Shades of Grey

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

“Modern man talks of a battle with nature, forgetting that, if he won the battle, he would find himself on the losing side.” - E. F. Schumacher

“One of the first conditions of happiness is that the link between Man and Nature shall not be broken.” - Leo Tolstoy 

“The best friend on earth of man is the tree: When we use the tree respectfully and economically, we have one of the greatest resources of the earth.”- Frank Lloyd Wright

“Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.” - Mary Webb

Now, tomorrow will see us mark the end of 2022, each in our own way.  Across the world, people will be coming together to celebrate New Year’s Eve; a veritable feast of music, dance, relief at having survived another year and hope that the next will, indeed, be a happy one.  

We can, each and every one of us, only do our best to see our hopes fulfilled, subject though all of us are to circumstances beyond our control. All the more reason though, surely, to enjoy the Here-and Now, let it fill our lives with bright colours and inspiring sounds which, though they fade, even die, they, and the person they encouraged us to be, live on in every mind-body-spirit, heart-and-soul, they ever touched.

Oh, and again, many thanks for dropping by, much appreciated, and I hope you will join me again soon for my first post-poem of 2023… assuming that I can continue to rise above - if not quite get the better of - the mess in which ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have left my thought processes.😉

SHADES OF GREY

The world around me,
various shades of grey, a sad, 
often lonely place…
Apollo having all but taken
his leave of us, trusting
we’ll manage gloomy days
as best we can,
let mind-body-spirit aid and abet us
in making wiser choices 

Weary, a natural world
sick of human nature abusing it
in the name of ‘progress’
without taking bold steps enough
to ensure its past-present
may yet anticipate a kinder future
than marks its pages,
colours its history, common humanity
but a chancer’s reality

Shades of green and gold
courtesy of Apollo’s rays of hope,
a brave one-upmanship
taking its cue from any You-Me-Us 
that haunts the history
of a humankind trying to find its way
through multiple shades
of blue-green-gold urging we'll get wise
to its potential demise

Though we suffer its every shade of grey,
trust heart-and-soul to save the day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

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

Hello Everyone, from London UK

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

“Faith is a passionate intuition.” - William Wordsworth  

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.” - Martin Luther King, Jr. 

“Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking.” - Khalil Gibran

“The belief that one's own view of reality is the only reality is the most dangerous of all delusions”. - Paul Watzlawick

Now, it is the day before Christmas wherever the birth of Jesus Christ is celebrated; a time, too, to reflect on just what any religious faith means to us, both personally and universally.

As regular readers will know, I consider myself a pantheist. Pantheists believe that God is nature.

Why do I think this way? I have no idea, except that I could never relate to a personified God, yet whenever I have engaged closely with nature, I have always experienced a sense of spirituality which I had always associated with religion, although religion had never given me access to the same experience; a very intimate experience, I should add.

No one person’s perspective on life, faith, whatever, will ever be quite the same, not least because we are all different.  That is not to say that one or other perspective is right or wrong, simply an integral part of who we are. 

Me, I find various religious dogma too prescriptive and often incompatible with my perspective on life as all-embracing, all-inclusive; no excluding anyone on the basis of gender, sexual identity, walk of life etc. Humanity thrives on our differences, differences we need to accept and respect. Religious leaders profess to agree, yet their dogma argues differently. Accordingly, many of their followers may argue differently too.

As regular readers will also be very aware, I am very much in favour of agreeing to differ in a spirit of peace and love, not the kind of divisiveness that causes, families to estrange, nations to declare war. <<wry bardic grin>>

Sadly, human nature is such that we often find ourselves caught on either side of various divides, that cannot or will not see where each is coming from, cannot or will not bring themselves to communicate and even try to understand and find common ground.

Human nature itself is complex, confusing, invariably expected to explain itself, when our actions cannot always be explained away; feelings are not necessarily the same as motives and do not lend themselves easily to the vocabulary of reason. From early years, we are taught that to understand ourselves and each other we need to be insightful as to what motivates, even justifies certain actions.  Yet, as the quotations above suggest, there are elements within all of us that even we, ourselves, are at pains to explain away.

