De Profundis or Mind-Body-Spirit, On the Mend

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

“Everybody’s journey is individual. If you fall in love with a boy, you fall in love with a boy. The fact that many Americans consider it a disease says more about them than it does about homosexuality.” – James Baldwin

May 2010 saw the resignation of David Laws from the coalition government; it was very sad, for him personally and the country. The latter was told that he broke the rules regarding MP’s expenses in order to protect his privacy. Apparently, he had claimed rent for an apartment owned by a man with whom he had been in a relationship since 2001. He had not declared the relationship.

Now, I have suffered from depression all my life and poetry has been literally, a life-saver, as was the case when I came to write a first draft of today’s poem in 1983; I was feeling suicidal at the time.

The title -meaning ‘Out of the Depths’ is taken from a love letter written by Oscar Wilde while serving time in Reading Gaol.

I wasn’t in despair about being gay, having come to terms with that some years earlier, but I was feeling acutely disappointed in myself and my inability to get my life on an even keel. Eventually, I would do just that, and writing this poem helped considerably, but it would take a few more years yet and a troubled ocean to cross... in more ways than one...to Australia. Regular readers will know the tale so I won’t repeat it here. Suffice to say, I managed to rise above the worst and get my life in better shape.

While shopping yesterday, I overheard a group of people discussing how ‘scary’ the pandemic, and how they feel close to despair of life ever returning to the way it used to be before Covid-19 and its variants struck. I suspect thee are many such folks out there, among blog readers too, who feel much the same way. I (know I do, at times.)

My hope is that the poem may yet help you, as it did me, to rise above our fears and rediscover the Poetry of Love, Friendship and Motivation...

Yes, Oscar Wilde was gay, and anyone can find themselves in despair, for whatever reason, any time, any place, anywhere... so, can deny it or dare judge anyone else for being so driven, whatever his or her sexuality?

DE PROFUNDIS or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, ON THE MEND

I lay floating an ocean of misery,
willing myself to drown,
while dolphins kept me company
and Apollo lingered on

Sharks, they kept a hungry distance,
an albatross winged by,
while waves lent a gentle cadence
to twilight’s lullaby

Went into freefall to the ocean floor,
and would have stayed,
but Apollo demanded of me more,
while the dolphins cried...

I let them have their way, if reluctantly,
screaming out for motivation,
searching the finest Poetry of Mortality
for the Threshold of Reason

No inner voice answered me, although
I strained to hear,
then twilight let a cloud pass through
and I found a poem there

Body of straw in that ocean of misery,
willing myself to drown,
I read an ode to life, love and a history
of peace, after wars hard won

It told, how few things in life come easy,
including death...
Such is the fickle nature of humanity
and ways of Godmother, Earth

I felt a poet’s passion take hold of me,
heard its voice in a seagull’s cry,
swimming me across an ocean of misery
to walk kinder shores, head high

I woke in tears still drenching my pillow,
began (slowly) to recover;
at chinks in the blinds, winks from Apollo,
reassuring me the worst was over

Copyright R.N. Taber, 2010; rev.2022

[Note: The poem’s title means Out of the Depths. An earlier version of the poem itself appears as the Dedication poem (to Oscar Wilde) in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012; it has been only slightly but significantly, revised.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Two (poems) for the Price of One

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

After two years of learning to live with the Covid-19 pandemic, tempers are beginning to fray for whom some, who were living on The Edge even before the pandemic, pent-up feelings of frustration have sought release in a variety of ways, some violent. While there can be no excuse for violence against another, mental health issues should never be underestimated, especially in such times as we are living in now.

A healthy diet and regular exercise can help to alleviate stress,, of course, but self-help isn't always enough. There is help available for anyone less able to cope with stress, especially when it seems to be coming at them from all sides; we have to recognise the signs, though, and actively seek help; There is no shame whatever in feeling less and less able to cope with stress, whatever its source, but we need to recognise the signs and get help before it manifests itself in such a way or ways that we are likely to live to regret.

My failing to recognise the extent of the stress that living in a closet was making itself felt over a period of some 20 years, resulted in a nervous breakdown in my 30's. I had been too scared to ask for help,  had convinced myself I could cope... and could not have been more wrong. The help and support I received on a road to recovery that took me 4 to years of hard, mental slog to cover and start applying for jobs again... was a lifesaver.

Whether heterosexual or of an LGBT persuasion, we are, each and every one of us, only human and human nature, being as complex a life force as it is, needs a helping hand from time to time and mind-body-spirit needs must reach out and take it. Never easy... but what in life comes easy to any of us? We may think some people have an easy life,  but few of us are ever privy to what goes on behind closed doors...

THE ENEMY WITHIN

Love turned its back on me,
yet would not run away,
but left me nailed to a tree,
(couldn't even pray.)

Pain alone left me free
to fight another day;
Love, my sworn enemy,
nails in a god of clay

Better stay angry than grieve,
avid ties sure to rot,
scars worm on a sleeve,
to prove - what...?

