Keyword, Pride

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

 “What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.” - Tennessee Williams

“Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the liquid.” — Jeanette Winterson

 “Personally, coming out was one of the most important things I’ve ever done, lifting from my shoulders the millstone of lies that I hadn’t even realized I was carrying.” – Sir Ian McKellan

“I’m living by example by continuing on with my career and having a full, rich life, and I am incidentally gay.” - Portia de Rossi

Now, today celebrates fifty years of Pride, LGBT+ folks defying the prejudices of certain world societies and religions to demonstrate a sense of pride and spirituality in being human, nor any less so for their sexuality.

As regular readers know, I am in my mid-seventies and, like many others around the world, having to deal with various health issues as well as those that too often accompany the process of growing old(er).  I cope ok(ish), but suspect that I could not have done so had I not eventually seen my way to turning my back on the multiple, offensive faux stereotypes that attempted to define us when I was growing up in the 1950’s. I regret waiting too long to look the world in the eye as a gay mam, but... better late than never.

Tragically, for various socio-cultural reasons, many LGBT+ folks around the world still feel obliged to endure the appalling loneliness and pain of a closet existence.

Coming out of that closet, made me a better person, but not before it had wrought such psychological damage on me that, even now, continues to inflict such nightmares from time to time as I would not wish on anyone, anywhere.

KEYWORD, PRIDE

Drawn to a bar
neither gay not straight,
all-comers welcome,
a pint of beer calling me
I could not ignore,
a growing need for company
at the heart of me

Soon, engaging
with a stranger, not strangers
for long, but chatting
like old friends, laughing
over trite anecdotes,
welcome respite after a long day,
let slip, I was gay

Misreading his look
of surprise, a sense of déjà vu,
hackles set to rise
but for friendly lips breaking
into a wry, sensual grin,
makings of a non-judgemental
heart-and soul

“How long?” he asked
quietly, but with as casual an air
as if he'd been asking
if I’d had a good day at the office;
I felt my face turning red,
yet urged to answer the truth of it
by mind-body-spirit

“None of my business,"
it was his turn to admit, “but more
than curious if you get
my drift…?  " I merely shrugged,
ventured a shy grin;
we chatted on, twin passions invoking
mutual understanding

Lovers, exploring a braver new world,
keyword, Pride…

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: This poem-post also appears on my G-A-Y poetry blog today] RT

A Little Life Music

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

Music gives a soul to he universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything.” - Plato

Music acts like a magic key. To which the most tightly closed hearts open.” – Maria von Trapp

“The only thing better than singing is more singing.” – Ella Fitzgerald

Now, why you may well ask, am I writing up a poem-post about the joy of music when I can’t play an instrument, sing a note and have lived with a significant degree of deafness all my life? 

Good question, that. The short answer is that am always listening to favourite music and songs playing in my head; especially when I am feeling sad, lonely or scared enough for self-pity to take me to the very edge of The Abyss. Music reminds me why I shouldn’t jump. Oh, I’ve been pushed many a time, and fallen. But, who hasn’t, by giant shadows that mean us ill?  

Yet, even while falling, I’d hear sounds of music in my head returning me to terra-firma, if only to start living, learning and listening all over again…

A LITTLE LIFE MUSIC

My cap hides less hair than it did,
as well as mixed feelings, running riot
from time to time
when not invoking a passion for any music,
poetry or rhyme sure to give
savage breast and unquiet mind a welcome rest
from trying to reason after-shocks
of pleasure-pain imposed by its own and the world’s
least concealed flaws

Music, may well be the food of love,
left to play on even in the face of rejection,
human nature least inclined
to see a willow for its branches, falling
like tears for times hearts
all but broken by attributing such meaning
to feelings within as first
lit its fires, fanned its flames, only to have it all but die
without understanding why 

Mind-body-spirit thrives to the sound
of music, no matter how its life forces presented,
by humankind or Earth Mother,
amateur or professional, a confessional
of sorts where heart-and soul
may well fear to go, dreading what it may uncover
in such recesses as it may yet nurture,
while struggling to keep all but hidden even from itself;
mixed feelings on a lonely shelf

Yet, even the saddest heart-and-soul can
learn to sing again, to a little life music composed
in kinder times by friendly ghosts,
now lending it huff and puff enough to revive
half-forgotten dreams,
leading us, in turn, to doors closed to us far too long,
pleading we fling them open, let music
back in, in time to see the willow weep such tears of light,
as no darkness can ever snuff out

Though insight deflected by brilliant sunshine or heavy rain,
trust a little life music to see its way clear again…

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

A Covid Christmas

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

Here in the UK and many homes around the world, people will be wondering how best to spend Christmas, where we should risk seeing family and friends, much as we would love to, while Covid-19 remains active.

