Lakeside

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“A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.” – William Wordsworth

“Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.” – Wallace Stevens

“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” – Loren Eisley

While recovering from a nervous breakdown some 40+ years ago, I returned to my home county, Kent, often referred to as the Garden of England. I returned to a lake that my mother had taken me to visit many years ago; it helped (a lot) to renew a sense of positive perspective in me.

I guess, going back can help us move forwards, although not a good idea to stay too long and get bogged down in wishful thinking...!

LAKESIDE

One day, I went for a walk
in a local park not far from home,
a light breeze in my hair…
paused by a lake to watch fishes
glide by, glanced down
and experienced a stab of surprise,
failing at first to recognize
a face looking back at me as my own
for looking old, tired and worn

I’d always thought of myself
as one among the young at heart;
no traces of that here,
gazing back at me, all but accusingly,
catching me out in denial
of a Here-and-Now closing in on me
that I cared not to acknowledge
for fear of having to yield to and admit
a sense of loneliness and defeat

Mind-body-spirit then chose
to take me along paths old and new,
past sunny milestones
as well as weepy tombstones,
among sounds of laughter and tears
that have had me ride
such winds, earth and seas across
prose and poetry as have also shown me
a happy, sad ’n’ bad humanity

A face in the lake tossed me a wry smile,
made its peace with heart-and-soul

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Hello again, folks, from London UK

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

“We must accept finite disappointment, but we mast never lose infinite hope.” – Martin Luther King

“Always remember that you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.” – A. A. Milne

“If you are pining for youth I think it produces a stereotypical old man because you only live in memory, you live in a place that doesn’t exist. Aging is an extraordinary process where you become the person you always should have been.” David Bowie

Hello again, folks, from London UK

No poem today, sorry. I am working hard on the final part of my poetry trilogy, but the heat is getting me down and there is still more of it in my mind than on paper. As regular readers know, years of hormone therapy (only) for my prostate cancer have really messed with my thought processes. Even so, we golden oldie poets are stronger and more determined than we look, so I press on. I am taking a break from Misnomer (3) while we are having to endure a heatwave here in the UK, but hope to finish and post it sometime next week.

The heat makes me feel dead beat. but writing poetry and doing word puzzles help even a gay poet to think straight. 😁  

Reader G J has emailed to complain that “You are very selective with your quotes, always choosing those that support your own views. Besides, some of the people you quote are obscure and unheard of…!” He or she also asks, “Do you realise that you often repeat the same quotes on other posts?” 

Yes, I am selective about the quotes I choose to post, not to support my own views, but (a) to provide the reader with an entry to the poem and (b) to avoid giving the impression that I am simply imposing my own views. As for obscurity, there is an entry for everyone I quote on Wikipedia if anyone cares to look, as I hope they will; yes, the authors may be obscure to some readers, but are well worth looking into, but this is a poetry blog and there simply isn’t room for me to expand.

As for repetition. I learned at an early age that if something is worth saying, it is invariably worth repeating; that’s how memorable quotes become… well, memorable. 😉

I hope some of you will find time to explore the blog archives now and then, although I suspect a heatwave is probably not the best encouragement...

In the course of global warming, I imagine many if not most of us will be having to deal with unseasonal heat and its consequences in the foreseeable future. I can but wish you all to keep well, stay safe and continue (as I do, albeit a struggle sometimes) to nurture a positive thinking mindset, whatever… No, never easy, but there is a lot to be said for the old saying ‘Hope springs eternal’… especially when the going gets tough.

In my experience, too, the spirit of kindness never fails to make itself felt and give hope a timely and very welcome boost

Take care, stay safe and keep well,

Hugs,

Roger

Hi, folks, from London UK

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

The great thing about growing old is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been." - Madeleine L'Engle

"Age is a question of mind over matter; if you don't mind, it doesn't matter." - Mark Twain

Hi, folks,

Yes, I am working on a new poem, but had such a BAD day yesterday, that I hadn't the emotional energy (let alone inspiration!) to even take comfort in a poem; a day that left me in tears for a growing frustration with losing the proverbial plot from time to time. Yesterday left me feeling emotionally drained for generally losing the kind of plot that appears to thicken - for some if not many of us - as years pass and we grow old...😉

The author of the plot?  My onetime friend, now long-time mischief maker, new technology. While I just about cope with internet banking, I am invariably at a loss when it sides against me and, try as I may, I cannot get it to follow my reasoning and do as I ask! Yesterday my secure key would not work. 

