Keeping-Up-Appearances

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

Not so long ago, I spent an evening with a couple about my own age (68) who are so obsessed with looks that they have resorted to cosmetic surgery on more than one occasion. Ironically, the results are none too flattering. Besides, its's personality that counts more than looks, and don't let anyone tell you different. 

Respect comes into it to, doesn't it? Personally, I have more respect for the person who lets nature take its course and stays young in at heart than for the man or woman who prefers to kid themselves they have discovered the secret of eternal youth. The body may be a slave to time, but that doesn't have to be true of the spirit. The mind may well be vulnerable, but a strong dose of positive thinking and avoiding daytime TV has to be a good start. Couch potatoes do not age well in my experience.

Now, I ask you. Gay or straight, let;s stay young at heart by all means, but what’s wrong with growing old naturally?

Surely, it's enough that so many celebrities love to make fools of themselves by trying to turn back nature's clock without we ordinary men and women playing the same silly game?

On my opinion, cosmetic surgery is only ever justifiable in cases when people may have some kind of visible disfigurement that causes them distress. [It would probably cause them less distress if other people were less obsessed with outward appearances and more concerned with the person behind them.]

This poem is a kenning.

KEEPING UP APPEARANCES

I’ll make a hunchback of you,

both feet arguing with waistline,

whitened teeth making tongue

abort any truer word in the offing

as if you have no real affinity

with the fix you’re in, only dimly

aware of any discomfort, unable

(or unwilling) to follow it through,

and carrying on regardless

I’ll make a fine fool of you,

object of scorn (though tempered

with compassion among family,

friends who may well stay silent,

fearing you confuse concern

with interference, pity, jealousy,

for preferring home truths

stay backward in coming forward

in case anyone notices

I’ll make a poor loser of you,

unless you choose to take me on;

recognize the enemy within

for what I am or else go as a lamb

to slaughter at the altar of vanity,

always seeking shelter from life’s

worst storms in love’s harbours,

but as a guest, no sense of belonging,

only a hungry yearning

I am foolish pride, oblivious to the fact

that my folly is perceived a poor act

Copyright, R. N. Taber 2007; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title Obsession in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; this rev. version, 2019.]

Autumn Sonata

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

(Photo taken from the Internet)

For me, September is the start of autumn…whatever the weather people or the almanacs say.

Here’s my favourite autumn villanelle. It was first published in an anthology, Seasons of Change, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in my collection.

Villanelles are not as easy to write as they look. Regular readers will know I have a passion for them and won’t be surprised to learn that I have written 200+. I try to vary style and content in my poetry and am always experimenting with voices. Even so, the villanelle remains a firm favourite of mine if only because its simplicity is far from simplistic and I get a sense of achievement from keeping to the discipline it imposes on a poet. Feedback suggests that some readers love them and others hate them, which is as it should be.

Left entirely to my own devices, I am inclined to waffle and have even been known to mix my metaphors. Oh, dear! Now, villanelles clear my head. They keep the inner eye focused on the straight and narrow if multidimensional paths along which a poet loves travel across uncharted territories of the mind, hopefully with his or her readers for company at various stages of the journey.

AUTUMN SONATA

Silvery grey skies,

leaves drifting,

summer closing its eyes

Lighting home fires,

hopes flaring

silvery grey skies

Holiday goodbyes,

wishful thinking,

summer closing its eyes

Words to the wise,

softly treading

silvery grey skies

With long, wistful sighs

and daydreaming,

summer closing its eyes

Time quickly passing,

our hopes surprising

silvery grey skies,

summer closing its eyes

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

Passage Home OR Nature at the Helm

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

We may travel far and wide in life or not all. It’s the going (or staying) wherever and doing whatever makes us and others happy that is journey enough for most people.

Yes, most if not all of us make mistakes and sometimes lose our way. But it’s my belief that those among us who make the journey for the right reasons can’t go too far wrong even though it may sometimes seem otherwise.

As for making the passage home, that’s wherever (and with whomsoever?) we feel the need to be; journey’s end.

PASSAGE HOME or NATURE AT THE HELM

I have heard waves whisper

of battles lost and won

on stormy seas, in far places,

among others demanding a turn

at the helm

I have watched clouds paint

pictures of losers, victors,

those staying on to dry a tear,

others preferring to turn a deaf ear

than take the helm

I have beached lonely shore

and coral reef, swam

with fishes, come to grief

in oceans surreal for abandoning

the helm

Time, our seasoned captain

has nailed my colours  

to its mast while stars, moon,

and rising sun insist on taking turns

at the helm

Passage home…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Sea Change

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Summer is fast ebbing away and a potpourri of autumn scents are in the air already, assailing the senses and changing the inner eye’s kaleidoscopic view of self, nature and the world…yet again.

Autumn is a beautiful season with its turning leaves of red and gold, yet sad also as we bid farewell to the swallows and prepare - along with much of nature - for the winter months ahead. At the same time, there is something beautiful, too, in sadness as if human spirit and spirit of nature are always conspiring to somehow soften the sharper edge of grief, loneliness, apprehension,…whatever, and never more so than in autumn.

This poem is a villanelle; it first appeared s in a Poetry Now [Forward Press] anthology A Summer’s Breeze (2003) and subsequently in my collection.

