Rising Above White Noise OR Peace-and-Quiet, Life Force

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

“Silence is a source of great strength.” Lao Tzu

“Silence is of different kinds and breathes different meanings.” – Charlotte Bronte

“We all should rise, above the clouds of ignorance, narrowness and selfishness.” Booker T. Washington

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” – James Baldwin

“What I am looking for is not out there, it is in me.” Helen Keller

“I daresay some would never get their eyes opened if it were not for a violent shock from the consequences of their own actions.” - George Eliot 

We all live in worrying times. Here in the UK it's not only not only the rising cost of living, but also as to whether or not an already under-staffed and over-stretched NHS can cope should the Covid-19 pandemic return to previous devastating levels. We also have a new prime minister. whose plans are far from clear as to what she has in mind to help steer us through it all.

Whatever lies in store for any of  us as we pass through autumn into winter, the average man and woman in the street has little control over any of it. This, alone, can cause high levels of frustration, even anger, sufficient even to make some people violent.

It is no coincidence, surely, that levels of domestic and street violence have risen in recent times?

As if this wasn’t enough, it would appear that climate change, too, is closing in on us faster than anyone anticipated.

We can but do our best to make a positive contribution, however great or small, and try to keep the peace within ourselves and between each other; a positive thinking mindset has to be as good a start as any, yes?

YES! 

RISING ABOVE WHITE NOISE or PEACE-AND-QUIET, LIFE FORCE

A frantic drumming in the head,
blood pressure rising,

mixed emotions driving a mist

all but blinding me

to all that’s threatening me,

but putting me on guard

against an unknown enemy I must defeat

though I stumble at every drumbeat

Sick at heart, weary of a world

whose burdens all but

crushing me, mind-body-spirit

left in so many pieces,

small chance of reconstruction,

such commotion in me

leaving me cloth-eared to a voice

growing fainter, yet screaming all the while

from a terror-struck heart-and-soul

Suddenly, all drumming ceases

the strangest silence 

inviting me to embrace it, ask of it

all questions, listen out

to a heart-and-soul inscribing words

of love, peace, kindness

and other secrets of survival on walls 

of an inner sanctum beyond even imagination,

commanding all my attention

Such is the spiritual nature of silence to enlighten,

if we but stop, look, listen and… learn

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Lines on Nature

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

“We say
This changes and that changes. Thus the constant
Violets, doves, girls, bees and hyacinths
Are inconstant objects of inconstant cause in a universe of inconstancy.” - Wallace Stevens

“Birds do not sing in caves, nor do doves cherish their innocence in dovecot.” - Henry David Thoreau

“Don't kill doves in the garden. You kill one and the others won't come.” - Malala Yousafzai

Now, I am often criticised for being critical of some world religions, especially those whose agendas are opposed to and even encourage certain prejudices LGBT+ folks and anyone else who cannot go along with its narrowminded perspectives on life. 

However, each to their own, and I can respect anyone for that; if they can equate the sense of spirituality their religion offers them with that same narrowmindedness, more’s the pity, but … so be it. There is, after all, much comfort to be had in the constancy of any religion, albeit dependant on our (constant) perception of it.

Now, many hearts around the world will be with the families of at least 19 children and 2 teachers massacred by a teenage gunman at an elementary school in Uvalde Texas just a few days ago. President Biden is not the first US president to demand a change in the country’s gun laws, but the gun lobby there is so strong that I suspect, yet again, little if anything will change. Meanwhile, yet another town is left dealing with unimaginable grief.

In times of overwhelming emotion, especially grief, many people turn to their religion for comfort. I get that, I really do, but have only ever found comfort in nature. 

Earth Mother has no hidden agenda, but is there for us all, from all walks of life, regardless of ethnicity, sexuality and whatever creed they may choose to follow. 

Me, I will stick with nature and continue to think of myself as a pantheist.

LINES ON NATURE

Happiness, among birds, trees
and creatures left to wander freely
such water, earth and seas
as would have them stay free to live
and die, but for certain forces in humanity
indifferent to cruelty

Spirituality, in the natural world
lending peace to any who seek it,
needing respite from ways
of humankind, inclined, to see itself
free to undermine nature’s every fine creation
for its duration

Beginnings, endings, grand finales,
facts or fictions, firing the imagination,
world religions and expectations
the world over, gut feelings made to run
for cover, confused, fearful - and where better 
than to nature…

Nature, its only agenda such peace
and quiet come to lend the human spirit
such perceptions as elude us
in the general rush of everyday forces
will challenge, divide us, tug us this way or that
and all for.…what?