Eventually, I staved off panic by solving several word puzzles - invariably guaranteed to calm me down and help me rise above just about any crisis - and made my way to my bank; its local branch having closed down some time ago, I needed to travel. I don't drive, so chose to use London Underground as I am still wary of (always) crowded buses and having to sit next to someone who is not wearing a face mask.

At the bank, I was given a new secure key in a folder and told to visit the web page indicated in the folder.  I returned home, confident that all would soon be well. Alas, the web page simply took me to my usual page for internet banking, which I could not access because... yes, my secure key would not work!

I returned to the bank, approached a different person who gave me alternative information which, I could not quite follow; my fault, due to muddled thought processes, probably as much down to getting old as years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer. Having barely left the bank, I now returned to try and get help from someone who could show me what to do on a pc. Although it meant a long wait, it was well worth it, as the young man who finally saved my day proved to be very patient as well as well and truly on the new technology ball... 😄

Once home, I failed yet again to log on to my internet banking account. Yet again, I returned to the bank where the same young man took me through the process of activating my new secure key, a process I hadn't quite understood but managed to follow due to his patience and demonstration on a pc. (I had almost got it right at home, but pressed a wrong button.!)

Home again, I solved two word puzzles to calm myself and distract me from the dread of yet another failure to access my internet banking account....

Once more unto the breach, dear readers once more, and... Eureka, success! I needed to transfer funds to another account, and was able to do so without a hitch.😁

I suspect I am not the only person struggling with IT these days, which is why I am sharing this sorry tale... for its happy ending, not my own failings. I was embarrassed, it's true, but the need to achieve my goal got the better of that, with more than a little help from the young man at the bank who, on a scale of one to ten, deserves ten out of ten for his patience with this ole codger. I could not thank him enough, for restoring peace to my personal space as much as access to my internet banking account... 

Another poem, tomorrow, folks, so hope you will join me again then.

Take care, stay safe and be sure to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at you. Never easy, but...we have choice? wry bardic grin

Hugs,

Roger

Face-Saver

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

Few of us can say in all honesty that we have no regrets, and have made no mistakes. Even so, there is no point in crying over spilt milk. (As good a philosophy as any, I say.) Besides, sometimes we need to make mistakes in order to discover our true path in life; we can but try and learn from them and move on. Life is a learning curve, after all.

When I look back at my worse mistakes I can also see how some good has come from having made them. Whatever, if you want to do something badly enough, I wholeheartedly agree with giving it a go; if it turns out to be a mistake, better regret having tried and failed than wonder how things might have turned out. [Story of my life…] Besides, all poetry needs must expose at least glimpses of life's negatives if only to encourage its positives to shine through. 

I am often asked by heterosexual readers if I regret including gay-interest poems in my collections and if it has damaged my reputation as a poet in the wider arena. The answer is ‘no’ to the first question. As for the second…yes, it has probably adversely affected my reputation as a poet in the wider arena (and why the arts media practically ignore me) but…no, I have no regrets.

While I can't expect to please everyone with every poem I write (nor do I exclude myself) but have received some lovely emails from readers all over the world who enjoy reading them. What poet can ask for more?  Although I do not allow comments - too many idiots spoiling posts for genuine readers, and I leave social media well alone for the same reason - do feel free to email me any time on any subject. I will always reply as soon as I can. If you don’t like my poetry, but still want to exchange points of view, no problem.

Contact rogertab@aol.com; with ‘Blogs’ or ‘Poems’ in the subject field.

