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.

Sunday 26 July 2020

L-O-V-E, Bridges over Time

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

My heart goes out to any readers who may be in Spain and will now need to self-isolate for two weeks on their return. Hopefully, at least a return flight will be available as the travel industry is, understandably, in some disarray at the moment. 

Now, I am often asked for the link to an interview I gave Benjamin Richter, a student in multimedia journalism earlier this year. I have added it to several blog posts, but here it is again for anyone who may have missed it might be interested: 

Love and hate are among the strongest of human passions, and can always be relied upon to leave a deep impression on us; so deep, it can last a lifetime and beyond. Whoever we are, wherever, and whatever our gender or sexuality, love, in all its shapes and forms, is by far the more enduring and will always have the edge if only because it is a positive force for good; positive forces for anything less may well survive the test of time in terms of a human life span, but not necessarily across that posthumous consciousness which - knowingly or unknowingly - embraces us all.

A kind act here, a wise word there ... these affect each and every one of us  and, in turn, others with whom we  come into contact - casually or intimately - during our lifetimes, ensuring that a part of us survives as a sense of posthumous consciousness in which we play a 'live' role long after our deaths.  

L-O-V-E, BRIDGES OVER TIME

One summer we lay beneath a willow tree,
gazing at a fluffy, leafy, sky,
passionate branches like arms around me,
enduring river flowing idly by

Time then to laugh, play, see kingfishers dive
for shimmering scales defying capture
in vain, an inspired will to stay alive
to the last breath, like love’s gasping rapture

Daring to dream, we made that summer ours,
let joyful birdsong drown the river’s sighs
till autumn’s beating at heaven’s towers
brought us, half-listening, to the world’s lies

Wherever tablets of stone that would see us part,
find a willow tree weeping the human heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of his poem appears under the title 'Separate Stones' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Saturday 25 July 2020

The Seekers OR Beyond Rhyme and Reason ... What?

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016 under a different title.

I am often asked (a) Why do I write poetry, and why so little blank verse when everyone knows rhyme is old hat, especially as the media ignores me for the most part so I’m not even "famous"? and  (b) Why spoil a good poetry site by including gay poetry? [Thank you for the praise element there.]

Well, fame isn’t everything, nor is blank verse, and I do have a reputation of sorts around the world if feedback from my blogs and other Internet sites is anything to go by. The most important thing to me is that there are people out there who read what I write; whether or not they like what I write is less important than it may give them food for thought. [Even not liking something demands we ask ourselves, why?] As for including gay-interest poems, as I do in all my collections…why not? I am a gay man and a poem is a poem is a poem. I have received emails from heterosexual readers to say it has helped them think differently (better) about gay people and from gay readers thanking me for my inclusiveness. Opinions will always be divided; such is the nature of food for thought.

Poetry is a passion with me. Prior to university, I wrote many poems; less so for some time afterwards. Reading and writing critical essays about great poets was very enjoyable, but also very daunting. How could I possibly follow in the footsteps of the likes of Wordsworth, Shelley, Blake, Hardy and so many more? It took a while for the penny to drop. I could not hope to follow in their footsteps nor should I even try. No, I must create footprints of my own. It would not matter if few people found them worth following so long as they were there, to be chanced upon; hopefully, of some worth to someone somewhere at some time or another finding their way in life (and losing it now and then) as I have done. Reading great writers has helped me become a positive thinker; no mean feat considering the inferiority complex that dogged me at home, school and young manhood.

I have only ever been in love once in my whole life, but love takes various forms and I have loved many people in various ways. Take friendship, a form of love at all its various levels, and probably the most commonly open to abuse. Sometimes love is returned; often, though, it is abused. Nor am I referring to just physical but also  psychological abuse; people taking advantage of love, taking it (and us) for granted, always taking, taking, taking… with little or no thought about what it means to give. It can hurt, really hurt. For me, poetry has always helped ease that hurt. 