Love, like war and peace,
down to each of us

Copyright R. N. Taber. 2005, 2021

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM

Love hadn't touched me
for many years;
I'd let myself drift freely
on a Sea of Tears

Chanced to find peace
(or did it find me?)
and sought to anchor us
in that same blue sea

Sea of Sadness, no more;
blue, only the sky;
soul once bruised and sore,
bright as a swallow's eye

Ashore at last, for homing in
on your heart's outline

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2021

[Note: Both poems were written in 2004 and first appeared in my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Poetry as Creative Therapy

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

Readers have been asking why I post poems only to revise them at a later date. Would it not be better to wait until I am fully satisfied with the finished piece before going ahead and sharing it? Well, yes, it would, but I am satisfied with it at the time and want to share it; if I have any reservations, I will delay, but even then, it can be good to share what may only transpire to be the genesis of a poem; I may well make changes to its wording and structure later, but any revisions always try to retain the spirit of the original poem.

While I do my best to interest readers with my poems, I have made no secret of the fact that the blogs are also an important form of creative therapy for me as well. I suspect my recovery from a nervous breakdown many years ago has never (quite) been as complete as I like to think. Moreover, any hangovers from that terrible time may well have been reawakened by my prostate cancer being treated with hormone therapy (Zoladex) since its being first diagnosed in 2012. I'm not complaining, just being pragmatic; I cannot ignore the effect (and influence) health concerns have had on my poetry, so they are relevant to answering the question.

In the early days of hormone therapy, I expressed concern to my consultant that it was making me feel frightened a lot of the time, and was also affecting my thought processes, especially my memory. I was assured these were side-effects of the treatment. Over subsequent years, I have learned to deal with them, but if I though I was winning the battle, I could not have been more wrong.

The sense of creeping fear leaves me from time to time, often for very prolonged periods, although it has returned with a vengeance since the coronavirus pandemic struck. However, memory loss and disorganised thought processes have dogged me from the start. Not helpful for a wannabe poet, I hear you say, and you would be right. I have struggled with writing poems (and fiction) for some years now, probably before I even started the blog, but hadn’t got the measure of my shortcomings.

I gave up on the fiction as no publishers were interested. Even so, working with words has been a lifesaver. Without the blogs, I suspect I would have given up on myself in the early days of my prostate cancer. Some days are a nightmare, not least because I forget the meaning of words with which I have been familiar most of my life and need to keep looking them up to make sure I am using them correctly. At the same time, organizing my thoughts into poem mode can take days, and that’s before I have to start wrestling with words and meaning. Completing both processes encourages me to continue, not only writing poetry but also getting ready to face another day.

My life was so different before either the prostate cancer or a bad fall in about 2012 when I fractured my left ankle and have had a mobility problem ever since, especially now I am in my mid-seventies. I used to enjoy walking for hours in the countryside and parks, long cliff walks by the sea, wherever the whim and might take me. Similarly, I used to love exploring art galleries and museums etc. and I miss all that because you can be sure that either prostate cancer or Foot will have other ideas... 😉

I am not making excuses for my poetry not always being up to the mark, simply telling it how it is and attempting to answer the question as to why I post poems only to revise them at a later date. I have always enjoyed writing poetry, nor just by way of creative therapy either. My first published poem appeared in my secondary school magazine when I was still only 11 years-old. I’ve never thought of myself as an especially good poet, but hope what some of my poems have to say will continue to resonate with some readers even after the Grim Reaper comes calling.

Readers often ask why I have an entry on Wikipedia. I didn’t know myself for a long time, but it appears it is because I also write gay-interest poetry, and there is little enough of it about. Gay poets, like gay novelists, have good reason to want to try and correct the many misperceptions many people have about gay people, the fake news and misleading stereotypes that haunt some of us all our lives.

Rightly or wrongly, I grew up in a family that gave a very vulnerable fourteen years-old Roger the impression they had as low an opinion of same sex relationships as many if not most people in those days. Consequently, I remained in the proverbial closet until my early thirties; even then, it would take a nervous breakdown - that had been simmering away in me like an awakening volcano - to eventually set me on a course that would not only restore a flagging self-confidence, but also result in my emerging from the closet, ready at last to start looking the world in the eye as a gay man. Oh, I made lots of mistakes along the way, and regret them all, especially where I may well inadvertently have hurt other people’s feelings.

Enough of all that, hope you won’t think I have strayed too far from the point I was originally trying to, make; few points worth making can be made in a few words.

Take care, folks, and keep well,

HUGS,

Roger 

PS In spite or (or because of) everything I’ve said, I do follow my own advice. I wake up each morning feeling physically sick for having to get through another day... BUT... by the time I have given myself a pep talk, got dressed and had some breakfast...YES, the positive mindset is already ticking over nicely, and invariable sees me through until bed-time... if only just, sometimes. 😁

 

Not (Quite) Anonymous

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

In some ways, this post-poem continue the debate on mental health which Puzzles, Puzzlers and Halfway Houses hoped to open, not least because the pandemic will have taken its toll on the mental as well as physical well-being of many of us across the world; a subject which too few of us are willing to consider, let alone discuss.

Now, we are all comprised of many parts, such is the complexity of most if not all human beings as we run a daily gamut of emotions, positives and negatives, often having to struggle to beat off the latter in order to give the former a clear run. Many of us succeed most of the time; sometimes, though, other considerations take their toll. In mind-body-spirit, it is mind that’s likely to start feeling the stress of everyday struggles the most, despite assurances from an innate spirit that all will be well; as for the human body, it so wants to believe all its spirit urges, but our minds may well have other ideas…

It is always worth the struggle, just to let the human spirit win through, get professional counselling if possible. Family and friends may well be supportive, but they are no more likely to understand the psychology behind what is happening to us than we are ourselves; nail the underlying reasons, and we stand a good chance of configuring solutions.