No matter how we choose to celebrate Christmas, whether for religious reasons, being with family and friends, or both, it is, like any religious festival, a time for taking stock of any discrepancies between where we are in life and where we hoped or expected to be. 

Religion may well help us find answers, while many who follow another religion (or none at all) invariably face the same questions. 

Most of us are left to find our own answers in our own way, whether guided by Divine inspiration or not. Regular readers may recall the old aborigine I met in Australia; in so far as he pointed me in a direction I had always wanted to follow, but which had been closed to me for various reasons, he was a life-saver. It meant returning to the UK and many things (and people) I had been running away from, but, in time, I would find such peace of mind as I’d felt impossible since leaving school barely five years earlier. 

“I feel so alone,” I remember whingeing. 

“Well, you are not alone now,” he chuckled, “… and two heads are better than one, so let’s see if we can’t set you on the right track, yeah?” I nodded, and he did.  

Every Christmas, I drink a toast to that old man. He is probably long dead by now, but his presence is as real to me as it was all those years ago. That is the wonderful magic of memory; no one ever dies who has been meaningful in our lives. Better still, it allows us to pick and choose, reject unwelcome guests and join together with those who have brought light into our lives.

Many of us will be alone this Christmas, but the Gates of Memory are open 24/7. Besides, there is also telephone. zoom and other technologies to help us out as and when ….

A COVID CHRISTMAS 

Outside, world looking grey
even where sounds of children’s
laughter breaking through
weary faces and muted voices,
reliving such yesteryears
as mind and spirit better able
to redeem a host
more anxious to explore than exploit
Earth Mother 

Outside, a diversity of masks,
driving home the necessity to care
as much for the well-being
of others as any twinned selves
struggling to put caution
before desire rather than throw
either to the wind …
if only to be seen doing the right thing
by humankind 

Inside, a diversity of humanity
making its way down Memory Lane
among fairy lights
and Christmas trees, choir voices
singing songs of praise,
families and friends making merry,
putting aside any misery,
as only such togetherness has succeeded
in all its history 

Outside, Covid-19 hell bent on having a say;
inside, Christmas continues to have its way

Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Applause, a Majority Verdict

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

Another (new) tree-related poem today. I was in my late 30’s before I finally came out to the world as a gay man; it was no easier then than it is now for many gay men and women around the world. To many families and friends, it makes no difference, they love us no less for being “different”. 

As I have said many times on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. Most people get that; sadly, though, many never will. Bigotry seems to be a way of life with some people, whether it is homophobia, racism or whatever; they cannot see that one of the wonders of the human as well as natural world is its diversity, without which its common mind-body-spirit would have seen nowhere near the progress it has made over centuries of narrow mindedness and narrow vision. 

We can blame a socio-cultural-religious-political upbringing and we might well not be far wrong, but it is no excuse for narrow mindedness; it is up to us all, each and every one of us, l to assert ourselves as bigger and better than that, accept that every person is unique and respect him or her for that instead of homing in on what we choose to see as their flaws and weaknesses. (Let’s face it, we all have our share of those.) 

Many people will not admit to bigotry, of course, if only because it is not ‘politically correct’; it is not what we say that counts, though, but how we feel and what we do about it. 

This poem appears on both poetry blogs today. 

