Friends of the Earth

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

“Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being.” – Victor Hugo

“He who plants a tree, plants a hope.” – Lucy Larcom

“Ancient trees are precious. There is little else on earth that plays host to such a rich community of life within a living organism.” – Sir David Attenborough

“Our destiny often looks like a fruit tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs. Could next spring again be green, bloom and even bear fruit. Yet we hope it, we know it.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Now, email feedback for yesterdays poem was particularly encouraging as most if it had nothing but praise and admiration for Jake Daniels; A.G, “a straight reader” says he hopes the young footballer will inspire other sportsmen and women to come out and effectively become “role models for closet gay people everywhere.” 

Sadly, certain world cultures and religions will never condone same sex relationships, but human nature is not only resilient, it is inventive, the human spirit, too, so… where there’s a will to love, I suspect it will always find a way to live and let live…

FRIENDS OF THE EARTH

I have loved to walk among trees
I can now but enjoy, find love and peace
in such memories of you-me-us
as inspire every beat of this heart we’ll share
while a tree still stands, somewhere

There is a tree I see from a window
that grows in a garden that I cannot access
from my studio flat in London,
where magpies nest, bring us year after year
such songs of life as bind us together 

Soon, fledglings among its leaves
lend the tree a new lease of life in providing
sanctuary for young birds yet to learn
to fly, explore the skies, make ready to escape
the hostilities of a wintry landscape 

Less, lonely here, this sad heart lifted
by a wintry sun breaking through, promising
the return of my magpie friends
to the tree whose life forces gifted it by the earth,
gifting you-me-us, also, with rebirth

I have but to close my eyes to embrace you,
anytime, anywhere, let the warmth and beauty
of our love lend me a sense of eternity;
you-me-us, birds in a tree growing in a garden
in all weathers, lifeblood of inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Disturbing the Peace

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

A reader comments that he has been very lonely during this second UK lockdown, and has coped far worse than during the first. I suspect this is true of many people, especially those of us who live alone and. or are unable to get out and about too well due to mobility problems. All we can do is keep looking on the brighter side of life, take each day as comes and trust that the vaccination program will see and end to all safety restrictions sooner rather than later. Even so, it is hard to nurture a positive mindset here in the UK when a third wave of Covid-19 is sweeping the continent. 

Many people are experiencing a range of emotions with which they are unfamiliar, not the least of which is fear. Several readers have emailed to say they feel scared as soon as they wake up each morning, dread having to face another day of having t cope with the Covid stress that is taking its toll on everyone. “The worst thing is,” a reader confides, “…is that I cannot tell anyone I am so scared as I’d feel such a fool.” Believe me, most people would be only too happy to have an excuse to share e the very same feelings. 

There is an old saying that a trouble shared is a trouble halved; fear is no exception. 

Having grown up the very homophobic 1950’s, I was afraid to tell people – especially family – that I am gay. Had I been able to share my fears with someone would have made a huge difference. As it was, my family were content to discuss the likelihood that I was gay, but no one thought to bring the subject into the open and talk to me about it until untold damage had already been done. When I finally came out to the world as a gay man, it was an indescribable relief. 

As I have said before, on both poetry blogs, I feel encouraged on behalf of young LGBT people these days that fewer are likely to be treated like freaks of nature - or 'sinners' as various world religions would have it - simply for the nature of their sexuality. 

Sadly, human nature being the complex organism it is, certain societies and communities worldwide still have a lot to learn - and become reconciled to - as far as same sex lovers and human rights are concerned. Hopefully, the pandemic will at least have brought home to many if not most that, for all our differences, we are (all) but human.

DISTURBING THE PEACE

Unwelcome visitor,
anytime, anywhere, day or night,
I may well depart
without even giving my name 
if only to be sure
you will know it when I call again,
mind-body-spirit
(always one for a game of chance)
offering suggestions at every blind turn
inciting desperation 

Deny me if you will,
I’ll not be deterred from haunting
and hurting you,
making you regret whatever it is
you would hide,
though there’s no sure hiding place,
the only solution,
head-on confrontation (always your call)
winner risking all… 

I haunt all creatures
great and small, but it is humankind
I most love to taunt
with unspoken threats the heart
hears only too well,
but would prefer to ignore, finds hard
to share or explain
lest it be caught out, made to give a name
to some guilt or shame 

I am Fear, last heard of breaking down doors
kept shut for years

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Spring Rain to a Tree Rose

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

I was young when my grandfather died; it was my first close encounter with death - of which I was already fearful - and my mother tried to reassure me.

