a gay bar (it could have been anywhere, of course) that I admired his self-confidence, He laughed, “Me, self- confident? Don’t you believe it, mate, it’s all an act.” He winked and gave me this advice as he went to join his boyfriend, “Try it and see.” I did, and it worked.

Oh, I never found the degree of self-confidence that young man exuded, but at least I was on track for getting a life. Besides, regarding my sexuality at least, it was the kind of life I really wanted for myself, not the one I had been made to feel for years that I should want. 

Self-confidence and faith in a sense of our own personal identity is a lesson I suspect many of us may yet do well to learn; gay or straight, male or female, whatever our socio-cultural-religious background.  Sexuality, is only part of the human equation, an equation that can add up to a prize fight in more ways than one ... but worth it (surely?) to establish who we are, not only to others, but more importantly to ourselves.

“Our doubts are traitors,
and make us lose the good we oft might win,
by fearing to attempt.” - William Shakespeare -Measure for Measure

“The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” - ― Sylvia Plath

This poem is a kenning.

BEWARE, I PLAY DIRTY or MYSELF, MY ENEMY

I am with you in sickness

and health, especially in early hours

as you toss and turn,

fretting over a seemingly huge gulf

between early ambition

and later achievement in a mind’s eye

whose vision blurred

by lack of sleep and paying attention

to speculation and gossip

I will seize upon your senses,

throw them into chaos like martyrs

thrown to lions

and torn to pieces for the satisfaction

of a cheering audience

only, on this occasion an audience

of but one, reduced to tears

by the frustration of feeling helpless

to manage a rescue

I have all the tools of torture

required to force you to admit flaws

in judgments made,

paths of action chosen for fear

of what might happen

if no choice made at all, when perhaps

it may have been wiser

to reassign the Devil to hindmost

than imagine the worst

Call me Self-Doubt a native vulnerability
that's any aspiration's worst enemy 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

L-I-F-E, Mixed Messages OR Any Human Heart

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blogs in 2012 under the title, 'Any Human Heart'.

Now, we do not ask to be born. We are born, literally, at our parent’s pleasure.  I don’t subscribe to the view that we owe our parents anything. Where there is love between parent and child, it will reap its own rewards.  Where there is no love between parent and child, the child has absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.

Regular readers will know that I support euthanasia in certain circumstances; not, though, when a person is depressed and unable to think clearly. I tried to commit suicide many years ago in the course of a severe nervous breakdown. I am so glad I failed. At the moment, we are still in the thick of a pandemic, and I know some people are feeling desperate; my advice, for what it's worth, is hang on in there because life will get better for all of us if only eventually rather than improving the quality of our Here-and-Now as and when we would dearly prefer.

Yes, there are times we may regret being born, especially when an ever growing disparity between the world into which we would like to live and the one we are stuck with sends us hurtling into a downward spiral of despair; thankfully, the human spirit is better than that although it, too, will have its bad days nor (for good or ill) is it immune to temptation.

The workings of the human mind and spirit are complex, all the more so for the contradictory nature and sheer persistence of the human heart is search of something ... better, kinder, whatever.

Hopefully, humanity can learn from the graver mistakes made in its history rather than thinking it can rewrite it or, worse, block it out and inadvertently go on to repeat the same mistakes ...

This poem is a kenning.

L-I-F-E, MIXED MESSAGES or ANY HUMAN HEART

Running the gamut of life

and love has only brought me pain

like some fine autumn leaf

turning gold (once green) battered

by October winds and rain,

souvenir of a spring badly let down

by an unkind summer yet again,

no silvery light able to make good

Apollo’s absences

Striving for meaning in life

and love has only left me as confused

as nature by global warming

causing bird and beast to change

habit and habitat

(little if anything the better for that)

while humanity chews fat

over a thinning polar ice, dying trees

and sickly skies

Seeking to move on in life

and love has only made me realise

I kicked off as a child

from lies in a poem read aloud in class

about a God in His Heaven

so all’s right with a world struggling

to feed its children,

as if any religion could ever make good

poverty or starvation

I am that heart whose first beats at birth

are welcomed by a kinder Earth

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, 2020

Kingdom Come, an Eco-Artist's Impression

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2010

While  the coronavirus is not on the wane everywhere just yet, and second waves of it are all but inevitable, climate change is unlikely to go away at all; we only have to look at what is happening in Iceland to see how real is the threat that has been looming across the world for years, and underestimated - if not conveniently put to one side - by successive world leaders. A reader asks, do I think Covid-19 could be linked to climate change? Well, I have no idea, any more than I suspect has anyone else, but I wouldn't be surprised ...