APPLAUSE, A MAJORITY VERDICT 

I could hear a voice screaming
begging for aid, to be let out, go free
from whatever trap it was in,
and I would have turned a deaf ear
to its pleas, far too close
for comfort, demanding I attempt
to answer its calls, no mind-body-spirit
deserving any prison walls, my heart aching,
for it just as dawn breaking 

From my window, I delighted
in patterns of light among branches
of a splendid old tree
that had been so good a companion
for more years than now
I care to recall, an image shaped
much like a skylark singing
a cheerful greeting, the anonymous prisoner
still in pain, and screaming 

As the lark sang, leafy patterns
of life began to assume other features,
skylark still a felt presence
if conveying less joy than pain, and then
I saw that lark and prisoner
were one and the same, nature playing
a cruel game with me;
in no time, I could put a name to the leafy face
and place the prisoner’s voice 

Sure enough, image once complete,
I saw myself, trapped in an alien persona,
no idea what to do or where
to turn for aid, only able to scream over
and over again, of a lark no sign,
only this pathetic specimen of humanity,
its very mind-body-spirit
refusing to rally, raise the alarm, give me a break;
Apollo, yawning, but half awake 

I reached within myself, daring to go
further than ever before, needing to know
what's happening to me,
my image at the heart of a tree screaming
to be set free, could it be
I was unhappy with my lot, refusing to see it
for what it was, but a pretence
of being happy, and suddenly, it’s as clear as day;
I need to tell the world I’m gay 

True, the world may not want to know,
and there will always be some who choose
a bigoted agenda for reasons
best known to themselves, although excuse
enough provided by this religion
or that cultural tradition’s setting itself
apart from a common humanity,
for being a shade better, such is the folly, vanity,
and diversity of human nature

Years on, it’s but a lark’s sweet voice I hear singing,
Apollo applauding, humanity (still) debating

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A (Covid) Season of the Heart

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

Another new post-poem today, although any message it manages to get across will sound very familiar to regular readers. Still, it has been my experience that anything worth saying is invariably worth repeating, especially as, like so many of us, passing years see to it that I am getting very forgetful, even more so when under the kind of stress this Covid-19 persists in imposing on us all. 

Years of hormone therapy since my prostate cancer was first diagnosed in 2011, not to mention growing older (I will be 75 soon) leave me feeling very tired and ready for bed by around 9.30-10 pm most nights, whatever the time of year. Autumn, though, as nature and human nature braces for winter, brings with it a curious kind of fatigue, one tempered with a sense of expectation that things will get better come springtime, and it’s just a question of bearing the burden of winter with fortitude rather than despair; not unlike sleeping off a nasty headache. 

Most of us are familiar with ‘the old saying, ‘Where here’s life, there’s hope; a teacher at my old school had his own version of that, slightly but significantly amended to ‘Where there are life forces, there is hope.’ 

Nature goes quiet in winter, but it does not die; any life forces passing into oblivion, will most likely be regenerated come springtime; beneath the very wintry earth we tread, there are seeds awaiting their cue to wake and grow. It has been my experience, for many years, that much the same can be said for the human condition; mind-body-spirit may appear to be asleep sometimes, less active on our behalf, but it is only sleeping and will invariably take its cue to engage with us more positively again as needs must it should, if not always as and when we might prefer. 

Sometimes, there is nothing for it but we have to play a waiting game; similarly, it would seem, with the coronavirus.

Many people agree that love never dies, but even they will concede that as loved ones die, our love for them that endures in personal space cannot compensate for their physical presence. I agree, but that is where a belief in the posthumous consciousness comes into its own; as regular readers know, I believe in ghosts and their presence in and all around us, as forming part of our whole by way of their influence for the better in the course of both their lifetimes and ours. 

I can close my eyes and see them, hear them advising and comforting me as they have always done, especially during hard times … can’t you?  

This poem is a villanelle.

A (COVID) SEASON OF THE HEART 

Covid, on an autumnal breeze,
nature, all but ready for its winter sleep,
birds departing first-home trees 

Leaves, tears of one who grieves,
among rustlings of promises yet to keep;
Covid, on an autumnal breeze 

Apollo, no less anxious to please,
assuring us another spring we’ll yet reap,
birds departing first-home trees 

Drawing on a stoicism of centuries,
Hope on humanity, its blessings shall heap;
Covid, on an autumnal breeze 

Come winter, nature’s worst injuries
restored anew, though we hear not a peep;
birds departing first-home trees 

There’s a spirituality in autumn leaves,
cue for human hearts, joie-de-vivre to keep;
Covid, on an autumnal breeze,
birds departing first-home trees

Copyright R N Taber 2020

Getting the Better of Beasties

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

An experienced store manager was made redundant some months ago as a direct result Covid-19 fallout on the High Street. Having made countless job applications I vain, he was all but despairing of ever working again until his wife suggested he try something completely new. Sceptical, he took her at her word, has just started working for a security firm and is enjoying it, not least because his take-home pay is more than in his previous job.  Some might say he was lucky while others might feel inclined to award him full-marks for his perseverance and willingness to take on something new after 10+ years in a job he loved and expected to see him through to retirement. 

