I, Temptation

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″You are young,’ replied Athos [to d’Artagnan] and your bitter recollections have time to be changed into sweet remembrances.” – Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers)

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.” - Henry David Thoreau 

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings. – W. H. Auden.

“All art forms are in the service of the greatest of all art forms: the art of living.” - Bertholt Brecht 

“You can’t really move forward until you look back.” - Cornel West

I was an avid reader from an early age. I first read Dumas’ swashbuckler novel when I was about 10 years old. For all its swash and buckle, it was the quotation above that aught my eye and struck a nerve. I had bitter recollections even then and doubted whether, even in the course of time, they would eve become ‘sweet remembrances.’ 

Time would prove me both right and wrong. While I continue to be haunted by ‘bitter recollections’ from time to time, these have, indeed, been mostly eclipsed by ‘sweet remembrances. ’Sadly, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has deprived me of many instances of the latter; some, I can recall vaguely, of others I have no memory at all. 

The same, it is true to say, can also be said for any ‘bitter recollections’ with which even a failing memory would continue to disturb me but for a creative spirit that is quick to dismiss them, replacing them, if not with ‘sweet remembrances’ in any detail, at least with the spirit of them on which I continue to thrive by courtesy of a creative imagination. 

Now, poetry may well be a form of creative therapy, but it is also an art form. I feel privileged to access each, even as my growing old and accompanying health issues threaten daily, but in vain, to deprive me of both..

I, TEMPTATION

I can make you feel good
or I can make you feel so bad
like you’ve been had,
taken in by so strong a feeling
that’s swept you away
on winds of such desire there’s no escaping,
come willpower’s unresisting

You need to let me pass
let mind-body-spirit be a friend,
and listen well to all
it has to say about staying loyal
to its kith-and-kin,
for knowing a heart-and-soul will be grieving
the company you’re keeping

No battle compares with one
set to undermine better instincts,
give a persuasive alter ego 
pride of place, albeit under cover
of lies and deceit
in such a hellish darkness as defies confession
to make way for absolution

Yet, I will have my wicked way
with you, pour scorn on hindsight’s
attempt to wipe your tears,
haunt any positive-thinking mindset
throughout whatever time
would have mind-body-spirit live with its shame,
a posy of thorns by any other name

Now, however long it may take
to make reparation for any mistake
that’s a sacrilege, surely
against all one purports to hold dear?
Such lessons to be learned,
though they weep us on repentance’s tough rack,
as teach the art of moving on, not back 

Whoever considers walking out
with me needs must give due thought
to tackling the task
of repairing any likely damage done
a fairer, kinder, truer self,
last spotted shadowing an existential imagination
by way of addressing potential salvation

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

A Life in the Death of a Leaf

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

“Solitude is independence.” – Hermann Hesse

“In solitude, the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself.” – Laurence Sterne

“If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.” – Jean Paul Sartre

“Solitude is a good place to visit, but a poor place to stay”. - Josh Billings (alias Henry Wheeler Shaw)

“Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.” – May Sarton

Now ,even as a child, I enjoyed a close relationship with nature, the more so when on my own and unavailable to intrusive interruptions.  I did not need to be in a wood or by the sea or even outside my own room. Books and their authors were not only my friends, they were my mentors too; it would only take word or a phrase and I would be transported, across time and personal space, where alter ego would feel free to make a case for… whatever.

The only drawback was – and, I suspect, always will be – that I learned more about myself than anyone else would ever see; warts ‘n’ all….😉

A LIFE IN THE DEATH OF A LEAF

Alone and feeling lonely,
like the only leaf left on a tree
that’s been battered
by an autumnal wind raging 
at… what, exactly?
Whatever, having me empathise,
with a leaf on a tree
I'd barely noticed before, yet, suddenly, 
we are as one, we three

“It is but the way of things,
murmured the tree “that I lose
my dear companions
through those seasons of my life
that our Earth Mother 
would have  them kept safe
for future generations 
to look to see, hear to listen and pass on,
all the wiser for being reborn.”   

A fine calm and quietude 
came over me, lonely no more,
in a splendid solitude
for witnessing a gust tug the leaf
from its tree, each farewell
a burst of happy-sad 
on this heart-and-soul, grown closer,
in all truthfulness, to the bitter-sweetness
of evergreen life forces…  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

A Sunset...

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

Photo by Graham J. Collett (See Note below)

“Just because the sun is setting in your world, do not think that it sets everywhere; just because the sun is rising in your world, do not think that it rises everywhere!” - Mehmet Murat Ildan

 “Don’t forget: Beautiful sunsets need cloudy skies.” -  Paul Coelho

“Every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.” - William Shakespeare

Now, like many if not most people, I love sunsets. They make me think about the world and how I can better relate to it; especially at such times as that relationship leaves much to be desired, they provide food for thought as can offer any positive-thinking mindset with a kinder insightfulness... should it care to partake of at least a fair portion.