Listen out, too, for a mourning dove,
sending a message from its leafy world,
giving thanks to Earth Mother
for sharing, serving its every heartbeat well.
not only in sunshine and misty rain, but passed on
to every human 

Happiness, among birds, trees
and creatures left to wander freely
such water, earth and seas
as urge that we, too, endeavour to stay true
to whatever past-present-future would hold us all,
heart-and-soul

As nature may give, take, yet restore as and when,
so shall mind-body-spirit come into its own…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

Mind-Body-Spirit, a Flexible Friend

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

Around the world, many if not most of us still subject to safely regulations due to the pandemic are nearing the end of our tether; the stress of having to cope with the absence of loved ones and friends in our daily lives continues to make itself felt.

While we can but keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, it is easier said than done. We have no choice, though, but to fight Covic19 and its variants and let common sense take the lead in playing our part to protect not only ourselves, but others too. Those who view safety precautions as an affront to everyday human rights are simply being selfish.

The police handling of the vigil for Sarah Everard on Clapham Common is a case in point. While I support it in so far as it was not only meant as a show of support for Sarah’s grieving family, but also protesting about violence against women in general, this is not the time to raise our voices. Too many people and too little social distancing at this particular moment in time, when Covid-19 and its variants are still rampant across parts of Europe and a real threat to us here in the UK, was irresponsible; it had been banned for the same reason, not because the powers-that-be are unsympathetic.

Yes, civil liberties are restricted at the moment, have been for some time, and feelings are running high, even more so at the murder of an innocent woman simply returning from visiting a friend.  

Yes, the police may well have seemingly over-acted at times, but what were they meant to do when calling upon the crowd to disperse and some people refusing to move?

Yes, of course women and girls should be able to feel they are free to walk any streets anywhere in the world without fear of being attacked and, yes, their voices need to be heard. Even so, at the moment, large gatherings risk spreading the coronavirus, and that is a threat to everyone.

MIND BODY SPIRIT, A FLEXIBLE FRIEND

Ahead, gloom,
self-confidence all but zero,
no sense whatever
of being able to rise above
a troubled mind
caught unawares by questions
demanding answers
where there are none,
only more of the same 

Ahead, despair,
ego despatched into free fall,
its host body
left battling against all odds
just to exercise
its human right to give as good
as it gets, refusing
to take any cues from either sense 
or sensibility 

Suddenly, a light,
all but dazzling an inner eye
grown weary
if not yet (quite) glued shut
by fear, prised open
for the duration by such forces
as will always
get the better of the worst we suffer
if we let them 

I am Mind-Body-Spirit, would-be adviser;
who heeds me grows all the wiser

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

[Note: Apologies. This poem first appeared on the blog under the title 'A Word to the Wise... until I realised I had used that title elsewhere so had to think again; I could blame lockdown stress, but suspect growing old has a lot to do with it too.] RNT

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Open Letter to Readers

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

Hello again, Everyone,

No poem again today as I am still unwell, but I don't have the coronavirus, either, so still able to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life.

I have enough poems to publish another three collections of mixed general and gay-interest poems over the next few years, so long as my prostate cancer allows me to stay alive 'n' kicking for at least that long. At the moment, though, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is not rising to the bait.

Hopefully, life will return to a semblance of normality by summer, and yours truly can get cracking on new as well as revised collections. In the meantime, like everyone else, I can but take each day as it comes and distract myself sufficiently to keep depression at bay. Life is hard at the moment for everyone, but for people living alone, as I do, it is taking more and more effort just to get though one Groundhog Day after another, not going far, not seeing friends, not taking much real pleasure in life; too many negatives and not enough positives there, so all the more reason to put a positive-thinking mindset to work and made damn sure it does a good job. Easier said than done, of course, so good luck to each and every one of us as far as that's concerned.

A reader emailed to say he though my poem Life-Forces, about grief was "tactless". Well, I am sorry if anyone read it that way; it is a poem about love, hope and renewal as much as anything else. 