Sadly, for some of us, everyday life is never (quite) enough; we need to find a way to bridge the gap between the personae we present to the world and who we are. Most people make a good job of just that, more than simply tapping into the Happy-Ever-After ethic, but actually living it, despite the usual ups and downs of everyday life. Others pursue the dream, never (quite) make it, but remain content if not (quite) happy enough to settle for what they have. Yet others…well they remain caught between emotional rocks and hard places, but prefer to pretend otherwise, thereby succeeding in (almost) convincing themselves (and others) that all’s well in their personal space, so...no worries...!

Sharing an emotional as well as any other problem with a trusty confidante is always a good idea; it not only halves the burden in helping to bring it into focus, but openly acknowledging its very existence has to be a good start, too, in helping to find a solution if only because we are no longer having to muddle through on our own.

NOT (QUITE) ANONYMOUS

No one ever (quite) gets to know me,
although some may like to think they do,
for whatever it is I've let them see;
no one ever (quite) understands my reality,
though some may yet get to find
and follow clues left in prose and poetry;
no one ever (quite) gets close to me
sufficiently to hear just what the mind-body
takes for a sense of spirituality 

No one ever (quite) understands a self
in me that certain other selves do their best
to put down, even bully into agreeing
motions no joint mind-body-spirit inspires
only certain rogue elements reluctant
to ever accept any such majority decisions 
that exclude them from personal space,
has them force a different pace, leave its host
(that's me) to do its best...or worst 

No one ever (quite) gets to unearth in me
such roots as only ever sought to grow, flower
forever in a loved one’s own eternity;
no one ever (quite) gets a response from me
along lines of any mistakes I've made,
abandoned to shallow graves in living memory;
hopefully, some may come to think of me, 
once I am no more, see that any kinder parts
have as great a say in my history...

I am that life-force driving humanity’s choices
to lend mind-body-spirit its truer voices

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

Hi folks, from London UK

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

Hi folks, from London UK

No poem today, but I should have one ready for you for Monday.

Reader A. S. has emailed to ask how badly the pandemic has affected me, and if I feel now much as I used to before it struck. It would appear that he or she is estranged from their family because for not sharing the same religious faith; clearly both are preying on the reader's mind.

Well, like many if not most people, the pandemic, lockdowns etc. have taken their toll on me, but I do try to practise what I preach with regard to nurturing a positive mindset. Growing old and living alone is never going to be easy. We can but take each day as it comes. The recent death of a former work colleague I knew well hit me hard, the more so, I suspect, because of the stress the pandemic was already imposing. I became all but obsessed with the prospect of dying for some weeks to the extent that I was prompted to revise my Will.

As regular readers will know, I do not subscribe to any religion. It is my choice and I would ask others to respect it just as I respect those who do subscribe to this religion or that, although the former has rarely been my experience among the devout. I have strong views about world religions, not least because I am gay and they make LGBT folks feel excluded, even from having a sense of spirituality to which, as both poet and Pantheist, I do subscribe, very much so. 

For me, personally, religion embodies the sentiment expressed by George Orwell in his satirical novel, Animal Farm: 'All animals are equal, but some are more equal that others.' Certainly, in the world today, much the same applies to human beings, even in the context of religion. Another former work colleague once told me that she enjoyed working with me and was so sorry that I was destined to go to hell (for being gay).  Needless to say, I was neither fazed nor impressed. As far as I'm concerned, we make our own heaven or hell here on Earth, which, given the ways of the world we live in, is not too difficult. 

Many if not most of us fear death, not least myself although I fear an physical pain it may involve than death itself. Nor, incidentally, do I see it as a taboo or even morbid subject. On the contrary, death is as much part and parcel of life as life itself. As I see it, it's not only pragmatic, but also healthy to consider its implications, not only for ourselves, but loved ones too; the legal implications for the latter if we die intestate, for example, can provide the latter with a mountain to climb at a time when they are likely to be grieving. (While we all have our own ways of dealing with grief, none of them are easy.) 

I have written poems about death, not from a sense of morbidity, but to help me come to terms with the prospect in such a way as to prevent it taking over my life as I have seen happen with some people; this was my intention in my poem, Extracts from a Pantheist's Diary about which I received several nasty emails  No offence was intended, however, so I did not publish the apology they demanded. As I ask on the blogs fairly often - including a poem of the same name - whatever happened to agreeing to differ? 

When I die, I will be cremated, and if any of my organs can be of use to anyone, they are welcome. As for 'eternal life' I see that as my living on in the memories of those closest to me, possibly even passed from generation to generation across time and personal space; among complete strangers even, too, with whom I may have engaged in one-off existential chat on public transport, as I do now and then. Certainly, I remember what the latter had to say and have already passed it on...as  I would like to think at least some of my poems may provide food for thought enough to be passed on in much the same  way, although I remain very pragmatic on that front, too, and don't, as one reader put to me only recently ."delude" myself that I'm  a "great" poet. 

Ah, but enough s enough methinks, for now at least. All that remains is for me to  say thanks for dropping by and hope you will do so again soon. Take are, keep well and, yes, be sure to nurture a positive mindset, if only because the alternative is a sure way to make a living hell for ourselves. Life is better than that, so are we.

Hugs,

Roger

Hello again, from London UK

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

Hello again, from London UK

No poem today, but I hope to have one ready for you fairly soon. I don't expect everyone to like every poem, of course, but I feel encouraged that many of you continue to stick with this struggling senior as, like many of you, I struggle with all the changes in everyday life that the coronavirus has imposed. 