     “Life and death are two sides of the same experience,” she said, “People die, but our memories of them add a new dimension to our own lives. son in a way, they live on in us.”

      “Sort of like ghosts?” I asked

       “Sort of like ghosts,” she agreed.

With all this in mind, and understanding little of it, we visited the mortuary. Grandad looked very peaceful, as if he were but asleep. I have been afraid of dying since, although I prefer not to think about it. I have my favourite ghosts, yes, but I see them as an extension of my living self, not as dead people.

 Even so, the closer they are to us, the more intensely we miss them, and that is the greater shock to the human condition as I would discover when my mother died some years later. I may have understood something of death, but I had yet to learn how the grieving process can affect us in different ways. Like most of us, though, I eventually emerged from the grieving process in one piece, if not unscathed.

Significantly, I could not cry when my mother dies, the tears would come several  years later in the course of a nervous breakdown.

As regular readers know, I am not a religious person in the sense that I do not subscribe to any of the world religions but think of myself as a pantheist. No religion  has a monopoly on spirituality, though, and it is to the spiritual nature of death that I can relate, closely enough to bring me not only comfort whenever I need it most, but also such inspiration as drawn from of some of the more inspirational people I have ever known, dead or alive.

AS SPRING RAIN TO A TREE ROSE

Life-companion
to human mind-body-spirit,
I try to encourage
a positive response wherever
the landscape ahead
seems as bleak and forbidding
to the inner eye
as to every nuance of sensibility
at the heart of me  

Life-force,
even in the face of mortality,
able to offer respite
from pain and disillusionment
in such tears
as would fall like tree rose petals
in a light breeze
but for suffering the raging calm
before a storm 

Lifesaver,
bringing all mind-body-spirit
to a gentler vision,
one of such happiness and joy
as only nurture
such as spring rain to a tree rose, 
can engage inner eye
and hopeful heart to see it bloom
night and day 

I am Grief, bringer of such memories
as sure to hurt as inspire us 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

Living with Dragons

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

A reader writes that it is all very well for me to encourage positive thinking in the face of adversity, but it is easier said than done. True enough, and have I ever suggested it was easy? We all need inspiration and hope to see us through the harsher facts of life we are likely to have thrown at us from time to time from one source or another. 

As a child, I loved fairy stories and legends, and still do. I have met parents who forbid their children to read them on the grounds that they are not true-to-life and leave them ill-prepared for such trials and tribulations as they will invariably encounter as they grow into the adult world. Not unusually, I disagree. 

More often than not, fairy tales and legends have happy endings, heroes getting the better of villains and everyone left living the Happy-Ever-After that is their hallmark.  Not so, in real life for much of the time. Even so, the best tales see good overcoming bad, heroes defeating villains etc. Like many children, I used to love role-play, even on my own, when I would play the imaginary hero sure to get the better of whatever villain I would pick from whatever story or (as would happen not infrequently) a real-life experience at home, at school, wherever. 

The death of a loved-one or close friend can take us to the edge of reason, sending us into battle with the most fearsome of all dragons, our own mortality; even as we grieve,  we find ourselves fighting on two fronts. Some find inspiration in their religion. Me, I take heart from Happy-Ever-After tales whose endings are but new beginnings. No? Well, disprove it if you can.

Such role-plays would serve me well as I grew to face the harsher realities of teenage years and adult life. At 75, I can honestly say they still do. Mind over matter, much of it well may be, but if it works… who cares? I have lost count of how many times I have become a favourite storybook hero in my head and it has lifted flagging spirits just to feel that I can and will get through a bad time and learn from it… eventually. 

“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So, I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?"― John Lennon. 

