Agenda for a Cull OR Witnesses for the Prosecution

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

 “Each spring, the Canadian government authorizes fishermen to club or shoot to death hundreds of thousands of baby seals for their fur,” writes the Humane Society of the United States. This is a reference to the fact that the vast majority of harp seals killed are between one and 3.5 months old. However, some context might be in order. "Those rotisserie chickens at the grocery store were likely alive for only 40 days. The average pack of bacon comes from a pig that was only on earth for four months." - National Post, April 2018

I’m so glad I have been a pescatarian or some years now, almost vegan since being diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2014. (Why 'almost'? I haven't yet been able to give up fish completely.)

This poem is a villanelle.

AGENDA FOR A CULL  or  WITNESSES FOR THE PROSECUTION

Seal pups dying,

a culling to complete;

ice caps crying

Bargains wing

around the tourist beat;

seal pups dying

Come spring

craving summer’s heat,

ice caps crying

The done thing

to hit alt-control-delete;

seal pups dying

Words but piling

coals on the global heat;

ice caps crying

G8 (still) trying

to make ends meet;

Seal pups dying,

ice caps crying...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007. 2018

[Note: An earlier version this poem first appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

In the Face of One--eyed Jacks

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

Since the early days of the so-called Arab Spring, civil war has caused untold suffering to the Syrian population. Anti-government protests had been ongoing in the Syrian city of Hama since March 2011, when large protests broke out in the city, similar to others elsewhere. In July, the Government sent the Syrian Army into Hama to control protests on the eve of Ramadan, often referred to as the ‘Ramadan Massacre.’

Ever since, both security forces and “rebels” have carried out numerous large-scale operations, resulting in mass executions, killings, arrests, kidnappings and torture across Syria. Many families and elderly people are suffering above all from the shortage of electricity, water and lack of food/ medical supplies; frequently they no longer have a home. There are blackouts several times during the day, and gasoline is rationed. No one knows when or where the next bomb will fall.

There has to be a diplomatic solution although the neutral observer may well feel prompted to ask  whether - in the murky world of politics - that old saying, ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’ is not more aptly applied to expediency than to will … on anyone’s part? If inhumanity is a vicious circle, it is one that's drawn and expanded by human beings.

This poem is a villanelle.

IN THE FACE OF ONE-EYED JACKS

Watch inhumanity boxing clever

as the toll of dead and injured grows;

world’s cyclopean eye on Syria

As face-saving excuses endeavour

to explain away as its politics allows,

watch inhumanity boxing clever

Freedom, a dirty word, all the surer

for (ever) wiping its poor bloody nose;

world’s cyclopean eye on Syria

A century’s children living in terror,

all innocence cheated of its tomorrows,

watch inhumanity boxing clever

No stranger to either war or massacre,

(cue for United Nations to strike a pose)

world’s cyclopean eye on Syria

May humanity yet endure, be the leader

sheer common sense alone sure to choose;

watch inhumanity boxing clever,

world’s cyclopean eye on Syria …

London: April 2018

Copyright R N. Taber 2018 

[Note: A cyclops is described in ancient Greek and Roman mythology as from a primordial race of giants, each with a single eye in the centre of the forehead; the word "cyclops" literally means "round-eyed" or "circle-eyed".  – Wikipedia]

Where History Hangs its Head OR S-H-A-M-E, Ghosts of Past-Present-Future

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

[Update April 26th 2018: This is not a new poem but one that was inadvertently deleted and which I feel deserves to be read. Some people consider the classic villanelle form dated, even irrelevant to modern life. Well, we must agree to differ. 

In my experience, its use of repeated lines (as with any repetition) helps the reader to remember the poem; remembering, in turn, invites further thought. Encouraging any audience to think on about whatever he or she is saying has to be (surely?) what motivates any author of any art form.] RNT

[Update April 22, 2017: Tragically, history - like the worst of human nature - has a nasty habit of repeating itself: http://www.newnownext.com/cnn-chechnya-gay-concentration-camps/04/2017/

So will the politicians of the world unite and DO something about these atrocities? 

Sign the petition? (I did.) You don't have to be gay (just human) to recognise and be sickened by any appalling inhumanity towards anyone.

https://www.amnesty.org.uk/actions/stop-abducting-and-killing-gay-men-chechnya ]

Readers (gay people among others subjected to various prejudices) often email me. Many want to know  why I suggest being gay is still a problem in the twenty-first century. It isn't...so long as you live in a gay-friendly environment among gay-friendly family and friends and have a gay-friendly workplace. Not everyone does, of course...] RNT

Now, January 27th marks Holocaust Memorial Day when the world, as always on that day, rightly remembers the horrors of the Nazi death camps. In April (23rd/24th)Yom HaShoah commemorates the six million + Jewish victims of the Holocaust. Too often, though, I hear people gloss over the fact that millions of non-Jews suffered the same tragedy. 