A reader asks if I practise what I preach with regard to nurturing a positive mindset. Well, I do my best and manage to do so most of the time, but like all of us, I have good days and bad days.  I can only speak from the perspective of an old codger living alone; different people will have different problem. Partners will have each other to share any difficulties with, but in the kind of circumstances imposed on us by the coronavirus, tempers may well fray. Families will have encountered a different spectrum of problems altogether, especially those with young children. For many if not most  older children and young people, not being able to mix with friends and peers will have been a waking nightmare.

Now, living alone and growing old ain't easy at the best of times. Everything takes so much longer and I get tired so much more easily. Everyday tasks - like stripping a bed and turning a mattress - are a challenge; it takes me ages to replace a duvet cover now too.😊

I coped well with the first lockdown here in the UK, but the latter stages of the second were a nightmare. I often felt lonely, and scared too, a though the latter has more to do with the hormone therapy for my prostate cancer as it can have that effect on some people sometimes. An ear infection and mobility problems haven't helped. So, how do I cope with it all...? Well, better some days than others, that's for sure.😉 

I try to keep reminding myself that there are so many people in the world so much worse off than myself, some of whom I know personally. I tell myself that if they can cope, so can I. Writing up the blogs and posting poems when I can has been a godsend; it distracts me not only from my own problems, but the whole coronavirus scenario. I think everyone needs to find ways of distracting themselves from any personal problems anyway  (coronavirus or no coronavirus) whether it's pursuing a hobby or just watching a favourite video/ TV programme. Me, I avoid News programmes apart from catching up with the headlines. While I am interested and concerned about what else  is going on in the mad, mad world of ours...there is just so much a person can take when so much of it is so depressing.

Now, although lockdown restrictions are being lifted here in the UK, we still have to deal with the threat of a so-called Indian variant, already prevalent in parts. Yet again, all we can do is take care, and (yes!) nurture a positive thinking mindset. We won't always succeed, but just trying can make all the difference.

As I have said on past blogs, I honestly think a healthy diet is a huge help when it comes to dealing with stress.

At the end of the day, of course, we are all different and needs must find our own way through our own waking nightmares. As my mother used to say, though, we should never be afraid to ask for help, never think anyone will think the worse of us for doing so. Each of us, in our own way is, vulnerable; if counselling is not an option and there is no close friend on hand or at the end of a telephone, call The Samaritans. Even simply talking (or writing) about our worst fears can give us an entirely new perspective on them. If I had confided my problems with being a gay man so someone years earlier, I may well have avoided a nasty nervous breakdown in early 30's.

What else can I say for now but... good luck everyone, and bear in mind that most of the time it's down to each and every one of us to make our own luck... or not, as the case may be.

Take care, everyone, and many thanks for dropping by.

Hugs,

Roger

PS In the course of transferring about 1000 poems to a memory stick (so far unpublished except on the blogs) I have significantly revised more earlier poems that you will find in the blog archives. Do feel free to browse now and then, and I hope any revisions (including some titles) will meet with your approval...but won't be offended if they don't. 😉

Back to the Future

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

Like many if not most people, I’ve had my share of ups and downs in life, but none more devastating than a mental breakdown some 40+ years ago. I lost all self-confidence, saw no future for myself that I could even hope for or dream about. I felt like an empty shell adrift on a lonely sea. 

In the past, I had always managed to rise above if not actually solve my problems, but this time, I felt utterly defeated, trapped by a mindset that remained stubbornly resistant even to

hope. One night, I dreamed of going back to my childhood. Oh, it had been no fairy tale, but nor had it been a nightmare. 

Over several nights, I dreamed about places and people that had made me happy. By day, I’d wish I could go back, and get all the more depressed for knowing there could be no going back. Then I got to wondering… why not? 

During the weeks that followed, I visited places I had loved, even looked up several people I remembered from those days. Nor was it in the least depressing; on the contrary it reminded me how the mind-body-spirit can take a person’s side and help that person to move forward if he or she but cares to listen. I visited places where I grew up, even my old school where I’d been very unhappy, took the train to Brighton where I first met the love of my life who would be killed in a road accident less than a year later…Happy times, sad times, awful times, such times as comprise that tapestry of life unique to each and every one of us. 

Going back was no instant cure for the mental state I was in, but it made me realise that I had in me no less an innate capacity for life and love than anyone else; all I had to do was tap into it. Easier said than done of course, but I made the effort, started writing again, and also joined a local unemployment group; the first step proved to be as positive a creative therapy as it had been in the past while the latter helped me re-learn the art of communicating with other people and sharing ideas, thoughts and feelings. 

Nearly four years later, I started a new job with the help of an organization I discovered once I’d eventually rediscovered the confidence to put such information skills as I had to good use again. It was a long haul; even longer, its shadow that will hang over me always, if only to remind me that, just as our Here-and Now is what we make it, so its roots are in our past and whatever the future may hold is also down to us, quirks of so-called ‘fate’ notwithstanding.