A SUNSET

A beautiful sunset,
settling on an unquiet mind,
promising sweet dreams
on pinkie clouds like doves’ wings,
metaphors for peace
and goodwill to all humankind,
less scary eruptions
of fretful silences into politic pieces,
custom boundaries

A gentle twilight,
settling on an unquiet mind,
lulling the better part
of humanity into a sense of security;
but a passing moment,
one for heart-and-soul to imbibe,
taste a natural beauty
on the tongue, instead of raw cynicism
passing for sophism

Come nightfall,
such starry silences winking
and blinking at us,
for giving the nod to kinder times,
such as glorious sunsets
allow passers-by inclined to place
the pace of life on pause,
time to look up and around, breathe it in,
prepare to pass on...

Daybreak, sunlight
rushing to wake dreamy eyes,
yesterday’s sunset
keeping its promise? We can but trust
nature and human nature
to enlighten mind-body-spirit 
as heart-and-soul advises,
should we care to listen, make what we can
of the art of being human

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: Graham, a close friend also shot the videos on my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber ]

The Lilac Tree, no Fairy Tale

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“I’ve not much interest in the important things of life. Only in the beautiful things. Just” this lilac here makes me happy. – Erich Maria Remarque (Three Comrades)

“The smell of moist earth and lilacs hung in the air like wisps of the past and hints of the future.” – Margaret Millar

“Philosophy: A purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.” – T. S. Eliot

There was, indeed, a lilac tree in the garden of the house where I was born in Gillingham (Kent); true, too, it was still there when I made a point of passing that way during recovery from a mental breakdown in the 1970’s. True, also, that its fragrance filled me then, as it always has and always will, with the life force that is hope; for every blind alley, a kinder alternative.

THE LILAC TREE, NO FAIRY TALE

Once upon a time,
a lilac tree grew in the garden
of the very house
where I was born, lived and played
with friends and family,
would see birds and butterflies attracted
by its fragrance in full bloom,
extending a poetry of spring into early summer,
memories to treasure

Come winter, pruning
would bring tears to the eyes
of family and friends,
less hardy than the little lilac tree,
more vulnerable
for having to weather less-than-kind
ways of the world, eager to give it
a fighting chance to thrive, stay safe, be strong,
lend us a focus for living

Grown old and weary,
yet no less spirited for all that,
a whim took me treading
an alleyway in time and personal space
to the same garden gate
of the very house where I was born,
first felt the fragrance of lilac
encouraging heart-and-soul to weather whatever
in nature and human nature

In one corner of a stranger’s garden, I can still see
my lilac tree, sweet smell of eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

The Bee

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

 “In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they’re still beautiful.”” –Alice Walker 

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” – Helen Keller

“We are all broken. That’s how the light gets in.” – Ernest Hemingway

Many years ago, a boy, about 10 years-old, I asked a disabled man in a wheel chair if he missed walking. “You bet I do!”, he said with a wry grin, “… so, thank heavens for imagination, eh?”

It struck me at the time that imagination was poor compensation for being unable to walk. 

Now, years on and in my 77th year, often frustrated by having to deal with an increasing mobility problem, needing compression stockings and a walking stick to get out even locally, I count my blessings that I can walk at all…  and know exactly what he meant.

THE BEE

There is a trellis fence sprawling with roses
whose gate I often pass through, into a garden
tendered with loving care
by the thoughtful heart, anxious that any who
enter there should open their senses 
o such sights, smells and sounds urging we
bond with the bee homing in on a favourite rose,
attend to late forget-me-nots

Always open, the gate, garden as welcoming
to strangers as old friends, whomsoever drawn,
whether by accident or design,
conscience or circumstances beyond reasoning
or control, body-mind-spirit
leading us into a panorama of peace and quiet,
taking its cue from mixed feelings, 
overflowing hearts posing questions, left struggling
to make sense of mixed feelings

No easy answers or solutions, bee disappearing
out of sight, out of mind, as we try to feel our way
to at least a leading clue
as to how to get through another day, fighting
off fears with a heart-and-soul,
taking us places we love to see, letting Earth Mother
show us how much beauty survives,
however badly the world treats us, whether in real time
or ‘live’ seasons of imagination

Oh, but to stay in the garden, breathe clean air, 
engage with such beauty as nature and human nature
have it in them to invoke,
given tender, loving care, left unprovoked by elements
seemingly all but indifferent
to such kinder life forces as call on us to follow a bee
into a trellis rose, be inspired
by how a beautiful garden landscapes grows on the heart,
wannabe world in miniature

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Getting the Better of Hindsight

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It isn’t a calamity to die with dreams unfulfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream. - Benjamin E. Mays

It isn’t a calamity to die with dreams unfulfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream. - Benjamin E. Mays

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. – William Burroughs

Something I have had to relearn as I grow old, is the art of relaxation. In later years, I’ve become, a good deal more dissatisfied with my life as it is now and as, at heart, if it has seemed for years. I am relearning fast, though, able more each day to make the best rather than the worst of things, my age - and various limitations it imposes - notwithstanding. While never easy to prevent any limitations at any age get the better of us… it has to be better than The Abyss, yes?