FACE-SAVER

I move without favour or prejudice

among men, women, children;

to whomsoever calls me out, I will

always answer, no one denied

the music I'll bring, blues I'll sing;

rich, poor, famous, infamous, saints

and sinners…all welcome to tap

into a wisdom some like to call Fate,

lessons learned too late

I touch without favour or prejudice

the loose thread missing a button,

that odd sock, empty vase in rooms

yawning with boredom for what’s

on TV, and must have heard that CD

a thousand times (surely?) though

any sound has to be better than none,

answerable (finally) to a plaintive purr

beside a lap tray set for one

I bury without favour or prejudice

forgotten dreams, misspent ideals,

all wishful thinking on falling stars

meant to compensate humanity

for its brooding on old letters, photos,

poems, home videos…all as dead

as the cat whose purr the ear recalls

where the inner eye revisits every day

at a lonely table set for one

First among equals among the human race

is selective memory, a face-saving grace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

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

Listening in, Anyone?

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

While many of my poems are concerned with LGBT issues, others could easily have been posted on my general poetry blog. Oh, and why not? As I make the point time and again, there is more to all of us - LGBT or straight - than our sexuality. Just as a person is a person is a person so, too, a poem is a poem is a poem, to take as we find, no rush to judgement or totally misleading stereotypes affecting how we receive either person or poem. (Yes, well, hope springs eternal...)

Given the title of the poem, I should perhaps emphasise - as a significantly if only partially deaf person - that everyone has an 'inner' ear responding to our sensibilities and imagination rather than sounds.

I have been so pleased by the number of readers dipping into both blogs since I have been posting from the archives of one to the other recently.

Expect the occasional new poem/s in 2020, while some of you may like to explore the archives for either or both poetry blogs; these are listed and can be accessed on the right of any blog entry. Oh, and if you ever feel like sending the link to anyone you know who enjoys poetry, be my guest, and many thanks.

Compiling revised editions of my poetry collections will take time, but I will let you know as I complete each one and publish it online.

Happy New Year everyone, and many thanks for your support over the last 10 years.

LISTENING IN , ANYONE?

Another day, another year
as hope springs eternal, catching every tear
that falls, echoing every cry
from the heart for us to treat each other
better than either history
or contemporaneity attempts to remind anyone
who’s listening in

Another day, another year
of an everyday striving to at least appear
at one with a world
tearing us apart with its relentless aggression
against those unable to fit
into our preferred window on life, love, equality
in this or that society

Another day, another year,
pulling mind-body-spirit together, the better
to take each rise and fall
as it comes, keep looking on the bright side
of life, no matter how
we read graffiti on our walls, the good-bad-ugly
sides of human history

Another day, another year,
resolutions made in good faith upon the strokes
of midnight, ear bashing
those with the best of intentions among us
on our way to the bar,
a licence to kill time before it gets to exposing us
for wishful thinkers

Another day, another year,
and more of life's epic poetry writing up humanity,
(warts ‘n’ all, no one spared)
spelling out expectations for future generations,
assuming it’s not too late
to wipe Graffiti Earth clean, rework personal space,
let us breathe again


Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019

[Note: This poem appears on both poetry blogs.]

You-Me-Us, a Garden for all Seasons

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

A new poem today, relevant to everyone, regardless of ethnicity, sexuality, religion...or whatever; for this reason it will appear on both blogs. (I am encouraged, by the way, that some readers who use a shared computer have, in turn, recently felt encouraged to dip occasionally into both blogs after years years of being wary of others rushing to any misleading judgement of them for their reading one or the other.)

Now, the singular beauty of memory is that we can not only revisit kinder times when life is treating us badly, but also revisit the same positive feelings feelings that inspired us then and call for a repeat performance; such is the lasting power of inspiration, neither subject to time nor place, but a 'live' memory upon which we are free to draw upon for inner strength at such times as we need it most. Oh, and we can all be sure of those if  (hopefully) only now and then, no matter who or where we are in the world.

