A Walk in the Park

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

“We are not victims of aging, sickness and death. These are part of scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change. This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being.” - Deepak Chopra

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” - Khalil Gibran

“We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.” William Hazlitt

“Forever is composed of Nows.” – Emily Dickinson

Even as a child, I loved being at the heart of nature, not only for its surrounding, but also for the responses to it by mind-body-spirit, communicating sounds and poetry it would be years before I would even begin to define it as a sense of spirituality; years, too, before I felt able to go public with it through poetry. 

As my dear mother used to say, learning curves are not confined to the classroom...

A WALK IN THE PARK

Taking a long walk
in the park, sky many shades
in many moods,
spots of rain urging me pause
by a favourite tree
playing host to feathered friends
bidding me see-hear-listen,
let the indomitable Spirit of Nature
address past-present-future

Becoming more aware
of a Here-and-Now beyond 
rain and cloudy skies,
a part of me opening up, not only
to what it could see
but to feelings, asking questions
of heart-and-soul
it had not thought of asking,
confused by worldly turns of thought,
all but become a habit

Life is for all, no exceptions,
though we are sometimes made 
to feel we don’t deserve
a voice, simply for nurturing
visions of self-identity 
considered ill-suited to this society,
or that community,
for fear of any bullying powers that be;
none so blind as will not see 

Having listened to all the tree
had to say by way of putting lyrics
to the music in my head,
heart-and-soul's reawakened,
already reworking
its approach to everyday living,
less of simply tagging along 
for the ride, up for restating its position;
such is...the art of being human

Ah, but time to go home, hopefully share
all I have yet to make sense of here...

Copyright R. N. Taber (2023)

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay poetry blog today.] RT

I, Temptation

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

″You are young,’ replied Athos [to d’Artagnan] and your bitter recollections have time to be changed into sweet remembrances.” – Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers)

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.” - Henry David Thoreau 

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings. – W. H. Auden.

“All art forms are in the service of the greatest of all art forms: the art of living.” - Bertholt Brecht 

“You can’t really move forward until you look back.” - Cornel West

I was an avid reader from an early age. I first read Dumas’ swashbuckler novel when I was about 10 years old. For all its swash and buckle, it was the quotation above that aught my eye and struck a nerve. I had bitter recollections even then and doubted whether, even in the course of time, they would eve become ‘sweet remembrances.’ 

Time would prove me both right and wrong. While I continue to be haunted by ‘bitter recollections’ from time to time, these have, indeed, been mostly eclipsed by ‘sweet remembrances. ’Sadly, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has deprived me of many instances of the latter; some, I can recall vaguely, of others I have no memory at all. 

The same, it is true to say, can also be said for any ‘bitter recollections’ with which even a failing memory would continue to disturb me but for a creative spirit that is quick to dismiss them, replacing them, if not with ‘sweet remembrances’ in any detail, at least with the spirit of them on which I continue to thrive by courtesy of a creative imagination. 

Now, poetry may well be a form of creative therapy, but it is also an art form. I feel privileged to access each, even as my growing old and accompanying health issues threaten daily, but in vain, to deprive me of both..

I, TEMPTATION

I can make you feel good
or I can make you feel so bad
like you’ve been had,
taken in by so strong a feeling
that’s swept you away
on winds of such desire there’s no escaping,
come willpower’s unresisting

You need to let me pass
let mind-body-spirit be a friend,
and listen well to all
it has to say about staying loyal
to its kith-and-kin,
for knowing a heart-and-soul will be grieving
the company you’re keeping

No battle compares with one
set to undermine better instincts,
give a persuasive alter ego 
pride of place, albeit under cover
of lies and deceit
in such a hellish darkness as defies confession
to make way for absolution

Yet, I will have my wicked way
with you, pour scorn on hindsight’s
attempt to wipe your tears,
haunt any positive-thinking mindset
throughout whatever time
would have mind-body-spirit live with its shame,
a posy of thorns by any other name

Now, however long it may take
to make reparation for any mistake
that’s a sacrilege, surely
against all one purports to hold dear?
Such lessons to be learned,
though they weep us on repentance’s tough rack,
as teach the art of moving on, not back 

Whoever considers walking out
with me needs must give due thought
to tackling the task
of repairing any likely damage done
a fairer, kinder, truer self,
last spotted shadowing an existential imagination
by way of addressing potential salvation

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Jungle Book

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

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man known himself to be a fool.” – William Shakespeare

“The best way out is always through.” – Robert Frost

“Clouds come floating into my life no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.” - Rabindranath Tagore

Now, reader J. H. has emailed to protest about yesterday’s poem being published on both poetry blogs in so far as “... not everyone is interested in LGBT matters.” He or she goes on to say that “... your poems are barely poetry at all, no imagination, merely a medium to put across your own arguments and points of view. Real poetry, like all art forms, is something beautiful...”