LIVING WITH DRAGONS

Some ghosts, they haunt
shadowy corners of the mind
while others would keep us
safe and sound from such fears
as well might make
cowards of us all or, worse still,
see us engage with dragons shadowing
our darkest thoughts 

The human spirit, it run 
a gauntlet of conflicting emotions;
love and hate often vying
with each other to be top dog
in stakes whose winners
take all, losers left mulling over
how they might do better another time,
and someone to blame 

Such is the Here-and-Now
a blast of home truths stripped bare
of such excuses
as might well fool any believing
they know us better
than we know ourselves
but for a dragon bringing us down
and proving us all mistaken 

Ah, but the human spirit
is a match for any dragon’s hellfire,
not least for fighting
fantasy with fantasy, so dampening
flames of innuendo
fuelling gossip and stereotypes
behind closed doors (as only human)
with a kinder imagination                              

Life may be going so badly
as to wring tears of despair from us,
yet we have but to play
giantkiller, visit friends in Toyland,
cross angry seas
with Ulysses, reunite with love,
in whatever it is every human heartbeat
will always have a head start 

However high, whatever odds
stacked against us, there are beanstalks
to climb, giants to defeat
(one way or another) and dragons
to confront head-on,
for where the heart is willing,
as led (or misled) by faery days of long ago
be sure the mind will follow 

Therein lies the untold story of humanity,
its penchant for fantasy… 

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Swan in the Morning OR Pairing Up for Life

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

Feedback suggests that some readers appear to have problem with my being gay. Well, that’s their  problem. Whatever our sexuality, though, and whoever and wherever we are, there are families who only want the best for us, but cannot see that has to be our decision, no one else’s.

A blog reader has emailed to say that her husband of some 30+ years has died after contracting the coronavirus. I am sure we all be thinking of rooting for her and the whole family.  Sadly, it appears that she has been estranged all that time from her parents and siblings who were unhappy about her marrying a black man.

Another reader contacted me a year or so ago to say that he had been a widower for some years but recently remarried and was very happy but for “… my family adored my first wife and won’t accept either her or that I could possibly love anyone else.”

As a gay man, I know all about prejudice and how it can affect even ruin people’s lives. In latter years, attitudes have changed very much for the better, but prejudice in some people and communities is so deeply rooted that it may well be several generations yet before it disappears altogether.

I regret not coming out to my immediate family for years. I suspect it would have made little if any difference to our becoming estranged, although political correctness may well dissuade them from saying so now. Whatever, I told very few people when I fell in love with another man in my early 20’s. Ironically, we had decided to tell our families only days before he was killed in a road accident.

Subsequently, I grieved alone and would remain in the proverbial closet for some years yet. As regular readers know, I have never met anyone else with whom a such a love-relationship was ever in our mutual interest. on the cards. Oh, I have loved, yes, enjoyed occasional sex as well, but would never rediscover the kind of love that life-partnerships are founded upon.

Now, February is LGBT History month and this poem is my contribution to it; not an explicitly gay poem, but a love poem no less. We cannot help with whom we fall in love. Thankfully, love does not discriminate the way some people do, and whoever or wherever we may be, losing someone with whom we have been in a love-relationship, no matter how long or short-lived, hurts, terribly. 

Whether or not we find such love again, any love lost will always hurt, but love has a generosity of mind-body-spirit that not only lives on in us, but actively encourages us to reach for the stars, even if many of us have to settle for wishing on them. Hurt will heal, if we let it, but healing does not mean forgetting; happy memories shared will last forever and are meant to be treasured for that, never to make us feel guilty for getting on with our lives.

Photo from the Internet

A SWAN IN THE MORNING

Winter, a gloomy affair,
not least for a conspicuously empty chair
causing mind-body-spirit
to sink for its being moved to recall
a shared history, ours
for keeps, no place as would ever (surely?)
see either of us left alone
to mull over such what-might-have-been days
as would steal our tomorrows 

Spring ,the wistful heart
showing no sign of even attempting to get
the better of its passion
for dwelling on a future never to be,
as we’d once dared dream
of making ours, any tears but for such joys
as only their memories
can build a home on such shared love and trust
as our every kiss had promised 

Promises, come to nothing.
the more so for having meant everything
to we lovers, risen
from a place that’s darker and colder
than any wintry day
or night, if only for a loneliness overwhelming
the mind-body-spirit
that would brave the world, but for its prejudices
threatening the likes of you-me-us 

Together, we could have risen
above any politics of derision as will feed on
whatever scraps thrown,
its penchant for seizing on any stereotypes
likely to spread such divisions
as they can invite to take sides against creatures
great and small,
any half-lies become such half-truths as let humanity
duck any accusations of hypocrisy 