BACK TO THE FUTURE 

Sometimes we need
to go back, the better to move forward,
recover lost inspiration,
motivate ourselves to take a positive view
of life, lost somewhere
along the way among hard times, blind
to woods for their trees,
deaf to well-meant advice for self-pity and fear
overwhelming the senses 

Back, as far as we can…
to recover a feeling for such kinder times
as when we’d run
with loved ones and friends, since shut out
by an unquiet mind,
no sense of belonging, thought processes
all but gone awry,
mind, body and spirit no longer in sync enough
to determine how or why 

A distant cry in the ears,
alerting us to kinder years, inviting us back
to experience once more
whatever it was that once inspired us so then,
but fails us now,
urged us to take our cue from such dreams
as offered a new reality,
no thought then of failure, only of an endeavour
well worth the journey 

Oh, and such a journey...
to other worlds now colluding, now colliding
with ours, the thrills
of taking up, breaking up, and making up again
with all manner of species
among humankind offering love, power, glory
or whatever it might be
we aspire to, by whatever means it takes to twist
and turn the right key 

Looking back, rediscovering
whatever it was in us that kept us moving on
through thick, and thin.
all but forgotten because it never had a name
(not everything does)
but would have me reconcile with and learn
to best nurture
this singular mind-body-spirit comprising all of me
that’s past-present-future 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

Mind-Body-Spirit, a Flexible Friend

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

Around the world, many if not most of us still subject to safely regulations due to the pandemic are nearing the end of our tether; the stress of having to cope with the absence of loved ones and friends in our daily lives continues to make itself felt.

While we can but keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, it is easier said than done. We have no choice, though, but to fight Covic19 and its variants and let common sense take the lead in playing our part to protect not only ourselves, but others too. Those who view safety precautions as an affront to everyday human rights are simply being selfish.

The police handling of the vigil for Sarah Everard on Clapham Common is a case in point. While I support it in so far as it was not only meant as a show of support for Sarah’s grieving family, but also protesting about violence against women in general, this is not the time to raise our voices. Too many people and too little social distancing at this particular moment in time, when Covid-19 and its variants are still rampant across parts of Europe and a real threat to us here in the UK, was irresponsible; it had been banned for the same reason, not because the powers-that-be are unsympathetic.

Yes, civil liberties are restricted at the moment, have been for some time, and feelings are running high, even more so at the murder of an innocent woman simply returning from visiting a friend.  

Yes, the police may well have seemingly over-acted at times, but what were they meant to do when calling upon the crowd to disperse and some people refusing to move?

Yes, of course women and girls should be able to feel they are free to walk any streets anywhere in the world without fear of being attacked and, yes, their voices need to be heard. Even so, at the moment, large gatherings risk spreading the coronavirus, and that is a threat to everyone.

MIND BODY SPIRIT, A FLEXIBLE FRIEND

Ahead, gloom,
self-confidence all but zero,
no sense whatever
of being able to rise above
a troubled mind
caught unawares by questions
demanding answers
where there are none,
only more of the same 

Ahead, despair,
ego despatched into free fall,
its host body
left battling against all odds
just to exercise
its human right to give as good
as it gets, refusing
to take any cues from either sense 
or sensibility 

Suddenly, a light,
all but dazzling an inner eye
grown weary
if not yet (quite) glued shut
by fear, prised open
for the duration by such forces
as will always
get the better of the worst we suffer
if we let them 

I am Mind-Body-Spirit, would-be adviser;
who heeds me grows all the wiser

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

[Note: Apologies. This poem first appeared on the blog under the title 'A Word to the Wise... until I realised I had used that title elsewhere so had to think again; I could blame lockdown stress, but suspect growing old has a lot to do with it too.] RNT

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello again, Everyone

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

Hello again Everyone,

No poem again today, sorry about that, but I am working on one. I live alone and get very tired, especially after a BAD night with my prostate cancer; it isn’t advanced or particularly aggressive, but I often need to urinate during the night. I have tablets now, that help some nights, but not always.

Poetry demands a degree of thought and imagination, both of which fail me utterly sometimes. Even so, they are necessary tools for my personal survival, pandemic or no pandemic, so I am always well-motivated to recover any losses. Fingers crossed…

There are moves towards enforcing greater safety precautions here in the UK in an attempt to control the rapid spread of the Covid-19 variant. One of these is closing down all places of worship. A reader asks how I feel about this. As it happens, I agree, and not because I do not subscribe to any religion. Places of worship offer the sense of being part of a community, and this is important, but not essential to feeling close to God; praying alone can do that. 

Those attending places of worship, whatever their religion, tend to congregate before and after services, an open invitation to the spread of any coronavirus.

Another reader asks how I cope with broken sleep and mobility problems during the pandemic. I have not been told to ‘shield’ so I make sure I get out and about as much as I need to, for essential everyday shopping, exercising my bad leg etc. I always wear a mask as it helps my self-confidence.

Living in London as I do, I am very nervous about going out at all these days, but mental health is every bit as important as physical health; I need to get out of my flat sometimes, even for just 20 minutes or so, or go mad. (I don’t have access to a garden.) It’s a case of mind over matter, I guess, between my inner self and a handful of mentoring ghosts from my past; we invariably manage to persuade a wary, nervous, even downright scared yours truly, to get on with life as far as possible.

Yes, I try to practise what I preach when it comes to adopting a positive-thinking mindset. Never easy, but it’s Hobson’s Choice in so far as the alternative does not bear thinking about. (Well, does it…?)

I look out of my window, watch trees swaying, birds flying and squirrels chasing each other… and feel close to nature. For a pantheist God is nature. So, on this Sunday morning, nor less so than any other morning or times of day, I find more than inspiration enough to see me through all life throws at me as I grow old, pandemic or no pandemic, and, yes, maybe even a poem…

Back tomorrow, folks, and many thanks for dropping by; your company means a lot to me.