Well, show me an art form that does not express the artist’s point of view and I’ll eat my cloth cap; the thing about art, in any form, is that it attempts to offer points of view that some observers may not have the experience or imagination to consider whether or not they agree disagree with that particular standpoint, whether it be the artist’s or anyone else’s. 

Art forms that are simply admired for what the eye sees, regardless of what voices it whispers in the ear, is barely art at all. So yes, if my poetry fails to attract as many listeners as observers, J. H. is spot on in suggesting it is barely poetry at all...?  Even food for thought needs must be digested with care, or not only is taste is sacrificed, but also digestion...

JUNGLE BOOK

Sudden sky, a livid blue canvas
for live art, as creatures great and small
make their presence known
and felt to any mind-boy-spirit choosing
to host nature’s art work,
engage with a potential for imagination,
escape, if only briefly, the greater
threats to everyday life that it needs must face
in own time and personal space

Lions and elephants, free to roam
jungles where no hunters care to go, no sport
to be had here, only the art
of inner eyes, hosted by escapees from a world
for which there are no words,
only anxiety and pain, well-deserving respite,
heart-and-soul left free to journey
where it may, unshackled from any inhibitions
as would see it lose its way...

Here-and-Now on hold, if only briefly 
while we take cover from slings and arrows,
take pleasure in taking pleasure
for its own sake, letting moving fingers write
words we never learned to say,
paint similes and metaphors in the sky to which
art forms can only aspire, no comfy fire
but a sunburst of imagination out of nowhere,
resembling an elusive Somewhere

I see dragons rearing their scaly heads
alongside fearless sheep and even smiling faces
peering into the real me, reserves
I can draw on whenever I need to raise a grin,
even as I limp home on marathon days,
having to rely on kinder life forces than worldly
aids to see me through,
mind-body-spirit failing, close to dying as living,
yet closer still to an inspired loving

Throughout the day, various skyscapes
invade my thought processes, but never warlike,
even in stormy weather, any images
running for cover, eventually assuming hues
of splendid sunsets inclined,
to message through art forms of its own,
walking, talking shadows
engaging the nature of the art of communication,
in defining and redefining imagination

May any mind-body-spirit that finds itself
walled in by its own inhibitions and inability to see
beyond limited horizons, unite its whole,
let it see-hear-feel such meanings in art that pose
food for thought, make doors of walls,
entrances to such realms of interest and concern
hitherto left unexplored,
lessons yet to be learned, not least for wondering why
there should be jungle creatures in the sky... 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

 

Partners in Time

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

The relationship between any writer and what he or she writes is, in many ways, much like an enduring friendship.  While it isn't always easy easy to find the words to express our feelings with even a loved one or close friend, they will often draw on their knowledge of us to understand what we are trying to say. Such, too, is the relationship between a poet and mind-body-spirit, the latter sensing instinctively what we need to say and encouraging us to find the right words.

Any relationship will, of course, have its ups and downs...but any sound relationship, whether human or  otherwise can, if nurtured, evolve a s a lasting partnership, enough give and take on both sides to reach out to others. Whether a novelist, poet, painter or potter...whatever...those 'others' are such as yourselves, dear readers, in the hope that the poems that appear here on the blog will reach out to you as mind-body-spirit has reached out to me.

Any art form can be as positive a therapy for its creator as for anyone who finds themselves entering into and identifying with it by way of appreciation. In this way, the partnership embraces a third party and achieves - even if only partly - its positive purpose. 

Yes, well, win some, lose some...😉

PARTNERS IN TIME

Sometimes I seem to do
the dirty on you, just when you need
to reach out to me
and you have no idea why I should
behave this way, leaving you
feeling so confused, even afraid we might
be growing apart,
a prospect so scary, it’s sending an S.O.S.
to mind body-spirit

Time passes, people change
not always easy to reason why, accept
and ask ourselves how
we can best look forward with hope
not despair, no moping about
and blaming fate for abandoning us
to the passage of time,
leaving us feeling it’s already too late, even
for mind-body-spirit

Ah, but appearances can deceive,
our relationship seems to be changing,
and change it will,
doesn’t mean I am either giving up
on you or vice versa,
we are as integral to any living landscape
as are sea and sand, earth and sky, bird and nest
to mind-body-sprits

Life may well change how we look and feel,
but the 'ME' in TI-M-E embraces us all

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

Art Forms, Life-Forms

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

People have often asked me why I write poetry. Another friend, a painter, is often asked why he paints. Why does anyone get involved in any of the arts whether it be creative writing, music, acting, dance or floristry... whatever, the answer is essentially the same. 

Any art form invariably makes the artist feel good, not only about participating by way of communicating, expressing something of the inner self that needs to make itself seen and heard, but also, in turn, being explored by inner eyes and inner ears, among any who care to look and listen. 

We may well disagree with what we see and hear in an art form, but it will invariably give us food for thought. 

Now, I know I have said as much in previous posts and the reader who emailed yesterday to tell me off for repeating myself too often makes a good point. At the same time - and the same applies to the creator and/or participant in any art form - if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating. 