Chancing to look up as I walked on,
eyes brightening for their focusing on a swan
descending from above,
clearly heading for a lake just ahead of me
making noises as if calling
to another, spotted sailing among leafy shadows
silently, with dignity,
feathers stirring in a breeze as if already imagining
imminent courtship and coupling

My swan, it made a perfect landing
on the lake, wasted little time approaching
its chosen companion;
face to face, as if taking sure measure
of each other,
now nodding, as if come to an understanding;
a flurry of wings,
and mating begins, as glorious a spectacle as any other
in the eyes of Earth Mother 

I slowly walked away a lovemaking
in my ears reuniting you-me-us, reassuring
mind-body-spirit
not only that true love never dies
but has needs
it cannot nurture alone, any moving on meaning
neither disloyalty
nor disrespect, no less sure of a welcome than any other
in the eyes of Earth Mother 

Yet another wintry, human heart taking its cue from spring
for engaging with a swan one morning

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

 

Hello from London UK

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

Hi Everyone

Sorry, no poem today, but I am working on one so... hopefully, by Monday.

Hope you are coping as well as any of us can in the middle of a pandemic. Me, I do try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, and manage to do just that most of the time, but - like everyone else - I have good days and bad days. On a good day, I can usually complete a poem to publish here, and that always lifts my mind-body-spirit.

A new reader appears to have taken offence by my suggesting that religion has no monopoly on spirituality. No matter, we will just have to agree to differ.  The same reader also disputes that I can have a sense of spirituality without believing in God as according to any religious agenda. Again, each to their own, surely? 

As I have said before on the blogs, also at my poetry reading on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, back in 2009 (my contribution to Antony Gormley's "One and Other" project that ran for 100 days) , I see myself as a pantheist; I still do in so far as I see God as nature, not its creator. The reader clearly sees this as blasphemy, but I could never get my head around the idea of a personified God, even as a child; when I discovered pantheism, I could relate to it instantly. Besides, religious bigotry is not uncommon and - not least as a gay man - I find bigotry in any shape or form as distasteful as it is indefensible.]

No one has to embrace the religious beliefs of others to respect them, and I do, whatever reservations I might have, so how about this reader’s respecting mine…?

Another reader asks how I am coping with various medical issues, not last the prostate cancer with which I have been living since 2011. Again, good days and bad days, and the same with others problems.  Stress has a nasty habit of making us feel worse regarding just about anything likely to prey on the mind, even at the best of times; I dare say I am as prone to coronavirus stress ( hovering at about 80 on a sliding scale of 1 to 100) as anyone else! All we can do is take each day as it comes, for better or worse, and keep telling ourselves that life can only get better. Never easy, but do we have a choice?

Yet another reader is unhappy about my poems and preambles that suggest that my regular reference to ghosts as the personification of a posthumous consciousness indicates “an insultingly casual approach” to the death of loved-ones. Believe me, there is nothing ‘casual’ about it; it is a subject dear to my heart. I am 75 years-old, and those I have loved, as friends or more, are with me always, so great has been the impression they have made on me; impressions and precious memories that have helped me through good times and bad as well as exposing my flaws and showing me - not least by shining example - how to recognise and (hopefully) overcome them as needs must in the course of a lifetime.

Few if any of us are perfect. Others are as likely to take issue with what we consider out strengths as with any flaws or weaknesses, seeing them in a different light altogether. (How we come across to others is never easy to work out unless they tell us, and then it can sometimes come as a shock to mind-body-spirit. At the end of the day, though, I suspect it is how we see ourselves and what, if anything, we choose to do about it that counts, certainly in so far as managing self-confidence, self-consciousness or that old standby conscience is concerned.

Many thanks for dropping by, folks, always much appreciated,

Take care, be safe, and let's all try to nurture a positive mindset, whatever... 

Hugs,

Roger

PS New readers might like to take a look at poems in the blog archives now and then; they can be accessed on the right hand side of any blog post.

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

 

 

 

 

 

Hello again, Everyone

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

Hello again Everyone,

No poem again today, sorry about that, but I am working on one. I live alone and get very tired, especially after a BAD night with my prostate cancer; it isn’t advanced or particularly aggressive, but I often need to urinate during the night. I have tablets now, that help some nights, but not always.