What are we doing to the planet? How many more trees must be felled, wildlife lose their habitats (and lives) on land and in the seas before humankind realizes how short sighted it is being? (The old adage is so true, that we rarely - if ever - appreciate what we have until we lose it.)

Will future generations forgive us? (I suspect with great difficulty, if at all.)

It is all very well to acknowledge global warming, but how much longer can we shrug off any blame for it? it? The time to make reparation is by positive action NOW, surely? How many more world conferences and all but meaningless gestures before our politicians risk upsetting this lobby or that and get to grips with the longer-term consequences of playing ostrich?

Too lightly, many people continue to brush such questions and issues aside. After all, they argue, there is plenty of time to save the planet.

Ah, but is there…? It is an old but significant truism that time waits for no one.

Yes, our politicians claim to empathise with Green campaigners, but could they perhaps do (far) more to back up their word with actions…or could it be they are but paying lip service to increasing electorate (and business) concerns?

At school, I once overheard my Religious Education teacher refer to Armageddon as 'the death of  common sense' to which my art teacher commented that it would be an appropriate theme for graffiti art among the corridors of power just about anywhere in the world. 70+ years on, I am inclined to agree with both.

How dare our so-called 'betters' be complacent, close their eyes to unpalatable home truths for fear of losing out in the short term. Too many politicians are hot on rhetoric, at election times in particular, but - as always - the devil is in the detail, and invariably less convincing for anyone who has the time or patience to shovel away  at the rhetoric and see what lies beneath..

Another reader wrote in recently to ask, "We are a common humanity on a common Earth so where is any sense of common responsibility regarding Green issues?"

KINGDOM COME, AN ECO-ARTIST'S IMPRESSION

The sky is red

where once it was blue;

trees turning yellow;

streams, trickles of blood

on a baby's cot...

Time, caught taking a nap

in Earth Mother’s bed

The forest is dead

where once trees grew tall,

birds would nest,

one beast best another

as required…

by nature’s rule of thumb,

its kingdom come

The world, gone quiet

where once people played,

would laugh and sing,

yet sure to best one another

as required …

by nature’s rule of thumb,

our kingdom come

The sky is red

where once it was blue;

trees, turning yellow;

Earth Mother last heard of

treading mud,

weeping the world’s playing

Truth or Dare...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

To Apollo, Over

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

[Update. March 19th 2020]: The coronavirus, COVID 19, is spreading worldwide and various Governments feel obliged to take various emergency measures; it all smacks of Big Brother to me although needs must we act responsibly and conform to a whole new socio-cultural-political mind-set. Whatever, let's stay calm folks, use our common sense, trust our basic survival instincts and we will get though what appears to be the worst global crisis since the second world war. Remember that thousands of people die of flu every year; while this corona virus appears to be far more serious than an outbreak of influenza, we all need to stay positive and help each other as best we can. The sick  and elderly, are as always, the most vulnerable among us so we especially need to rally on their behalf, even if it means getting to know neighbours who are all but strangers. Me? I will be 75 later this year and have been living with prostate cancer since 2011. I live alone, but will stay in touch with friends by phone if mobility becomes severely restricted by any temporary legislation. Meanwhile, I continue to take each day as it comes, and hope for the best ...]

Meanwhile ...

Old gods, new ways, first dawn, last sunset…world ending with a bang or a whimper, I wonder?

Nature may well hold most if not all the answers, but wears them close to its heart, and who can blame it given humankind’s compulsion for getting its own way no matter who gets hurt or what damage done in the process…?

