Bailiffs On The Doorstep OR Comeuppance

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

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [I am often asked for this link to my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square, my contribution to sculptor Antony Gotmlry' s One and Other 'live sculpture' project in 1999. For now, at least, though, this link needs the latest Adobe Flash Player  and works best in Firefox; the archives website cannot run Flash but changes scheduled for later this year may well mean the link will open without it. Ignore any error message and give it a minute or so to start up. The video lasts an hour. ] RT 3/18

I have been more than a little anxious about getting my biopsy results next Wednesday. I dare say that is why I recently dreamed I opened my front door to Death. Ah, but Earth Mother slipped past him to stand beside me. Now I feel confident of getting the better of him ... for now, at least.

A friend recently confessed he did not know what to say to me, whether to wish me luck with the biopsy or ignore the subject altogether. I could only say that it is always nice to know we feature positively in other people’s thoughts.

Whether on the world stage or in our own living rooms, we are called upon time and again to make choices which, as often as not, find us stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do we speak up or say nothing rather than chance making things worse (or better)? Do we let actions speak louder than words ... and risk making things worse (or better)?

Perhaps we should ask ourselves for whom we risk making things worse or better? Are we motivated by altruism or self-interest?

BAILIFFS ON THE DOORSTEP or COMEUPPANCE

There's a banging
on my door, but what can I do?
No point in my turning
a deaf ear, everyone knows
only too well I'm living here
(Door forced ajar)

Who does he think he is,
presuming so to call Time’
before I'm ready?

I will appeal to a kinder nature
to grant my reprieve,
for I'm not ready yet to leave
this place, despite
its worst flaws, neglecting peace
in pursuit of wars
on those who would avoid
well-trodden paths
of reason and need, seeking
only to feed themselves,
procreating in their own image
a mirage of Fate when,
in truth, only themselves to blame,
though the world rise
eagerly enough to its bait, lured
by a glare of Public Relations
designed to fool us all into thinking
altruism rules OK

Oh, but let them, bang away;
none may enter here, I'll keep
a foot in the door

Better the damn door
left ajar, let Earth Mother
slip in (hopefully)
with a reprieve for any part
I've played in faults and flaws
at other people’s doors

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Mentor For Life

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

Life, love, fear, pain, fame, fortune, memory...they all like to play games with us. Win or lose, it is how we play that counts, not the name of the game.

MENTOR FOR LIFE

When hard times force an entry
at the window, sorrows beating a path
to our front door, we can call upon
some God, nature, whatever...to save us,
wring our hands in bleak despair - or
put a shoulder to time’s wheel, no matter
how weakly at first, show the world
we’re far from done with it yet for all
its bitter-sweet subtleties

Though ill-favoured by fortune
for now, we’re far from being thrust out
of circulation as we take our turn
at the wheel, so it can be made to take
a detour in our favour, and if it seems
to have a mind of its own, so needs must
as anxiety guides its players by sun,
moon, stars, and peace candles history
has always lit for its martyrs

Time and again, we lose our way,
sight foxed by tears, other senses playing
fast and loose with a frail grip
on memories past and present, future
in freefall...till that moment sublime
when we find the strength to steer time
away from a raging Hydra
rearing its heads like ragged rocks
on a dark, indifferent sea

Brought slowly, safely into harbour
where a vaguely familiar shoreline offers
a helping hand if not sanctuary;
enough for now, for time won’t be rushed,
especially once forced to compromise
after trifling so with the disaffected spirit
of a would-be loser in its favourite
game of chance designed to trick us into
losing faith in ourselves

Self-belief, most precious of all mind tools,
mentor for life on a Ship of Fools


Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Spirit of Silence

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I put my faith in nature long ago. Yes, nature has its dark side but isn't that true of most if not all things?

