Travelling Hopefully

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

Are the freedoms we enjoy being gradually eroded by invisible (and visible) Mandarins or Kingpins of Power?

Wealth is power, yes, but so is  influence and many who put themselves forward as our so-called ‘betters’ have plenty of that across the entire  socio-cultural-religious and political arenas  in which we live.

Free speech, yes, so long as it is not considered politically incorrect and that seems to be decided these days by which side of a particular divide one happens to be.

I am no racist. Neither, though, will I hesitate to speak out against bad attitude or behaviour no matter what colour, creed, sex or sexuality a person may be. Yet, the chances are – as has happened more than once – that I will be called a racist, feminist, bigot (for not subscribing to a religion) etc. etc. I am none of these things, and it goes against the grain not to speak out against someone whose behaviour I find offensive simply whatever their colour, creed, sex sexuality or political persuasion and, yes, even age. (My own generation can be a real pain in the proverbial at times.). Even so, I have to confess to having kept my feelings to myself more often than not in recent years simply to avoid the inevitable hassle. Is that common sense, I wonder, or simply cowardice?

Feedback over years of writing poetry and publishing much of it on the Internet suggests that many people from diverse backgrounds feel much the same way, that there are times when we are made to feel like puppets, poised to speak our minds until a jerk on invisible strings by some kingpin puppeteer advises if not demands our silence or, at best, extreme (diplomatic) caution…or there will be a price to pay.

I will be 72 this year, and I am becoming less and less enamoured with the world as it is now with each passing day. At the same time, I retain a basic faith in human nature, convinced that if we all try and do our best in our own little corner of the world, the ripples will spread to the extent that  it may yet become a better, kinder place no matter what goes on in its  socio-cultural-religious and political arenas.

There are more good people in the world than bad, people for whom peace and love are more, far more, than just rhetoric; it has always been that way, and always will be. Sadly, it has always been the more malevolent Kingpins of Power that, in getting away far too often with pulling our strings, continue to make their presence felt and voices heard.

So will tomorrow be a better day, give brave new worlds an opportunity to flourish? Hope springs eternal... (Yes, sometimes it may be well better to travel hopefully than arrive, and be disappointed, but can anything come even close to comparing with the joy of arrival when he/she/it means the fulfillment of our sweetest dreams...?)

TRAVELLING HOPEFULLY 

Yesterday, a dark mood

descending into a recent grave

created by fall-out

from crises (local and worldwide);

even near comprehension,

of mind- body-spirit all but broken

by political forces alien

to free thinkers everywhere left

ploughing moral high ground,

slaves to this or that philosophy,

whatever cap fits…

Slaves, yes, bound to rebel

against those siding with kingpins

of wealth and power jockeying

(discreetly) for a prime position

in the greater  influence stakes,

claiming to have the best interests

of common humanity at heart

(local and worldwide) while nursing

such personal ambitions as likely

to go down as well with the media

as raising taxes

Today, no lighter mood,

rising among the ghosts of leaders

past and present to remind

those of us (local and worldwide)

why we helped put them there

(if only by default, considering

the alternatives on offer)

no matter gossip buzzing like flies

in corridors of power

about which  kingpins  plotting

whose downfall…

Kingpins of power, yes!

Always ready to load our excuses

on their backs under a cloak

of invisibility to avoid pricking

consciences of crusaders

(local and worldwide) for a way

of life less complicated

by a sense of kingpins composing

the poetry and prose

of destiny on our behalf, and we

having little say

Tomorrow, we will nurture

a more positive mood, rise above

rise above dark thoughts

about any Kingpins of Power

undermining us

at every step we take as we journey

through life…

reassert a native self-confidence,

an enduring spirituality

taken from natures, religion, either

of both (free to choose)

Free to choose, yes,

whether to have faith in ourselves,

(conceding any flaws)

and keep to a learning curve of love,

personal aspiration,

private ambition, social responsibility,

discerning wood and trees,

drawing in the best of whatsoever

and whomsoever

we may find, as we seek completeness,

journeying hopefully

Hopefully, yes, humankind

and nature working together to play

any Kingpins of Power

at their own game, introducing  mind,.