Yes, poetry is my passion, a love that returns far more than I can ever give. Especially as I grow old, the passion continues to course through my veins and remind me of all that is beautiful in this sorry world, in nature and human nature; more than a match for cynic or pessimist, and music to the ears of a positive thinker so long as he or she remembers to listen out with inner ear, see with inner eye, feel a way through bad times to better. I recall loves of my life - in all shapes and forms - that inspire me, always have and always will.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we are all poets in the sense that poetry is the very act of living; how we chose to define it - and ourselves - is down to each and every one of us, each in our own way, not least in poetry, bearing in mind how there is a poetry of sorts in everything we are, do, regret, aspire to ... whatever, if we care to look, and learn  from the looking whether or not we ever quite find it.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE SEEKERS or BEYOND RHYME AND REASON ... WHAT?

Who seeks out poetry, seeks love,
always listening out for its call
in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Between earth and heavens above,
as human passions rise and fall.
who seeks out poetry, seeks love 

Find nature’s finest, hand in glove
with Man’s first aim, survival;
in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Where a trophy hunter may prove 
keen eyes for a potential kill,
who seeks out poetry, seeks love

A power to make mountains move,
centuries-old nightmares repel;
in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Grown cold, hand out of its glove
among rhetoric's overspill?
who seeks out poetry, seeks love,
in nest or flight, wings of a dove


Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Monday 20 July 2020

Remembrance, (Another) Poem for All Seasons

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

Today's short poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

Love, like life, has its seasons and, yes, we all know how changeable seasons can be while always making their presence felt. To no small extent, our capacity for love - in all shapes and forms - and friendship identifies our potential as human beings, no matter how far we may manage to fulfil it in real terms.

Much the same can be said of time. (We only have to look in a mirror to work that one out.)  

Yet, of one thing we can be certain; whatever our ethnicity, creed, gender or sexuality and, yes, age too, spring will always follow winter as sure as sunshine and rainbows follow rain.

REMEMBRANCE, (ANOTHER) POEM FOR ALL SEASONS

When I dream of you, we are in springtime
among high hopes I’ll not forget

When I think of you, it is midsummer,
(that light rainy day we first met)

Your kisses linger on my lips, invoke images  
of autumn leaves so gently falling

When I hear someone speak your name,
I fancy I hear a winter robin calling

To love, like nature, a splendour all its own,
and we, though parted, never alone


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020


Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Thursday 16 July 2020

Apprentice to Nature

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Since the Covid-19 coronavirus struck earlier this year, I have made many references to the fact that – especially as I live alone – writing up the blogs and working on a new collection of poems (albeit more slowly than I would like) has been a (very) welcome distraction and very therapeutic in the sense that it has saved me from getting too depressed and going into freefall. 

Several readers have emailed to say how attending to their gardens has worked for them in much the same way. I guess few activities beat actively participating in the growth of living things, whether it be a plant of a person. Me, I do not access to a garden, but look over one surrounded by trees, so can enjoy watching the birds and other life forces from my kitchen window.

One reader writes, “I live alone and do not have a garden, but I have a small dog and pot plants that help keep me sane. If I had to focus only on myself, I would be in dire straits by now …”

While the pandemic is a nightmare for everyone, dare I say it I so much worse for those people living alone are having to focus on themselves in the absence of much support from family and friends who may well not be able to visit; contact by telephone and/or video sessions help, but can make us feel so much worse once the sessions ends and the harsh reality of being alone attacks our senses with a vengeance. If ever there was a global need for
positive thinking, it is now as some countries like the UK emerge from lockdown while dreading a return of the coronavirus before a vaccine can be found.

My mother loved gardening. She saw herself as foster mother to the plants, flowers and wildlife she took under her wing. "It's much like bringing up a family," she once commented wryly, "they give far more pleasure for pleasure's own sake than by way of any compensating for what's best forgotten..."

Audrey Hepburn is often quoted as having said, 'To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.'