Anyway, enough of my amateurish attempt to explain my deeper sentiments from which has evolved an all-inclusiveness that I try to inject into many of my poems. How far I succeed or not is up to the reader to decide.😉

It is Christmas Eve and, in the Spirit of Christmas, I want to thank you all for looking in on my blog posts and poems, it means a lot to me.

All that remains, for now, is to wish you all safe, well and hopeful always. Sadly, the ways of the world and human nature are such that this is not always the case. Even so, we can but keep looking on the bright(er) side of life and do our best to spread happiness, comfort and joy along the way; rarely easy, yet we can but try.

Whether we celebrate Christmas or not (I don’t) may the spirit of Christmas - one of hope, peace and kindness - be with us all.

Oh, and yes, I am working on a new poem, so do drop by again soon.

Take care, folks, whoever and wherever you are.

Hugs,

Roger

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

PS Many thanks to those readers who take the trouble to point out any print or spelling errors in some of my poems; I always take note, re-read the poem as it appears on the screen and make any necessary amendments.

Seeing is Believing, True or False?

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

Years ago, after school, two friends (we’ll call them A and B) were caught kissing behind the bicycle sheds at the back of our school playground by a teacher working late. On being asked for an explanation, one friend said, “We love each other, sir.” 

After a long, ominous silence, the teacher asked “Do your parents know?” The culprits shook their heads. 

“Are you going to rat on us, sir?” Boy A asked, swallowing hard. 

“Somethings need to come from the horse’s mouth,” was all the teacher said, albeit sternly, before dismissing them. 

The two friends thought they had got off lightly, but no such luck it, not least because society was such that it would be years before either felt able to come out of the closet and tell the world they are gay, by which time they hadn’t even kept in touch. 

The following weekend, A spotted B in the local park with another boy. A’s emotions, at fever pitch since the incident in the bike shed, erupted and he let rip with a torrent of abuse; it was only later that he realised it has been aimed at himself. 

Gay or straight, we all do and say things we regret. Boy A was jealous, of course, but the incident in the bicycle sheds only days earlier had scared him more than he cared to admit. It was not a good time then to be gay, and issues on the home front made it impossible to follow the teacher’s good advice and tell the family that, at 14 years-old, he had already discovered his true sexuality.

It was a gay friend who told this story about himself, to me and several straight friends some time ago. All of us admitted we recognised ourselves in it, having suffered mixed emotions in similar situations, not least that love-hate peculiar to jealousy.

 Gay or straight, whoever and wherever, what are any of us but human when all’s said and done?

‘Love sees sharply, hatred sees even more sharp, but Jealousy sees the sharpest for it is love and hate at the same time.’  -  Arab Proverb

SEEING IS BELIEVING, TRUE OR FALSE? 

I am, to any life force,
its own worst enemy, that light mist
descending on a wintry
season of the heart mistaken for spring,
taken in its stride by mine host,
a vision of summer haunting the heart
that’s sure to thrive on its heat
if only for letting the power of illusion
fire passions of self-deceit

Like a rose, its thorns
forgiven for the beauty of its having
been nurtured by the love
of Earth Mother, with no small input
from yours truly, anticipating
showcase summers, a rose garden
of our own making,
pledging our love, oblivious to any threat
by storm clouds gathering

One evening, gone jogging,
I chose to take a longer route than usual
for no reason but a whim
to chase pigeons into a sunset, no matter
it put me to such shame
as would be my undoing in showing me
someone picking a rose
and giving it to you with a kiss that drove me
where no sane person goes 

No lovers but old friends had I chanced upon;
jealousy, my hurt-rage-loss-prison

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

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

 

 

All our Tomorrows OR A Coat of many Colours

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

As the world waits with bated breath to see who will win the US presidential election, it continues turn - for better, for worse - on the ups and downs of everyday life.