Amongst other things, the coronavirus pandemic is attacking everyone’s self-confidence; none of us know what’s around the next corner. But, do we ever know? Come what may, we can but trust in the love in us - of which every heartbeat is a constant reminder - and the native resilience of a combined mind-body-spirit to see us through, for better, for worse. Trite, it might sound, but I have experienced the truth of it more than once in what will be all of 75 years in December. Seventy-five years in which I have been privileged to meet many ordinary men and women battling more odds than any poet can imagine, and making of their lives something that may rarely if ever made any headlines, but of which they can be justly proud. (No headlines, perhaps, but relayed in the spirit of many a poem and other art forms for centuries …) 

GETTING THE BETTER OF BEASTIES

Beastie is scary for any of us,
a shadowy figure obstructing our way
towards a better, kinder place,
where only kind ghosts go a-haunting,
no blots on our landscape
perpetually taunting us for past mistakes
and missed opportunities,
family, friends estranged if for no reason other
than failing to talk to each other 

Beastie knows us all too well,
aware that we’re struggling to rise above
its persistent call, ever foiled
by human nature’s natural predilection
for finding excuses, resisting
any positive direction it needs must take
for fear of failing when push
comes to shove, decisions left hanging on a rack,
for each step forward, another back 

Beastie, though, has its own fears,
not least the capacity of the human heart
to urge we put away our tears,
take a chance on seeing whatever it may be
we so need to see through,
do our best, no one has the right to ask more,
and even should we lose a fight
we’ll be sure to chance much the same another day
given human nature’s sense of fair play 

Wherever Beastie exposed as close kin to Self-doubt,
it proves no match for a resilient mind-body-spirit

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Life Force, Lifeline

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

It is all very well for President Donald Trump to urge us not to be afraid of the Covid-19 coronavirus, but few of us ordinary folks have access to the best health care available; there are those in those in parts of the world without the kind of NHS system we have here in the UK who can barely access the minimum. It is OK to be scared, and only human. 

At the risk of being a bore for repeating myself yet again, there is a free health service available to us all; no guarantees, but a life force that is first among equals and will, as likely as not, see us through the worst. Nor do I see any failure to survive as the ‘worst’; the end of one thing is invariably the beginning of another, although it may take us some time to see that.  

Death, as I see it, means leaving nothing and no one behind; the life we lead is part of who we are, and part of who we are is passed on from generation to generation. The loss of a loved one of the hardest things we have to bear in this life, yet the life force generated by that love remains as much a life force within us as ever, to be called upon whenever. 

A widower friend once told me that he hopes to see his late wife again in some after-life that, as a Christian, he would call Heaven. I would suggest the operative word here, though, is not Heaven but hope; lose hope, and we lose our hold on as precious a lifeline as mind-body-spirit in its innate wisdom, can throw us.  It can be a tenuous hold at times, for sure, but like many if not most people, I have had my share of bad times, having survived thus far because Hope has always been on call  to help me find a way through the darkness, even if where I’ve ended up has rarely been quite (if at all) where I had intended to be 

That’s life; it doesn’t always go to plan, but, like is closest kin, the Spirit of Love, it will see us through … if we let it. 

Now, regular readers know that I do not subscribe to any formal religion, not least because it has always struck me how each has its own agenda and is inclined to be something of a closed shop. I do consider myself something of a Pantheist though. Whatever, Hope is an open door anyone can walk through and find their way through life within or without the confines of any religious dogma.

Today's (new) poem is a villanelle.

 LIFE-FORCE, LIFELINE

A carer for all human plight,
kin to Apollo and Earth Mother,
always on call, day and night

Its sun, moon, stars, my light,
serving the best of human nature,
a carer for all human plight 

I come to fight the good fight,
loyal ally to humanity like no other;
always on call, day and night 

I will clear Despair’s fading sight,
attend mind-body-spirit’s deaf ear,
a carer for all human plight

I cannot make wrongs come right,
only a kinder, wiser course help steer,
always on call day and night 

I am Hope, in whom all take delight,
notwithstanding our going get tougher;
a carer for all human plight,
always on call, day and night

 Copyright R N Taber 2020

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]

 

 

 

Enemy on the Doorstep

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

Today’s (new) poem is a villanelle.