Take care, be safe, and keep well,

Hugs,

Roger

 

 

 

Mind-Body-Spirit, Fighting Back

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

Like so many of us, I was deeply saddened to hear that Dame Barbara Windsor died on Thursday, n big screen icon and small screen legend. I well remember her in the Carry On... films and later as Peggy Mitchell, landlady of the Queen Vic in EastEnders.

Sharing the news of her Alzheimer's with the world was a selfless act of great courage. Previously,  Alzheimer's - indeed, any form of dementia - was a taboo subject as, sadly, many mental health issues
are still. By encouraging it to be openly talked about and debated has helped enormously in providing a much needed focus on and greater understanding of a devastating disease.

I have published other poems about dementia on this blog, but the kenning below was written with Dame 'Babs' Windsor in mind. I don't have dementia, but years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have stolen so many precious memories that I often feel as if my life is falling apart; it upsets me; it also makes me angry to the extent that I will sometimes say and/ or do things completely out of character. I cannot begin to imagine how anyone with any form of dementia, their loved ones and friends, cope on a daily basis. 

We owe Barbara Windsor a debt of gratitude, as much for her campaigning as an ambassador for the Alzheimer's society in latter years as for decades of entertaining us with her acting skills, not the least of which has to be her  ability to make us laugh. To the very end, she was an inspiration.

(Photo from the Internet.)

MIND-BODY-SPIRT, FIGHTING BACK

I prey on memories
pick and choose those you keep,
those you lose,
any left sure haunt mind-body-spirit
like kind ghosts
watching over us, no matter who,
where or why,
self-appointed guardian to the best
of human nature

Enter, human nature
sussing me out, defending its rights
to the end,
confiding in few for fear they may fail
to grasp the nettle,
pursue much the same old lines of life
and its passion
for seeing is believing, no understanding
of identity fraud 

Identity fraud, something
I do well, insinuating mind-body-spirit,
undermining it
as much and often as possible, fight-back
notwithstanding,
yet never (quite) succeeding to throw
a knockout blow,
if only for misjudging its native passion
for joie de vivre

Even I, Dementia, must concede from the start
there’s no taking over the human heart

 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

 

 

 

When the only Way is Up

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

Sometimes we seem to be going nowhere fast, and haven’t a clue what to about it. I felt that way for years. Plans I’d made about becoming a librarian after leaving school depended on my passing at least two A-level exams, but I only passed one. I drifted into my early 20’s with no clear sense of direction and finally decided to migrate to Australia. This didn’t work out, either, but gave me time to take a long, honest look at myself and work out a positive plan of action; this depended on my returning home as it became clear there was no future for me in Oz. As it happened, I couldn’t get a job and soon did just that. I signed up for a course of teacher training in Canterbury, but my first teaching practise made me realise that a hearing problem should not be underestimated. As luck would have it, I was able to transfer to the local university, finally graduating with a good degree in English and American Literature; this, in turn, made me eligible for a postgraduate course in librarianship.

Career-wise, I seemed to be on an even keel at last, but was still grappling with a sexuality I had been raised to believe was ‘sick’ although no longer a criminal offence for consenting adults since 1967. It would be another few years and a bad nervous breakdown later before I would not only be entirely at ease with being gay, but also see my sexuality as a sure positive rather than a defensive one, certainly no negative.

It would be four years after my breakdown before I was eventually able to get a job in my chosen profession, and have never looked back. The only fly in the ointment was a pressing desire to write, and there just weren’t enough hours in the day. In 1993, cutbacks in Local Government spending meant some compulsory redundancies while everyone else at the library where I worked was offered voluntary redundancy. I decided to be positive, accept, and work part-time. Again, I was fortunate enough to get enough work to support myself and try my hand at writing fiction and poetry until I retired in 2004. I didn’t become a best-selling novelist, but have a modest reputation worldwide as a poet and have no regrets. I see gay-interest poetry and fiction as alternative voices of the same genres and have enjoyed exploring and sharing both on my blogs. I only wish I had emerged from my deaf-blind chrysalis years earlier; no butterfly here, but a psyche with which I am no longer anywhere near as unhappy as I was some 50 years ago.

I once commented to an old friend how I felt lost and had no idea even what path next to take in a life that was...a mess. "Well, Roger," he said, "When you reach rock bottom, the only way is up so hadn't you better make start? The sooner, the better by the sound of it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Right!

WHEN THE ONLY WAY IS UP

So near, so far, dreams
in the heart desperate to break out
and go live, make themselves known
to an unsuspecting world

So near, so far, thoughts
fit for a positive mind-set playing
fast and loose with a vulnerable psyche
all but unfit for purpose

So near, so far, aspirations
persistently put down by jeers pulsing
a self-esteem deaf-blind to the landscape
of human potential…

Deep breaths and first steps,
picking up the gauntlet thrown down
by die-hard naysayers and doom-mongers
with little or no imagination

Learning the art of persuasion,
pitting it against any nemesis of faith
in the power of positive thinking to prove
a worthy winner over all else

A rush of adrenaline for playing
an active role in life’s amphitheatre
rather than sit with live ghosts in the gallery,
left wishing and hoping in vain

Bit between the teeth, not a time
to be resting on laurels, can do better,
need to take on new roles, new challenges,
critics welcome to any field days

