Emissary OR The 'u', 'i' and 'y' of Humanity, Parts of a Whole

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

Overheard in a local supermarket on the day (widely reported in the media) when princes William and Harry recently unveiled a statue of their late mother, Princess Diana:

LITLE GIRL:     What happens when you die, Mummy?

MOTHER:          If you’re a good girl, you go to Heaven.”

LITTLE GIRL:   Is Princess Diana in Heaven?”

MOTHER:          I imagine so, yes.

CHILD:               And will I go there, too, when I die?”

MOTHER            If you’re a good girl, yes, of course.

CHILD:                So, will I get to meet Princess Diana?

MOTHER:           Well, err, maybe, who knows what lies ahead for any of us.

A long pause

CHILD:                So, if I’m bad, will I go to Hell?

MOTHER:           Oh, look, darling, there’s Penny and her mummy. let’s go and say hello...”

 As a child, I well recall being promised Heaven and threatened with Hell as according to this or that religious dogma, and 75+ years on it is still happening. No wonder I feared death then, before I discovered that the human spirit, too, has a mind of its own, and is less threatening than inspiring. 

People are entitled to their faith, and should be respected for it, but no browbeating religious agenda / dogma will ever get a thumbs-up from yours truly. 

As for Death, I remain pragmatic, but also hopeful that the better part of me will continue to commune with those I have loved (as they do with me) and any among humankind whose own mind-body-spirit is happy to let me in.... unlike the former work colleague (a clergyman's wife) who told me she thought it was a shame I'd go to hell (for being gay.) She is as entitled to her faith, as I am entitled to reject it, as I did...long before I realised I'm gay. 

EMMISARY or THE ‘U’, ‘I’ & ‘Y’ OF HUMANITY, PARTS OF A WHOLE 

Sooner or later,
I call on everyone everywhere,
sparing no one;
rich or poor, young or old,
none ever get to run
whenever I choose to appear
and make myself known,
nor do I need to wait for an invitation,
such is the nature of my mission 

Oh, many are they
who would slam doors in my face
rather than let me in,
having no time or use for me,
preferring to send me
on my way, were I to but listen
to what they have to say,
while I prefer to avoid any altercation,
such is the nature of my mission 

Misted-over eyes
of a wistful, wishful, woeful world,
see me as bad news,
not least for refusing to budge
on my demands;
some, though, make a good case
for staying put awhile,
and I'll mull over making due provision,
such is the nature of my mission 

While I can’t claim
to come as friend, neither am I enemy,
though assumed so
by kith and kin, neither ready yet
nor (quite) willing
to explore a universal truth with us.
the like of which
defies even the most creative imagination,
such is the nature of my mission 

We’ll pass on dreams,
beyond the ken of mortals, bid the portals
of those mind-body-spirits
we may have known, loved, touched
by word, deed, hearsay
or art forms invariably inspiring debate 
for centuries by courtesy
of empathies surpassing all expectation,
such is the nature of my mission 

I am the Spirit of Death,
come to restore, rework, reshape human life
whenever, wherever,
take it through personal space
into as evergreen a beauty
as grows from seeds of love and friendship,
(life-forms without equal)
sure to nurture remembrance and celebration,
such is the nature of my mission 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autumnal Life Forces

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2012; it has been slightly but significantly revised since I included it in my collection, Accomplices to Illusion, 2007. I am hoping to publish new editions of my earlier collections at some future date; they will mostly comprise revised versions of poems from first editions.

Having just finished my first new collection since 2012, I am approaching publishers, but may need to self-publish again as many just don't like the idea of general and gay-interest poems under one cover; Then, just one more collection before I tackle any new editions. As I will be 75 soon, I can but hope that old age and Covid-19 will keep me alive long enough. <<wry bardic grin>>

Meanwhile ...

I love autumn. I don't find it a depressing season. The incredible colours of turning leaves never fail to fill me with passion along the lines of optimism, hope, and defiance even at a time of sadness for the beginnings of endings … 

However hard a winter we may endure, we can always look forward to a kinder spring and new beginnings, such is the way of the natural world, ours too if we but let ourselves access the kinder human spirit; religion does not have a monopoly on

spirituality. (As regular readers know, I do not subscribe to any religion as such, although I do relate very strongly to Pantheists who see God as nature, rather than its creator.)

AUTUMNAL LIFE FORCES 

In a garden spread with dead leaves
and heads of flowers,
I once heard tales told by a dying rose
soon to breathe its last,
about a Man in Red passing through
the world, scaring us
like the Bogey Man in hiding
under a child's bed, pretending to roar
like a dragon up for sport,
despite as vulnerable a heartbeat
as an ageing pet

Neither young nor old, a Man in Red
wears buttons of gold
on a coat the colour of blushing cheeks
at our making a faux pas,
made to look as small as a toy dragon
under the bed, where dawn
is prologue to adventure and sunset
fingers of blood, though 
we'll be safe enough tucked away
in bed, free to dream, and tomorrow
is another day ... 

According to the rose, the Man in Red
has kindly ways, in spite 
of inviting cloud and wind to feed 
on gentle trees,
rip them bare while a few songbirds
dare to watch and wonder
how sounds of war become songs 
of peace, fear become joy,
leaving a friendly Sandman free
to paint over the bleakest scenarios
with bold colours 

"He comes for us all, and we must depart,
to engage forever with the human heart."

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: Photo taken from the Internet. An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Autumn is a Man in Red' in Accomplices to Illusion by R, N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

 

 

 

Passing Through

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

A new poem today, written for lovely lady, mother of a friend from my student days some 50 years ago; she will be 97 today. I am hoping to find a publisher for a new collection of poems; if not, I will self-publish again. Whatever, I will post details on the blogs

Now, growing old is rarely if ever easy for anyone, but especially for men and women living alone without much of a support network. For many, too, there is a sense of time running out, an end to all we have known and loved.

Ah, but love never dies and the human spirit, unique in its own way to each and every one of us, is immortal.

Life as we know it allows us to pass through time (as we know it) but - as history and family history teach us - there is far more to time than any Here-and-Now; a kind act here, a kind word there, whether to a loved one or total stranger, may well reverberate across centuries, engaging with a living mind-body-spirit here, there, everywhere …

Where world religions would have it that any after-life takes us to a Heaven or Hell of sorts, I believe we make our own Heaven, our own Hell, in the course of our own lifetime; not least, courtesy of Love and Conscience.

I put it to you that, just as followers of any religion are entitled to our respect for their points of view, those of us who subscribe to no religious dogma are no less entitled to the same. As I often ask in the blogs, instead of putting someone in the wrong, even despising them for engaging with points of view other than our own … what’s wrong with agreeing to differ?

PASSING THROUGH

The years, they pass,
and childhood becomes a dream
to treasure as we grow old

among such memories as inspired us

to enjoy such seasons

of our life as mind-body-spirit

chooses to see us through

each winter of the heart to that spring

where bluebirds sing

The years, they pass,
and the Garden of Life sees changes

for better, for worse,

while mind-body-spirit sees us through

happy times and sad,

a positive thinking mindset

taking pride of place,

sure to inspire the human heart to shine,

come into its own

The years, they pass,
but nothing and no one left behind,

for first among equals

remains the Spirit of Love, inspiring us

to see past-present-future

as a continuum, no end in sight,

and love, it never dies,

passing through generation to generation

in 'live' imagination

The years, they pass, but treat us as they may,

the kinder spirit ne'er calls it a day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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