Now, I have always been a Hepburn fan, not least because I, too, discovered years ago that positive thinking will see us through just about any of the negatives life throws our way or puts in our heads; we just have to believe in tomorrow. (Did I say it was easy...?)

Stay strong, folk, and think positive.

This poem is a villanelle.

APPRENTICE TO NATURE

Proudly, much like a lover,
a flowering of its time like no other,
creating an evergreen border

Watching it grow, mature,
as per laissez-faire of Earth Mother;
proudly, much like a lover

Every second, minute, hour,
dreams to share in, store and nurture,
creating an evergreen border

Mixed emotions undercover
yet rising to every occasion (whatever)
proudly, much like a lover

A pupil-apprentice to nature,
the best part of any past-present-future,
creating an evergreen border

Humanity, common gardener,
marking the fruits of selfless endeavour;
proudly, much like a lover,
creating an evergreen border

Roger N. Taber 2016

[Note: If you ever want to contact me - rogertab@aol.com - please put 'Poetry' in the subject field or it will be ignored. All non-spam emails will receive a reply although there may be a short delay as I have various health problems at the moment.]

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Saturday 11 July 2020

A unique Species of Rose

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

[Update: 11/7/2020: I am often criticised for rarely using full stops at the end of stanzas; fair enough, but I see a poem (like life and time) as a continuum; it is meant to give the reader food for thought; for much the same reason, I often hyphenate words to bring them together, such as yesterday-today-tomorrow in the poem below. Hopefully, the reader will continue to consider the implications and relation to the poem’s theme/s long after they have forgotten the poem itself.] RT

In the closing scenes of a classic movie Gone with the Wind - based on a novel of the same name by Margaret Mitchell - its heroine, Scarlett O’Hara, magnificently portrayed by Vivien Leigh, briefly considers confronting some uncomfortable home truths before backing out with the immortal words, “I’ll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

How many of us, I wonder, have told ourselves much the same thing, and for how many of us has that changed much, if anything …?

Me? As guilty as sin … as are most if not all of us.

Meanwhile, while time passes and, for the most part, poor, misunderstood humanity persists in pausing at the brink of self-awareness … if only to excuse this or that course of action (or inaction) should it ever be called to account.  

Time, marking the days that come and go in our lives, may well be much the same for everyone; it is how we choose to nurture those days (or not, as the case may be) that makes them unique for each and every one of us, whoever and wherever. Raison
d'être, too, is unique, to every individual even in shared circumstances like relationships; I dare say the world would be a better, kinder, place if only we were (all) to remember that, more often, especially those among us - in all walks of life - inclined to rush to judgement.

“It’s the time that you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important…" 
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

A UNIQUE SPECIES OF ROSE

Yesterday, I’d traverse deserts,
goaded by false images to kneel and drink
from oases of illusion

Yesterday, I’d climb leafy trees
browse the words of ancient philosophers
in passing clouds

Yesterday, I’d swim in the oceans,
bear witness to creatures choking to death
on human waste

Today, I’ll try to pass on something
of lessons learned by the mind-body-spirit
in poetry and prose

Today, I’ll try stirring cloth ears
all but glued to mobile phones into hearing
global warnings

Today, I’d do an Internet search
for answers to questions ever plaguing me,
but, alas, no wi-fi

Tomorrow, I’ll join other nomads
(still) misled by fake news, kneeling to drink
from oases of delusion

Tomorrow, I’ll ask the few trees left
how Earth Mother might have had us comply
had we but listened …?