Grief is a tough process to get through. Missing a loved-one who has passed away can be physically as well as emotionally painful. Our loved-ones, though, would not want us to suffer; for them as much as for ourselves, we have to get through the process of grief and emerge the stronger for it, not weaker. Happy memories cannot compensate for being with someone, yet love and its associated memories remain with us always, and we need to think of them as learning bricks upon which to build not only our physical but also emotional/ spiritual lives. 

In life, we meet all kinds of people, but it is having met those who affect us the more positively and deeply that makes our having lived at all worthwhile and give our lives meaning for so long as we continue to make good use of those learning-bricks they have been kind, loving, and generous enough to leave behind. 

Hopefully, when our own time comes to leave this world, we, in turn, will leave our share of building bricks with which others can build once grief has had its say and shed its tears. 

Let's face it, the alternative is dwelling on loss to the extent that quality of life descends close or even into freefall, as happened to me after my mother died, and it was several years before her love brought me to my senses.

Back soon, folks, and many thanks for dropping by, always much appreciated.

Take care and be sure to nurture a positive-thinking mindset'

Hugs,

Roger

 

A Light at the End of the World

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

For those with any kind of cancer in their system, it is a scary time. Having lost loved ones and friends to various cancers, I count myself fortunate that prostate cancer, unless it becomes very aggressive, is rarely terminal on its own account. Even so, living with it from 2011 - when I was 65 - into the heart of a coronavirus pandemic has given me some panicky moments. 

For many people, 2020 has been a tragic year, losing loved ones and friends to Covid-19. Someone recently commented on losing her mother to the coronavirus, that “I feel as if it it’s the end of my world…” 

I know that feeling well, but whenever it hits me, I recall something my mother told me many years ago when my grandfather died. “Always remember,” she said, “that love never dies. Whenever you feel the need to be with someone you have lost, close your eyes, picture them as you best remember them, and engage with them as if they were still here…”  

I confess I was sceptical, but have tried it many times since, and it always works, especially with my mother who died some 40+ years ago. Those we love and who inspire us never stop loving or inspiring us. 

There can, of course, be no substitute for the physical presence of those we love, whether we are separated by mortality or simply distance, but if love is what makes our world go round, it is always there, ready to support and comfort us, even (or especially) at such dark times as our world may seem to have ceased to turn. 

Try it, and see…? 

 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Allied to mortality am I,
no friend to mercy or compassion,
nor soul to keep me
from carrying out my worst intentions;
though my kinder host
will have it say, I’d have the last word
be mine, and mine alone,
only to be robbed of the greater epiphany
by such life forces as resist me 

I will seek out the innocent,
and drain the very life from them
without a qualm,
nor showing favour to any nobility,
age, gender, sexuality,
status or lack of it in the eyes of the world;
rich or poor, beggar or thief,
all are equal when my push comes to shove,
but the Spirit of Love resisting me 

My victory may well be assured,
but never complete, trust human nature
to see to that,
with its lust for life and affinity with love
in all its shapes and forms,
bringing to mind-body-spirit such a passion
for the meaning of things,
leave a trail for others to follow, as likely as not
a leading light in their darkness 

I am that cancer forcing mind and body to submit,
but even I cannot kill the human spirit

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

What on Earth ... ?

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

The owner of a pub about to enter the strictest tier of restrictions in England was recently heard to comment, “We do our best, but it’s never enough. We are told one thing, and do it, then we are told something different.  How are we expected to plan ahead? What I wouldn’t give to know just what’s going on behind the doors of Number 10 Downing Street! 

Well, the old saying is so true in so far as we never know what’s happening behind closed doors, especially when those doors give access to the powers-that-be responsible for making decisions that all but map out our daily lives. 

Here in the UK, even the Government admits that relaxing safety regulations designed to protect us from Covid-19 during a 5-day window over Christmas will inevitably lead to more deaths. If the thinking behind it is that many people will do their own thing anyway, why not leave things as they are; most people will respect the regulations while those who don’t will go their own way regardless of any window.

WHAT ON EARTH... ?