Yes, yes, YES...

GETTING THE BETTER OF HINDSIGHT

I wandered as lonely in a crowd
as when I am alone, invariably close 
to tears that refusing to fall.
 trusting mind-body-spirit to yet find
way through scary shadows,
restore light to a heart-and soul
left feeling abandoned
by all it's tried to believe in, never sure what,
would have me start out...

Love gave me life, lent me strength,
yet it was never quite enough to save me
From having to sleep rough
under bridges I’d dearly wish to cross,
but mind-body-spirit
had other plans for me, lessons words
cannot teach a heart-and soul
never sure what to do, where to go, in whom
to trust, a place called home

Time and again I' have followed paths
leading to much the same crisis, an abyss
into which I’d long to fling 
my whole being, sick of never feeling
that I belonged anywhere,
cowering in a corner, afraid to come out
even among friends,
abyss drawing me to its  edge time and again
for so wanting to end my pain

Yet, the lure of life and love find me
back in the full swung of this nothingness
offering me everything 
and nothing at all, mind-body spirit on hand
to comfort a heart-and-soul
ever fluctuating across an entire range
of human feelings and foci,
as happy as I could ever be, letting my tears flow 
for selves in me I'd never know

Suddenly, children’s voices in my ear
wave me to look around, listen to all I see.
feeling all the better 
for it, mind-body-spirit ever reminding me
that life was never going to be
a bowl of cherries, but other fruits on hand
to enjoy - whether by sharing
for real, in dreams making much of make-believe,
or on a well-manicured sleeve

Come what may, there's are lasting joys of living
to be had, our circumstances notwithstanding…

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Jungle Book

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“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man known himself to be a fool.” – William Shakespeare

“The best way out is always through.” – Robert Frost

“Clouds come floating into my life no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.” - Rabindranath Tagore

Now, reader J. H. has emailed to protest about yesterday’s poem being published on both poetry blogs in so far as “... not everyone is interested in LGBT matters.” He or she goes on to say that “... your poems are barely poetry at all, no imagination, merely a medium to put across your own arguments and points of view. Real poetry, like all art forms, is something beautiful...”

Well, show me an art form that does not express the artist’s point of view and I’ll eat my cloth cap; the thing about art, in any form, is that it attempts to offer points of view that some observers may not have the experience or imagination to consider whether or not they agree disagree with that particular standpoint, whether it be the artist’s or anyone else’s. 

Art forms that are simply admired for what the eye sees, regardless of what voices it whispers in the ear, is barely art at all. So yes, if my poetry fails to attract as many listeners as observers, J. H. is spot on in suggesting it is barely poetry at all...?  Even food for thought needs must be digested with care, or not only is taste is sacrificed, but also digestion...

JUNGLE BOOK

Sudden sky, a livid blue canvas
for live art, as creatures great and small
make their presence known
and felt to any mind-boy-spirit choosing
to host nature’s art work,
engage with a potential for imagination,
escape, if only briefly, the greater
threats to everyday life that it needs must face
in own time and personal space

Lions and elephants, free to roam
jungles where no hunters care to go, no sport
to be had here, only the art
of inner eyes, hosted by escapees from a world
for which there are no words,
only anxiety and pain, well-deserving respite,
heart-and-soul left free to journey
where it may, unshackled from any inhibitions
as would see it lose its way...

Here-and-Now on hold, if only briefly 
while we take cover from slings and arrows,
take pleasure in taking pleasure
for its own sake, letting moving fingers write
words we never learned to say,
paint similes and metaphors in the sky to which
art forms can only aspire, no comfy fire
but a sunburst of imagination out of nowhere,
resembling an elusive Somewhere

I see dragons rearing their scaly heads
alongside fearless sheep and even smiling faces
peering into the real me, reserves
I can draw on whenever I need to raise a grin,
even as I limp home on marathon days,
having to rely on kinder life forces than worldly
aids to see me through,
mind-body-spirit failing, close to dying as living,
yet closer still to an inspired loving

Throughout the day, various skyscapes
invade my thought processes, but never warlike,
even in stormy weather, any images
running for cover, eventually assuming hues
of splendid sunsets inclined,
to message through art forms of its own,
walking, talking shadows
engaging the nature of the art of communication,
in defining and redefining imagination

May any mind-body-spirit that finds itself
walled in by its own inhibitions and inability to see
beyond limited horizons, unite its whole,
let it see-hear-feel such meanings in art that pose
food for thought, make doors of walls,
entrances to such realms of interest and concern
hitherto left unexplored,
lessons yet to be learned, not least for wondering why
there should be jungle creatures in the sky... 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

 

Lines on the Extraordinary Nature of Ordinariness

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I am often asked why I revise a poem already published years later. Did I not have a sense of its being incomplete at the time?  The truth is, no I didn’t. As far as expressing a sense of what I was feeling at the time, I was happy enough with the original version of the poem below when it first appeared in my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time in 2005. Rightly or wrongly, I felt the feeling was worth sharing, giving readers food for thought that might even let them experience a similar sense of past-present-future as expressed in the most ordinary surroundings as I did then... 

