Getting the Better of Rock and Hard Place

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

It often strikes me as one of life's more bitter-sweet ironies that it's the heart in winter that focuses most on spring...

Me, I have never been as happy as the too few years I shared with my late partner a long time ago. Even so, I learned to be happy again. Oh, I have never met anyone else with whom I wanted to share my life, but I have made some good friends, found a curious peace, comfort and joy in my poetry as well as being blessed with a natural optimism to see me through. I may not be a very successful writer, but success has never meant as much to me as enjoying life in my own way.  [Yes, I have prostate cancer, but have all I need to see me through that too.]

Love comes to each and every one of us in all shapes and forms; its effect on us never (quite) fades even though sometimes it may be but a visitor, passing through. The past, too, is a part of us and never forgotten, whether or not it needs to be tempered by forgiveness, nor should it ever be where it has made us happy. Ah, but it's building on that happiness, making the most of the present, each of us in our own way, and looking forward to the future that counts…no matter what. As for various socio-cultural-religious dogma/conventions refusing to take our side for one reason or another, the human spirit knows better; religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality any more than conventions have rights or dictatorship.

GETTING THE BETTER OF ROCK AND HARD PLACE

I walked in a wood one winter

as I had with my true love one spring,

promising ourselves to each other;
the trees were bare, yet so splendid,

whose leaves happy enough to perform

the music of life just for us

Heavens, near empty and grey,

whose wings of light once, our spring,

gaily affirmed Earth Mother’s love;

world, a spread of snow where flowers

(all kinds and colours) created an ocean

of brave dreams just for us

I let my heart fall to the ground

where you lay your raincoat one spring,

our first lovemaking blessed;

yet, my heart refused to stay long,

but spread wings (just as it had before)

meant to survive all weathers

I’ll not let it grieve me that nature

should liken its life force to a graveyard,

and we among the fallen;

life goes on, poor humanity caught

between its rocks and hard places save

for the enduring power of love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

S-E-L-F, Opening Up (After Closing Down)

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

As regular readers know only too well, I have suffered with depression all my life and still take 25mg of a (fairly) mild anti-depressant. Prozac helped me through a very bad time once, but (like another strong anti-depressant I tried) left me feeling exhausted all the time so I switched to the (far milder) one I take now.

It is important to find an anti-depressant that suits you and always read the information leaflet for possible side-effects. Even so, never rely on anti-depressants to see you through. A positive attitude and any form of creative therapy you enjoy remain a must-have and must-do. (Creative therapy can be anything from gardening, walking, writing, pottery... anything in which success is measured by the enjoyment achieved by simply doing it, not results.) Creative therapy is no quick fix and requires a huge effort if always an effort worth making. Always easier said than done, never try and do it all on your own. 

I suffered from depression even as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. For years, I would be prescribed antidepressants until I started to feel better, and then come off them. This, I now realize was a mistake. I was scared of becoming dependent on them so it was music to my ears when a GP suggested that patients prone to depression should stay on an appropriate antidepressant and dosage all the time. I suspect my life would have taken a hugely significant turn for the better had I been given this advice a long, long, time ago. 

A friend who suffers from depression has paid a lot to visit counsellors but they don’t help everyone and it all depends who you see and how good (or bad) they are. I think it is important to get feedback from a counsellor; too many just sit back and let you talk, which is not a bad thing, but I personally would need positive feedback to feel it was worth parting with my money.

My friend says she hasn’t the self-confidence to do anything new whether it's meeting new people, studying a subject in which she is genuinely interested etc. She says she 'cannot' do anything new until she gets her self-confidence back. I sympathize, but take the opposite view. I believe we only get our self-confidence back by doing things, setting ourselves realistic targets etc. These need not be too ambitious to start with, and if they don’t work out quite as we hoped we should not see it as a failure but give ourselves a pat on the back for giving it a go…and try something else.

Many people think I am a strong person because (most of the time) I manage to beat depression. Believe me, though, when I say I am not strong. It is (very) heavy going. I make the effort because the alternative is even worse to contemplate. 