Weary of restrictions,
patience running (very) thin
shoppers turning on
anyone putting them right
about masks slipping
or not caring to wear one at all;
conspiracy theories
all the rage, and testing the self-control
of majority non-believers 

Christmas edging closer,
safety restrictions to be lifted
for a window of cheer
no matter anyone flinging it
wide open likely
to pay dearly for the pleasure
once it’s slammed shut,
Covid-19 having had no such reservations,
continuing to make itself felt 

Mothers, fathers, sisters,
brothers and close friends left
grieving as we move
into 2021, hopeful a vaccine
will bring an end
once and for all to a coronavirus
spreading chaos and pain
the likes of which all humanity can but trust
it may never so endure again  

May the world’s politicians
stay mindful, too, of such threats
as global warming
to all nature and humankind,
reasoning the need
with care, clarity, and openness,
no room for confusion,
less underestimating Joe Public’s watchful eye
on the party politics of illusion 

Such is life, most of us making
the best of things rather than dwell
on worst scenarios,
its being too precious to waste;
better to seize the day,
celebrate a common humanity,
for all its population
left sighing over rainbows time and again, asking
"What on earth is going on ...?"

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

Forever Young OR Ghost, Life Force

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

A new poem today, the one I was working on before I started posting archive titles, but became too stressed-out with coronavirus-related events to continue. I remain stressed, but, as always, the creative therapy provided simply by writing (and finishing) a poem has significantly (if not completely) restored my positive-thinking mindset. 

Sadly, the Covid-29 coronavirus continues to take its toll on the world population, each death a personal tragedy for families and friends left behind to grieve, and ask “Why …”

Me, I still miss the person-to-person contact with those I have loved and lost, but their presence in me, by way of a posthumous consciousness, allows me to keep company with their ghosts whenever I choose.

A reader writes that “Ghosts suggest someone who cannot rest in peace for whatever reason. You should not encourage people to deprive the dead of their right to rest in peace, it is very selfish act.” 

We are all entitled to our points of view, of course, but this reader and I must agree to differ. I think anyone would know if the Spirit of Love returning loved ones to us in this way was unhappy about our calling on it to do so. None of my ghosts summoned by love have appeared in the least unsettled by the experience, quite the contrary. 

There are, of course, ghosts that may haunt us for reasons other than love, those that appear of their own accord, that we would much prefer leave us alone; that, in my experience, is a matter of conscience demanding to be squared, and up to each and every one of us to find a way to oblige.

FOREVER YOUNG or GHOST, LIFE FORCE

It was a so-bleak midwinter
of the heart,
the mind’s window on snow
falling, snow on snow,
the human spirit
in free fall even as it reaches out
for no idea what 

The cold invading my senses,
all but freezing
any desire to rise above feelings
of despair and loneliness
for your having left me
to tackle this cruel world head-on,
clueless and alone 

Suddenly, a breath of fresh air
finds its way 
into the prison of my despair,
assisting a breathing
gone as quiet as your grave,
for playing love’s evergreen song
on my heart strings 

I feel a presence where there
had been none
only moments ago, half turn
to see you standing there,
the same flower in your hair
calling on this heart to seek you out
across a crowded room 

Smiling now as you were then,
that long-ago spring,
your sweet lips shaping words
of love needing no sound
to make their meaning as felt
in me as its life force now homing in 
on mind body-spirit 

The vision vanishes as suddenly
as it had appeared,
but what the eye, it cannot see,
the heart, it will conjure up
Spirits of Love always,
its kindlier ghosts  looking out for us all
in the Here-and-Now

 Copyright R N Taber 2020

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today; our kinder ghosts are a part of us all, and we are (like it or not) a common humanity whatever our gender, ethnicity, religion, social class or sexuality.] RNT

 

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]

The definitive L-Word

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 201l; I am repeating the entire post as it appeared then and since.

In my collection, I dedicated today's poem to a lovely American couple I met on a train in 1999 while travelling from San Francisco to New York; their children had treated them to their first trip outside California for a golden wedding anniversary present. 

It was a wonderful journey, a lively adventure that took a little over three days. It was the conference season and no sleepers were available so we slept in our seats. I got to know some lovely people on that train and during my 4-week stay in the States, I kept in touch with that particular couple, I am so glad to have met them; their devotion to each other shone through as did their sheer goodness and sense of fun, all of which made a lasting and deeply spiritual impression on me. [Needless to say, they had no problem with my being gay.]

[Update 2/2016: Sadly, one of these friends has since died and his widow has Alzheimer's disease; a lovely couple, a sure sign that love is, indeed, the better part of eternity.]