YOU-ME-US, A GARDEN FOR ALL SEASONS

It could have been just another walk

in the garden, only it meant more than that

to both of us as we would never walk

this way again, among flowers all colours

and trees whose branches might well

have been greeting or waving us goodbye,

sunlight glancing off smiley leaves like tears of joy

for being alive and well

Clouds across the sun attempt in vain

to send our spirits into free fall just yet awhile,

the sunshine of your smile inviting me

to fly with you across a world struggling

(but succeeding, if barely) to combat

its fears of homegrown bigotry and hate

fed a mind-body-spirit taught but to trust our “betters”

to know what’s best for us

A light rain, as if the heavens weeping

at this, our parting from a garden more beautiful

than any Eden could be, Earth Mother

embracing us, any tears but for the passing

of a Here-and-Now into an Unknown,

where contemporaneity as fickle as the wind,

now friend, now enemy, no sooner dragging us down

than lending a helping hand

Hugging, kissing, our parting less in sorrow

for treasuring and archiving the moment

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

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

Nature's Way

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

I started school in 1950 and never did well academically. Yet, as if not more importantly, I learned a lot from a hard hit generation of post-war teachers. Upon his retirement, I asked one (as children do) if being old was scary ‘what with death and all that’. He shrugged and gave it little thought before replying, ‘You reap what you sow in life, Taber. Sow well, and enjoy doing it, whatever and wherever it may be. Enjoy might not always be the first word that comes to mind, but satisfaction is much the same thing. Whatever, the chances are you’ll find Death isn’t such a grim reaper after all.’

That was more than half a century ago. Out of the blue, I found myself  thinking about him and those words of wisdom; both inspired this poem, written to help lift myself out of an inexcusably negative awareness of growing old and the cancer nagging at my prostate.

NATURE'S WAY

Sometimes, hearts lie heavy

on spirits young and fancy free,

in a world, oh, but less kind

than in its past it ever looked to be

in selective archives

No mornings up with the lark,

flying high among patches of blue,

negotiating storm clouds

like a seasoned performer in the art

of positive thinking

Some may suppose little left

but sweet dreams to soften the blow

of time passing ever faster...

heart, mind and body left to babysit

a restless spirit

Ah, but nature has other ideas,

nurturing life forces to the very end

of any span only visible

to the applauding eye, ever mindful

of its seasons

On Earth Mother’s watch, keeper

of all living things, human and other,

no heartless discrimination

along narrow lines of good, bad, ugly, 

or judgement passed

If a sad mind likely to lead us on

into a world of tears at losing its shine,

it’s a sadder spirit still

sees us taken in by the sweet-smelling

poetry of self-pity

Where a body less able to follow

first instincts to leave clear footprints

worth following in, 

let it take its cue from sun-moon-stars

cruising centuries

So I grow old, so what? C’est la vie;

the mind-spirit-body self can but dream

of rewriting its history…

while its spirit makes of us what we will,

no end-game

Though death would shut us out

of the world (however we perceive it)

find rest and peace

in any heart continuing to reach out to us  

for joie de vivre

Copyright R. N. Taber (2017)

Listening Out for a Love Song

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who, indeed  ...?

LISTENING OUT FOR A LOVE SONG

A north wind, penetrating within,

purging the soul, tearing skin

from a body staring ruin in the face,

and no way back to how it was.

(hope but a leaf or flower away)

swept along the wrong track,

hope fading, fear rising of losing

all mind-body-spirit that makes me 

who I am ... 

Blows a cruel wind, tears freezing,

faces turned heavenwards

seeking aid, mercy, grace, forgiveness

for the error of our ways,

judgments cast in stone to boost egos

begging their superiority
over minorities, teeth showing

like the smile on the face of a tiger

selecting priorities

We persevere. Let fear do its worst,

we shall endure, see the sun shine

in our faces again, belie the damage

of acid rain, camouflage our pain

under slick, blank sheets of copy paper

signifying nothing, signing us up

for whatever the world cares

to have us say we feel, no matter

what’s just or real

Listen. Above a howling of wolves,

a love song making itself felt ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2019

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

Harvesting Imagination

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

Today’s poem is especially for ‘Hanna’ who asked if I have another poem about dementia as she looks after her brother who is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s; they both liked Misty Memories that I posted recently.