Now, no poem can even begin to  do justice to the sheer horror many people across the world are having to endure from Covid-19, especially the loss of family and friends; nor will those of us who survive  easily recover from months of feeling undermined, drained even, physically and emotionally, at every step we take with the threat of an invisible enemy hanging over us. As yet, there is no vaccine, no sure means of defence, only certain safety precautions we can take.

There will always be those who will ignore safety precautions, but they need to bear in mind that, by doing so, they are putting not only themselves at risk, but also everyone with whom they come into contact. 

I am not convinced that some political leaders have a clue, but we need to pull together, give native common sense its head and play safe. 

Like it or not, we are all in this for the long haul; as a common humanity, we owe it to each other to be kind and helpful, and not let the stress we are all under make itself felt by giving way to selfish, even aggressive behaviour, great though the temptation may be; easier said than done, perhaps, but needs must …

This poem is a villanelle.

ENEMY ON THE  DOORSTEP

Walking down any local street, 
for all its invasion of personal space,
social distancing those we meet         

Mixing with friends, still a treat,
even with a face mask firmly in place,
walking down any local street 

Covid-19 has the politicians beat,
folks being "let go" at every workspace,
social distancing those we meet

Battling on with no hands, no feet,
against an enemy that hasn't even a face,
walking down any local street 

Worldwide, survival no mean feat,
for all mind-body-spirit set back a-pace,
walking down any local street 

Human hearts conceding no defeat,
(no matter the fate of all the human race);
walking down any local street,
social distancing those we meet

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: Apologies to readers for the mess I left this poem in for some days. I have not been well and sort of lost the plot; no Covid symptoms, just stress and other age-related issues. Many thanks to J.K. who took the trouble to email me and bring it to my attention.]RNT

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]

A Feeling for Right and Wrong

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

Another kenning today, one that has appeared on the blog before; hopefully, it will be well received, if no less likely to give readers serious food for thought than many other poems on the blogs. I am often criticised for this; a reader emailed to suggest that I should 'stick to writing nature poems and let human nature run its course without making personal comments in your poems'. Oh, but isn't all poetry a personal comment of one kind or another? Anyone who chooses to engage with a poem, engages with the writer too, and may agree to differ ... or whatever. Even so, I will try and redeem myself for this particular reader with a 'nature' poem before too long, although only in part since it will inevitably put forward a personal interpretation with which the reader is free to take or leave; his or her choice, mine too.

"Can I trust you?"  Oh, but how often do we hear whom we care about say that, and how often our heart sinks for wondering what burden they are poised to place upon us! Keeping secrets, whatever the motive behind it, can take a huge toll on our well-being, put our mental if not physical health at risk. While needing to share a secret is invariably understandable in many if not most cases, it is also a very selfish demand to make on anyone, especially if it concerns a mutual friend or loved one. Yet we all do it, time and again.

A few years ago, someone confided that a mutual friend had discovered a lump on her breast, but did not want her partner to know until she had decided what, if anything, to do about it. Obviously, she needed to seek medical advice immediately, and as her partner was as good friend of mine, I was placed in an impossible position in so far as I was damned if I betrayed the confidence, damned if I didn't. As it turned out,she sought neither medical advice nor treatment until it was too late, and subsequently died; with hindsight, I regret not breaking that particular trust, and it weighs on my conscience to this day. 

We often hear that 'a problem shared is a problem halved' and there is a great deal of truth in that. Even so, I have been careful since not to agree to keep a trust that is likely to put me at odds with my conscience, making this clear whenever I hear someone ask if they can 'trust' me.

In the course of a mental breakdown many years ago, I had only a vague sense of a warning voice trying to force an entry into the deaf-blind mind-body-spirit that was my dissolving consciousness. Yes, it failed, but my subsequent recovery, although it took a few years, owes much to its finally succeeding.

“There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.”- Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

“If all the world hated you and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved of you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.” - Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre 

A FEELING FOR RIGHT AND WRONG

I am everyone's friend,

invariably on hand,

yet not always easy to find

for human nature

being fickle, to say the least, 

while I am only inclined

to settle for its best

if often a (very) reluctant guest

at ... whatever

They seek me here, there,

and everywhere,

always in demand, no matter

singer or song,

meant to justify whatever end,

right or wrong,

depending on whose view

takes priority, with whom society 

put at odds ...

