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 January 2020

The Stalker

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

[Update March 16th 2020]: By now, the COVID-19 has become a pandemic; older people and those with underlying health problems already are most at risk from this particular form of coronavirus. So let's all do our best - wherever we are in the world, whatever our socio-cultural-religious background - to put any differences aside, be good friends and neighbours, watch out for each other over the next few months. Rarely has human nature been challenged to play a more positive role in enabling mind-body-spirit to pull together and prove itself integral to a common humanity. Well, fingers crossed.] RT

Some people are made to feel - knowingly or unknowingly - that they never quite 'fit in' ... with family, peers, schoolmates, workmates...whatever; when life deals us a particularly crushing blow -at any time, anywhere, and at any age - we look for someone to turn to, and there is no one.

Whatever the crushing blow, it can defeat a person altogether when it seems there is no one to whom they can turn; it is the worst feeling in the world. There is always someone, of course, and some people train as counsellors just to try to bridge such gaping holes in a lonely person's life; the loneliness all the harder to bear because they thought they were part of a social network that would always provide a safety net; to discover it was all an illusion, and believing no one really gives a damn, is had nut for the person at the centre of it all to crack.

The human spirit, though, is a tough cookie, and there is always an alternative to despair, but we need to feel sufficiently motivated to seek it out, and act on what we find, no matter how great the temptation to turn tail and tun for fear of finding ourselves in much the same situation again. There are good people out there, among family, peers, schoolmates, workmates...whatever; they are not mind readers; confronting home truths may be half the battle, but it is not until we learn to share them that we stand a fighting chance of winning through.

Whatever may have encouraged us to feel comfortably deluded about our life before it took us into crisis mode, we need to at least reassess if not put aside altogether and start over; nor is it ever too late for that, whoever and wherever we may be.  Our world, as we thought we knew it, may have fallen apart, failed to live up to its own propaganda, doctrine, or whatever else fake news or hidden agendas we may have stumbled blindly upon...but it can be replaced with something better so long as we learn to trust good people to help us make better choices,  and start believing in ourselves again, and understanding that we are not alone since most if not all of us spend the greater part of our lives on a learning curve.

There is no shame in asking for help. Moreover, there are people out there willing to let live, let learn, and let us in on the process. How to find them? Incredible as it may seem, sometimes all we need to do is follow our noses and trust out better instincts. How do I know? Because it worked for me years ago...and continues to do so. Yes, I get lonely sometimes, but having experienced the worst loneliness can do, I am enough of a 'people person' in my 70's to see it as a relatively minor blip in the way of things, not an end in itself.

THE STALKER


I may well creep up on you,
unaware of me till all but too late,
and then let battle
commence, or not as the case
may well be.
if he or she not of a mind
(for whatever reason)
to confront a common human need,
and go into restart mode

I peer over your shoulder
at all you do for seeing it as bravery
to evade the enemy
although there’s no avoiding me
(as you know full well)
but you are fast losing sight
of calendar days
in a world dead set on getting its kicks
by playing nasty tricks

Oh, my mistake, no easy prey,
(even a mind-body-spirit in free fall)
forgetful of a humanity
looking out for its own; family,
friends, neighbours,
passers-by in the street concerned
for the frightened air  
of one become sensitive to my stalking,
if no less fearful of escaping

Call me Loneliness, that customised hell
its human heart knows only too well


Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020


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Wednesday 11 December 2019

Love, an Agenda all its Own


This poem is from my gay-interest poetry blog for April 2016.

We cannot help with whom we fall in love, but our love is not always reciprocated in the same way. Loving someone who sees us as a close friend, no more or less, can be hard sometimes. Even so, - whether we are gay or straight, male or female - friendship is a wonderful thing, and if worth having, always worth saving…whatever it takes.

No one gender or sexual orientation has a monopoly on love; it really does have an agenda all its own, and who are we to argue with that?

Any commitment to loving each other is down to those immediately concerned, no one else, whatever our socio-cultural-religious (or sexual) preferences. I put it to you that more of us should respect and at least try to support those choices instead of criticising (or worse) simply because we do not agree with them.

LOVE, AN AGENDA ALL ITS OWN

There’s a poem I’ve often tried to write
about the way his hair blows in a breeze
and his face almost vanishes from sight
but for a wicked laughter in the eyes

There’s a poem I’ve often tried to write
about the way his voice eases my pain
like a balm to sores, moon to wintry night,
sunshine filtering through a summer rain

There’s a poem I’ve often tried to write
about the way his hugs near break my heart
and how, as his arms are holding me tight,
it aches for knowing we must quickly part

There’s a friend for whom I often begin 
poems I know he’ll wish I’d not written…


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that appears under the title 'Genesis' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

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Friday 31 March 2017

A Life in the Day of a Couch Potato


A reader, Helen, has kindly written in to say she and her family enjoy my poetry and she thinks my blogs I deserve more followers. Well, thanks a lot, Helen, encouragement is always welcome. Poetry, though, is not everyone’s cup of tea and I am just happy that the blogs are still going strong after six years via my Google Plus site that links to new and historical posts/poems. I have set the statistics so Google does not count my own views; this gives me a clearer picture of readership. 