Tomorrow, I’ll start thinking of ways
to prevent stereotypes slamming down the lid
of the box they put me in

Yesterday-today-tomorrow, live streams
of consciousness calling on Earth to reconcile
nature and human nature

Yesterday-today-tomorrow, last spotted
sailing under false colours where imagination
having settle for cast-offs

Yesterday-today-tomorrow, making hay
in the sunshine, world clocks winding us up
and down, up and down ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Thursday 9 July 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

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday 8 July 2020

Now-you-see-Me, Now-you-Don't

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

I once asked a friend who died a few years ago how she managed to stay so positive even while she was suffering from cancer. Her response was inspiring and I would like to share it with you all today, especially while we are still in the grip of Covid-19. She said, "I take each day as it comes and hope for the best, the best being not only a stronger, kinder world, but also a stronger, kinder me. Too many of us forget how kindness not only makes us stronger, but spreads as well. I can't save the world, but I can do my damn best to save myself. If I die, well, at least people will remember me for being a positive thinking person, and hopefully some of that will rub off on them too." The coronavirus continues to spread around the world, albeit, hopefully, on the wane despite resurgent spikes; let's hope the sense of mutual suffering shared by a common humanity will spread more kindness in the world too; certain socio-cultural-religious groups that preach love and peace while practising a separatist agenda/ dogma might bear that in mind.

In any situation that poses a particular problem for us, there is likely to be a bigger picture than that we zoom in on with an inner eye whose view will be biased from the start. In my experience, the only way to extend our inner vision to accommodate other points of view is to to discuss it with the friend least likely to agree with you for the sake of it and unafraid of causing offence by playing devil's advocate. Some people, of course, take offence at any point of view expressed that doesn't tally with their own. (Religious orders spring to mind.) 

Friends know us better than strangers, are familiar with most if not all he parts that make what is invariably a complex whole; for this reason, a friend would always be my first port of call although I would never rule out seeking the objective opinion of a counsellor. 

It has been my experience that counsellors give 'advice' they expect you to take. Me, I never give advice, but will always offer an opinion if asked or when a friend chooses to discuss a situation with me that I feel he or she is handling badly. I can honestly say that I never take offence when people disagree with me; that goes for my poetry too, just as well as some friends always find fault with what I have to say in a poem. wry bardic chuckle

At the end of the day, of course, it is up to the person or persons immediately involved in any difficult situation to make their own choice as to how they can best resolve it. All parties need to bear in mind, too, the old truism that you can please some of the people some of the time, but not all the people all the time; those who offer well-meaning advice, only to take offence if it is not taken, would do well to remember that.  

We need to remember, too, how easily the written and spoken word alone can be misunderstood in the absence of body language. A former 'friend' once took offence at a message left on her answering machine where none was intended; instead of confronting me with it, and resolving the situation there and then, she chose to send a nasty letter and continued to harbour a grudge thereafter. I tried to make amends, but underestimated the extent of the latter so was wasting my time from the outset. Such are the complexities of human nature, including some friendships. Needless to say, I do not miss that particular 'friend' in the least.  wry bardic grin

This poem is a kenning.

NOW-YOU-SEE-ME, NOW-YOU-DON'T 

We are many parts
comprising a complex whole,
something of a riddle
to the less discerning person
preferring to home in
on sound, intonation, inflexion
of voice, whether theirs
or not, to having any bigger
picture in sight

Working well together,
as parts of a complex whole,
trying to compensate
when one fails to properly
connect, hopefully
learning its lesson where failing
to acknowledge
its place in the bigger picture
that’s human nature

Ever up against it,
all parts of a complex whole,
no ‘live’ sculpture
as Galatea to her Pygmalian
who thought he knew
everything about his creation,
yet could not see it
for a human spirit's bonding
with its human heart

I am human potential, ever present,
yet now you see me, now you don't

Copyright R. N. Taber 
(2016)





Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Tuesday 30 June 2020

An Autobiography of the Human Race

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

We are all past-present-future in the flesh. We inherit certain genes and much of our approach to life is taken from historical figures who have made a deep impression on just as we, in how we live our lives, make an impression on others for better or worse; family, friends, casual acquaintances, even complete strangers. It only takes one moment in time when something we say or do strikes a chord in someone’s life that will play out forever.