body, and spirit,

working in harmony, all the better

to see light triumph

over darkness, good over evils no one

can deny exist,

a legacy of enduring peace and love,

no end-game in sight

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

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)

Through the Looking Glass

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As a young man, I once had the privilege of meeting a famous actor in a cafe one rainy evening in Soho. He caught me staring at him and grunted that he was in no mood to give autographs. I confessed I did not collect them anyway, but was thrilled to see him in real life. He thawed, and we chatted. I commented how wonderful it must be to live a life for which he would not only be remembered for all time but which had also been recorded on the big screen. “Oh, wow, what a legacy!” I enthused. He shrugged and muttered that the big screen was all about his acting, not his life, and how the only life and legacy really worth having is recorded for all time anyway…among the fonder memories of those who matter most to us.

At the time, I thought it was a trite thing to say. Now I know better.  I even found myself saying much the same thing to an elderly friend who was recently lamenting the fact that he had done nothing with his life to deserve leave any mention in the history books. I reminded him that the he has wonderful children who, in turn, have given him grandchildren. What better legacy or record of anyone’s life and history…?

Me…? No partner now, nor children or even family to speak of…but, hopefully my friends will think well of me when I’m gone and my poetry will at least have found a place in the hearts and minds of some readers. Do I think of my poetry as a legacy? I would not presume to predict. I have enjoyed every moment of writing ever poem, though, so hopefully some of that pleasure will have rubbed off on readers sufficiently for them to pass on the pleasure if not the poem.

Ripples …

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS 

Once, I looked in a glass,
and glimpsed a child waving
at me, a cheeky smile,
face smudged with playtime,
eyes shining

Later, I looked in the glass,
glimpsed a cheeky grin, youth
full of hope and promise,
face unlined, past and present
shining through

Once, I looked in a glass,
for a long, weary, weepy while, 
years taken toll enough
to obliterate even the shadow
of a half-smile

Later, I peered in the glass,
misty with quickening breath,
face-in-a-mist conveying
a wry smile for given up crying
over spilt milk

Now, I put an ear to the glass,
listening to words calling me 
back to life, love, nature ...
an oral poetry returning me
a cheeky smile

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Back to School OR Rediscovering Letters on Building Bricks, Learning Tools for Grown-Ups

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While I will always refute the notion that schooldays see us through the best years of our lives, I will always be grateful for a less than happy learning experience that has brought me to where I am now; one which, for better or worse, has more yet in store for me. For just how much longer, only time will tell; no life experience teaches us all the answers although there never was any harm in speculating and trusting that a few, at least, will filter through.

I was like a fish out of water at school for all kinds of reasons, not least because no one picked up on my partial deafness so I missed much of what was being said. Moreover, I am not a very practical person and hopeless at subjects like woodwork, metalwork and technical drawing, which, it being a Technical School, were primary subjects. I learned a lot, though, if only by way of survival skills that would see me through the rest of my life.

Although a ‘low to medium’ achiever’ at school, I had some great teachers and learned a lot; e.g. how to compensate for my deafness by developing a wacky sense of humour that would get me out of all kinds of scrapes; feeding my imagination on classic children’s poetry and literature that would soon find me devouring adult works that, in turn, would serve me well as a mature student at university;  enjoying my ups by coming through my downs with a real sense of having learned something although (of course) I hadn’t thought of it as a learning process at the time; discovering at first hand that self-pity is a waste of any potential for mind, body and spirit left waiting in the wings, demonstrating (only too well) the futility of going nowhere fast.

Oh, and last but not least, those less-than-happy-but-worth-every-minute schooldays taught me to live with myself, warts ‘n’ all. (Rarely a flattering image, but, what the heck…? Sure, escapism by whatever means is all very well, so long as we can get real - with ourselves if not always with each other - whenever needs must.)