I feel the same way now, 17 years later. as I have grown older and my feelings matured, so too has my sense of that same ordinariness, especially in so far as there is nothing ordinary about it at all. At the same time, my feeling for poetry and expression, too has matured, and I recognise this. Still wanting to share my experience with others, I find myself working on the same poem, but in a different way, choosing my words no less carefully than before, but making sense in ways that eluded me when I was writing the original version because, albeit unknowingly, I hadn’t yet reached the stage in my life when I had experienced just what it was and is I felt the need to express and share in the form of a poem.

Over to you, dear readers, and I can but hope you will enjoy the experience of time-travelling via magic of ordinariness as much as I do. 

LINES ON THE EXTRAORDINARY NATURE OF ORDINARINESS 

Clouds, magic carpet rides
to exotic places;
awakening us to a repeat
of bath time potential,
pop star, jazz player, classic musician...
bent upon making the world wake up, sit up, 
shut up and listen

 Grass, littered with daisies
sunspots of memory;
trees, waving leafy arms,
telling us off
for the many mistakes we’ve (all) made, 
never meant to happen, best forgotten, easier
said than done 

A broken fence, urging us
to revisit, repair
broken friendships, forgiving
from the heart, so...
who’ll get us off to a good start, forget rhetoric
and more besides by letting actions speak louder
louder than words? 

An old armchair, memories
of a special someone who’ll sit there
no more, words
in the air left unsaid, missed opportunities
for too often forgetting
how much we owe the living
when too late, but for in our dreams of course,
for better or worse 

Crisp, clean pillowcases
all to ourselves, nudging us to observe
a damp patch
on the ceiling, spreading, lending pictures
to half-closed eyes...
landscapes, seascapes, cloudscapes passing by,
letting sleep take over for a spot of joyriding – or
running for cover?

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, rev. 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Safe and Sound

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

Today, another revised post-poem from a year or so ago. 

Now, whenever people often tell me that they hate winter, the cold and snow, I am inclined to agree while Muse enjoys letting cosy fires conjure up such images of comfort and joy as can be relied on to home in on a more positive approach to past-present-future.    

Home, is where the heart is, is it not? More often than not, it is people, not a place, unless it is a place of special significance for us, not least because of those with whom we visited it and shared happy memories. My mother once described winter as 'a very happy-sad time'; it would be many years before I quite understood what she meant. 

The best of nature and human nature is a door that is open to us all 24/7, whatever season of mind-body-spirit in which we may find ourselves at any given time, for whatever reason. For many, it opens the way to comfort zones that will inspire and see us through thick and thin all our lives, no matter our gender, religion, culture, sexuality...for as long as we choose to dwell on the positives in our lives even as we tackle the negatives. 

Although unwell at the moment, I still practise what I preach in so far as I continue to look on the bright(er) side of life through just such a door...

SAFE AND SOUND

In winters of the heart,
no sweeter thoughts than of love
to thaw frozen cockles
by fires rekindling kinder landscapes.
taking us further even
than the eye can see for having us focus
on a collage of positive thoughts

Oh, such times past
that lift even the mind-body-spirit
through its wintry days;
a child’s delight in the sheer poetry
of rainbows, flowers, trees,
in awe of the natural world, no sense (yet)
of its ever being taken for granted! 

Oh, such times past
as homing in on love in all its shapes
and forms, journeys
of a lifetime sure to keep family, friends
and lovers among sunny skies,
oblivious to any spoilsport clouds gathering
with more than mischief in mind! 

Oh, such times past,
inviting the adrenaline to flow as fast
and furious as any river,
every vein throbbing so for the first thrill
of being in love, and reason
to hope it will be returned in full, last forever,
one in the eye for its naysayers! 

Oh, such times past
as kept busy weeding out the poorer
to leave the very best
more space to grow, time for nurture, present
and future in the balance,
a kinder humanity sure to reap its own rewards, 
the rest but left out in the cold! 

In winters of the heart,
no warmer thoughts than of love to thaw
any frozen cockles,
let gentle, evergreen landscapes, further even
than the eye can see,
inspire mind-body-spirit to make such journeys
as sure to see it return safe and sound 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

A Life in the Day of Everyman OR Sunrise to Sunset: an Existential Journey

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

I seem to recall playing a board game years ago, in the course of which if a player’s throw of a dice moved him or her into a tunnel, they would have to pay a forfeit to get back into the game again.  