I appeal to the kinder side

of a common humanity,

asking but injustice pay it dues,

no more excuses,

(take your pick, no going back);

par for any course depending

on my reputation lending its weight

to any deputation

Though doubters argue my presence,

trust me, an ally called Conscience

Copyright R.N. Taber 2019

In the Blood

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

 

Today’s poem-post first appeared on the blog in 2016; it has since been (slightly) revised and given a new title.

 

What do you do if you’re gay and belong to a culture that is intrinsically homophobic?  This poem is based on a heart-warming conversation I once had with a gay Muslim man and his straight boyhood friend.

 

It is good to know that platonic love is still alive and kicking even in the face of the kind of socio-cultural-religious homophobia that has plagued us for centuries, and will continue to do so until LGBT issues are discussed in the classroom, opinions invited, compared and subsequently taken on board so that young people grow up familiar with the ultimate Fact of Life in so far as our differences do not make us different, only human; like it or not, we are all part of a common humanity and there  is no excuse for prejudice. As for those who object to their children having an all-round education on any socio-cultural-religious grounds, children are not fools nor do they deserve to be treated as such; better, surely, that they learn to respect human differences than be spoon fed bigotry and hate?

 

Yes, of course it matters what people think of us, but what matters far more is what we think of ourselves. Whatever our religious or non-religious views, we only have one life as we know it now, and it is our life no one else's.  Is it really so selfish to live it the way we want to live it, especially when love is our guiding light...and loving one person doesn't mean we need to leave anyone else behind... unless their take on love happens to be set in tablets of stone, in which case, so be it, their choice.

 

Many gay people are raised (as I was) to think the worst of the whole LGBT ethos so when they begin to personally relate to that same ethos themselves, they experience a crisis of conscience,never easy to deal with, and some of us never do. I did, but not after some very painful times with family and (some) friends. It took a nervous breakdown in my early 30's before I found the self-confidence to trust my own instincts and hold my head high for being gay. To my shame and regret, I even rejected a good friend for being gay during those early, fearful years. In my 70's now, I have tried to compensate for being such a coward then, but my closet days, they haunt me still.

 

No one chooses an LGBT orientation; we identify with it or we don't. Either way, the choice lies in what (if anything) we do about it.  Those who continue to oppose and demonstrate against LGBT issues amongst others on any school curriculum need to ask themselves if anyone has the right to deny anyone else the right to be themselves... and give due consideration to what Education is all about.

 

G-A-Y, IN THE BLOOD 

 

Out walking in the park,

saw someone who looked like you

pause to watch clouds drift by

like fluffy bits of snow, nowhere

to go and nothing better to do

than haunt us with memories, good

bad, happy, sad, and needing

to be saved to a desktop or lost

in that system commonly known

as the human condition

 

Out walking in the park,

someone who looked just like me

came right up to a friend,

wanting to know where he stood

on life, love, humanity,

‘taboo stuff’ like sexual identity…

and why shun a best mate

for being true to conscience,

before socio-cultural-religious ideas

that put people in boxes?

 

Out walking in the park,

someone who looked just like me

spoke up for being gay,

could understand concerns

about gossip and guilt

by association (yes, only too well)

but still had no regrets

about telling everyone his secret

about being buried alive in a closet,

body, mind and spirit

 

Out walking in the park,

on a day when a hostile gathering

of clouds were never inclined

to take my side, I failed miserably

in helping you come to terms

with my world, the likes of which

someone just like you

could not see was but an extension

of the friendship we had both known

since we were children

 

What happened, I wondered

to the best friend I'd looked up to

and adored for years,

as my eyes misted over with tears

for times shared, innocence lost,

doubting (then) he'd ever understand,

sharing his visible pain already,

a hard rain falling as if to obliterate

any tears as we went our separate ways

into the same sad world?