If I personally cannot believe in a personified God , I respect other people's Belief. When I am quiet and reflective, nature speaks to me. I guess it is the same for a religious person when they pray. Nature, God...these are one and the same thing perhaps? Who knows? Whatever, I suspect we are closer to the truth of things when we are quiet and reflective. It is of how we feel at such times that we can be sure even if there are no words to express or confirm it. Everyone's feelings are different. Everyone's knowledge of themselves is different. That isn't to say this person is right or that person is wrong.

A writer is sometimes described as a wordsmith. Me, I have always been convinced that silence says far more than words can even begin to express.

My late mother once told me she loved silence. I thought this was a strange thing to say, especially as she loved chatting to people and could often be heard singing her favourite songs. So I asked her why. 'You can trust silence,' was all my she said. It has taken me years to understand what she meant. It is during peaceful, comforting silences  that I best reflect on all she contributed to the better part of me.

Now, it is often said that you never really know a person until you live with them. Perhaps that is why my dear, late mother once commented to the effect that before we can declare with authority that no one knows us better than ourselves, we need to learn to live with ourselves, that is to say the person we are rather than the person we would rather be or whom others would rather we be.

Oh, we like to think no one knows us better than we know ourselves. Yet, how well do we really know ourselves? How often do we face up to those home truths we don’t like to dwell upon so brush them under some proverbial carpet? Even so, we always remain aware of why we did so even if we prefer not to follow that particular path.

BOY: So how do your learn to live with yourself?

MOTHER: Look for the spirit of silence. If and when you find it, let it lift you above the noise of the world.

It was years before I even began to understand what she meant by that either.

“I've begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.”  - Chaim Potok, (The Chosen)

This poem is a kenning.

SPIRIT OF SILENCE

Listen out for me
a silence in the air, surpassing
all the music ever written;
Look, see how I fly the world
on wings as quick
and beautiful as anything
nature aspired for even
its favourite species between
earth and sky

Reach out, touch me,
let fumbling fingers discover
the purpose of creation;
Smell. Find in a spring shower,
urging winter to waken
where it would but sleep in
and delay things,
a fragrance of kinder truths
polluted by ‘progress’

Embrace me, let your senses
open as in the womb,
recover that spiritual identity
religion so covets
that it seeks to direct and control
what it likes to call ‘soul’
even if that means using threats
all the world makes under
cover of noise

Trust in me, the Spirit of Silence,
harbinger of all human resilience


Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem  (revised final couplet) appears in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.[

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.]

The Guardian

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

Today's poem last appeared on the blog in 2009 and is repeated today especially for 'Rose-Marie and Paul' whose first child, Damien, celebrates his first birthday today.

Regular readers will know that where religious-minded people like to think God is watching over us, I prefer to put my trust in Earth Mother.

Both points of view deserve respect, surely, since none of us can know for sure?

If only more people would agree to differ instead of fighting over who is right and who is wrong, the world would be a far happier and peaceful place!

Give peace a chance, yeah?

Image taken from the Internet

THE GUARDIAN

Where snow is falling snow on snow,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in white shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where acid rain defies flowers to grow,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in tears shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where summer breezes gently blow.
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in green shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where autumn makes a splendid show,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in gold shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Once loved ones gone, we ask to know
why the world is a lonely place?
It’s a woman called Hope tells us so,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Look where she comes and see her face;
let this world be a less lonely place

Copyright R. N. Taber 1973; 2009

Note: This poem first appeared in Life's Simple Pleasures, Forward Press, 2011 and subsequently in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.]

The Maze (Open All Hours - Disabled Access - Only Carer Dogs Allowed)

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

Apart from its divisiveness, the main reason religion offers me nothing is because I can’t stop asking questions. Quite simply, Faith is a full stop I cannot get my head around. Besides, many socio-cultural-religious leaders are bullies and I hate bullies. It has little or nothing to do with my sexuality.