When I spoke to a friend on the phone recently, he was clearly at a low ebb and I was finding it hard to lift his spirits; like so many of us during the coronavirus pandemic, he could see little if any light at the end of his own particular tunnel. When I had occasion to speak to him again later, though, his tone was markedly more positive.  He described how walking by the river during a beautiful sunset had not only brought him peace of mind-body-spirit, but that same aura of peace had given him the space he needed to get his thoughts in order and see his way more clearly. 

Regular readers may recall how my ocean passage to Australia many years ago, was an enlightening experience in itself for giving me time and space to similarly get my thoughts in order and see my way more clearly, not least in so far as I was not so much going to Oz as running away from a seemingly impossible situation here in the UK. Oh, and yes, I have many a glorious sunrise and sunset to thank for that too. 

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF EVERYMAN or SUNRISE to SUNSET, AN EXISTENTIAL JOURNEY

Rising with the dawn,
following the first sunbeam
that happens along,
mind-body-spirit taking laughter
and birdsong for its cue;
leaping here and there to join
cheeky clouds at play
while continuing along Sunshine Road,
allowing joie de vivre its way

Pausing at high noon
to look down at worlds below
mapped out as one,
yet playing host to such divisions
as see no end in sight
to socio-cultural-religious flaws
justifying wars of a kind
that target the human spirit with a view
to corrupting heart and mind 

Saved from bleak despair
by a glorious sunset inviting me
to wing such shades
of pink, red and gold as illuminate
old Apollo’s lair,
help lighten, too, any heavy load
humanity asked to bear
for having its imagination so fired as daring
to seek (even find) rescue there 

Where human instincts risk failing each other,
come words to the wise from Earth Mother

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

 

A Friend for Life

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We are still in lockdown here in England while Government decides how best to approach Christmas this year. I am personally of the view that any relaxation of safety regulations, will prove to be a mistake. 

Those of us who live alone, as much if not more so than most, acknowledge and empathise with the call to allow more people to meet up, but see it as asking for trouble and likely to result in an increase in coronavirus cases and deaths, especially given the way some people continue to flout safety regulations. 

Other religious festivals have come and gone with no special treatment so why should Christmas prove any different, just for one year, for safety’s sake? After all, Christians believe that Christ said ““All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” – and no one wants to catch Covid-19. 

Many businesses, of course, rely on the run-up to Christmas to show a profit or risk going under so it would make sense to make some allowances for this, although, yet again, customers will need to respect safety regulations regarding social distancing and wearing face masks correctly.

 Meanwhile … 

A friend who also lives alone recently confessed that he sometimes talks to the furniture for want of anyone to engage in meaningful conversation. I told him not to worry, I have been doing that for years. 

It can often help to try and put our frustrations into words. Rather than whinge to someone else, at least the furniture is guaranteed to be a good listener; it becomes less of a monologue than a debate between our conscious and subconscious selves, often resulting in our seeing our way more clearly than simply trying to think things through. I suspect being literally lost in thought is not an unfamiliar condition to many if not most of us.

Today's poem is a kenning.

A FRIEND FOR LIFE 

I have lived with all human moods,
try to go along with them as best I can,
humour folks when angry,
let them vent the worst of verbal spite
on me, the world, whatever 
it takes to calm one down, make one see
how life, it has its ups and downs,
as if by way of teaching us, ourselves, to know,
stay alert to the pull of undertow 

Good times, bad times, happy times,
and sad times, we have shared them all,
gradually establishing a philosophy
of sorts along the lines of no use crying
over what’s said and done,
needs must choose to play deaf and dumb
or come with cap in hand
to make reparation, encourage reconciliation
or learn to manage our frustration 

Good companions for many a year,
we watch TV together, listen to the radio,
relax with our favourite music
keep in touch with friends and wider world
on laptop, tablet or mobile,
no coronavirus likely to come between us
until death us do part,
mind-body-spirit striving to keep mortality at bay,
positive thinking, Order of the Day 

It’s one and all for whom my kind is always there,
assuming the persona of a comfy armchair 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

 

Homing in on (Positive) Thoughts

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

Being at home a lot, even working from home, especially if you live alone, can put a strain on even the most stoic among us. Social interaction, to a greater or lesser extent, is part and parcel of human nature; imposing restrictions, in any shape or form, is bound to cause some frustration and distress. “It’s all very well for the Government to tell us all to stay at home more,” a neighbour commented angrily, “… but if you are elderly and live alone, what can you do but watch TV, and that’s mostly doom and gloom these days.”

Well, there is lots we can do at home if we put our minds to it and, no, I don’t just mean the housework. 

Those fortunate to have a garden and be fit enough to tend it, can spend more time getting it ready for spring; indeed, any form of creativity, be it drawing or, painting, sowing, knitting, whatever … can prove an enjoyable distraction.