Love, of course, comes in all shapes and sizes; family, friends, animals, even places ...all may find hold a special place in our hearts, invariably bringing out the best of human nature while doing its utmost to compensate for the worst. How far (or not) it succeeds ... well, that is down to each and every one of us. Whatever, love is eternal, affecting us in ways that will, in due course, be assimilated into a posthumous consciousness affecting the lives of others long after we have made our peace with mortality ... whether we subscribe to any religion or not.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE DEFINITIVE L-WORD

Love, sweet mystery

rising above all things,

ecstasy or misery

Poor though we be

or walk among kings ...

Love, sweet mystery

Who can say or see

of what a bluebird sings?

(Ecstasy or misery)

Around our history

forever running rings ...

Love, sweet mystery

A millennium story

that to each of us brings

ecstasy or misery

Bringing to eternity

the lesser of our failings,

love is a mystery,

ecstasy or misery

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'The L-Word' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2003.]

The Anniversary

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2015.

As the UK - along with the rest of the world - continues to cope with the Covid-19 coronavirus and the subsequent stresses and strains it imposes on our everyday lives (as if there aren't enough of those in modern times anyway) crime continues to flourish, not least on our streets where tensions boil over and express themselves in a terrible violence. 

There are no excuses; reasons, yes, but no excuses for allowing the kind of pressure most if not all of us are under to get the better of common sense, not to mention common decency and respect for human life. Killers ultimately destroy their own lives as well as their victim's. As for pleading 'justice'; it is not for any of us to play judge and jury to the extent of taking the law into our own hands, much as we may well be tempted.

[Update: January, 2020]: Official figures released in April 2019 reveal that knife crime has surged to the highest levels since records began in England and Wales; worse, it continues to rise.] RNT

Memories are precious and love never dies. But let’s face it; it can never compensate for not having our loved ones with us and watching them get on with their lives.

Today’s poem is for families and friends left behind when a loved one dies. It is especially for parents who have lost sons and daughter; no parent should have to bury their child. Whatever the circumstances, death is always a tragedy for those left behind, but what can be worse than to be left with the image of a loved one meeting a violent end or never even knowing what really happened or having no body to bury…?

All knife and gun crime, but especially hate crime, and particularly among young people must stop.

While many parents, teachers, social and youth workers take every opportunity to lead intelligent, sensitive, debate so these killers realise they are not just killing a person but amputating the limb of a vital, living network of family and friends that will never be quite the same again.

There is nothing ‘cool’ about street crime. Young people who think it takes carrying a weapon to achieve street cred or even as a means of self-defence should bear in mind that someone could get so easily killed or suffer serious injury…and it could well be them.

Nor is time spent in prison anything to boast about. I once spoke with a young man who had spent time in prison but chose to turn his life around. I asked how it was in prison. He said unhesitatingly, ‘There wasn’t a day I didn’t wish I was dead.’ Thankfully, he is alive and getting on with his life in a very positive way. 

Every killer has a choice. Tragically, victims killed in the course of violent crime on our streets have no choices left. (I read somewhere that most killers regret their actions, but as my mother used to say, regrets are cold comfort in any language...) Meanwhile. family and friends are left struggling with what-might-have-been...

THE ANNIVERSARY 

No grave to tend, but a street corner

to leave flowers, recall

how here it was where last we'd 

laugh off our being so much in love

as if it were child's play

Leaves, scattered over paving stones

where once we children

loved to play, I-n-n-o-c-e-n-c-e

like the tail of a kite in a feisty breeze

all but free to go its own way

Come twilight, more haunting shadows

marking time before darkness

effects its cover-up for humanity,

half the world sleeping, the other dying

for a chance to have its say

No grave to tend, but a street corner

where anniversary flowers

can but hope to message passers-by 

how sick minds think it could well be fun 

to stick a knife in someone...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2018     

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title, 'The Kite' in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2002]

An Unknown Quantity

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

A reader asks why I am not posting an anniversary tribute to those who died and were injured during the terrorist attacks in London, 7th July 2005. No, I have not forgotten. (Has anyone?) I have referred him to a previous post:
https://rogertab.blogspot.com/2012/07/remains-of-day-or-77-remembered.html

and/or my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBo01eRFBKY

Now, today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2011, at about the time my prostate cancer was confirmed. I have revised the preamble accordingly as we are now nine years on, but not the poem since a much earlier revision.