True, it isn’t always easy to find someone to listen; certain family members and friends won’t recognize the danger signs and will fail to appreciate a depressed person’s depths of personal crisis, handing out well-meaning platitudes like a plate of biscuits to make matters (much) worse. Even so, never give up; there is invariably someone who can help if we let them and are honest with them about how we feel. Talking to a pet can help, too, if only because the worst seems so much less bad once we give it a voice.

There is no shame in feeling less able to cope. Putting on a brave face is never a good idea. (No one can read minds.) For example, if  I had only opened up to someone - a teacher or counsellor perhaps - about my sexuality (among other things) much earlier, I may well have been spared years of anguish, culminating in a bad nervous breakdown and suicide attempt in my early 30's.

S-E-L-F, OPENING UP (AFTER CLOSING DOWN) 

Envelopes unopened;

scared to look, acknowledge even;

feelings like flowers left

at a grave if only to give the dead

a raison d’être

Profiles of the Great

interrogating me wherever I go

about my response to the cost

of living, voices chanting dark spells

at every checkout

Fear, clammy hands

on matchstick arms, humanity

strutting its hour on stage

(art of least resistance) chalking up

mock victories

Words, like mandarins

in white coats supervising a trainee

working from a manual

on staying bottom of the class without

really trying 

Envelopes, daring me…

Fingertips fumbling with terror

(Can I really do this?)

No stigma in old wounds ruling out

perfection

N-O-W, opening up...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – under the title ‘Prozac Nation’ - appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

L-I-F-E, and all that Jazz...

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

Once, years ago, when feeling low, I overheard a conversation in a bar:

MAN (despairingly and a little drunk) I don’t know where I’m going any more or who the hell I am even…

WOMAN (wearily) Oh, sure, and all that jazz…

MAN: Huh, I don’t even like jazz…

WOMAN: You don’t like jazz? Then you don’t have much of a liking for life, man, and it sure as hell won’t take much of a liking to you either….

After a sober pause, both burst out laughing and joined several other couples swinging to a lively number on the dance floor like saplings in a summer breeze. I went home feeling more upbeat than I had in ages although not sure why…and that feeling has lasted - through thick and thin - ever since. Maybe it has something to do with especially enjoying jazz among all kinds of music (and vocal) that do their genre justice.... 

L-I-F-E, AND ALL THAT JAZZ…

Looking back
at angry shadows waving 

madly at me,

but not in a friendly fashion,

clearly blaming me

for doing what I should not

have done,

being where I should not

have been,

saying what I should never

have said

Looking ahead

at more shadows waving

madly at me,

and can’t even tell if friends

or enemies

urging I do what I want

to do,

be where I feel meant

to be,

say what (too long) needs

to be said

Swinging round

like a scarecrow in the wind

at what’s behind

making my heart skip beats

out of fear

for all the mistakes I’ve made

and half made,

put right and half put right,

left uncertain,

no idea which way

to turn

Standing quite still,

listening out for something

(or Someone?)

to point me in the direction

I need to go;

right fork, left, fork, or give up

and turn back…

till sounds of bright music

pointing me at trees

making the kind of mad  jazz

that’s a life force 

Turning my back 

on fear, galvanised by nature

to chase after life

as a child might a butterfly

if only because

it, oh, so beats doing nothing,

going nowhere,

being no one, feeling sorry

for the child self

that never caught a butterfly

or listened to jazz

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

The Rebel OR Whose Future Is It Anyway?

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

I will be 70 years-old on the winter solstice. I have mobility problems following a serious fall last year and have been living with prostate cancer since 2011. Oh, well, c’est la vie.

As I grow older and (increasingly) more tired, so my admiration for the boundless energy, passionate idealism and fertile imagination of youth increases, along with no small regret for a certain subduing of rage in me against a world still divided by various socio-cultural-religious and economic factors threatening its societies; threats I suspect many politicians and religious leaders would and could do more to temper with plain common sense and a visible sense of justice and humanity...but for their politics and religion.