Nature, of course, will endure long after humanity has failed to learn from its worst mistakes; one of these being underestimating climate change for which we, of course, are (all) ultimately responsible.

As for humankind, we can but trust those faceless mandarins stalking the corridors of power across the world may yet be named and shamed, replaced by those whose feeling for humanity and humankind’s obsession with pastures new is not above demonstrating some old-fashioned common sense.

TO APOLLO, OVER 

Broken statues in the dust,
marking many a historic dawn,
shooting long shadows 

Far, far, these shadows fly
across our much-damaged land
like many arrows 

Into a poor scholar’s dugout
an arrow makes its presence felt
at Apollo’s early rising 

Red sun shining on our dust,
revealing broken statues weeping
and bleeding for us

 Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2020

 [Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that first appeared in the poetry magazine Meridian (1999) and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001]

 

Street Crime, a Coward's Agenda OR Society, Sick at Heart?

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

The rise in knife crime and street crime generally in recent years - especially among young people - is a tragic (and scary) indictment of UK society in a still relatively young 21^st century. While there is no single cause, cuts in policing levels has meant there is little if any visible police presence on our streets while cuts in funding for youth services has almost certainly contributed to a growing drugs culture in many areas which, in turn, can be directly related to rising crime rates there.

It is all very well for politicians to point out that statistics (who trusts those?) point to the overall rate of violent crime having take a downward turn, but that is small comfort to the families and friends of people (all ages) losing their lives every day; for parents, especially, the loss of a child is a life sentence, but to know that a son or daughter died needlessly, in violent circumstances must cause unimaginable pain.

I have been beaten up in the distant past for being gay, but live to tell the tale at 73 years-old. A nervous breakdown at 30 led to a suicide attempt which, thankfully, failed or I would have missed the best years of my life; among its ups and downs, enough of the former to put the latter in the shade.

All violent crimes denying victims the basic human right to follow their chosen paths in life are tragedies for which no words can do justice; the younger the victim, though, so much worse the tragedy in the sense that these are being deprived of the opportunity to enjoy life, explore and make something of their natural potential, become the person they were meant to be by virtue of nature and nurture. It is a sick mind-body-spirit, indeed, that commits any violent crime, the cure (and cause) for which can often be found to lie at the heart of the very society that has fallen foul of it.

Given that the perpetrators as well as victims of the current wave of violent, especially knife crime here in the UK are young people, society is clearly failing them, and society is the perennial you-me-us; that’s parents, teachers, politicians, religious leaders, police, social workers and anyone with a social conscience. We need to identify and tackle its root causes, each in our own way, and share any findings if only to discover how to prevent a worsening crisis getting even worse.

“There will be no justice as long as man will stand with a knife or with a gun and destroy those who are weaker than he is.” - Isaac Bashevis Singer

“The knife is more dangerous than the hand and the knife can be in either hand.” 

Frank Herbert, Dune

STREET CRIME, A COWARD'S AGENDA or SOCIETY, SICK AT HEART?

Hanging out in the park

with friends, enjoying music

on a new iPad,

putting the world to rights,

planting seeds

of love and peace along the way,

and nurturing them

Aware of others in the park,

but only for their long shadows

in spring sunshine

like benign ghosts looking on,

needing to feel alive

if only for sharing someone else’s

precious moments

In a bubble of personal space;

past-present-future,

a glorious panorama embracing

all mind-body-spirit

seeks to inspire once its flowers

come into season, each to their own

as nature intended

Only a fool uses a knife to burst

a bubble just to see

sunshine being swallowed whole

by a predatory darkness,

mind-body-spirit engaging

with time and space to book its place

among the immortals

Looking on from a passing cloud

at the funeral below

of a young person cruelly cut down

in their prime, victim

of someone’s desire to make a point

if only to earn him (or her) a sick sense

of self-importance

At a graveside, no hot tears shed

can heal a broken heart

that may well mend (in part, at least)

since love never dies,

its presence in Gardens of Memory

the world over, inspiring us to keep faith

with it, now and always

As for any who play at being a god

by taking a life meant

to run its natural course, be sure

(regrets or none …)

their remains will grow but as weeds,

mind-body-spirit the poorer soil for want

of either nutrients or nurture

Copyright R N Taber 2019

The Mind Hears, the Heart Listens

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

Yes, we should probably do what our heads tell us more often, but it’s invariably so much more fun (and human) to follow our hearts. True, it can be a risky business but some risks are always worth taking, and love is one of them.