Yes, my prostate cancer saga continues, and I have to say it has helped a LOT in seeing me through the stresses and strains of the Covid-19 coronavirus. A lasting memory from my schooldays is of Mr Partridge, our Religious Education teacher, telling the class that we never know our strengths and weaknesses until they are tested, and inevitably we find out the hard way. I think his words hit home because, at sixteen, I was already discovering signs of both ... the hard way.

l recall my biopsy in February 2011 and having  to wait a month before returning the hospital for the results. It wasn’t too unpleasant an experience and, anyway, it was necessary to find out what kind of tumor is trespassing in my prostate. I was not too worried because my instincts (and body) were telling me that any cancer there is not aggressive. Moreover, some prostate cancers are often so slow to develop they are best left well alone. It is a fact that more men live with prostate cancer than die from it.

The reason I am telling you all this is because I have found that cancer is still a taboo subject with many people, possibly because they are inclined to think the worst and associate it with death. Me, I have every intention of living to a ripe old age. (Here I am at 70+ so not a bad start.) Even so, death, in my experience, is an even more taboo subject for open discussion. Yes, I fear pain. But why should death itself be any less creative a process than birth? Let’s face it. We haven’t a clue, nor will we until our time here is up. Religion may have the answer for some people, but not for yours truly.

I have always been philosophical about these things. For me, the hardest part was not being in control of events. Yes, I hoped the cancer would not turn out to be aggressive and I'd be fine. At the same time, I knew it was but wishful thinking. I had to at least consider the prospect that my biopsy results might be less than favourable. Whatever, I couldn't  do much about it, either way, so there was no more point in my worrying then than there is now. My plan then was (just as it has been ever since) to keep my nerve and stay positive. Never plain sailing, as many bad days (and nights) as good ones ... but ... well, I'm still here to tell the tale so I must be doing something right. Changing my diet to exclude all meat and dairy was a good start.

Having paid for my funeral with Age UK some time ago, made a will, and told everyone I am up for organ donation if I am not too old for it, I can now relax and enjoy myself on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, the Pipes of Pan in one ear and the voices of my late partner, mother, and friends  past and present telling me to be sure and make the best of things, not the worst.

AN UNKNOWN QUANITY

I need answer to no one

nor keep within the confines

of certain rules or dogma

as laid down in any handbook,

manual or legislature;

no one tells me when to come

nor seeks me out

unless no one else on hand

or at the end of a phone 

I may press at the edge

of a crowd, yet it will not part

to let me through, though

I’ll usually find my own way

with comparative ease;

when people hear my name;

though it be but a whisper,

they may well rush to lift-off  

on wings of a prayer

Neither hunter nor hunted,

I wing lark skies, tread the earth

but softly, sail high seas

in pitch blackness, no need

of guide or compass

nor instincts failing or emotions

affecting my destination,

my intention but to make a riposte

of sorts to all life forces

Call me Death, and never fear me,

'live' poetry that's human history

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003, 2020

[Note: This poem is a kenning, written in 2003. An earlier version was first published in an anthology, A Gathering of Minds, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and subsequently in my collection, The Third Eye, in 2004. I am posting it for no other reason than it gives me as good a feeling to (slightly) revise years on as it did to write it in the first place. ]RT

Skylark, Metaphor for the Human Spirit

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2010; ten years on, I dare say its message is no less relevant to contemporaneity now than it has ever been, all the more so for the stress imposed on us all by the coronavirus pandemic.

Readers often contact me regarding my posts /poems on rising above depression. Someone had pointed out that Stephen Fry’s television documentary about his own depression aired the subject far better than any poem can. I agree and all credit to Mr Fry. At the same time, while success brings its own tensions, it is also an incredibly motivating factor.

Whoever or wherever we are, overcoming depression is never easy, and will not be rushed. But knowing that you have an army of fans out there who are rooting for you and anxious to enjoy another performance must be very motivating. Few of us are that successful in life. It shouldn’t matter but it does… to most of us, if we are really honest with ourselves. Moreover, self-criticism and a (mis)perception of failure can quickly bring us down. It can take a long time before we even recognise, let alone start assessing our blessings and a degree of self-confidence is restored.

OK, so maybe a poem doesn’t have the impact of a TV documentary, but is that any reason for not writing it? I write about love, nature, sexuality, age, Alzheimer’s, drug abuse and more. No subject is taboo for any poet who has a passionate desire, even need, to share his/her first or second hand experiences of life with others in a positive way. [Whether or not that makes for a good poet is for his or her readers to decide.]

