Making Peace With Mortality

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

Well, here we are at the start of 2012. I will be posting new poems and any for which readers particularly request from time to time over the coming months and my thoughts will be with you all.  I hope you will continue to enjoy browsing the archives. My fiction blog will continue on the usual twice weekly basis, and I will start posting another serial when Like There’s No Tomorrow ends; if you care to take a look sometime, you’ll find it at: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

My friend Graham and I will also be uploading new poetry-on-location videos to my YouTube channel as soon as spring arrives: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Now, someone once told me that the older we get the farther back we look as there is less to look forward to.  Possibly, but I find looking back inspiring. Thankfully, memory becomes more selective as we get older and better able to home in on the good memories while glossing over the bad. Well, that’s how it is for me. Even the torment of a gay youth when being gay was still a criminal offence in the UK gives way to better times; such going on my first Gay Pride march here in London, meeting some wonderful people and no longer having to feel scared of my sexuality or less of a human being for it...

I so wish that feeling on all gay boys and girls, men and women worldwide.

One day ...

Now, regular readers will know that 2011 was not a good year for me. I was diagnosed with a low-medium growth prostate cancer in February. It wasn’t until November I learned that a course of hormone therapy has been very effective and I may not need it again for a good five years or so. By then, I may need radiotherapy, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. The hormone therapy has not been without side-effects, one of these being a urinary problem. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for months, having to get up sometimes as many as ten or more times in the night to use the toilet! Oh, but there are many people in this sorry world of ours with far greater problems, so who am I to complain?

So, no, not a good year, for Roger T, but it could well have been a LOT worse so I am working hard at being very philosophical and counting my blessings. After all, those of us who have food in our bellies and a roof over out heads have every reason to be thankful.

London will, of course host both Her Majesty the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee as well as the Olympic Games this year so it should prove a good year for sporty types and monarchists. Yes, well, I am not sporty in the least, and although I have every respect and admiration for Her Majesty, I suspect I’m a monarchist by default since I have never been happy with the idea of the UK becoming a republic. [Ask any political historian and you’ll soon find out why.]

Whatever, here’s hoping for a better, kinder year ahead for everyone.

MAKING PEACE WITH MORTALITY

I saw an old man

looking in a toyshop window

just as the first snow

of winter was falling on passers-by,

and all the toys there

started singing and dancing

as if they understood

January Sales are on, someone

might buy them

for the love of a child who would

give them a home

I saw the old man

step into the toyshop window

through a curtain of snow

though winter already turning harsh

on passers-by,

and the singing-dancing toys

made him welcome,

nor did it matter that he was old

and they were toys,

since spreading love and peace

is down to all of us

I saw the old man

wave his hands, and kick his feet,

arthritis forgotten,

keen to show he’s still young at heart

and even the cruellest winter

cannot quite obliterate a spring

that will last forever 

as long as one toyshop window

nurtures its seeds with pride,

recalling even the dourest cynic

to a teddy bears’ picnic

His face at the window,

sight blurred, sweet-tasting tears

like rain to spring flowers,

the old man bade cheerful goodbyes

to the fun-loving toys

filling the shelves, leathery face

wearing a knowing smile

acknowledging more mistakes

than a shaggy dog’s hairs

and age as no more or less than

the sum of its memories

Between lines on his face

(for anyone who cared to read)

tales worth the telling,

lessons to be learned and passed on

to each girl and boy

by their favourite toy as we grow,

how though it (like us)

may fade, like the first flower

of spring, each New Year

offers us the potential to effect

repair and renewal

You’ll have guessed that man was me,

making peace (of sorts) with mortality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012