This doesn’t mean I have no interest in or respect for religions of the world. Indeed, I do. As regular readers will know only too well, I have nothing but contempt for those who not only choose to interpret but also preach from the various Holy Books to suit and/or camouflage their own ends. Yes, bullies. You will know the type. I dare say you will have come across a good few of them. Ah, but yes, they interest me greatly, these bullies. Why do they behave the way they do? What drive them? It certainly isn’t compassion but nor, surely, is it entirely self-interest...or is it?

Questions, questions and more questions; as or finding any answers, we can but look.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE MAZE (OPEN ALL HOURS - DISABLED ACCESS - ONLY CARER DOGS ALLOWED)

Who seeks meaning, dares a maze,
its walls of evergreen
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

It is a place folks fear and praise
where ghosts often seen;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze,

See Apollo wink to shine his rays
where lovers steal unseen,
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Watch Diana’s bold hunters graze
on passions dark, serene;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze

Chance on trails time artlessly lays
(true, false, in-between)
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Look out for humanity, learn ways,
to its heartland, rarely seen;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze,
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R N Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Whatever Happened To Love?

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This poem last appeared on the blog well over a year ago. I look around locally or further afield, and can’t see that much has changed.

Ah, but hope springs eternal, yeah?

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LOVE?

No peace in the park for druggies
desperate to fund the luxury;
no time for drugs? Go for alcohol
poisoning instead…

No fun at the fair for pickpockets
out for an easy ride;
sanctuary in our schools invaded
by a culture of bullying

Generation gaps made (far) wider
by five star psychiatrists;
Mother Nature repeatedly raped
by property developers

War on Terror, welcome distraction
from Home Front issues;
our own backyards heaped high
with body bags…

Consciences cleansed with charity,
confession, prison programs …
Problems worse for pointing fingers
of blame elsewhere

C'est la vie, we’re told, and no point
in crying over spilt blood;
prevention better than cure, they say,
so whatever happened to love?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, rev. 2011

[Note: An earlier version of his poem was first published in CC&D poetry magazine(US) 2005 and subsequently in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

The Rhetoric Of Separatism

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T

It is LGBT History Month here in the UK.

Years ago when gay relationships were illegal in the UK I used to feel a strong sense of separatism, not to mention alienation. Not any more and never again.

Me, I am an integrationist. I hate to see society so fragmented and divided in so many respects.

We are all different, but that’s only human. Making people feel different, though, for whatever reason, that is inexcusable and indefensible.  Yes, life is easier for gay people in some parts of the world but even here in the West we still have a long way to go before all gay men and women feel they can be open about their sexuality without fear of retribution. Nor does the latter need to be physcal to hurt; there are far more subtle ways that can undermine a person's self-esteem  and make their lives a misery. I know people, including many former work colleagues (I am retired now) who would never openly admit they are homophobic but take every subtle opportunity to make their feelings felt. Some may not even realise they are doing it; others are nore calculating.

The worst people are those who manage to convince themselves that their religion and/or cultural tradition justifies their homophobia when none of the Holy Books need to be interpreted in that way. Oh, a good many Christains love to throw a few lines from Leviticus at us but that just goes tro show how little they know about their own religion, the significance of the New Testament and the common humanity Jesus stood for and preached.

THE RHETORIC OF SEPARATISM

Some declare us sick
who are gay, only sure cure
by way of this religion
or that, obeying laws written
in Holy Books, reserving
our own customised prayer
mat in Heaven

I decline the way
of bigots and zealots, reply
that I am happy as I am
nor do I feel any shame
in the way Mother Nature
writes my name

Some place us beyond
the pale who are gay, only
salvation by capitalizing
on society’s preferred option
and if sexuality still
won’t conform, it can
at least be discreet

I decline the way
of bigots and zealots, reply
that I am happy as I am
nor do I feel any shame
in the way Mother Nature
writes my name

Our poetry and prose empty
that fails a common humanity

[Note: The closing couplet of this poem has been slightly revised from the original that appears in 1st eds. of Accomplices To Illusion, Assembly Books, 2007; 2nd ed. in preparation from 2015.]