Meanwhile…

I went online at home in 1997 and my email address has always been easy to find. During those early years, I was thrilled to receive emails from readers who had enjoyed poems of mine they had read in various poetry magazines and/or anthologies. Ironically, and aware that I subscribe to no religion the editor chose this one for a Triumph House anthology, Christian Moments (2002); Triumph House is an imprint of Forward Press.

Years ago, while struggling to recover from a bad mental breakdown, I would sleep badly and invariably woke early. At first light, one summer's day, I flung open my curtains in time to watch a lark rising, its song as clear in my ears as if I had been wearing my hearing aids.  My flagging spirits rose with the bird and marked the beginning a of a full recovery; the latter would take a good few years yet, but this was as good a start as any, at the same time affirming a spiritual relationship with nature that I have experienced since childhood and never found in religion. Human nature, too, showed its kinder side and took on a lead role in my recovery; I could not have got through it all without the support of several friends. Oh, and my ghosts; it was if I could hear loved ones who have passed away whispering words of encouragement in my ears every day, striking the same note of joie de vivre as the skylark.

The poem also affirms the spiritual nature of love, any love, to which anyone can relate, regardless of ethnicity, religion, gender or sexuality because love is universal, whether it be for a person, place, pet or Earth Mother, Nature; all of these, but a heartbeat away, and ready to help us out... if we will but let them. 

SKYLARK, 'LIVE' METAPHOR FOR THE HUMAN SPIRIT 

The day I first grieved you
dark clouds passed
over the sun, and I thought
I’d never smile again,
took a long, lonely walk
in teeming rain...
struggling even to picture
your face, listening out 
for your sweet voice,
but saw only a blur of lives
pushing and shoving,
heard only an awful sobbing
as the final curtain fell,
no one clapping audience 
already on the move

Suddenly, the sun, it shone
on my tearful heart;
I heard a skylark singing 
loud and clear,
for its homing in on me,
winging our song, 
as if reassuring the two of us
that love never dies;
as if on cue, I felt you place 
a hand in mine,
saw your eyes smiling at me,
agreeing a take on eternity 
for such as we, partners
in time and (personal) space,
and no final curtain 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2002; 2020 

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised from the original (its genesis) as it appears under the title 'Our Song' in Christian Moments, Triumph House [Forward Press] 2002 and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

 

Bird Life OR Eulogy for (all) Lovers

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Death is part and parcel of living. No writer can ignore it, especially a poet. I don’t think death is anything to fear but simply part of the continuum that is the human spirit.

As regular readers will know, I rejected religion even as a child and chose to put my faith in nature. It is in nature that I identify with a strong sense of spirituality that continues to sustain me throughout both good and bad times. Yes, nature can be a force to fear at times, but so can human nature.  

Who could be afraid of a flower or a tree?

As for pain…well, yes, I am a coward when it comes to pain. Hopefully, death will come peacefully when my time comes for it to pay a call. But…who knows? Perhaps it is true what they say about ‘no pain, no gain’ and we have as much to gain in death as we do in life, maybe even more... Whatever, I see death following life just as spring follows winter; not in any religious sense, but religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality and the human spirit that makes us who we are is sure to live on in the heart and minds of those we have knowingly (or unknowingly) influenced during our lifetime. 

We miss loved ones who have passed away, of course we do, but knowing that their influence for good on us and others continues to make a positive contribution to life here on Earth has been, for me,  an ongoing celebration and acknowledgement of their lives; in that sense alone, a huge comfort and inspiration.

The notion of a posthumous consciousness is prevalent in literature, of course, notably the classics, and arguably no more so than in Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights'.

Meanwhile…

 BIRD LIFE or  EULOGY FOR (ALL) LOVERS

‘Death’

such a sad, lonely word,

flies above us like a graceful bird

but makes no sound

nor will it ever descend to breathe

life and love into a tree

or flex its wings on our window sill;

we can but watch, learn, dare

to flex our own, breathe

life and love into a tree, no matter

where it be, for there I will

sit with you and you will sit with me,

watching a bird on wing

bring grace to the greyest skies

nor any fairer sound

till joined by another then hear both

sing loud and clear, a poem

for the trees to share night and day

long, long, after we have

gone away

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; rev. title 2008

[Note: First published under the title 'Lines on Nature Conservation' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Prisoner of (Another) War OR No one Knows but Me

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

This poem appears in my gay-interest blog archives for Seotember 2013.