Poetry demands a degree of thought and imagination, both of which fail me utterly sometimes. Even so, they are necessary tools for my personal survival, pandemic or no pandemic, so I am always well-motivated to recover any losses. Fingers crossed…

There are moves towards enforcing greater safety precautions here in the UK in an attempt to control the rapid spread of the Covid-19 variant. One of these is closing down all places of worship. A reader asks how I feel about this. As it happens, I agree, and not because I do not subscribe to any religion. Places of worship offer the sense of being part of a community, and this is important, but not essential to feeling close to God; praying alone can do that. 

Those attending places of worship, whatever their religion, tend to congregate before and after services, an open invitation to the spread of any coronavirus.

Another reader asks how I cope with broken sleep and mobility problems during the pandemic. I have not been told to ‘shield’ so I make sure I get out and about as much as I need to, for essential everyday shopping, exercising my bad leg etc. I always wear a mask as it helps my self-confidence.

Living in London as I do, I am very nervous about going out at all these days, but mental health is every bit as important as physical health; I need to get out of my flat sometimes, even for just 20 minutes or so, or go mad. (I don’t have access to a garden.) It’s a case of mind over matter, I guess, between my inner self and a handful of mentoring ghosts from my past; we invariably manage to persuade a wary, nervous, even downright scared yours truly, to get on with life as far as possible.

Yes, I try to practise what I preach when it comes to adopting a positive-thinking mindset. Never easy, but it’s Hobson’s Choice in so far as the alternative does not bear thinking about. (Well, does it…?)

I look out of my window, watch trees swaying, birds flying and squirrels chasing each other… and feel close to nature. For a pantheist God is nature. So, on this Sunday morning, nor less so than any other morning or times of day, I find more than inspiration enough to see me through all life throws at me as I grow old, pandemic or no pandemic, and, yes, maybe even a poem…

Back tomorrow, folks, and many thanks for dropping by; your company means a lot to me.

Take care, be safe, and keep well,

Hugs,

Roger

 

 

 

Crisis at Christmas OR Love is the Key

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

For many readers, it will not be a very happy Christmas Day this year, and for most of us it will be a Christmas break like no other for all the wrong reasons. Even so, there are vaccines on the way so still reason to think positive and look forward to better times in 2021.

Here's my favourite ghosts (from happier times) and I  wishing you all love and peace always, and many thanks for dropping by the blog.

Hugs,

Roger

CRISIS AT CHRISTMAS or LOVE IS THE KEY

Christmas, in a year
with many a tear in many an eye
for a year that’s seen
so much grief, anger and pain,
yet, also a sense
of being a common humanity
in a world inclined
to view certain differences as weaknesses,
due to its own short sightedness

In a year that has seen
the devastating effects of Covid-19
on world economies
and personal lives, a sense of unity
attempts to rise
above that grief, anger and pain
all but dominating
everyday life, whoever and wherever we are,
any differences notwithstanding 

In times of crisis, people
will often pull together, bridging chasms
between old enemies,
suggesting bigots have second thoughts
asking of religions
that they practise what they preach
in so far as matching
deeds to fine words, embracing peace and love
without either caveat or favour 

For many, Christmas,
among other celebrations, but reinforce
an overwhelming
sense of loss, regret, loneliness, and losing out
in such everyday move
as humanity makes, potentially this way,
potentially that…
now, raising hopes, now (invariably) taking credit
for (inevitably) losing out to ‘Fate’

So, what can we do,
who are left to pick ourselves up, start over?
For a start, never forget
there are such people in the world who care
about others,
will lend a helping hand and see us through
to a kinder end,
while it’s a positive mindset (no weakness) that asks
for help, more likely to find happiness 

There will always be
the good-bad in this world, the happy-sad too;
we can but try
to rise above it all (down to me, down to you)
even compensate
for such evils as humankind may yet do,
let love be the key
to  mind-body-spirit left free to live, let live and let die
if (still) begging the question, "why…?"

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Caveman

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

Several people have told me they are dreading Christmas this year because they have chosen to play safe and stay at home rather than risk the usual Christmas get-togethers with family and friends; it is, of course, a choice millions of people around the world are facing all the time this year, whether or not they celebrate Christmas. Other religious festivals have come and gone and there has been no talk of easing safety precautions, but left to celebrants to use their own judgement and common sense in what continues to be hard times for everyone, regardless of gender, age, ethnicity or religion. 