Ah, but what if (like me) you have no garden and are into none of those things, for whatever reason?

Well, there is always imagination; we all have it, and even those who claim to have none may well be pleasantly surprised if they just sit back, relax, and give mind-body-spirit a free rein, refusing to let any stubborn obstacles - like negative thinking - get in the way.

HOMING IN ON POSITIVE THOUGHTS

A tiny bird flew off my duvet
to perch on my shoulder and sing
love songs in my ear

A green leaf flew off my curtains
bringing tidings of hope’s brighter
eternal spring 

A black cat leapt up from my sofa
into my arms, as if to assure us both
it’s OK to dream on 

A loved-one’s photograph on hand
winked as if to say it’s rooting for me
in another life 

Encouraged, a stranger in my mirror
let years fall away, past-present-future
but another day

I went for a stroll just for the joy of it,
less daunted by a scary Here-and Now,
though as wary still

Mask on my face, but a lively spring
in my step, ready to give any pandemic
a run for its money

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

In the Frame (Again)

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

Many people in denial are not consciously aware of it. Ask someone if they are homophobic or racist, for example, and the chances are they will deny it even if their behaviour suggests otherwise. Yes, they may well not want to openly admit they are guilty of something they know in their hearts is morally indefensible, but some people are genuinely in such denial they cannot and will not accept any such accusations. 

The subconscious, however, has no such inhibitions and it can lead to a sense of confusion that, in turn, can cause depression. Take yours truly, I was never in denial of being gay from about the age of 14; not to myself, that is. True, in those days, LGBT folks were not, on the whole, well received by society so I  I decided it was better to keep my sexuality to myself. It was not until after my mother died when I was 30 that I came to realise that it was not my sexuality that had kept me in what had been, for the most part, a very lonely closet for years but my family. I'd had no doubt in my mind that - with the exception of my mother – my family would not be supportive.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. More than 60+ years on, I'll never know for sure any more than I suspect they will either.

So … what did this say about me, as much as my family? It took a nervous breakdown to finally admit that I had no real sense of family, and my subconscious had been wrestling with this since my schooldays. If we had been a family that talked things through and could really talk to each other, things might have been different, but it was as it was; no one to blame except perhaps ‘society’. Whatever, the emotional estrangement I’d felt with my family took a physical turn, and I doubt whether any of them will every understand why. I blame myself for not standing up for, LGBT rights, letting anger, hurt and resentment get the better of me …and more. But any attempt at reconciliation would be a waste of time, nt least because I don’t want one any more than I suspect, at heart, they do. 

If I could put the clock back, the one thing I would definitely do would be to insist we talk to each other as a family, no rushing to judgement. Sadly, though, 1950’s society was inclined to rush to judgement on many matters that continue to haunt even a so-called ‘progressive’ e 21^st century when it comes to prejudice and discrimination to which, notwithstanding Human Rights and Equal Opportunities, many societies and communities around the world remain in denial.

IN THE FRAME (AGAIN) 

Whenever I am feeling low,
I stroll in a field where sunflowers grow,
reaching for the sky, as do I
when moods have me slump in an armchair,
wondering where I go from here,
searching a wall for answers
finding none, inspired to go searching in a field
of sunflowers  

Engaging with me, my sunflowers
talk me through all that a mind-body-spirit
in free fall needs to know
if to prevent a battering from the such winds
and rain as even humankind 
finds hard to bear, all but beaten to a pulp
by mixed emotions, times changing for the worse,
no easy solutions 

They will touch upon ancient myths,
these giants of their kind, rework them for me,
place them in a Here-and Now,
where, just as Apollo failed to win Daphne
for his own, so, too, must I home in
on any suspect motivation and blind speculation,
fuelling apprehension and self-doubt, obey instincts,
make a decision 

All thought processes now hopefully
more open to home truths and common sense,
time to focus, get real,
leave a field of  sunflowers on my wall
to its fading, antique frame,
shake off my slump, demand all mind-body-spirit
pull together, reason the need and dare give it a name,
put it back in its frame

Yet another existential traveller, looking for answers  
in a field of sunflowers...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Affinity with Spring

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

 “It is typical of spring to tease us with wintry days among hints of warmer, kinder times ahead; likewise, life, as the human heart emerges from wintry climes, and gets to grips with hope …” I wrote that brief introduction to this post/ poem when it first appeared on the blog in 2015. Let’s all hope it will be as true for the spring of 2021 as well. I suspect the Covid-19 coronavirus will still be with us, but plenty of hope too; hope for a vaccine becoming available sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, we are learning to live with Covid-19 as our bodies adapt to it, developing more immunity as we have, eventually, to influenza and other viruses before a vaccine finally became available.