Me, I just try to keep looking on the bright-(er) side of life and make the most of any ups while I still can.  The downs? Well, most of those involve age-related health issues. Along with the rest of the world’s ageing population, I can only do my best to rise above them, kid myself I am in control, and try to imagine as many good things waiting for me as far forward as I find myself regularly looking back.

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, · Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, · To the last syllable of recorded time; · And all our yesterdays have lighted fools." - Macbeth

ALL OUR TOMORROWS or A COAT OF MANY COLOURS

Shadows,
so gracing some gently flowing river,
like iconic dancers
treating us all to the music and poetry
of life

Sunlight,
now peeping through autumn leaves
like a child at a letterbox
watching grandma struggling to reach
to the door

Rainbows,
reminding the human race of its own
promises to communities
worldwide to engage with and be proud
of its diversity

Sunsets,
dressing clouds in patches of yellow
and red over misty greys, 
reminding us it’s a coat of many colours
civilisation wears 

Darkness,
striving to take possession of dreams
called upon by those among us
left trusting that mind-body-sprit may yet
keep its promises

Shrill cries 
of a cockerel echoing our frustrations
with all humanity’s wrestling 
with a hurt for its finer, greater part's missing
the boat …

Copyright R N Taber 2020

(Note: This post-poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today. Although feedback suggests more readers are dipping into both blogs than when I started them up ten years ago, it also confirms that many gay readers still don't.  A poem of course, is for everyone.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Thick of It

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

This poem appeared on the blog sometime ago but has since been revised and given a new title.

Somethings never change. Take the evening Rush Hour, for example, not nearly as bad with so many people having to work from home at the moment (if they still have a job at all), but the London Underground carriage I had to stand in yesterday evening was very reminiscent of pre-pandemic days.

Since I turned 70 in 2015, and have needed a walking stick to help me walk better and less painfully, I have experienced as much kindness as thoughtlessness on public transport; someone nearly always offers me a seat while other, perfectly able-bodied types, are careful to avoid my searching eyes. Seats clearly marked a priority for young children, pregnant women and those less able to stand are invariably occupied by those who seem to think this includes, luggage, shopping trolleys, etc. or just like to lean against the dividing pane, the better to listen to music or play/ chat on their mobile phones. Regarding the latter, it is much the same on the streets, people glued to their phones to the extent that my walking stick becomes invisible and any subsequent collision is, of course, my fault. 

Such is human nature, a many-sided creature whatever race, culture, religion, gender, politics or, yes, sexuality too. As a common humanity, we are all in the thick of things together; a cue perhaps for more tolerance and understanding, less stereotyping and rushing to judgement? 

Me, I do my best to take the rough with the smooth, and keep looking on the bright side of life if only because the alternative is too awful to contemplate. Mind you, although looking on that side of life these days can often be compared with peering through a fog… it’s still there (yes, really!) waiting to be rediscovered sooner rather than later, each in our own way and time.

IN THE THICK OF IT

Rush Hour…

Battle cries of anxious souls
vying for attention,
not to mention pride of place
among the pushiest of backpacks
and shopping bags 

Rush Hour…

Old person with a walking stick
trying to catch the eye
of those better able to stand;
in vain, their stick can take the strain,
each to their own

Rush Hour…

Gran with a pram causing chaos,
wheelchair users…
you know the sort, no thought
for the poor nine-to-fiver left dead beat
and paid for a seat

Rush Hour…

Not even making good time, delays
further up the line;
the word is "Someone on the track,
fat chance of anyone getting home soon."
Forecast, heavy rain

Rush Hour…

The worst and best of human nature,
(some) giving-up of seats
to any whose need is plainly greater,
brazen umbrellas urging jam-packs to part,
global finger on 'restart'

Rush Hour, anthology of a weary humanity
up against its own reality…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

Spirit of Autumn

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

People often tell me they find autumn a sad month because it means winter is closing in, but as I have often pointed out on my blogs… after winter, spring.