Now, this short poem has been revised since it was written 1974 and appeared first in my collection in 2001 and later on the blog. Somehow, I suspect even a Stone Age man or woman would have been able to relate to it.  Certainly, many people facing varying degrees of self-isolation and/ or living alone will know how it feels, especially this year, given changes - often at short notice - regarding the various safely regulations and advice issued by Governments. 

Even without a pandemic to contend with, the ups and downs of life can easily give us a false sense of security for a while, only to plunge us into a gloomy reality sooner rather than later. 

That’s life, I guess. We can but put our best foot forward and carry on with hope and resolve in our hearts that, somehow, we will weather whatever storm threatens and things can only get better; keeping an eye on the brighter side of life has to be as good an inspiration as any to motivate us, surely? 

Many of us will be spending Christmas alone this year rather than risk Covd-19 striking our more vulnerable loved-ones and friends. Some of us may be able to get together on line via video links, while others can look back on happier times, invite their favourite ghosts to nestle in the heart and make merry in the ear; not a perfect Christmas, but not so sad a one, either, and now that a vaccine is on its way, we can at least start looking forward to a much happier 2021 … eventually.

 CAVEMAN

In a damp gloom
I wander sometimes, stumble, 
bang my head 
on sudden stone, hear a thrash
of bats’ wings;
though thoughts take flight
to that sunny world 
from which they came, chances are,
that (much like bats)
they are left groping for the truth 
of things, if only
to rediscover history, colonies
of bats in other caves

Now, face to the sun, 
back to the wind, caressing long grass
and  - free...!

Till, suddenly, bats’ wings

[From: Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

 

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]

You-Me-Us, a Posthumous Consciousness OR Remembrance, Mentor Extraordinary

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

Today's poem appeared on the blog some time ago.

Our ghosts are a living part of us whether we care to acknowledge them or not; kind and less kind ghosts, where the former invariably more then compensate for the latter, lifting us when we are low,  restoring a sense of purpose should we lose sight of it from time to time; these are more than memories of better times, they are the people who helped make them better, kinder, happier ... and they are no less real than ever, albeit invisible. As I grow old, especially living alone as I do, my ghosts are as real to me as flesh and blood friends; life forces, encouraging and sustaining me through these tough times of Covid-19.

Whatever our ethnicity, creed,sexuality ...  we are all but human; it is in our nature to be wary if not fearful of death. Religion may well offer a safety net of sorts, but it has always struck me as causing more worldwide divisions that it can ever begin to heal; neither, though, do I subscribe to negative thinking.

Whoever, wherever we are, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than look forward to. Not so, though, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? We always need to think positively about that however hard life gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart. There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware. Time, then (if not already) to let mind-body-spirit teach us how to look to see, hear to listen.

Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”

My friend had chosen a career in teaching. I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher. There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful.I suspect he will play an important if unknowing part in their consciousness for years to come.

A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and hope I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.

Much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end. if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make  the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly…and the chances are, we will never know

YOU-ME-US, A POSTHUMOUS CONSCIOUSNESS or REMEMBRANCE, MENTOR EXTRAORDINARY

I grow old alone,

those who may have grieved me

gone into that unknown

some call Heaven, Paradise, 

Hell or whatever, anything other 

than Death

Death, a cruel word,

metaphor for a ghost, last spotted

peering over the shoulder,

such as observes in my mirror

how desperate I've become to get

some sleep

Sleep, harbinger

of dreams, good, bad or too ugly

to ever contemplate

wherever alphabet lanterns 

over my head insist on spelling out 

my darkness

Darkness, companion

to personal space if sure to keep

a (very) discreet distance,

since it would not do to imply

so much as a tenuous connection

with its devils

Devils, such secrets, 

running rings around me, less able 

let gather dust as once

I would, mind-body-spirit loath

to invoke heated family discussions

with repercussions...

Repercussions, haunts

of bygone days, years of answering

to outward appearances,

inner self all but suffocating

in a closet I let few in, among whom 

no one to love

Love, always so near

yet so far, on the tip of my tongue,

but at the last minute

struck dumb by stereotypes

forcing public opinion down my throat,

all but choking me

Ah, but what’s that I hear?

voices out of nowhere reminding me

of words said, soon forgot,

(and to whom) now thanking me 

for helping them turn corners, find hope

get a life...