So near, so far, nightmares haunting
a psyche afraid of being measured out
for better or worse according to expectations
thrust upon it by false impressions

Here-and-Now, assigned a lead role
in a past-present-future psyche poised
to explore the rolling see-hear landscape
of human potential

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

Enemy at the Door

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

[Update: 19th July 2020]: The Covid-19 coronavirus is putting people under various degrees of  stress affecting their mental health - among all ages - around the world. We all need to be mindful of this and support each other long after the pandemic has run its course which is unlikely to be any time soon. Mental illness, to whatever degree, can wreck lives if left unchecked and untreated. Sadly, there remains a stigma attached to mental health and many people are reluctant to come forward and seek help; if you sense a loved one, friend or workmate is suffering, don't wait to be asked, but find a tactful way to offer help  and don't take 'no thanks, I'm fine' for an answer. It's never easy, especially as people with mental health problems invariably suffer mood swings and can be rude, even aggressive sometimes. I've been there, still got the tee shirt, and only survived with the support of some wonderful people who believed in me when I had all but stopped believing in myself.] RNT

Mental health is something that is finally coming out of the closet here in the UK, but here and the world over, still has a long way to go before everyone feels at ease with the subject. From time to time, I get emails from men, women and young people struggling to recover from what is referred to as a nervous breakdown, but doesn’t even come close to describing the sheer intensity of a roller coaster of emotions as likely as not ending in a nasty crash.

Sadly, more often than not when we try to explain bad, even criminal behaviour, it is seen as making excuses rather than a genuine attempt to understand; not only for the benefit of others but also, possibly primarily, ourselves.

I will be 75 later this year. Regular readers will know that I had a bad nervous breakdown some 40 years ago; although it continues to haunt me, I feel I’ve come to terms with its multiple causes which, in turn, has helped me achieve (in part, at least) a sense of atonement for its effects on others.

‘Work out your own Salvation. Do not depend on others’. – Buddha

While I agree with the Buddha that we need to work out our own salvation, accepting help should not be seen as a form of dependency, rather as a learning tool necessary to see us back on terra firma after going into free fall. It was nearly 4 years before I was able to start looking for and eventually got a job in which I would stay for the next 25 years. I could not have achieved this without the help and support of certain people to whom I am more grateful than words can begin to express.

My Good Samaritans did not include any family members, I suspect because they saw my need to discuss my behaviour at the time as an attempt to excuse it, and had neither the patience, empathy nor inclination to listen. Fair enough, but fortunately, not everyone turned a deaf ear, and in trying to explain, I, too, began, slowly but surely, to understand. Once there, I had foundations upon which to rebuild my life, and proceeded to work through what I saw as a form of salvation; in my case, through writing, for others as much as for myself, trying to share something of the lessons I had learned. (Coming to terms with being gay was a part of a learning curve I still see myself on some 40 years later.)

A thousand rights cannot compensate for a single wrong, but a sense of atonement, even if no one else sees it as such, does wonders in restoring a shattered self-confidence and faith in oneself. How far I have been successful has to be for others to assess, but I am more at ease with myself now than I ever thought to be again, hopefully deservedly so.

I once commented to an actor friend at the end of a play's successful run how well he and his fellow actors had performed, and how wonderful it must feel to be part of a close-knit team. He laughed. "You wouldn't say that if you had the faintest idea what goes on backstage!" he said with such feeling that I found myself reflecting how true of life in so far as it is too often the case that what we see is but part of a whole; the more important latter lies in what we don't see. I found that out the hard way while recovering from a mental breakdown some 40 years ago. Most friends and colleagues assumed I was perfectly well again years before that was true.

‘Mental illness is a very powerful thing. If it is with you it is probably going to be there until the day you die. I am trying so hard to break mine, but it is not easy. It is my toughest fight ever.’ - Frank Bruno [Former British professional boxer.]

Few if any of us have the moral courage to freely acknowledge our worst fears, but until we do, we risk their getting the better of us; we need to share them with someone, give it a voice (even a poem) and the chances are it it will be our turn to have the last laugh. Mental illness is made all the worse for the stigma (still) attached to it, but all enemies have their own worst fears, of which by far the greatest is the power of the human spirit to overcome...whatever.

'Where there is reverence there is fear, but there is not reverence everywhere that there is fear, because fear presumably has a wider extension than reverence.' - Socrates

This poem is a kenning.

ENEMY AT THE DOOR

I crawl passages
of mind-body-spirit,
less frightened
of the dark than daylight
where pain
lies in wait, ready to strip
and humiliate me
in its contempt for the vagaries
of human nature

I pause now and then
to read writing on walls
over centuries
sure to keep the likes of me
well out of sight
of any too close for comfort
to such cause-effect
likely to point fingers of blame
at human nature

They beckon me on.
the disembodied victims
of a vulnerability
considered (even by those
in the know)
best left to their own devices
as if life were a game
of Consequences, and the Devil
take the hindmost

I am Fear, common enemy
of the human spirit


Copyright R. N. Taber 2018

You-Me-Us, a Garden for all Seasons

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

A new poem today, relevant to everyone, regardless of ethnicity, sexuality, religion...or whatever; for this reason it will appear on both blogs. (I am encouraged, by the way, that some readers who use a shared computer have, in turn, recently felt encouraged to dip occasionally into both blogs after years years of being wary of others rushing to any misleading judgement of them for their reading one or the other.)