Better, surely, to look forward to spring than dread winter? 

In the meantime, let us enjoy autumn for all its glorious colours and the sense of eternal optimism these are surely meant to inspire in us, an optimism that well may fail us from time to time...but, as my late mother once said, there is an eternal springtime of the loving, hopeful heart sure to inspire and help us through all the seasons of life, even the hardest of its winters...if we will but keep faith with it. When I pointed out that I was not a religious person, she simply responded to the effect that no religion has a monopoly on love and hope since we are all born with a potential capacity for both. How far we choose to apply it, she would argue, has more to do with human nature than religion. (My mother was a Christian, but like all the more remarkable religious-minded people, whatever their religion, she closed her heart and mind to no one.)

SPIRIT OF AUTUMN

Autumn leaves... 

Drifting by my window

like dreams I have nurtured

with love and care

in the garden of my life

where some flowered

in their season while others

were battered by wind and rain,

never to be seen again

Autumn leaves...

Whirling by my window

like dervishes in a frenzied

dance of life and death,

sustained by a rage to seize

the day, come what may,

on the battlefields of my life

where I have risked all to prove

a born capacity for love

Autumn leaves...

Clinging to my window

as Apollo clings to the last patch

of blue before sunset,

bids nature and human nature

rest on hard won laurels,

so-brief enough reprieve before

more rude awakenings to a world

falling on its sword

Autumn leaves...

Ripped from my window

like pages of memory best left

to whims of wind and rain

while I enjoy each dreamy leaf,

petal and blade of grass

found in the garden of my life

whose choirs heard singing each day

of my pride in being gay

Autumn leaves, tears of Earth Mother 

for any that cannot see beyond winter

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

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

The Seekers OR Beyond Rhyme and Reason ... What?

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016 under a different title.

I am often asked (a) Why do I write poetry, and why so little blank verse when everyone knows rhyme is old hat, especially as the media ignores me for the most part so I’m not even "famous"? and  (b) Why spoil a good poetry site by including gay poetry? [Thank you for the praise element there.]

Well, fame isn’t everything, nor is blank verse, and I do have a reputation of sorts around the world if feedback from my blogs and other Internet sites is anything to go by. The most important thing to me is that there are people out there who read what I write; whether or not they like what I write is less important than it may give them food for thought. [Even not liking something demands we ask ourselves, why?] As for including gay-interest poems, as I do in all my collections…why not? I am a gay man and a poem is a poem is a poem. I have received emails from heterosexual readers to say it has helped them think differently (better) about gay people and from gay readers thanking me for my inclusiveness. Opinions will always be divided; such is the nature of food for thought.

Poetry is a passion with me. Prior to university, I wrote many poems; less so for some time afterwards. Reading and writing critical essays about great poets was very enjoyable, but also very daunting. How could I possibly follow in the footsteps of the likes of Wordsworth, Shelley, Blake, Hardy and so many more? It took a while for the penny to drop. I could not hope to follow in their footsteps nor should I even try. No, I must create footprints of my own. It would not matter if few people found them worth following so long as they were there, to be chanced upon; hopefully, of some worth to someone somewhere at some time or another finding their way in life (and losing it now and then) as I have done. Reading great writers has helped me become a positive thinker; no mean feat considering the inferiority complex that dogged me at home, school and young manhood.

I have only ever been in love once in my whole life, but love takes various forms and I have loved many people in various ways. Take friendship, a form of love at all its various levels, and probably the most commonly open to abuse. Sometimes love is returned; often, though, it is abused. Nor am I referring to just physical but also  psychological abuse; people taking advantage of love, taking it (and us) for granted, always taking, taking, taking… with little or no thought about what it means to give. It can hurt, really hurt. For me, poetry has always helped ease that hurt. 