Now, I’ve always dreaded the winter months, never more so than now, but I recall my mother’s approach to it and try to follow her example. “Forget winter,” she would say, “Focus on spring. For its sunshine, flowers, and swallows returning to nest. Do that, and spring will not only arrive the sooner, but you’ll feel so much better for it that even winter at its worst won’t get you down.” Young Roger was sceptical, but … it worked then just as it works for me now, some 70 years on.

Oh, I have a fondness for autumn although it is a sad month; even now, though, I am looking ahead to spring and Hope is already getting the better of Despair. As for any moments of doubt and fear, not uncommon in winters of the heart as so many are enduring right now in this Covid-19 pandemic, there is always the likes of a cock robin on hand to cheer any flagging spirits, our cue to keep looking on the brighter side of life, especially during its bleaker times...

AN AFFINITY WITH SPRING

New leaves
sailing into imagination;
peace of mind
for refusing to cave in
to fears of a kind
defying all description,
assailing senses,
holding the mind, body
and spirit
captive to anticipation
of the worst that can happen
to any of us

New leaves
drifting through our time
and space,
as if seeking a place
to freefall,
while our finer senses
serving mind,
body and spirit to kinder ends 
can only imagine it
as the worst scenario,
resolving it shall not happen
to any of us 

New leaves
like voices without sound
on the ear,
killing off all human fear
of life and death
by returning to the planet
such past promises
of another spring as not lost,
only sleeping,
Earth Mother sending
dead leaves to nurture Her seeds
in all of us

Buds opening
on an old tree, so delightful
to the eye,
restoring a flagging faith
in all things
bright and beautiful,
inviting us
to reconnect, make time
and personal space
for that immortal poetry
of 'live' nature and human love
in all of us 

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2015, 2020

Spirit of Autumn

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

People often tell me they find autumn a sad month because it means winter is closing in, but as I have often pointed out on my blogs… after winter, spring.

Better, surely, to look forward to spring than dread winter? 

In the meantime, let us enjoy autumn for all its glorious colours and the sense of eternal optimism these are surely meant to inspire in us, an optimism that well may fail us from time to time...but, as my late mother once said, there is an eternal springtime of the loving, hopeful heart sure to inspire and help us through all the seasons of life, even the hardest of its winters...if we will but keep faith with it. When I pointed out that I was not a religious person, she simply responded to the effect that no religion has a monopoly on love and hope since we are all born with a potential capacity for both. How far we choose to apply it, she would argue, has more to do with human nature than religion. (My mother was a Christian, but like all the more remarkable religious-minded people, whatever their religion, she closed her heart and mind to no one.)

SPIRIT OF AUTUMN

Autumn leaves... 

Drifting by my window

like dreams I have nurtured

with love and care

in the garden of my life

where some flowered

in their season while others

were battered by wind and rain,

never to be seen again

Autumn leaves...

Whirling by my window

like dervishes in a frenzied

dance of life and death,

sustained by a rage to seize

the day, come what may,

on the battlefields of my life

where I have risked all to prove

a born capacity for love

Autumn leaves...

Clinging to my window

as Apollo clings to the last patch

of blue before sunset,

bids nature and human nature

rest on hard won laurels,

so-brief enough reprieve before

more rude awakenings to a world

falling on its sword

Autumn leaves...

Ripped from my window

like pages of memory best left

to whims of wind and rain

while I enjoy each dreamy leaf,

petal and blade of grass

found in the garden of my life

whose choirs heard singing each day

of my pride in being gay

Autumn leaves, tears of Earth Mother 

for any that cannot see beyond winter

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today] RNT

A Measure of Creativity OR Nature-Nurture, Life Forces for All Seasons

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2014. [I do not intend to repeat all earlier poems, but readers are welcome to explore the blog archives as indicated in the far right column of any blog page; poems published again here have been removed, and in some cases, revised.]

The cover for my collection On the Battlefields of Love (see the first pic below) was photographed by my friend Graham Collett, a graphic designer who also films and edits my YouTube channel, working wonders with my barely fit for purpose video camera; it shows the folly by the lake at Virginia Water just outside London. There was much evidence of repair work going on at the time that Graham had to Photoshop out to convey the bigger, better, picture. We were both struck by the sheer creative power of illusion; it was like hanging on to a dream and experiencing it at its very best only seconds before having to wake up and let go…

Virginia Water was first dammed and flooded in 1753. Until the creation of the great reservoirs, it was the largest man-made body of water in the British Isles; the woodlands surrounding it have been continuously planted since the middle of the 18th Century.

Nature, like human nature is both a life force for good and bad, yet predominantly for the good in the sense that both share a predilection and talent for nurture, since its earliest beginnings; for humanity,  it is left to the human spirit to engage with nurture; for better, for worse, depending on that old standby for inspiration (or excuse) - circumstances.