Now, the singular beauty of memory is that we can not only revisit kinder times when life is treating us badly, but also revisit the same positive feelings feelings that inspired us then and call for a repeat performance; such is the lasting power of inspiration, neither subject to time nor place, but a 'live' memory upon which we are free to draw upon for inner strength at such times as we need it most. Oh, and we can all be sure of those if  (hopefully) only now and then, no matter who or where we are in the world.

YOU-ME-US, A GARDEN FOR ALL SEASONS

It could have been just another walk

in the garden, only it meant more than that

to both of us as we would never walk

this way again, among flowers all colours

and trees whose branches might well

have been greeting or waving us goodbye,

sunlight glancing off smiley leaves like tears of joy

for being alive and well

Clouds across the sun attempt in vain

to send our spirits into free fall just yet awhile,

the sunshine of your smile inviting me

to fly with you across a world struggling

(but succeeding, if barely) to combat

its fears of homegrown bigotry and hate

fed a mind-body-spirit taught but to trust our “betters”

to know what’s best for us

A light rain, as if the heavens weeping

at this, our parting from a garden more beautiful

than any Eden could be, Earth Mother

embracing us, any tears but for the passing

of a Here-and-Now into an Unknown,

where contemporaneity as fickle as the wind,

now friend, now enemy, no sooner dragging us down

than lending a helping hand

Hugging, kissing, our parting less in sorrow

for treasuring and archiving the moment

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

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

On Call, 24/7

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

Someone once told me how I lucky I am to be a poet because ‘poets have a way with words and are blessed with an imagination.’ Yes, I enjoy writing poetry and feel a lot better for having written a poem than I probably felt before starting out; it is the only form of creative therapy at which I can (hopefully) claim to be any good.  

Imagination, however, turns not on words but on the human spirit, and each and every one of us has access to that.

Painting, gardening, any form of creativity stirs the imagination because imagination is a state of mind, not ability. When we are unhappy, we feel better for distracting ourselves by doing something that gives us pleasure and will help ease whatever pain is causing whatever unhappiness, physical or mental, that is burdening us way beyond any measure of words.

Never let anyone tell you that you have no imagination, but if life is an epic poem, so we, too, are epic survivors for the way we journey through it; each in our own way, a poem in the making.

“It is not the load that breaks you down. It’s the way you carry it.” - Lena Horne (singer)

We all need a stop-gap if only to give as a breathing space when things get on top of us, as they invariably do from time to time. Oh, and never think you have no imagination; just close your eyes, relax, and let it work its magic. Whatever is troubling you won't go away, but you can always trust imagination to refresh mind-body-spirit, if only briefly, enough to make dealing with it less of an ordeal.

ON CALL, 24/7

As a child, I would rejoice

in every day, take it in my stride,

good or bad, fall asleep

at night among pleasant dreams

of beautiful places

and beautiful people whose beauty

lies but in the eyes

of the beholder, no expectations foiled

by the worst of human nature

As a teenager, I would dread

schooldays almost as much dealing

with a personal space

to which I dared not admit family

or friends, tried hard

to take it in my stride, but sensed

I was falling apart

until I discovered real-life companions

for mind-body-spirit

In later years, I’d find how love

takes many shapes and forms, in people,

places, wildlife,

waves and seashells…all eager

to comfort, reassure

and support a sad mind with memories

of happy times…

always there to be logged into, undermine
any mental or physical pain

I am Imagination, on call 24/7, feel free
to call on me, stopgap for reality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Here-and-Now, Do-or-Die

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

Now, we often complain that time waits for no one, but better (surely?) than it should stand still, especially when life dumps us between a rock and a hard place? 

Time is no cure-all for the worst wounds life inflicts, but it can make them if not less hurtful, at least more bearable.

Time, after all, effects change and change is what life (and humanity) is all about; whether that change is for better or worse, is not down to Time but to each and every one of us…in our own lives and in the wider world. 

After a bad nervous breakdown in 1979, I felt trapped in a No-Man's Land from which, for a long time, I envisaged no escape, all but gave up on having any future to speak of; employers are understandably wary of any prospective candidates for interview whose CV so much as hints at a history of mental illness. 

I was very fortunate to find an organization willing and able to help me, and started a new job four years later. In the meantime, the support of friends and a penchant for creative writing helped me rise above the worst, and get real again. I started a new job in 1983 and stayed there (in spite of reducing my hours so I would have more time to write) until I retired in 2008.

While recovering from my nervous breakdown, I discovered how not to judge my future by its past. All any of us can do, I suspect, is take the best of our Here-and-Now and do our damndest to shape and reshape it into something we can not only live with but, better still, take personal satisfaction in the making of... So I gave it a go, and not only survive to tell the tale but, better still, continue to enjoy customising my Here-and-Now as best I can.

HERE-AND-NOW, DO OR DIE 

Let's not judge a future by its past

or Time's remit to fly,

scream "Foul!" for our trailing last

Whoever swaps slow lane for fast

risks passing life by;

let's not judge a future by its past

Beware should old Memory’s blast

hurt and make us cry,

scream "Foul!" for our trailing last

Better feed on the present than fast,

forever asking, "Why?"

Let's not judge a future by its past

Let's not fly our colours at half mast,

(or each day, we die)

scream "Foul!" for our trailing last

Grab whatever feel-good lifeline cast

(if not always at first try);

let's not judge a future by its past,

scream ‘Foul!’ for our trailing last

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008, 2019

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since it first  appeared on the blog in 2008.]

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.]