Let's face it. Many if not most young people need to rebel against what they don't understand or can't identify with if only to reach an understanding in relation to a growing sense of personal identity unique to us all.

I sincerely hope I never become either complacent about or resigned to the status quo in a world that has the potential to be a far kinder, safer, better place.

This poem is a kenning

THE REBEL or WHOSE FUTURE IS IT ANYWAY?

I penetrate lies,
exposing home truths brushed aside
by those who would keep me
in a cage custom-built by generations
in remembrance of the worst
of times past, likely to catch up with us
where I thirst for a progress
that puts peace, liberty and equality
above self-interest

I conspire with reason
to drive paths through chaos to places
my peers can gather,
sound out those who would prefer
the world’s changes
ring to bring hearts and minds
to their senses
rather than impress judges in some
rigged reality show

I yell to make myself heard
above a clamour of insidious ambition
and darker emotions
driving mortality to prove itself
while it still can
if missing those greater aspirations
to which we are born,
keys to a common world with respect
for its differences

Rebel, put down for my take on truth;
vulnerable to its flaws, call me Youth

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Potential for Victory OR Tackle the Weeds, Save the Garden

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

[Update (March 4 2017) Our thoughts are with the friends and families of all those killed and injured in yesterday's terror attack on the St. Petersburg Metro. At the moment, no terrorist group has claimed responsibility although official Russian sources are saying it was, indeed, a terrorist attack. A second bomb at another Metro station was successfully defused. The world's War on Terror goes on, a war its perpetrators cannot and will not win if only because they underestimate the human spirit's capacity for overcoming even the darkest forces. How ironic, though, that terrorism should bring out the best in good people everywhere, uniting us in grief, peace, and love even as other wars rage and divide us.]

[Update ( July 15 2016): I am sure readers will join me in sending heartfelt sympathy along with thoughts of love and peace to all the families and friends of those killed and injured during the latest terrorist attack; this time in Nice, only yesterday. May the eternal optimism and resilience of the French people help them through such terrible times. Indeed, it would seem that decent people worldwide must find a way to rise above the constant threat of terrorism if only so these psychopaths cannot claim victory over the better, stronger, kinder and more stoical elements of the human spirit that will endure long after all terrorists are less than dust in the wind, no matter how many lives they may have taken or whatever trail of destruction they leave behind; any suggestion that the name of any terrorist is in the least bit worth remembering is an insult to the memory of his or her victims.]

We can but hope common sense will prevail over politics and a two-way dialogue will (eventually) allow diplomacy to triumph sooner rather than later over the sub-machine gun, the missile, the roadside bomb, the suicide bomber, the likes of an attack by mindless fanatics on innocent commuters, a defenceless young soldier in broad daylight on a London street, worshippers in a place of prayer, tourists sunning themselves on a beach…

And so it goes on across the world...

The trouble is some people - especially the more vulnerable among us - are easily persuaded that weed flowers are worth saving, even nurturing. The good gardener, of course, knows better.

I guess all we ordinary men and women on any street anywhere in the world can do is just get on with our everyday lives, do our best to create ripples of peace, love, and respect for each other’s socio-cultural-religious differences instead of open hostility. Hopefully, these may spread far and wide enough to do at least some good. Wishful thinking…? Well, maybe, but worth a try surely?

No one is necessarily an enemy because they are 'different' in respect of race, religion, political outlook ... whatever. I have said it before and will keep saying it... our differences do not make us different, only human, and we are all, each and every one of us, part of a common humanity.

This poem is a villanelle.

POTENTIAL FOR VICTORY or TACKLE THE WEEDS, SAVE THE GARDEN

Where terrorism strikes fear,
encouraging the world’s divisions,
sense its victory, oh, so near

Inhumanity painfully clear
(election fodder for our politicians)
where terrorism strikes fear

Though survival cost us dear
following conscience-led decisions,
sense its victory, oh, so near

Dare humanity turn a deaf ear
to the in-fighting among its religions
where terrorism strikes fear?