As for agreeing or disagreeing with whatever point/s are being put across within it, that is part of the art process, drawing us in. Even artists often find themselves at odds with themselves as they pursue whatever it is they are trying to say, struggling perhaps to give it form and meaning; to this end, they may well play devil’s advocate, not to confuse, but lead us to consider our own position and just where we stand in relation to... whatever. 

It may be a painting, a sculpture, a piece of music or a floral display... take any art form lightly, and we risk losing a sense of enlightenment as likely as not to influencer our lives for the better, whether minimally or substantially. 

ART FORMS, LIFE-FORMS 

During formative years,
I’d shed tears for feeling unsafe
in a world teaching me words
to help me guard against the threat
of mutual misunderstandings,
arts of communication as divided
by as many reasons swung
like axes of the proverbial kind
as human remains left behind

 Grown older and wiser
to ways of a world as excited
by the intimacy of playing
word games in any public arena
as lovers testing out dreams
in such open (or closet) scenarios
as may or not work out
for better or worse, blessing or curse.
in a private-cum-public space 

Grown old, the more so
for having had to agree terms
with strangers in my mirror,
shadows haunting dining tables,
or cosy corners for family,
friends, lovers indulging in rites,
acting parts in good faith,
so kinder worlds may yet save a heart
whose faith in one, fallen apart

Find me in all art forms, asking we consider
the good and bad of all we may yet deliver

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Fly-past

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

I didn't have an unhappy childhood, although it was marred somewhat by my not getting on well with my father. I used to dream then, more than I do now, but they were dreams enough to help me sleep; rarely did I have nightmares. I would often confide these dreams to my mother, and asked why I dreamed at all. She was of the opinion that dreams are ways by which the human spirit seeks to bring us respite from everyday cares of the world. This made sense, even to a 10 years-old boy, but it was not until later years that I began to appreciate the truth in what she said. 

Few if any of us can say we are never touched by the more unkind, even cruel examples of life and human nature that home in on us throughout our lives. This is where the arts so often come into their own, perhaps, feeding us comfort food, inspiring dreams about that to which all art aspires, both encouraging us to open our eyes to the harsher facts of life if only to make us even more aware of its kinder, beautiful aspects to which the artist aspires to help us keep in mind. 

The act of creating any work of art, in any form, demonstrates a beauty that the work itself may appear, at first glance, to all but deny. On further reflection, though, we are taken between the lines of its prose, poetry, paint etc. into the mind-body-spirit of the artist which, more often than not is a beautiful experience. 

An art teacher at my old school once told the class that art is a “felt experience”. I would hear that same expression bandied about many times over many years before I began to experience for myself what it mean;  it was an art class, after all, and I have never been good at drawing or painting, too young then to appreciate how much the same sentiment applies to all art forms. 

While some or many of my poems may not ‘work’ for some or many readers, hopefully something of what has gone into writing them may yet provide a not unwelcome experience of sorts...?

 FLY-PAST 

We fly over oceans, rivers and streams,
whatever the weather, sunny skies or dark,
day or night, whenever the call comes
to mark a celebration of life, whether for real
or just to colour in any blanks 

We will touch base with various leafy trees,
all species, sure to home in whenever we can
on where we’ve been before in a life span
made for coupling, birthing, teaching our young
to make their own life journeys 

We fly under eagle eyes of any looking out
for us, perchance to shoot and bring us down
or - learn something of Earth Mothers ways,
though free to ignore, dismiss for no more or less
than a whim of art’s perspective 

We are birds of the air, a welcome distraction
for the mind-body-spirit left troubled by the ways
of a common humanity sure to leave scars
on a global consciousness whose essential goodness
they are inclined to wear down 

We are dreams, winging human landscapes
whatever the weather, sunny skies or darkening,
day or night, whenever, wherever, called on
to mark a celebration of life, whether in real-time
or just to colour in any blanks 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

Shipwreck

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(Image taken from the Internet)

The sight of an old wreck  is enough to stir even the the least fertile imagination as we listen out for the cries and shouts of its crew and the inner eye alights on their frantic efforts to save the vessel before abandoning it to try and save themselves ... a feeling for ghosts, captured in various art forms inviting us to engage with both history and an enduring posthumous consciousness.

SHIPWRECK

Looming in an autumnal mist

as if out of nowhere…

a wreck once on its way,

who knows where

or why, even cares any more,

so many years gone by, tales told,

reworked, and told again?

Mildly protesting waves cradling

the cadaver like a family

anxious to save one of its own

any greater grief

from a lively imagination weaving

a tapestry of let’s-pretend memories

among various art forms

Dead wood, live spirit, ever ripe

for pickings by the inner eye

on the alert for choice moments

from nature’s archives;

likewise, an ear no less sensitive

to echoes of a past crowding senses,

reclaiming its voices…

Mist thickening, wreck vanishing

from view as if dying another

of a thousand deaths lent its tragedy

at the moment of its drowning

by such guardian ghosts as allow

mind-body-spirit permanent access

to nature and human nature

Copyright R. N. Taber