Now, today’s little poem was written way back in 1979. Sadly, it strikes me as being even more relevant now than it was then. A neighbour had been complaining to me about retirement, saying how he missed ‘the buzz of real life’ because all there was for the likes of retired people was a second hand existence by courtesy of television and cinema. I suggested keeping up with friends, getting out and about and doing things, going places…pleasures for which we often have little or no time when working full-time and/or bringing up a family…? (Mind you, we need to make time.) He simply shrugged and went indoors to watch an afternoon soap opera.

No, I’m not knocking TV, or the fact that we live in a Digital Age, but now I am retired myself, I enjoy keeping up with friends, getting out and about and doing things, going places…the simple pleasures for which it was often hard making time for when working.

Following a bad fall in summer 2014, I was housebound for months and spent a good year or so learning to walk again. I live alone so TV was a great comfort and companionship (of sorts) in between writing up the blogs, three sessions of (ten) physiotherapy exercises a day and chatting to friends who were kind enough to drop by and help out on a regular basis all the while I could barely walk. I missed getting out and about and do so now as much as I can; even though walking is still quite painful, I have a sturdy oak walking stick, and it is always worth making the effort.

So when I talk to young people rushing home to spend hours on social media, I can’t help feeling they are missing out…

No, I am not knocking on-line social networking, but there can be no substitute for real-life, face to face companionship and banter among friends, not to mention getting out and about in the sunshine…can there? Now I am older (71) and less mobile, it is harder to get out and about and meet people, but (still) always worth making the effort.

Social media. the world wide web, TV...all have a place in our lives, of course they do, but no one's real life balance should be tipped in their favour...surely?

Yes, cyber fun can be good fun, but there's no fun quite like sharing fun in the real-life company of friends, forming and developing interpersonal skills that can teach us as much about ourselves as other people, and will see us though the best part of a lifetime. Oh, and it really isn't a case of you can't teach an old dog new (digital) tricks; this old dog knows a few, and all the better for having learned a good few of the non-digital variety...

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF A COUCH POTATO

Little birds singing on the garden wall

I’ll not write you up;
you’re, too sentimental
for the Age, they say

As one to another you brightly call

I’ll shut the window;
a new soap opera's about
to start on TV  

Bright sunlight distorting everything

Screen-lined faces
like grotesque cartoons
in a Hall of Mirrors

Let's close the curtains, better already

Comfortable now...
with armchair perspectives
on the world

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been revised since it first appeared under the title 'To a Sunny Day' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

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Saturday 12 February 2011

Hitting Home OR Dead to Rights

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

Our emotions may not always play fair, but cannot and should not be tolerated once they it starts cutting up rough. Love is no excuse, and has no place in domestic violence.

Indeed, there is no excuse for domestic violence in any shape or form, physical or psychological, and no matter who the perpetrator ;nor is there any shame in facing up to a situation and asking for help.

Victims need to confide in a close relative or friend. Perpetrators need to seek professional advice.

Whatever, no one should suffer in silence out of fear or a sense of misguided loyalty, even love. Get support (various sources available on the Internet) and summon the willpower to walk away from it. Let the abusive partner stew in his or her own juice. Forget the dream and face up to reality.

The only answer to domestic violence and physical/psychological bullying is zero tolerance. My father was a psychological bully, less so than many, I dare say, but it's not always a matter of degree; what matters are scars left on the victim, no less unsightly for being invisible to the naked eye.

Sadly, few family members can bring themselves to discuss such issues, even between themselves, thereby risking any damage being done spilling over into a tragedy worthy of media headlines.

Whatever, people need to speak out before the local coroner gets in on the act.

HITTING HOME or DEAD TO RIGHTS

Flung open the door, smile on the face;
fist at the jaw, fallen to the floor, waiting
for more...

Eyes closed, mind shut tight to it all,
homing in on a single happy time, before
things fell apart

Breaking heart in pieces on the mat,
angry tongue making the lips bleed if only
for a bad day at work

Blows lessen, cease, but not the terror;
left sick with humiliation for this wannabe
love relationship

You go upstairs, slam the bedroom door,
down later for supper, expecting to make up
for temper tantrums

Tomorrow, a rose and any tear but yours
on these so-bruised cheeks, after forgiveness,
compassion or passion?

When I pray, even God asks why I stay,
and if I confess no idea, a dear familiar voice
calls me a liar

Wherever I once found it in me to love you,
I must find much the same to leave you, or be
like your rose...

Left dying, in a smashed vase

Copyright R. N. Taber ,2003; rev.2011


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

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