Once mutual respect finds cheer
in spirituality’s common aspirations,
sense its victory, oh, so near

May peace songs persevere
with infiltrating all enemy positions;
where terrorism strikes fear,
sense its victory, oh, so near

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

Waves, Metaphor for Life

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

Some readers also dip into my fiction blog, and those of you who enjoyed the first part of my fantasy novel, Mamelon, will be pleased to know that I am (just about) on track for completing the second (final) part by the end of this year.  Sorry for the delay, but I am still experiencing difficulty walking (even with a walking stick) after my accident last year. However, I am learning to manage the pain and get out and about. Better news, though, is that hormone therapy continues to keep my prostate cancer at bay. Gotta look on the bright side of life, YES.

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/mamelon-chapter-1.html

Now, regular readers will know I love the sea. For me, it is one of nature’s finest metaphors for life; love, war, peace, spirituality, inspiration, fulfilment, regret…a potpourri of its more splendid aspects while, at the same time, acknowledging the starkness of its reality and the comfort of home grown illusion.

 Photo; from the Internet

 W-A-V-E-S, METAPHORS FOR LIFE

Waves, splashing

against me like a meeting

of old friends…

now showering me with kisses,

now running away…

just as you did towards
the end of our living together,

considered sinners

We'd no more giving

for each other, only the pain
of recalling (in tears)

how once we were - one life,
one love, twin waves

embracing the same shore,

flotsam spread across pebbles

like prayer beads

At every heartbeat,
fragile fingers trembling
at each fastening

and unfastening - of desires
rising, tumbling...

like waves lingering
but briefly at deserted shores,

crumbling sea walls

Left listening out for your calls,
but only seagulls...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that appears under the title Waves in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Flights of Tension to Fanciful Places

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

This may not be one of my better poems, but it has a certain therapeutic value, for me at any rate. Many years ago, someone told me that the best cure for tension and stress is imagination. I had never thought of imagination as a form of creative therapy, but of course it is, and one of the best.

Oh, but haven’t we all been there at some time or another, past caring and simply wanting to shut the world out, slump in a comfortable armchair and forget about everything and everyone for a while …?

The trouble with slumping is that it has a nasty habit of temporarily removing life’s more attractive distractions from the inner eye and insisting it takes us down the darker side of Memory Lane, thereby making us feel even worse … which is where imagination comes in, and will  play its part
part to perfection ... if we but let it. We have but to close our eyes, think nice thoughts and let mind-body-spirit whisk us off to wherever it is we would rather be, and with whom ...

At the time I wrote this poem, I was in the early stages of recovering from and reflecting on a very bad cold when a good ‘slump’ is just about all I’d felt like doing. My cold all but forgotten, I was soon putting pen to paper ...

For many years, writing a poem has been my way of not letting a ‘slump’ get the better of me. The same can be said, if to a lesser degree, when writing fiction; while my novels have not been bestsellers, they have given me much pleasure, and feedback from my fiction blog/has been very encouraging. (Feel free to browse any time - for both my general and gay-interest fiction - at:  

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

FLIGHTS OF TENSION TO FANCIFUL PLACES

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and all the people I’ve known,

wondering where have they gone?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and all the things I have done,

wondering where I went wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and choices made from the heart,

wondering where fear played a part?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and lovers who promised to stay

but left within hours of a night or day

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and all the years wasted on regret

where I should have stood up to fate

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and every epiphany I’ve known,

wondering where did I go so wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life

and growing older, weaker,

for knowing I could have done better

Slump in a chair, thinking about death,

and all the people I’ve known,

wondering if there’s a hell or heaven?

  

Slump in a chair, watching television,

soaking up soap opera friends ,

lost the plot, left wondering how it ends

Slump in a chair, fret about being alone?

Not this time (slam on the brakes);

will get my life back, whatever it takes

Copyright R N. Taber 2008