Love comes in all shapes and sizes, expresses itself in countless ways,  probably has a finer grasp of what life (and time?) is really all about than even the most learned mind will ever know.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE MIND HEARS, THE HEART LISTENS

Where Time has its way

with each of us,

Love will always have a say

Eyes shut, cold clay,

no sweet caress

where Time has its way

Fear not the close of day

(waking to emptiness?)

Love will always have a say

Duty, too, its passion may

well speak up for us

where Time has its way

On dark secrets kept at bay

(haunts of fear and lies)

Love will always have a say

Eternity but a breath away

from a cynic’s kiss;

where Time has its way,

Love will always have a say

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

The Poet's Song

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

Update (May 2016): Find below, the link to an interview I gave Benjamin Richter, an international student of Multimedia Journalism at the University of Kent in Canterbury; it was an interesting if a little daunting experience and he has agreed that I can share it with you as a number of readers have expressed an interest in how and why I approach poetry the way I do. Meeting Benjamin was a particularly enjoyable experience as I, too, was a student there some 40+ years ago. The Department of Journalism is based at its Medway campus and Benjamin is currently living in my home town of Gillingham where I was born and lived until I was 14 years-old:

https://r224e31251.racontr.com/index.html
[NB You may need to copy this link into your browser for it to work.]

The poem below is especially for ‘Steve N’ who first read it in an anthology, The Poetry Now Book of Kennings, Poetry Now, 2001. (Poetry Now is an imprint of Forward Press.) The alternative title was added later.

Glad you enjoyed it, Steve. I also appreciated Steve saying that ‘as someone with many gay friends’ he particularly appreciates my including poems on a gay theme in general collections, alongside poems on various other themes, rather than ‘marginalising’ them in separate gay collections. Other straight readers have also been kind enough to say they enjoy many of my poems, ‘even the gay stuff’. One man wrote in recently to say how the inclusion of a gay section in a collection borrowed randomly by his wife from their local library came as ‘something of a surprise, to put it mildly’ but they enjoyed reading the poems. It appears that he and his wife subsequently had a ‘lively’ discussion about gay issues…which has to be one of the best compliments I have ever received.

Feedback is always welcome, especially along these lines. I suspect a fair percentage of gay readers would agree with another who emailed me to say that ‘gay material deserves its own collection to reflect gay culture.’ Fair enough but, to my mind, ‘gay culture’ implies a degree of separatism. I’m an integrationist.

Whatever, I see myself as no more or less than someone who happens to be gay and subscribes to no particular culture, religion, philosophy or politics. Mind you, I don’t sit on fences either. Well, not to the extent that I am glued to them; I have always been prepared to jump down on one side or the other as and when it seems appropriate. I will always express a point of view while, at the same time, listening for and trying out new voices.

THE POET’S SONG

I am a Painter of Dreams,
my brush, a pen – words
all the paint available, tackling
the unassailable to bring within reach
of unquiet heart, restless soul,
images of life and love,
vision of a goal beyond perimeters
of time, space - humanity’s crude
conception of grace

I am a Painter of Dreams,
bringing you mine, intruding
on yours, winging heaven’s
elusive towers that flicker in a mist
of aspiration, inviting inspiration,
daring us to home in, defy
the rude mentality of a classroom
morality - humanity’s crude
conception of spirituality

See-Hear-Taste-Touch-Smell,
I am a Painter of Dreams, who
means well but often offends
who dare suggest I speak for all
that seek gold where the rainbow ends
for, like Pandora’s Box, our secrets
once let fly - each to their own;
Painter, dreamer, shades of light
or ships in a cruel night

Senses, falling apart at the seams
for a Painter of Dreams

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]