 

Out walking in the park,

saw someone who looked like you

pause to watch clouds drift by

like fluffy bits of snow, nowhere

to go and nothing better to do

than haunt us with memories, good

bad, happy, sad, and saved

to the desktop for posterity or deleted

by socio-cultural-religious interpretations

of what passes for humanity

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 2020

 

[Note: The title is taken from an interview given by James Baldwin to mark the 15th anniversary of Stonewall; it is about being gay in America, but sadly still rings true among families/ communities worldwide: https://www.villagevoice.com/2018/06/22/james-baldwin-on-being-gay-in-america/ ]

A Measure of Creativity OR Nature-Nurture, Life Forces for All Seasons

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2014. [I do not intend to repeat all earlier poems, but readers are welcome to explore the blog archives as indicated in the far right column of any blog page; poems published again here have been removed, and in some cases, revised.]

The cover for my collection On the Battlefields of Love (see the first pic below) was photographed by my friend Graham Collett, a graphic designer who also films and edits my YouTube channel, working wonders with my barely fit for purpose video camera; it shows the folly by the lake at Virginia Water just outside London. There was much evidence of repair work going on at the time that Graham had to Photoshop out to convey the bigger, better, picture. We were both struck by the sheer creative power of illusion; it was like hanging on to a dream and experiencing it at its very best only seconds before having to wake up and let go…

Virginia Water was first dammed and flooded in 1753. Until the creation of the great reservoirs, it was the largest man-made body of water in the British Isles; the woodlands surrounding it have been continuously planted since the middle of the 18th Century.

Nature, like human nature is both a life force for good and bad, yet predominantly for the good in the sense that both share a predilection and talent for nurture, since its earliest beginnings; for humanity,  it is left to the human spirit to engage with nurture; for better, for worse, depending on that old standby for inspiration (or excuse) - circumstances.

[Virginia Water: photos from the Internet]

A MEASURE OF CREATIVITY or NATURE-NURTURE, LIFE FORCES FOR ALL SEASONS

Like nature throughout history,

love takes on its worst fears,

act of immeasurable creativity

Glistening like a vision of eternity,

a sea of glad-sad tears

like nature throughout history

Home truths, the blackest comedy

imposed on we poor actors.
act of immeasurable creativity

Find Earth's last laugh on humanity

falling mostly on cloth ears
like nature throughout history

Watch how feisty skies effectively

feed on the world’s prayers,

act of immeasurable creativity

Find illusion but cascading prettily

down centuries of applause

like nature throughout history,
act of immeasurable creativity

(Virginia Water, UK. May 9th 2009)

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2009; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Measure of Creativity' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

World Without End

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

Climate change, coronavirus, these threaten an already much-divided world all but destroying the very foundations of a common humanity;

Racism, sexism, undermining any individuals human right to their own points of view without resorting to violence or - at the very least – bad feeling. As I have asked before on the blogs, whatever happened to agreeing to differ?

Sadly, human nature is unlikely to change even if needs must we evacuate to another planet in some distant future. On the plus side, though, there will always be those whose sense of humanitarianism transcends being pressurised by any socio-cultural- religious mind-set to which they may well have been introduced during formative years but have resisted taking for gospel, keeping an open mind-body-spirit where it counts, open to friendly persuasion and always up for debate, but a closed door to any devils-in-the detail.

The world as we know it may well come to an end someday, but humanity will always find a way to give its free spirits and positive thinkers have a voice; a voice as universal as the universe itself, the voice of love.

It may sound corny and trite, but it is on the power of love that the better, kinder, stronger side of nature and human nature turns, guaranteeing us a world without end who consent to playa part on it, however big or small, wherever and whoever we are.

WORLD WITHOUT END

Pitting itself against the human race

like a marathon runner bent on making history,

challenging time and personal space,

conceding neither grace nor favour, no matter

for leaving mind-body-spirit drained,

but up to its finer life forces to go the last mile

or go down fighting, to whatever end

in store around the next bend, homing in on a blur

of some spurious course

No vaccine to give humanity any space

to tackle some win-or-lose agenda defying culture

and religion to come into play,

fulfil any promises made by dogma or whatever,

bent on refuting any sweet mystery

of life that might see mind-body-spirt take heart,

regenerate, prove itself a force worthy

of Earth Mother’s mentoring in readiness for staying

this or that spurious course

Humanity, fighting back the only way

it knows how, mind-body-sprit drawing regeneration

from a well of hope and determination,

drinking in waters of an earth whose natural quality

lifts endurance and perseverance

 of such magnificence as redefining humanity

for centuries, making and reworking

its history, something of an apology for past mistakes

for this or that spurious course

Covid-19 will take its toll, toll, leaving

its mark forever, but the pulse of human life beats on,

driven by a capacity for hope and love

capable of defeating even the worst circumstances

nature and human nature have delivered

since the beginning of time, history a learning curve

for better, for worse, guiding us

away from any spurious course, enabling all humanity

to listen and learn, to look and see

Such is life, its ethics undermined (if well-meaningly)

by divisive socio-cultural-political expediency

Copyright R. N Taber 2020

Lines on the Accidental Life of a Raindrop

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

Another new poem today.