“Although the term Holocaust victims generally refers to the victims of a systematic genocide of the Jewish people in Nazi Germany, the Nazis also murdered a large number of non-Jewish people who were considered subhuman (Untermenschen) or undesirable. Non-Jewish (gentile) victims of the Holocaust included Slavs (e.g. Russians, Poles, Ukrainians and Serbs), Romanis (gypsies), lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans (LGBT) individuals;] the mentally or physically disabled; Soviet POWs, Roman Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses,] Spanish Republicans, Freemasons, people of color (especially the Afro-German Mischlinge, called "Rhineland Bastards" by Hitler and the Nazi regime); the Deaf, leftists, Communists, trade unionists, social democrats, socialists, anarchists, and every other minority or dissident not considered Aryan (Herrenvolk, or part of the "master race") Taking into account all of the victims of persecution, the Nazis systematically killed an estimated six million Jews and an additional 11 million people during the war.” - Wikipedia.

Once, on Holocaust Memorial Day, at the public library where I was working, staff created a ‘Holocaust Tree’ and anyone could (as many did) tie a personal message or comment to its branches. Before I went to lunch, I noticed that someone had written, ‘Remembering all the gay people who perished in the death camps.’ By the time I returned from lunch, it had been removed. As a poet who also happens to be gay, I was having none of that, and replaced it with the same message. It was a busy day, though, and I did not see it removed a second time. Needless to say, I replaced it, and no one removed it again. 

We must not forget them, those victims, none of them, nor should we (ever) forget that history is a continuum; we must guard against its repeating itself, wherever, and in whatever shape or form, as best we can…speak up and act, not bury our heads in the Politics of Convenience and turn a blind eye, as so many did with The Holocaust.

Nazism was a terrible thing. It is one of the 21st century's greater tragedies that right wing extremism worldwide continues to grow while actively, often violently expressing its prejudices against others - anti-semitism, homophobia, racism ... Even so, wherever the body may be silenced, be sure the free mind-body-spirit of love and peace will shout all the louder down the Corridors of Time ... in the perennial hope that certain people may yet start listening.

This poem is a villanelle/

WHERE HISTORY HANGS ITS HEAD or S-H-A-M-E,  GHOSTS OF PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE

For Jews, Slavs and others, no pity 
shown the victims of Nazi genocide;
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

For their cultural-religious identity,
thousands in the gas chambers died;
for Jews, Slavs and others, no pity 

Same sex lovers corrupting Society
(cried  Nazis targeting us with pride);
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

Roma, too, targets of a Nazi bigotry
for which so many suffered and died;
for Jews, Slavs and others ... no pity

An indelible blot on pages of history
(nor Earth Mother 's tears ever dried)
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

Holocaust, haunting human memory
(no want of inhuman acts worldwide);
for Jews, Slavs and others, no pity;
roll call for a sickening inhumanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

A Senior's Take on the Spirit of Spring

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

Finally, it looks as though spring is not only poised to arrive here in the UK but even stay long enough to run a steady course through to whatever meteorological delights summer may (or may not) have in store for us.

A teacher at my old secondary school some sixty years ago once put it to the class in passing that the seasons are a state of mind. He moved on without explaining what he meant, and I for one thought no more about it…until recently.

Spring is often late, very late, here in the UK as I do battle after battle with the slings and arrows of outrageous old age. I have good days and bad days. Invariably, it is a case of win-some-lose-some, but on a good day recently I found myself looking out at grey skies and having to tolerate  dreary silence, not a hint of birdsong.  I felt depression creeping on and resolved to have none of it. Instead, I enjoyed a wallow in the bath, put on a favourite shirt and played some favourite music. Instantly, I felt a new person, invigorated, full of the joys of…yes, springtime. Outside it was cold and pouring with rain, but I didn’t care…so maybe my teacher all those years ago had a point after all?

Spring may not last long, but it is from its spirit of positive growth and renewal that we all, each and every one of us, need to take our cue for life over a lifetime, no matter our ethnicity, religion, sex or sexuality. while also respecting others who choose likewise, but take off in other directions. Well, don't we...?

A SENIOR’S TAKE ON THE SPIRIT OF SPRING

As I look out of my window;

I often see him there, swinging

on a wooden gate

Patches of sunshine creating

rainbows in fair  hair straggling

a blue shirt collar

Faded blue jeans, testament

to carefree playtimes when life

was a bundle of laughs

Face wreathed in smiles, one

for every songbird on the fence

dividing alley and garden

You catch me watching, wave

an eager hand, beckon me come

and be a part of it all

Part of all what, I’d ask of life

as I do now, distanced light years

from any springtime?

No answers then. Now, I know

better than to ask, a part of it all

for better, for worse

Images pass in and out of view

kaleidoscoping seamless seasons

of mind-body-spirit

Ah, but the child I was still waves

to me, last seen swinging on a gate

into an eternal spring

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

Skeleton in the Cupboard

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

I was researching my family history some years ago and went for a drink afterwards with someone likewise engaged. He asked me why I was doing it and I confessed it was a form of therapy to help me recover from a bad nervous breakdown; it was still (relatively) early days.  When I asked him the same question, he laughed and commented to the effect that he was hoping to find a few skeletons in the family cupboard. “Mind you,” he added almost as an afterthought, “I’m not sure I like the idea of someone raking over my bones,” and tossed me a knowing wink, whereupon I felt faintly uneasy and changed the subject. We passed a cheery enough hour together, and parted promising to meet up again…which we never did.