I have met several members of the armed forces who are gay, but even though it is legal now in some countries, (including the UK and US) would not dream of revealing the fact to their comrades-in-arms. As one guy told me, ‘I’m a damn good soldier, but if anyone knew I was gay it would count for f**k all. I might as well shoot myself.’ He was killed in action about a year later. Everyone spoke very highly of him and rightly so. I could not help wondering what his bereaved, closet boyfriend (another soldier) made of it all. I wrote the poem for both of them.

One day, hopefully, human beings will stop waging war on themselves; in more ways than one.

This poem is for 'Mick' whose partner was killed on active service. Mick says, 'I so regret we were out to no one, but we had no choice. No one should have to grieve alone.'

Grief is a lonely business for anyone, but I dare say we all know what he meant.

PRISONER OF (ANOTHER) WAR or NO ONE KNOWS BUT ME

You had told no one you are gay

by the time you went to war,

leaving me alone to try and pray

Whether at work, rest or play,

I’d love and miss you more;

you had told no one you are gay

You said we’d come true one day

when you’re ready, not before,

leaving me alone to try and pray

There is so much I longed to say,

our secret, a weeping sore;

you had told no one you are gay

My worst fears came true one day,

and at my whole being tore,

leaving me alone to try and pray

It still hurts when I hear people say

we were good friends (no more);

you had told no one you are gay,

leaving me alone to try and pray

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

 

Raison D'être

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

Regular readers will know that I do not subscribe to any religion but choose instead to put my faith in nature. Time and again, nature has lifted me from a pit of despair, restoring any flagging faith in that joie de vivre that has inspired my poetry (and me) since early childhood. (My first poem - ‘Spring’ - appeared in my secondary school’s magazine at the end of my first year when I was still only 11 years-old.)

Whimsical, yes. Poetic, yes. An abstract grasping at proverbial straws unfit for human purpose? Well, it has been called that by some, but who cares so long as it works? I have to say, it has always worked for me, possibly accounting for a lifetime passion for poetry and nature, especially as it relates to human nature, warts ‘n’ all. (Any shutters on reality always open to letting in more than less light on the world.) 

True, we are but mortal and some day we will leave the world, but there is, I passionately believe, a posthumous consciousness that will pass on to others whose lives we have touched either in passing or more fully; either way, something of us lives on in them and, hopefully, will inspire that same predilection for positive thinking that has seen the likes of yours truly from cradle to ... wherever.

RAISON D’ ÊTRE

Once I saw a blackbird

land on the branch of a tree,

and it saw me there,

but showed no fear, simply burst

into song as if it knew

only too well why I had come,

seeking peace of mind

everywhere, finding it nowhere,

losing my way...

It looked me in the eye,

the blackbird I had chanced upon,

as if defying me to leave

before its song of spring had time

to touch senses dulled

by loss and grief in a dark winter

of the heart where light

stubbornly refused entry by pain's
closing all shutters

The more it sang, the more

I loathed the tiny bird for lending

its joie de vivre

to Gardens of the Dead, its gates

closed to me,

my time not yet come to find you,

no matter the last drops

of adrenaline leading me (if blindly)

to this place still warm

A tearful sun took pity on me

through clouds making me shiver

for their blocking its heat,

while the blackbird held my gaze,

as if to keep me 
from looking their grey faces

in the eye and despairing

as it called on buds of flower and tree

to make a splash of colour

As if on cue, clouds parting,
wise, old Apollo closing my eyes,

giving all his attention

to persuading this poor body, frozen 
in time as it was,

to empathise with flowers and trees

honouring a covenant

with nature along lines of regeneration

embracing all life forms

I opened my eyes, loved all I saw,

adrenaline flowing again for listening

to your voice in my ear

as clear as birdsong and leaves rustling

in a balmy breeze;

moved to tears, yet not of distress

but as spring rain

brings the dead to life after a semblance

of absence and unfeeling

Blackbird took its leave of me

if not entirely, bidding me enter its song

of spring, and I did;

where it may take me, no idea nor care

just for being at peace

and heading somewhere (with you)

far from that dark place

where the human spirit misled and colour

but shades of spring mist

Copyright R N Taber 2019