Yes, poetry is my passion, a love that returns far more than I can ever give. Especially as I grow old, the passion continues to course through my veins and remind me of all that is beautiful in this sorry world, in nature and human nature; more than a match for cynic or pessimist, and music to the ears of a positive thinker so long as he or she remembers to listen out with inner ear, see with inner eye, feel a way through bad times to better. I recall loves of my life - in all shapes and forms - that inspire me, always have and always will.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, we are all poets in the sense that poetry is the very act of living; how we chose to define it - and ourselves - is down to each and every one of us, each in our own way, not least in poetry, bearing in mind how there is a poetry of sorts in everything we are, do, regret, aspire to ... whatever, if we care to look, and learn  from the looking whether or not we ever quite find it.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE SEEKERS or BEYOND RHYME AND REASON ... WHAT?

Who seeks out poetry, seeks love,

always listening out for its call

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Between earth and heavens above,

as human passions rise and fall.

who seeks out poetry, seeks love 

Find nature’s finest, hand in glove

with Man’s first aim, survival;

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Where a trophy hunter may prove 

keen eyes for a potential kill,

who seeks out poetry, seeks love

A power to make mountains move,

centuries-old nightmares repel;

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Grown cold, hand out of its glove

among rhetoric's overspill?

who seeks out poetry, seeks love,

in nest or flight, wings of a dove

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Damper, In-out-In ... OR Tempering the Human Consciousness

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

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2016; it was slightly revised in 2003 (for my collection the following year) from an earlier [1980's] poem, and you are invited to make of it what you will.

Now, in my 70's, I still find myself recalling the words of a song from early childhood:

Well, you push the damper in and you pull the damper out,

but the smoke goes up the chimney just the same…

I well recall what a teacher once said (n the 1950's) when I asked about philosophy, having read the word in a book and found a dictionary of little help. (I was 11 years-old.) ‘Philosophy,’ he mused, possibly more to himself than to me, ‘…is a vehicle for language devised by human nature to fire its passions without its having to commit to any responsibility other than just that. Think of the fireplace damper in your living room at home; the more it is opened, the more air to fuel the fire. So it is, as I see it, with philosophy. The more open a mind you apply, the fiercer the passions of intellect are sure to burn. On the other hand, if it’s absolute proof or even meaning you’re after, that is tantamount to the damper being closed and the fire left to go out. Either way, we have to be prepared for some smoke in our eyes ir not our Does that answer your question?’ It did not, of course (and I'm pretty sure he knew it) but I hadn’t the nerve to say so. Besides, my head was already swimming.

Years on, I begin to see the appropriateness of the simile although I should perhaps add that, as I progressed from first year to 6th form, I came to see my teacher, for whom I had much affection and respect, as something of a devil's advocate. As for philosophy, I am still inclined to see it as wisdom's get-out clause for explaining away everything and nothing.

DAMPER, IN-OUT-IN … or TEMPERING THE HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS

Thoughts

drifting, circling,

sending us here, there,

everywhere,

ever homing in 

on us …

obscuring,

deluding and confusing

the senses about

who we are, 

where we’re going,

whatever will become

of us …?

Rumours

drifting, circling,

sending us here, there

everywhere,

ever homing in

on us ...

obscuring,

deluding and confusing 

rights and wrongs

keeping an eye on us

like buzzards

in a mist anticipating

our end

Hopes

drifting, circling,

sending us here, there,

everywhere,

ever homing in on us,

obscuring, 

resolving to get the better

of any delusion

or confusion driving us

to ask who we are, 

going where,

whatever will become

of us …?

History

drifting, circling,

sending us here, there,

everywhere,

feeding leftover dreams

to mind-body-spirit,

intending to reassure us

who we are,

and going where, if only

we can get it right,

wherever it is we need

to be going,

whatever will become

of us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was first published under the title Smokescreen in an anthology Sometimes I Wonder, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2004 and subsequently in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Human Spirit, Life Forces

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

Today’s poem is, yes, another kenning; it first appeared on the blog in November 2009, again in 2011 and today (for a second time) by 'Hannah and Jonathan’ for no special reason other than "it always lifts our spirits." Well, thank you, folks, happy to oblige.