A regular reader has emailed to asks if I am not ‘slightly obsessed’ with rain imagery in some poems although he enjoys it, ‘given that it is one of those a positive life forces with which you also seem more than a little obsessed’. Well, I hope I don’t come across as ’obsessed’ in any of my poems.

Yes, I am fascinated by and empathise with various life forces; good, bad, ugly and sublime aspects of human nature … which I suspect applies to most of us if we are truly honest with ourselves. It is, after all, what the arts are all about as well as entertainment, the sciences, too, as well as looking for and finding answers; in the latter, science has an advantage since all the arts can too is make suggestions and offer alternatives to both entertain audiences as well as providing food for thought.

As a child, one of my elders and betters told me that art is the opposite of science; even at a young age, though, we had to agree to differ; in children and young people this is too often seen as being precocious. Different, yes, very different, but both are mentors to mind-body-spirit, each in their own way.

Much the sane can be said for nature and human nature; take a raindrop falling from the sky, catching both light and a child’s imagination, food for thought, indeed; where imagination entertains, invariably asking more questions than answering any …such observations may well not only stay with us  all our lives, taking us on a voyage of discovery that consciously or subconsciously  may well affect every move we make, every word we speak, who we are at any given time and whom we may yet become ...

No mean mentors, raindrops …

LINES ON THE ACCIDENTAL LIFE OF A RAINDROP

I watched a raindrop falling,

saw it splash on the ground without a sound,

and the silence, it was deafening,

killing the roar of traffic all around, leaving me

wondering who and where I am,

looking back at the heavens, asking questions,

needing reasons as to why

one minute I’m in a busy, noisy place, the next

travelling time and (personal) space

Silence, splashing my face

like thoughts that never seem to find a voice,

sailing through my head,

much like a summer breeze, every word unsaid

splashing on the backroads

of my mind, like raindrops fallen to the ground

only to conspire with others

to form puddles for children to make such faces in

as prompted by some native intuition

Years on, the boy I was that day,

a man now, but still watching that same rain fall

into much the same silence,

weirder now than ever for being so much rarer,

more likely to be swept along

by the rushing by of a Here-and-Now, little pause

to wonder where the time goes,

as likely breaking me for going with its flow had I not

listened to the silence, and never forgot

Old now, mind-body-spirit as full of pleasure as pain,

just for watching raindrops splashing Memory Lane

Copyright R. N Taber 2020

Love. Life Force OR Someone has to Mow the Lawn

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2013

I once had good cause to ask a friend, ‘What’s the point of living when the love of your life has died?’

My friend had lost her husband in a road accident some years earlier, and I suppose I was expecting pearls of wisdom. Instead, she gave me a lovely, enigmatic smile, shrugged, and said, ‘Someone has to mow the lawn, it won't mow itself. Besides," adding with a twinkle in each eye, "When you make a home with someone, just being together is home. Nothing can change that. So if you'll excuse me, there's a house that's still a home and it won't sort itself either." 

It was a long while before I understood quite what she meant. I thought she was simply being stoic, but it was, of course, so much more.  Life goes on, and needs must we move on too, but mind-body-spirit will always have it that moving on doesn't have to mean leaving anyone behind.  

LOVE, LIFE FORCE or SOMEONE HAS TO MOW THE LAWN

Our clothes need washing,

shopping needs doing,

and who’ll mow the lawn?

Our lunch needs preparing,

potatoes need peeling

and who’ll mow the lawn?

The dog will need grooming,

birdcage cleaning,

and who’ll mow the lawn?

Our rose trees need pruning,

fences need mending,

and who’ll mow the lawn?

Our bed, it will need making

(the mattress turning)

and who’ll mow the lawn?

But time to be up and leaving

your grave I'm haunting,

and go mow the damn lawn

Copyright R. N Taber 2010; 2020

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]