The Whisperers or L-O-V-E open all Hours

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

I had planned to post this poem here on Monday but my to-do list is already barely manageable , so... here it is. A reader (who appears to feel the need to emphasise that she is "not gay" has asked for a poem to help herself and family death with the death of a close friend, suggesting " .. . a celebration of the life we shared rather than homing in on loss and grief..."

At the risk of being boringly repetitive, love comes in all shapes and forms, always a welcome if not essential support to any mind-body-spirit found wanting...at any time, for any reason.

THE WHISPERERS or LOVE, OPEN ALL HOURS

Think not that I have gone,
but only this of me,
that once there was a man
unable to (quite)
enter into access any real sense
of belonging
other than by way of a feeling
for love in all its multifarious shapes
shapes and forms 

Thanks to love, I (finally)
began to rise above
the world’s prejudices and hate,
embrace my sexuality,
commit to it, not least in poetry
inspired and nurtured
by that same Earth Mother
that gives birth to us, whom we leave
but to return in time 

Much like autumn’s kisses,
I’ll rise above any tears,
revisit shared memories sure
to feed love’s seasons,
in all weathers, good and bad,
carrying such seeds
as any Here-and-Now may sow
if only to survive in sickness and health,
for better, for worse 

Though any mind-body-spirit
may miss the realities
of love, its other (existential) self
lives on such memories
as nurture it still, selecting those
homing in on that peace
and kindness sworn to help save
any human heart in left pain, as and when,
whatever it takes 

Our joys, as leaves in a breeze
asking we but look out
for them, hear what they see
in us as they fly by
on wings possibly invoking envy
of a human spirit blessed
with potential for getting the better
of mortality, courtesy of all personal space
and shared history 

While a sorry world continues
to yearn (as it surely will)
for an all-inclusive mindset, I fly
where Doves of Peace 
keep its promises, death shows us
its kinder side, as love,
it watches over us, keeps us safe,
who have yet to rework its finer arts on winds
set fair for life

Think not that I have gone,
for there’s a you-me-us comprising 
a mind-body-spirit
wherein any lonely, wintry days
needs must give way
to sunnier climes, if only for the sake
of a love like ours,
free, now, to be of good heart for such heavens
as are open all hours

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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