SEA CHANGE

Sea of muddy leaves,

our summer gone

as autumn grieves

Heaps, like ragged graves

with flowers strewn,

sea of muddy leaves

A dying sparrow heaves

its last, alone

as autumn grieves

North wind brings waves,

our seasons blown;

sea of muddy leaves

No kinder soul than braves

an acid rain

as autumn grieves

Each heart, in time, gives

up its own…

sea of muddy leaves

as autumn grieves

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004: new (e-edition) in preparation.]

Freedom, Beacon of Hope in a Darkening World

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Many years ago, a teacher once described freedom to the class as the best of human spirit personified. I agree, though I guess it all depends on an incorrupt spirit and a sense of freedom for everyone, not a select few. 

Whatever, we should never take personal freedom for granted, always resist any efforts by anyone to undermine it, moreover understand and accept that it can mean different things to different people while much the same force for good.

FREEDOM, BEACON OF HOPE IN A DARKENING WORLD

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) blocked

by power-hungry rulers

living in the lap of luxury where others

go hungry, and can but dream

of running fresh, clean, water from a tap

that’s close to hand

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted

by fighters who lost battles,

but inspired others to continue the war

against the sickest corruption

in the highest places, best feet forward

to global markets

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom (still) ringing out
loud and clear with howls

of protest punctuated with the shrapnel,

gunfire, and tear gas

that, oh, so often accompanies integrity
even in a 21st century

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) littered

with human bones,
occasionally with name tags attached,

others are identified only

by such natural categories as ethnicity

and, yes, sexuality

In some part of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted

by voices of the dead,

inspiring men, women, and children

to take greater pride

than many so-called ‘betters’ in rallying

round a flag with pride

In some parts of the world,

heterosexuality is promoted true enough

to hot-blooded stereotype,

some falling for the honeyed-up hype

of tongues, sly and zealous,

while others continue to call for a culture

of Freedom for all of us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Classroom Consensus OR Planet Earth, Deserving Better

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

Many thank to those of you who have emailed to wish me a speedy recovery following my recent accident. I am still housebound and cannot put any weight on my left foot so hopping around my flat on a Zimmer frame! The nights are not good. But I am coping better during the day with help from friends when they are free. Hopefully I will be well on the way to a full recovery in a few weeks, and I keep telling myself that. I must be patient. Old(er) bones take longer to heal. It has made me realize how difficult life is for people living alone who are incapacitated in one way or another. We take so much for granted, even simple things like making a cup of tea.

Meanwhile…

Education starts and remains ongoing in the home. School and university are just part of a larger picture. Put a foot wrong, and that larger picture becomes a smudgy mess.

So where are we going wrong? Maybe parents and teachers and just about everyone else in the adult world needs to start listening more to what up and coming generations have to say about the kind of life and world they want to grow up in? If the world doesn't act on climate change now, its children's children are likely to pay a heavy price if not the ultimate.

Oh, and what has sexuality to do with anything outside of personal space? (Ask any LGBT person, any age.)

This poem is a villanelle.

CLASSROOM CONSENSUS or PLANET EARTH, DESERVING BETTER

Find nature at war with us
again, and yet again;
high time we made peace

We’re to blame (who else?)
for creating acid rain;
find nature at war with us

Save all species, keep trees,
(room enough for grain);
high time we made peace

We seize woods for houses
(a growing population);
find nature at war with us

Climate, ignoring all nature's
tears and cries of pain;
high time we made peace

Politicians into green issues, 
(on Vote-for-Me Lane);
find nature at war with us,
high time we made peace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Ego in Denial

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

A loud, talkative if successful businessman attached himself to me during an overnight stay at a hotel years ago, and offered me this advice over countless pints of lager: ‘In business, you have to aim high, be a real go-getter, stay focused on what you want and go for it, no matter what…or who. And shall I tell you what’s so great about life at the top, young man? It’s that you don’t need anyone, but everyone needs you, depends on you, for whatever reason. There's no feeling like it because you don't need anyone, you're top dog.'

Regarding the latter point, I could see he had all but convinced himself it was true. Even so, methinks he did protest just that little too much, and needless to say I was no more impressed with him or his 'advice' than than I would be now, some 30+ years on.

As for sexuality, it has been my experience that gay-friendly straight men are 100% confident in their own sexuality so have no problem with anyone else's while the average homophobe nowhere near shares that same self-confidence, resorting to discriminatory bluster to cover their own backs, so to speak....

Thank goodness for alter ego forever nudging us towards home truths, ego would prefer to ignore.

This poem is a villanelle.

EGO IN DENIAL

Don’t need anyone telling me

the best way to get by.

(Loneliness feeding on me.)

Voices cruelly, mockingly,

demanding, why…?

Don’t need anyone telling me

Choices, always goading me

to expose a white lie.

(Loneliness feeding on me.)

Who's to stop me running free,

though a sandman try?

Don’t need anyone telling me

Scathing home truths would see

I get real, brave up, deny

loneliness feeding on me…

Love, it’s a life-and-death poetry

milking rhyme and reason dry;

(Don’t need anyone telling me;

loneliness, feeding on me...)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014

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