A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

Name:
Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Sunday, 30 August 2020

You-Me-Us, a Posthumous Consciousness OR Remembrance, Mentor Extraordinary

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

Today's poem appeared on the blog some time ago.

Our ghosts are a living part of us whether we care to acknowledge them or not; kind and less kind ghosts, where the former invariably more then compensate for the latter, lifting us when we are low,  restoring a sense of purpose should we lose sight of it from time to time; these are more than memories of better times, they are the people who helped make them better, kinder, happier ... and they are no less real than ever, albeit invisible. As I grow old, especially living alone as I do, my ghosts are as real to me as flesh and blood friends; life forces, encouraging and sustaining me through these tough times of Covid-19.

Whatever our ethnicity, creed,sexuality ...  we are all but human; it is in our nature to be wary if not fearful of death. Religion may well offer a safety net of sorts, but it has always struck me as causing more worldwide divisions that it can ever begin to heal; neither, though, do I subscribe to negative thinking.

Whoever, wherever we are, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than look forward to. Not so, though, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? We always need to think positively about that however hard life gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart. There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware. Time, then (if not already) to let mind-body-spirit teach us how to look to see, hear to listen.

Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”

My friend had chosen a career in teaching. I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher. There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful.I suspect he will play an important if unknowing part in their consciousness for years to come.

A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and hope I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.

Much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end. if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make  the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly…and the chances are, we will never know

YOU-ME-US, A POSTHUMOUS CONSCIOUSNESS or REMEMBRANCE, MENTOR EXTRAORDINARY

I grow old alone,
those who may have grieved me
gone into that unknown
some call Heaven, Paradise, 
Hell or whatever, anything other 
than Death

Death, a cruel word,
metaphor for a ghost, last spotted
peering over the shoulder,
such as observes in my mirror
how desperate I've become to get
some sleep

Sleep, harbinger
of dreams, good, bad or too ugly
to ever contemplate
wherever alphabet lanterns 
over my head insist on spelling out 
my darkness

Darkness, companion
to personal space if sure to keep
a (very) discreet distance,
since it would not do to imply
so much as a tenuous connection
with its devils

Devils, such secrets, 
running rings around me, less able 
let gather dust as once
I would, mind-body-spirit loath
to invoke heated family discussions
with repercussions...

Repercussions, haunts
of bygone days, years of answering
to outward appearances,
inner self all but suffocating
in a closet I let few in, among whom 
no one to love

Love, always so near
yet so far, on the tip of my tongue,
but at the last minute
struck dumb by stereotypes
forcing public opinion down my throat,
all but choking me

Ah, but what’s that I hear?
voices out of nowhere reminding me
of words said, soon forgot,
(and to whom) now thanking me 
for helping them turn corners, find hope
get a life...

Alone, yes, but lonely no more;
invisible hands warmly shaking mine,
re-awakening sensibilities
half-forgotten, repudiating despair 
of a life with little to show for it, nothing
much to tell

Ah, but we all have tales to tell, 
how life marries us, for better or worse,
successes and failures,
loves lost and won, dreams come true
and others left to cry ourselves to sleep over,
come a new dawn

Dawn, spreading its light over me,
feeding me such hopes as I hadn't dared,
reassuring me of 'live' ghosts
always on hand to advise me on making
wiser, kinder choices, urging I but listen out
for You-Me-Us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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











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