Several people have commented to me recently that they feel "like death warmed up" and /or "totally drained" by the pandemic and its everyday implications for and limitations on everyday life; and so say all of us, I suspect. We can but stay positive and trust the human spirit to help us run the gamut and survive the stronger, not than weaker for it. Never easy, of course, even at the best of times.

A friend I knew as a student once confided that he 'envied' poets and others engaging in the arts because ' they can experience at first hand the everlasting quality of a vibrant Poetry of Life that passes so many of us by. At best..." he conceded, "...we can enjoy it while it lasts, provided we even recognise it for what it is at the time, of course. But, let's face it who want to be reminded once it moves on? I mean to say, no one wants to be reminded of any what-might-have-been, do they?"

While these were rhetorical questions, of course, I practised my right to agree to differ anyway, pointing out that no human experience either passes us by or even moves on completely, but remains a part of us, and whether we like/acknowledge it or not, it helps shape who we are and how we learn from whatever might-have-been may have affected us as it clearly had my friend. He shrugged, commented that "you arty types are all the same, always looking on the brighter side of life, and expecting the rest of us to take a leaf out of your poetry books." We both laughed. and he changed the subject.

Strange, isn't it, how some conversations stay with you like the lyric of a song you can't forget, as much for the singer as the song, if not more so...? Arts and artists, they help shape our lives along with their own; as for who gets the better deal, active participant or audience, that's anyone's guess, although I suspect it is in some timely inspiration that lies the key to any answers. Nor should it ever be assumed that anyone outside the arts field has ever been excluded from enjoying the Poetry of Life; it is a global consciousness, open to and welcoming anyone whose natural spirit engages with the poetry (and prose) of life in all its human diversity of expression and experience.

As regular readers of either or both poetry blogs will know only too well, I subscribe to no religion as such; an empathy with nature since childhood, though, leads me confess an intimate relationship with Pantheism in the sense that I see any 'God' as nature, rather than its creator, having never felt comfortable with the idea of a personified God.

Sadly, while I respect world religion/s, few who enter into them respect my point of view; neither atheist nor agnostic am I, though, so can we not simply agree to differ and get on with our lives without invoking words on historical tablets of stone that would keep us apart ...?

So ...what happens to the human spirit once its host body dies?  Regular readers will know by now that my sense of a posthumous consciousness is another of the life forces my poem suggests drives  a human spirit that ia not only eternal, but also, in its own unique way, continues to not only make a 'live' contribution to history .... be it in a personal and/or wider sense.

HUMAN SPIRIT, LIFE FORCES

I am that life force feeling its way

into dreams, making sure moon and stars

shine love’s light through layers

of darkness if only to reveal what’s real

in a world so easily misled by word

or gesture, generally making a poor show

of communicating such feelings

as all our kinder senses often banging

at the doors of closed minds

I am that life force lending a shoulder

to cry on, an ear to confide in, sees caution

thrown to the wind and returns it

as a kindness, suggesting we reconsider

persistently pitting human nature

against its other selves, risk losing face

in the eyes of old (and new) gods

looking down on our crude obsession

with mortality, and wondering why

I am that life force to whom they turn

whom flames of any passion would devour

for better, for worse, but only ashes

where we'd have left a blaze of memory

to comfort, leave us feeling secure,

whatever some Grim Reaper may yet

demand of us; no life force, he,

intending to override the Poetry of Life,

foiled by the resilience of its humanity

Come day or night, find me, Earth Mother,

archiving centuries of nurture

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, rev.2020

[Note: This post/ poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today given that the poem (no less than all poetry) is all-inclusive, and feedback suggests many readers only drop in to one or the other blog; an earlier version of the poem appears under the title The Archivist in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.] RNT