We won’t all make the national archives, of course, but there is another, more extensive to the point of being inexhaustible archive that is the human mind-body-spirit, that key player in human nature that should never be underestimated; whoever and wherever we are, whatever our socio-cultural-religious background, gender or sexual persuasions, it is the backbone of a common humanity that has seen the human race also rise above all history has thrown at it, just as it will continue to do, even as the C-19 coronavirus continues to impact on us all.

This poem is a kenning.

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE HUMAN RACE

I walk with ghosts, night and day,
a presence as real to me as my own reflection
greeted in mirrors, shop windows,
still waters in dream-places keeping memories
and sometime companions alive,
urging mind-body-spirit like voices in the ear
egging urging me on, regardless
of any obstruction fallen or placed in my way
whether by accident or design

I talk with ghosts, night and day,
and they listen without interruption, just a nod
or shake of the head occasionally,
sufficient to persuade or dissuade any thoughts
to action or inaction gathering pace
demanding I look again or press on, regardless
where inspiration has landed a hit,
missed its mark altogether, deserves discussion
or better left to gather dust

I bare all to ghosts, night and day,
far more even than to those who know me best
if only because I dare not share
any part of me that takes its cue from the dead
for fear of being misunderstood
or (worse) denied a voice, left with less of a life
to speak of than even a ghost,
reduced to a skeleton in someone’s cupboard,
exhibit for some eager archivist

I am that past-present-future making of humanity
what it will, and am called History

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

[Note: This post/ poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today.]








Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Monday 29 June 2020

R-O-O-T-S, Species of Moss Uncovered OR History, Cause and Effect

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2012.

Many of us are fascinated by our family history, and have been very frustrated by the closure of research libraries and archives due to the Covid-19 coronavirus pandemic.

Our predecessors carry the secrets of our genes which, in turn, help to shape who we are and what we make of our lives; a posthumous consciousness to which I often refer in my poems. Hopefully, more will be opening up as C-16 restrictions are gradually lifted ... so long as a second wave doesn't hit sooner rather than later.

Fingers (and toes) crossed; crossed, too for the re-opening of public libraries, of course.

But, oh, to be on the family history trail...!

This poem is a villanelle.

R-O-O-T-S, SPECIES OF MOSS UNCOVERED or HISTORY, CAUSE AND EFFECT

Challenging history,
moss on graveyard stone defies
what we call, identity

Traits of a personality
but a strategy ancestors devise,
challenging history

Shades of mystery
conspiring to spring surprise;
what we call, identity

A cliff-hanging story
of hope and glory, love and lies
challenging history

An affinity with mortality
drawn from family archives;
what we call, identity

A feeling for eternity,
whatever its ends may comprise;
challenging history,
what we call, identity


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

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sunday 28 June 2020

Ghost Riders in the Sky

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

As a child, I would love creating stories in my head from cloud ‘figures’. People would laugh and tell me I’d grow out of this fantasising. Well, some people still laugh, but I’m glad I still feel inspired by clouds years on. (I will be 75 later this year.)

They taught me a lot, those clouds; for a start, how to create and enjoy fictions without confusing them with facts although ... well, there was a time in my life when it was a close call.

It is thanks to my childhood fascination with cloud shapes that I became interested in reading, writing and... yes, people. I have written many poems and a few novels, but cannot be described as a 'successful' writer in the sense that it has neither made me rich or famous. Yet, who cares? Nor me, that's for sure. Writing (even more than observing cloud shapes) has taught me much about myself and human nature; more importantly, I have enjoyed every moment, and - as is often the way with any form of creative therapy - it has also helped to keep my old enemy Depression at bay for years.

Clouds have played no small part in making me the person I am today, and hopefully i may even pass some of this on by way of a posthumous consciousness in time and space, to be touched upon by any who may care to remember words I have spoken or written long after this life has had its way with me. For sure, there have been people in my life, long dead, who have remained a 'live' influence on and within my own consciousness, in a very positive way, and always will.  

GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY

I’ve seen ghost riders
chasing sandmen into storm clouds,
and leaves fly

I’ve seen ghost riders
throw a sandman into a dark place,
and trees cry

I’ve seen ghost riders
pluck such as I from fragile shelters,
and no one care

I've seen ghost riders
playing cat and mouse with humanity
(winner takes all)

Ghost riders, goading 
others like me into this sorry world’s
worst nightmares

I’ve let ghost riders
drag me from my armchair, re-awaken
my consciousness

I’ve let ghost riders
rescue me from assault by prime time
TV advertising

I’ve let ghost riders
force me to face my more fragile selves
head-on

I've let ghost riders
leave me trailing behind, and found a way
back to real time

One by one, ghost riders
but a dust cloud, no trace even of a history
(except in me)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Thursday 25 June 2020

Sea and Sand OR Rediscovering the Art of Positive Thinking

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

Todays poem first appeared on the blog in 2015. Now seemed as good a time as any to repeat it as there can rarely have been a time in the lives of many of us when positive thinking was harder or more essential as in seeing us through the Covid-19 coronavirus pandemic.


Sometimes, we do our best, and yet it never seems to be enough for some people while others simply take our efforts for granted.


Yes, it hurts when all we seek is a little encouragement, and all we seem to have to show for it is grains of sand.


It is so often the case that people do not mean to cause hurt, yet fail to see their comments as a parody of their finer feelings towards us.


We all need to think before we speak sometimes, learn to acknowledge and trust our better instincts, formulate our ideas with care instead of (all too often) falling prey to so-called 'public opinion'.

Easier said than done, though, this refusing to either rush to judgement on others or let ourselves fall victim to those rushing to judgement on us.

Whatever, praise is no endgame in itself but a by-product of succeeding - as far as anyone can - in finding and being true to ourselves as opposed to more or less repeating what others may have said and done, however much we may admire them for it; being inspired by someone enough to follow  in their footsteps, on the other hand, is something else altogether. 

I suspect Nietzsche makes a valid point when he says: “So long as men praise you, you can only be sure that you are not yet on your own true path but on someone else's.”  ― Friedrich Nietzsche

SEA AND SAND, INSPIRATION or REDISCOVERING THE ART OF POSITIVE THINKING

Alone on a beach

among restless white ponies

panting heavily,

rearing at me for they know

a storm is coming,

although not yet a while;

time yet to let me see

the Old Man smile as I drop stars

through tearful fingers

relentlessly measuring out

the rest of my life


Air hot and stale

like the stillness of a coffin,

funeral prayers

long since dead and gone,

tossed to playful waves

as we’d throw a much-loved dog

a bone and watch it run,

tail wagging, anxiously homing in

on its reward

for whatever, only ever needing

to deserve praise


No bones here,

only flailing limbs of ghosts

in dark water

striving for landfall, but sure

of nothing,

like flotsam and jetsam taking turns

to see which will

fall into loving hands anxious

to shape an art form

if for no other reason than leaving

its mark... 


What to do?

Needs must…choose well

or wait for a stampede

to render me less than hoof prints

in the sand,

all human potential left

to natural erosion

unknowingly hastened by fishers

of men rushing to judgement

if for no other reason than needing

to deserve attention


Nothing for me here,

but rage and pain in a pool of stars

at my feet,

urging me to leap a feisty pony,

let it take me where it will,

escape not only storm but wreckage

as sure to follow as day

follows night and tides of humanity,

the course its nature sets us

if for no other reason than failing

to find peace...


Yet, treasures to be had,

sparkling views of sea, sky and sand

filing the inner eye

with memories of (far) kinder times

filled with faith in dreams

nurturing mind, body and spirit

no matter where the spotlight

on everyday lives may choose to fall,

urging that we follow the course

nature sets us if for no other reason

than deserving each other



Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2020


contemporaneity, gender, human, identity, imagination, life, love, mind-body-spirit, nature, personal, poetry, positive, relationships, self-awareness, self-confidence, society, space, spirit, thinking

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,