Yes, 71 now and still discovering what letters make what words on what building bricks used to make a world...

BACK TO SCHOOL or REDISCOVERING LETTERS ON BUILDING BRICKS, LEARNING TOOLS FOR GROWN-UPS

Old building,
groaning for developers
knocking it down

Empty rooms,
full of jeering ghosts
putting me down

Nightmares,
haunting my every step,
bringing me down

Old school tie,
noose around my neck,
dropping me down

Formative years,
lessons but half learned
letting me down

T-I-M-E, choices
breaking us in, schoolkids
on a joyride

L-I-F-E, a half-ruin
waiting upon developers
to reconstruct us

N-A-T-U-R-E,
kinder ghosts, ready to lend
a helping hand

L-O-V-E,
better teachers, overriding
lesser mortals

P-E-A-C-E
but graffiti on a blackboard
till we can spell

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Nature, Powerhouse of Secrets

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We may like to think we live in an open society, yet behind closed doors thrive secrets of all kinds, not least the human kind.

Open or less open, the world’s societies (human and natural) along with all their various families and communities - have nurtured a whole world of secrets since the beginning of time, many to which any human mind-body-spirit may yet have access if it but cares to tap into itself while looking to see, listening to hear ... if not necessarily what it wants or expects to see-hear, given the native arrogance of human nature in supposing itself second to none.

For better or worse, appearances are often deceptive; no more or less true of nature than human nature ...

NATURE, POWERHOUSE OF SECRETS

I have heard a spring rain

cajole the world open up to us

a whole world of secrets

I have heard leafy sunshine

serenade flowers with summers

overflowing with secrets

I have heard autumnal hues
reassuring all the world’s lovers

of keeping their secrets

I have heard a wintry wind
express every intention to expose 

even the best kept secrets

Between its womb and tomb,

peace of mind needs must access

a whole world of secrets

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

On the Mend

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

Regular readers will be aware that I suffered a severe nervous breakdown in 1979. As I began to recover, so I started writing again as much by way of creative therapy as any natural love for the art form. Following an indescribable struggle with mind, body and spirit, I finally regained a sense of ‘normality’ and was fortunate enough to dig myself out of that Black Hole, unemployment, and return to work a few years later. In 2005, I began publishing poems, self-publishing the only option open to me as no literary agents or publishers wanted my gay-interest material and I refused to leave it out.

This poem (a villanelle) has been significantly revised since I published in 2005, itself a (lesser) revision of a (handwritten) version written during the 1990’s. Not one of my better poems, perhaps, although its place in the history of my poetry of no small significance. 

For years now, I have been striving to (a) reach out to readers, (b) share an inner learning curve, and (c) reconcile form and content in my poetry in a way that does some justice to its art form; it has been a long journey, and not over yet. To critics who suggest I should not poet poems until I and they are ‘ready’ I can only say that, having sowed various seeds, I am never quite clear how they might grow until they flower; sometimes they remain but seeds or may sprout shoots that refuse to flower or may flower in ways that are true to a picture on the seed packet.

One way or another, we have to take responsibility for ourselves; playing the blame game never got anybody anywhere hast unless it’s a Black Hole like the one I crawled out of years ago into a self-awareness that insisted I stop playing Jack-in-a Box about being gay and learned to take responsibility for and a pride in a better, kinder self than any which life experience had all but succeeded in moulding me into hitherto.

I’m 71 now, and still learning…

ON THE MEND

We broke the pot,

(Earth Mother cried)

up to us to mend it…

Birthdays forgot,

(the old beggar died)

we broke the pot

Loyalty split,

(so our ‘Betters’ lied?)

up to us to mend it

Peace, it could not

get the better of pride;

we broke the pot

To each our lot;

though humanity divide,

up to us to mend it

Marking the spot

where hope all but died;

we broke the pot,

up to us to mend it…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2017

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title 'Picking Up the Pieces' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

A Life in the Day of a Couch Potato

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

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.]