Smiling Through

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

Years ago, while walking along the banks of a river, I met a young man with whom I struck up a friendship that would blossom into love. We lay chatting in the bosom of a weeping willow tree and it was all but love at first sight.  Gay people were much despised in those days – as by some, we still are – so we kept our love a secret. He was killed in a road accident barely eighteen months later, and I bitterly regret that particular secret. As it was, neither of us were openly gay, and I even made excuses not to attend his funeral in case the extent of my grief betrayed us; something else I will always regret

Years later, wandering along that same river bank. I saw two young men emerge, laughing, and holding hands, from the leafy bosom of that same weeping willow. They paused to share a long kiss, then continued on their way towards me, smiling both warmly and defiantly at me as they passed. Needless to say, I smiled back. Any defiance faded instantly, and all I saw was warmth.  How I envied them, less for being young (I was already in my 60’s) than for a sexuality they plainly felt free to express. 

As regular readers will know, I was 30 before I began coming out to the world as a gay man.  Happily, for many gay people it is much easier now. Sadly, for as many others worldwide, it is as hard as it ever was. Bigotry has to be one of the world’s greater human tragedies, worse because it invariably exists behind smiling eyes that are as closed doors to those who support Human Rights in case they are called out for their hypocrisy. 

So, what is a gay-interest post-poem doing on both blogs? As I have pointed out many times, a poem is a poem is a poem, open to readers whatever its theme; no less so, a person is a person is a person whoever, wherever, and whatever their sexual persuasion. There is more to a poem than meets the eye, just as there is more to any of us than our sexuality.

SMILING THROUGH

Willow tree, willow tree,
well may you weep for me
that saw the start
of a love that gave my heart
cause to beat faster
for having found just cause.
no more pretending
all's well in my world, nothing
and no one missing 

Willow tree, willow tree,
you took us in a leafy embrace
when others looked
the other way, wishing us both
in another place
for being gay, and determined
that together we’d stay,
letting our true feelings express
our love and happiness 

Willow tree, willow tree,
well may you weep for our being
scorned and rejected,
even though accepted by others
for being a vital part
of who we are to the human race,
given that love
wears as many faces as humanity
poses questions of equality 

Willow tree, willow tree, within each tear,
a smile for every day we stay together

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

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]

Mysterious Ways

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

I often refer to ghosts in my poems. Do I believe in ghosts? Oh, yes, I certainly do.  Here, though, the ghost is simply a metaphor in the manner of many poets, writers, and artists before me and I dare say many more to come…

A metaphor, for what, did you say? Ah, therein lies the secret of the kenning form of poetry; you usually have to read it to discover the narrator’s true identity.

MYSTERIOUS WAYS

I am the ghosts

of seasons taking their cue

from all around me,

busy recreating roles to play

that I dare step back into

once choice comes into its own

while (still) denying access 
to any 'live' past-present-future

offering to make peace

I am the ghosts

of seasons taking their cue

from a restless heart,

invading the enquiring mind,

seeking to be reconciled

with whatever moral order

loath to acknowledge

no (conscious) harm ever done 
in agreeing to differ

I am the ghosts
of every season's fretting

about fulfilling

its potential, whether physical,

psychological, emotional

or, yes, sexual, since you ask 

(and well you might)

given that we're both working out
a full life sentence

I am Conscience, human nature's diary,
the sum total of its eternal mystery

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011