Love, Enduring

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

A reader, S. J. asks why I often write poems about love when I live alone. Well, what has living alone to do with out capacity for love? As I have said in the past on the blogs, love comes in all shapes and forms, including a posthumous consciousness wherein any love we ever had for anyone who has passed away never ceases to be the subject and object of our feelings, continues to keep them very much alive and kicking. Places, animals, and events we have loved sharing with others... these, too,  will often help revive flagging spirits, courtesy of our feeling for happy memories. 

The same reader suggests that my poems are become "somewhat repetitive" given that "there is only so much a poem can say about anything, including love..." while kindly adding that he enjoys many of them anyway. Hopefully, other readers feel much the same way. He has a point, of course and I try to avoid substantial repetition, but a long-running battle against various medical issues (including depression) means I am not always at my best some days. The inner strength I take from writing poems is just about all that sustains me some days, that and the everlasting of love, in all its shapes and forms.

So what happens if and when memory fades? As someone whose mother has dementia recently told me, "Love is always a part of us and its power will always shine through, no matter the details might become somewhat sketchy..." Our feeling for them never fades.

Oh, and I am delighted to say that recent feedback suggests that a significant number of readers have started to explore the blog archives; many of the poems there have been revised.

Meanwhile...

LOVE, ENDURING

In the ways of love,
I embrace the platonic kind,
no less a treasure
than any other come to marry
with a like human mind
for better, for worse, in sickness and health,
till death us do part 

Yet, death shall not part us,
for that other 'virtual' existence
we call memory,
allowing us face-time whenever
the need arises
to revisit  a sharing of such frank confidences
as only intimates know 

Nor does sex have a monopoly
on such home comforts as laughing
at bad jokes, the worse
for a vulgarity only like minds enjoy,
no offence taken,
only a sure appreciation of life partners in crime,
though death us do part 

The beauty of love, in all its shapes
and forms, lies in its needing no words
to express and share
the focus of its attention, sounding out
and empathising
with any posthumous consciousness (still) nurturing
such seeds as saw it flower 

In shades of intimacy as envisaging all love enduring,
find the mind-body-spirit everlasting 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: The final couplet in this poem has been slightly, but significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog.] RT