[Virginia Water: photos from the Internet]

A MEASURE OF CREATIVITY or NATURE-NURTURE, LIFE FORCES FOR ALL SEASONS

Like nature throughout history,

love takes on its worst fears,

act of immeasurable creativity

Glistening like a vision of eternity,

a sea of glad-sad tears

like nature throughout history

Home truths, the blackest comedy

imposed on we poor actors.
act of immeasurable creativity

Find Earth's last laugh on humanity

falling mostly on cloth ears
like nature throughout history

Watch how feisty skies effectively

feed on the world’s prayers,

act of immeasurable creativity

Find illusion but cascading prettily

down centuries of applause

like nature throughout history,
act of immeasurable creativity

(Virginia Water, UK. May 9th 2009)

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2009; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Measure of Creativity' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Lines on the Accidental Life of a Raindrop

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

Another new poem today.

A regular reader has emailed to asks if I am not ‘slightly obsessed’ with rain imagery in some poems although he enjoys it, ‘given that it is one of those a positive life forces with which you also seem more than a little obsessed’. Well, I hope I don’t come across as ’obsessed’ in any of my poems.

Yes, I am fascinated by and empathise with various life forces; good, bad, ugly and sublime aspects of human nature … which I suspect applies to most of us if we are truly honest with ourselves. It is, after all, what the arts are all about as well as entertainment, the sciences, too, as well as looking for and finding answers; in the latter, science has an advantage since all the arts can too is make suggestions and offer alternatives to both entertain audiences as well as providing food for thought.

As a child, one of my elders and betters told me that art is the opposite of science; even at a young age, though, we had to agree to differ; in children and young people this is too often seen as being precocious. Different, yes, very different, but both are mentors to mind-body-spirit, each in their own way.

Much the sane can be said for nature and human nature; take a raindrop falling from the sky, catching both light and a child’s imagination, food for thought, indeed; where imagination entertains, invariably asking more questions than answering any …such observations may well not only stay with us  all our lives, taking us on a voyage of discovery that consciously or subconsciously  may well affect every move we make, every word we speak, who we are at any given time and whom we may yet become ...

No mean mentors, raindrops …

LINES ON THE ACCIDENTAL LIFE OF A RAINDROP

I watched a raindrop falling,

saw it splash on the ground without a sound,

and the silence, it was deafening,

killing the roar of traffic all around, leaving me

wondering who and where I am,

looking back at the heavens, asking questions,

needing reasons as to why

one minute I’m in a busy, noisy place, the next

travelling time and (personal) space

Silence, splashing my face

like thoughts that never seem to find a voice,

sailing through my head,

much like a summer breeze, every word unsaid

splashing on the backroads

of my mind, like raindrops fallen to the ground

only to conspire with others

to form puddles for children to make such faces in

as prompted by some native intuition

Years on, the boy I was that day,

a man now, but still watching that same rain fall

into much the same silence,

weirder now than ever for being so much rarer,

more likely to be swept along

by the rushing by of a Here-and-Now, little pause

to wonder where the time goes,

as likely breaking me for going with its flow had I not

listened to the silence, and never forgot

Old now, mind-body-spirit as full of pleasure as pain,

just for watching raindrops splashing Memory Lane

Copyright R. N Taber 2020

Grappling with Consciousness

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

As often as not, it's just before we succumb to sleep that we engage the closest with mind, body and spirit, seeking a reassurance we cannot always put into words, fearing it may overturn us in life's makeshift cradle at any given moment in time, its all but tipping us out already; we can but trust one or the other to find a way to break our fall.

Though any light attracting us be extinguished, be sure we will find another, the brighter even for  n mind-body-spirit having been prompted  to come together, thereby letting us engage with its entirety, and arrive at a consensus during any intervening darkness; that's life. 

Invariably, it is the human spirit that steers mind and body towards whatever our personal potential may be, regardless of our gender, religion, culture, politics or sexuality.

Few of us have an easy life, and I have known my fair share of trouble 'n' strife, but an affinity with nature has invariably seen me through my worst times and celebrated the better. 

As regular readers know, I subscribe to none of the world's religions; indeed, I find them divisive forces. At the same time, I respect the affinity others may well have with their religion as I have with nature ... for reasons (relating more to the person than any dogma) words can barely come close to explaining.

Here's wishing you all love and peace (especially during these hard times of coronavirus) now and always,

Roger

GRAPPLING WITH CONSCIOUSNESSS

Half-awake,

child eyes homing in on a world’s

of home truths

Light shade,

a bored babysitter party to a moth's

need for reassurance

Door slams,

rocks the cradle. Could be, a bully

at large...?

Moth and child

so losing faith in Ceiling’s sureness,

sent into free fall

Babysitter

makes a catch, applies wrappings

of make-believe

Bully, spotted

riding a pale horse into (temporary)

obscurity

Moth, glued

to light, a less imaginative humanity

switching off

Darkness,

mind block copyrighting a penchant

for denial

  

Peace (of sorts)

rocking our insecurities from cradle

to grave

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'The Babysitter' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]