Now-you-see-Me, Now-you-Don't

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

I once asked a friend who died a few years ago how she managed to stay so positive even while she was suffering from cancer. Her response was inspiring and I would like to share it with you all today, especially while we are still in the grip of Covid-19. She said, "I take each day as it comes and hope for the best, the best being not only a stronger, kinder world, but also a stronger, kinder me. Too many of us forget how kindness not only makes us stronger, but spreads as well. I can't save the world, but I can do my damn best to save myself. If I die, well, at least people will remember me for being a positive thinking person, and hopefully some of that will rub off on them too." The coronavirus continues to spread around the world, albeit, hopefully, on the wane despite resurgent spikes; let's hope the sense of mutual suffering shared by a common humanity will spread more kindness in the world too; certain socio-cultural-religious groups that preach love and peace while practising a separatist agenda/ dogma might bear that in mind.

In any situation that poses a particular problem for us, there is likely to be a bigger picture than that we zoom in on with an inner eye whose view will be biased from the start. In my experience, the only way to extend our inner vision to accommodate other points of view is to to discuss it with the friend least likely to agree with you for the sake of it and unafraid of causing offence by playing devil's advocate. Some people, of course, take offence at any point of view expressed that doesn't tally with their own. (Religious orders spring to mind.) 

Friends know us better than strangers, are familiar with most if not all he parts that make what is invariably a complex whole; for this reason, a friend would always be my first port of call although I would never rule out seeking the objective opinion of a counsellor. 

It has been my experience that counsellors give 'advice' they expect you to take. Me, I never give advice, but will always offer an opinion if asked or when a friend chooses to discuss a situation with me that I feel he or she is handling badly. I can honestly say that I never take offence when people disagree with me; that goes for my poetry too, just as well as some friends always find fault with what I have to say in a poem. wry bardic chuckle

At the end of the day, of course, it is up to the person or persons immediately involved in any difficult situation to make their own choice as to how they can best resolve it. All parties need to bear in mind, too, the old truism that you can please some of the people some of the time, but not all the people all the time; those who offer well-meaning advice, only to take offence if it is not taken, would do well to remember that.  

We need to remember, too, how easily the written and spoken word alone can be misunderstood in the absence of body language. A former 'friend' once took offence at a message left on her answering machine where none was intended; instead of confronting me with it, and resolving the situation there and then, she chose to send a nasty letter and continued to harbour a grudge thereafter. I tried to make amends, but underestimated the extent of the latter so was wasting my time from the outset. Such are the complexities of human nature, including some friendships. Needless to say, I do not miss that particular 'friend' in the least.  wry bardic grin

This poem is a kenning.

NOW-YOU-SEE-ME, NOW-YOU-DON'T 

We are many parts

comprising a complex whole,

something of a riddle

to the less discerning person

preferring to home in

on sound, intonation, inflexion

of voice, whether theirs

or not, to having any bigger

picture in sight

Working well together,

as parts of a complex whole,

trying to compensate

when one fails to properly

connect, hopefully

learning its lesson where failing

to acknowledge

its place in the bigger picture

that’s human nature

Ever up against it,

all parts of a complex whole,

no ‘live’ sculpture

as Galatea to her Pygmalian

who thought he knew

everything about his creation,

yet could not see it
for a human spirit's bonding
with its human heart

I am human potential, ever present,

yet now you see me, now you don't

Copyright R. N. Taber (2016)

Nature and Human Nature, a Collage

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.

A reader asks if I have found a publisher for my next volume of poems, especially given that I have had to self-publish in the past because no publishers wanted the gay input. Well,no, I haven't, but am not really looking at the moment, as I still have not made up my mind whether or not to just self-publish a few hundred volumes and put the collection on-line at a later date. The same reader asks, "Why bother as your poems are on the blogs anyway?"  While not apprehensive about the possibility of dying (it has to happen sometime, after all)  I have to be pragmatic about life expectancy given that I will be 75 later this year and have been living with prostate cancer, along with other health issues, since 2011. I doubt whether Google will keep my blogs for long after my demise, and I want people to be able to continue accessing my poems. Should the Grim Reaper come calling before I am ready, a close friend has said he will see to it that my poetry collections go online. 