Given how we all perceive each other differently, that the media are inclined to put across a view of us altogether differently again should the opportunity arise and various ad hoc reports are likely to be biased if not suspect, depending on time and context…ca we really expect to reach a balanced view of any life history?

Hopefully, the average family history mole will arrive at a balanced perspective, but I can’t help wondering how he or she would feel about someone burrowing into their personal history…?

SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD

I cannot see, hear or speak,
but I know things, feel things, keep them
close to my chest, archive them
so any who care to rummage the files once
the archivist has moved on
may yet discover what it was that I hid
behind closed doors who thought
the better part of valour to keep them shut
on pain of hurt wherever

I can neither defend my actions
nor ever explain, but I feel them, keep them
close to my chest, archive them
to a living and posthumous consciousness
in which we all have a share,
whether or not we choose to pass on
anything of what has been gained,
learned or lost from experiencing the nature
of experience as it is

I will never see, hear or speak
to any who know things, feel things about me
for researching my history
out of a sense of responsibility, curiosity
or simply an affinity with people
suspected of slamming doors on closet lives,
choosing to forget their footprints,
handprints, DNA, even nervy (scary?) scrawl
remain open access

I am a silent witness to all life throws,
for better or worse, in sickness, health, death
and wherever else angels (it’s said)
may well fear to tread if dearly wanting
to prise open closed doors,
research archives history would prefer left
to gather dust for fear they expose
hidden truths, they from whom so much hid
for love of them

I am called many things by many people
struggling to differentiate between good and evil,
erring on the side of the former
wherever possible if only by comparison
with its global counterpart’s capacity
for one-upmanship in every area of human life,
leaving much the same paper
and online trails for any dedicated followers
of home truths to follow

For every family's history in my every bone,
someone exposing secrets of their own...


Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

[Update: Dec. 5^th 2020:  This poem appears in the Genealogists’ Magazine for December 2020. For more information about the Society (London UK) : http://www.sog.org.uk/about/contact-the-society]

Finding Neverland

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

This poem was written while I was recovering from a bad nervous breakdown in the early 1980’s. I found it buried under various documents for which I no longer have any use, and thought some readers might be interested.  Writing - especially poetry - helped me through that breakdown to a new job nearly 4 years later, one that would take me to retirement in 2008.

FINDING NEVERLAND

Oh, to ride a cloud

out of Nowhere, carrying me

Somewhere

Somewhere,

all varieties of plant and animal

in harmony

Somewhere,

no acid rain or polluted oceans,

only beauty

Somewhere,

no hint of war or double dealings,

only peace

Somewhere,

no hate crime grabbing headlines,

only love

Somewhere,

no socio-cultural-religious dogma,

only humanity

It’s cloud nine

to Somewhere, only ever dumps us

back Here

Here, there…

round trip to Neverland where hope

springs eternal

Copyright R. N. Taber 1983; 2018

A Positive Take on Adversity or L-I-F-E. No Waiting Game

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

I have read poems at voluntary self-help groups from time to time. Many of the people who attend are on welfare and/or have mental health problems and/ or alcohol or drug related problems. These are fine people, trying to help themselves and each other with precious little help or encouragement from outside the group. It is inspiring to see them pulling together in adversity and learning to take responsibility for themselves and each other; a lesson the less enlightened among us would do well to learn instead of preferring to pass judgement on others.

Help, encouragement, reassurance...these ARE all out there, but rarely will they simply knock on our door; we need to knock on theirs and find the words to ASK. I well recall how my mother once told me that life is no waiting game, how we have to get out there and live it, and that means meeting each other at least halfway.

 A POSITIVE TAKE ON ADVERSITY or L-I-F-E, NO WAITING GAME

Coming together, supporting each other,

toes in the Sea of Life, getting a feel for the swim

rather than drown

Making an effort to come down to a shore

where seaweed and shells on shifting sands spread

rather than stay in bed

A part of a life tide’s natural ebb and flow

yet frightened of its fickle nature, all highs and lows

but a Hall of Mirrors

Alone, it is hard to bear the happy sounds

of children laughing, applause for ice cream chimes,

hints at kinder times

In good company, easier by far to break free

of shadows stalking us, driving us to seek sanctuary

in cages of our history

Together, let’s imagine wings, flex and fly,

take heart from songbirds rejoicing seashore and sky,

no matter where or why

As rough or fair as any sea passage may be,

let us look to fellow voyagers, let a creative empathy

reconstruct our history

Coming together, supporting each other,

getting a feel for wings rising above, learning how

to trust in Nature’s love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

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