About 750,000 people here in the UK have dementia, and this number is expected to double in the next thirty years. I have seen the unbearably sad consequences for both sufferers and their carers. The British Government says it is committed to improving the care and experience of people with dementia and their carers by transforming dementia services to achieve better awareness, early diagnosis and high quality treatment at every stage and in every setting, with a greater focus on local delivery of quality outcomes and local accountability for achieving them. Let us hope so.

Some young people may say it does not affect them, but I know of at least two school children helping to look after a parent who has Alzheimer’s. Besides, we all have to grow old, and who knows…?

I once knew someone with Alzheimer’s who had been an English teacher and always loved poetry. Now and then in the later stages of the disease, she would come out with a very apt line or even a whole verse from a poem she’d once been able to recite by heart. So great an impression had some poems and events made on her that even the darker mists of memory failed to engulf them completely.

This poem is a villanelle, was inspired by people like my late friend and also the author Sir Terry Pratchett; indeed, all families/carers, some whom I have known personally, that have experienced or are experiencing the truly heartbreaking task of watching their loved ones' mental faculties slowly winding down. 

HARVESTING IMAGINATION

Wheels of the mind winding down;
though time play fast and loose with us,
we’ll reap a harvest of imagination

A smile but lost its way in a frown
seeks sanctuary in Cinderella memories,
wheels of the mind winding down

Though dignity wear a faded gown
as it stumbles through a Hall of Mirrors,
we’ll reap a harvest of imagination

A heart that wears love’s crown
keeps beauty in the folds of its favours,
wheels of the mind winding down

Love’s spirit unbowed, unbeaten,
turning the pages of life’s kinder stories,
we’ll reap a harvest of imagination

Among spoils of battles lost and won,
pathways to peace for all benign ghosts;
wheels of the mind winding down,
we’ll reap a harvest of imagination


Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This poem first appeared in Ygdrasil, an online poetry journal, June 2010, and subsequently in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2010]

The Snowflake

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

A BIG thank you also goes to those of you who have expressed pleasure at the videos my friend Graham and I have uploaded to YouTube; we probably would not have continued without so much encouragement. Oh, the hits are relatively small compared to videos uploaded by others, but, yet again, surprising for poetry videos. I only hope you have enjoyed the poems as much as Graham’s photography: We only have time to publish a few each year but be sure there are more in the pipeline.
http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

To those of you who are enjoying the fiction blog , I hope you will continue to enjoy the story lines I plan to serialise during the years ahead; there will be a mixture of gay-interest and general titles since, as with poetry, I don’t see them as separate genres within a genre. [It is always particularly rewarding when heterosexual readers get in touch to say they have enjoyed a gay-interest story like Dog Roses or a poem like Three Little Words]:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

Meanwhile ...

Truly, a thing of beauty is a joy forever. Now, ever looked closely at a snowflake? It is beautiful, only for a moment in time, yet saved to our personal space forever ...

[Image from the Internet]

Here's wishing you all, dear readers, a greater share of happiness, peace and love... whoever and wherever you are, and whatever the season of your life.

THE SNOWFLAKE

I spotted a snowflake on a leaf,

watched it settle for seconds there,

and in those precious seconds saw the face

of my love appear

Eyes that glittered like the snow

smiled back at me as you used to do,

and in that smile I relived the happy times

we’ve  shared, sad times too

By the light of a solstice moon,

snowflake and leaf began to dance,

and their togetherness recalled how we met,

not quite by chance

Lips as red as a robin’s breast

kissed mine, like a breath of spring

gently insisting that you to me and me to you

are its life, love, everything

You were my snowflake on a leaf

seconds before a feisty white flurry

interrupted our waltz, Earth Mother insisting

we home in on eternity

I spotted a snowflake on a leaf,

watched it settle for seconds there,

and in those precious seconds saw the face

of my Christmas appear

[London; December 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011