Meanwhile ...

Life is frequently inclined to behave like a rush hour commuter, shoving us this way and that until we are confused, angry, despairing to the point of giving up the daily struggle to survive on the best terms available to us; especially true for many if not most of us, I suspect, as we continue to do battle with mixed social and personal circumstances imposed as a direct consequence of Covid-19.

We may well seek some respite with nature.  Indeed, and why not?  For it is nature’s way more often than not to offer peace of mind, comfort, reassurance and hope as well as putting everyday human crises in perspective.

Ah, but neither does nature shirk from putting us mortals in our place any more than we mortals, each other.

NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE, A COLLAGE

Dogma, missiles homing in

on the most vulnerable

Heavens, healing wounds,

all God pundits divided

By dawn, subtle birdsong

calling out for a kinder world

Clouds, weary foot soldiers

haunting political stirrers

High noon, tears of the sun

(for all humanity's prejudices)

Dead leaves, Earth Mother

close to giving up on us all?

Twilight, wrapping-up time

if only to hide humanity's mess

Sunsets, Apollo’s blushes

(for humanity's mistakes?)

Stars, all eyes on our 'betters'

ever negotiating new moral highs

Darkness, mind over matter;

(pause-for-thought heroics)

Sleep, rescue from human freefall

(if only a temporary measure)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

I-N-T-E-G-R-I-T-Y, Love Poems

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

As I continue putting together a new collection of poems, this one caught my eye; it first appeared on the blog in 2011.

People often ask me why I write poetry. I try to answer this in many of my love poems. Although the love of my life died many years ago and we had only a few years together, our love for each other continues to sustain me. Yet, as I often say to people living alone as I do, love comes in many shapes and forms; family, friends, pets, places...all these can be loved and become an integral part of not only our lives but also our whole being.

In my case, my relationship with friends and nature are the focus of my love,  and subsequently my love for poetry; the latter, by the way, is a gift from my dear mother who would often recite poems to me at bedtime as well as reading me stories. She died in June 1976 when I was 30 years-old, but I feel her presence whenever I write a poem just as I feel my late partner’s and others I have loved. Yes, there is sadness in me because I will never see them again, but that is more than compensated for and transcended by love...every day of every year.

Years ago, I wrote a gay love poem which, sadly, I have since mislaid as it predated the age of computers and am unable to rewrite as I have a poor memory after years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer. At the time, a colleague urged me to submit it to a poetry magazine whose editor subsequently commended me for my efforts while rejecting it on the grounds that gay love poems lack integrity and might well offend regular readers.

Love comes in all shapes and forms and is as changeable as the seasons, in nature and human nature alike; like every season, it gives new life in one breath and takes with another while encouraging us to be be glad for what we have, and make the best of it, rather then dwell on what we have not, and make the worst.

True love is more than eternal, it is eternity, that you-me-us that has characterised human life since its earliest beginnings, and always will. Nor does any culture or religion have a monopoly on its spirituality; the human spirit in us all will see to that, if we will but let it, whoever and wherever we may be.

This poem is a villanelle.

I-N-T-E-G-R-I-T-Y, LOVE POEMS

In love poems, discern integrity

touching on all life's finer themes;

the ultimate collector's anthology

Any prose on contemporaneity

may well rip us apart at the seams;

in love poems, discern integrity

Where some see cruel ambiguity,

love lends out its promising dreams;

the ultimate collector's anthology

There's a cruelty rooted in bigotry,

humanity but a patch on all it seems;

in love poems, discern integrity

Natural world allowed its dignity,

till Earth Mother's face surely beams;

the ultimate collector's anthology

Come age, gender, race, sexuality, 

prejudices (still) haunting our dreams;

in love poems, discern integrity,

the ultimate collector's anthology

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, rev. 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title' Love, an Epic Poem' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012; this post/ poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today.]