Alone, yes, but lonely no more;

invisible hands warmly shaking mine,

re-awakening sensibilities

half-forgotten, repudiating despair 

of a life with little to show for it, nothing

much to tell

Ah, but we all have tales to tell, 

how life marries us, for better or worse,

successes and failures,

loves lost and won, dreams come true

and others left to cry ourselves to sleep over,

come a new dawn

Dawn, spreading its light over me,

feeding me such hopes as I hadn't dared,

reassuring me of 'live' ghosts

always on hand to advise me on making

wiser, kinder choices, urging I but listen out

for You-Me-Us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

I

Winter, haunt of 'live' Ghosts

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

I may seem strange to publish a winter poem in August. Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2010 at a time when the UK and much of Europe was seeing its worst winter for some years. 

Ten years on and many of us are experiencing a cruel winter of the heart as the Covid-19 coronavirus remains active worldwide; combined with the effects of increasing climate change, the world and everyday life as we know it is changing faster than anyone could have predicted even just a few years ago.

A reader suggests I am "talking nonsense" when I refer to a posthumous consciousness. Fair enough, we must agree to differ.  Only ... an aunt of mine lost both her son and daughter in their early 20's within just a few years of each other; one to a driving accident, the other to breathing difficulties made worse for being asthmatic. She once told me that "Of course I miss them terribly, more than  words can say, but they will always be a part of me and their dad; their presence there is not only veyt real but also very comforting. We are still a family, after all." 

I felt much the same way when my mother died, although having to cope with the reality meant it would take a nervous breakdown three years later to - eventually - reach the same place as my aunt.  

We die, yes, but its is far more than a poet's imagination that we live on through others, for better, for worse, although the human mind-body-spirit is such that it is more likely to take inspiration from the former than dwell on the latter. 

Those life forces that are the making of us all may well be a curious combination of good and bad, but mind-body-spirit will always make more room (and time) for the former ... if we let it, rather than put up roadblocks along the lines of envy, jealousy, and a sense of being unable (quite) to forgive, either ourselves and/ or others. 

WINTER, HAUNT OF 'LIVE' GHOSTS

Where once daisies in meadows green,
footmarks where Jack Frost
has paused, glanced over his shoulder
for any sign of a 'live' ghost
(man or woman?) haunting each step
he takes…
marking each heavy, careless tread,
all green things left for dead
that may yet be saved
where other seasons await their cue
within its savage breast

Sure to bide its time before descending
on wings of a dove
spreading its wings like an eiderdown
of white satin
where a restless world dreams of waking
to a peace and goodwill
folk singers will celebrate for years,
while angel voices make a play
to fill half empty pews
and world leaders grace Sunday prayers
in election years

It will not stay long, if time well spent,
making good at least some
of the damage old Jack inclined to do,
reminding brave robin,
(eternal optimist) of other lives sleeping
off hangovers
from half forgotten centuries lusting
for the joys of spring
all but lost in the thick of such wars
on nature’s own deadlier even than Jack’s
for being human

As peace, to pain, a kindness sure to show;
where winter ghosts, spring sure to follow

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]

In Good Company

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

Regular readers will know that I believe in the existence of ghosts in the nicest possible way. (There are unwelcome ghosts, too, of course, but they are of no concern in this particular poem.)

We may be slaves to time in this life, but remembrance and the posthumous conscious from which it springs are life forces in another dimension altogether; where time and personal space unite to cross frontiers we can but imagine ... until it is our time, too, to cross to that proverbial 'other side'. 

IN GOOD COMPANY

I went to your grave

on Easter day, a longing in the heart

to be near, as once we were

I knelt, unable to pray,

laid a bouquet of flowers at the stone,

glad to stay …

Someone wished me Peace,

said pain would pass and hurt grow less,

that you’d left but briefly,

but that’s not what I wanted

to hear, just to be with you once more

as once we were

                 

A tugging at my sleeve,

but I wept, and would not, could not

leave without you;

gently now, lifting my face

to the sky, showing aspects of our history

like a home movie;

easy then to rise and turn away

from a stone and flowers, ours the gift

of eternity ...

Walking hand in hand

through a cemetery, you and I, content

to be in good company

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: Poem and title slightly revised (2014) from an earlier version that appears in First Person Plural by R N Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]