A Yew Tree and a Rose (Revisited)

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

Covid-19 continues to take its toll on us across the world, and as a neighbour recently commented, "We are surrounded by death. True, but it will be Valentine's Day soon, so here's a poem to remind us that we are also surrounded by the evergreen nature of love.

"The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration." - Little Gidding (Four Quartets) - T. S. Eliot

 A YEW TREE AND A ROSE (REVISITED) 

I had come to lay a rose
at your grave, already in tears,
pausing by an ancient yew,
to rage at its mocking humanity,
mind-body-spirit
at a loss for being left alone
to dwell on its being
denied the lifespan of certain trees
over centuries. 

“You carry poison in sap,
berries and leaves,” I screamed
at the yew, “while a love
that gives mind-body-spirit
its joie de vivre
remains subject to such trials
or blessings as nature
sees fit to permit, regardless of class
or circumstances." 

"Love, too, carries poisons
of its own,” the tree pointed out,
“possessiveness, envy,
and jealousy but three of those
so, speak not to me
of poisons, given how humanity
delights in half-truths,
all the more so for their having spread
among the living dead.” 

“Yes, there are some call me
‘Tree of Death’ who are ignorant
of leafy needles
I let fall to live and let live
over centuries
and of any healing qualities
in sap, leaf or berry as your apothecaries
may use against diseases.” 

“Earth Mother gives and takes,"
the tree went on, “for such is nature
and human nature,
each their moments in time
to be loved and leave,
though neither forgotten
nor even dead to those privileged to share
any part of their time here.” 

My tears dried, and raging no more
at the world for its coming between us,
I lay my rose
on your grave, murmuring words
of love, returned
in a light breeze that's kissing me,
promising, as you make us a home in my heart 
that death will not see us part

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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

Life Force, Second to None

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

It is news to no one that feel-good factors comes in many shapes and forms; romantic or otherwise, for a person, an activity, whatever … a life force second to none, always on hand in the Here-and-Now  to cheer and sustain us through thick and thin.

Yesterday was Remembrance Sunday here in the UK, a time to remember our debt of gratitude to the members of the armed forces who died in the two World Wars and later conflicts; in our minds also, inevitably this year, those across the world who have died fighting a very different kind of war, a very different kind of enemy, the Covid-19 coronavirus.

Someone's death is invariably someone else's tragedy too; remembrance  is one of the many faces of Grief, yes,  ut also a celebration of those who, for many of us, remain a 'living' inspiration.

LIFE FORCE, SECOND TO NONE

World, all but on its knees,
sickness and death paying home visits
just about everywhere …
No change there but for its assuming
the mantle of a coronavirus
striking a greater fear in us for its ability
to catch us unawares
snatch us from family and friends, no time
even for precious goodbyes 

Hospitals overrun with cases,
doctors and nurses working all hours
to save lives, risking theirs,
while reassuring anxious relatives
or having to break
the very news they have been dreading,
yet little time for such tears
as compounding fears confronting humanity
with its own vulnerability 

Battles fought, survivors recalling
loved ones lost with such mixed feelings
as remembrance inspires
love alone able to temper both pain
and grief, lifting hearts
with happy memories, the likes of which may
well never come again
yet enough to sustain a sense of joie de vivre
that, if we let it, lasts forever

Find any human heart’s capacity for endurance
sustained by love’s Spirit of Remembrance

Copyright R. N Taber 2020

You-Me-Us, Moving On OR Life Forces, Custom Made

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

The poem below first appeared on the blog in 2011.

Now,  a reader asks if I will repeat the links to (a) my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in July 2009 as part of Antony Gormley’s One & Other ‘live sculpture’ project and (b) my YouTube video of the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain in Hyde Park; they are:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T  [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library has  confirmed the video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT 

For the Princess Diana Memorial, go to my YouTube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_iX3LzGK4k&t=38s

Meanwhile...

Tragically for their friends and loved ones, many people have died during the current Covid-19 pandemic. A friend once asked how I coped with the death of my partner years ago. His own partner had just died and he was in pieces. I had only a brief time with mine, less than two years before he was killed in a car accident, while they had enjoyed nearly twenty years together; it makes no difference, the hurt is no less.

Having lost various people to whom I have been close over the years, I could only repeat what I have said on the blog many times, that moving on doesn’t mean leaving anyone behind. Trite, maybe, but true; my partner, my mother and other loved ones long dead remain a much-treasured comfort and inspiration. My mother died 40+ years ago, yet I feel as close to her in mind-body-spirit as I ever did, and count her among my favourite ghosts who revisit me time and again.

Whatever our socio-cultural-religious mindset, we can but move on after the deaths of loved ones while remain a part of our lives albeit in a posthumous just a we will when it is our turn to leave this world. Across the whole spectrum of that human consciousness we call history or (especially) family history, there is no leaving anyone behind; such is the continuum of life forces, not life as we know it, true, but a continuum no less. I have been called irreligious - at the very least - for this point of view, especially when I suggest it offers an all-embracing spirituality, but the human spirit is common to all of us and does not rely on (any) religion to manifest itself in whatever mysterious ways it chooses and with which we, in turn, choose to engage.

YOU-ME-US, MOVING ON or LIFE FORCES, CUSTOM MADE

Only for you, as immortal a song
as any human heart of may compose;
a hymn to a love, rich and strong,
as the fragrance of summer in a rose

Only for you such beautiful words
as any human heart can hope to write,
echoes in a wind, the song of a bird
an awakening of petals to dawn's light

Only for you, my heart is mending,
for recalling our promise to move on;
come love again, ours never ending,
much like lifelines on leaves evergreen

Moving on across the landscape of time;
my life, a love song, your death, a poem

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, 2019

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today; an earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Moving On' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Ode to the Fallen OR Engaging with a Dead Tree Trunk

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

This poem has appeared on the blog before, some years ago. As regular readers will know, I have a You Tube channel that is as much about my friend Graham’s videos as my poetry. Many a time, I have felt inspired to write a poem to try and do the video justice and vice versa. We hope you will enjoy what has been a team effort from the start:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

I read today's poem over one of the videos there. Graham shot the video while visiting family in Wiltshire, and I love it. I played it back several times, and then just had to sit down and write a nature-cum philosophical poem to accompany it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W37DVIo3pJM

Many years ago, I confided in my mother that I was afraid of dying. Later that day we went for a walk in the countryside and she pointed to a dead tree trunk; we watched a variety of insects, birds, mosses growing and a colony of ants all building their lives around this 'dead' thing. You see," said my mother, "there is no death without life so there is really nothing to be afraid of...whether you believe in God or not," she added, knowing full well that I did not share her religious beliefs. (I had chosen to take a growing sense of spirituality from nature even at the young age of eleven). "Life and death," she said before changing the subject, "are simply different sides of the same coin."

My mother died of cancer 40+ years ago, and I still take great comfort in recalling the day we paused to observe a dead tree trunk and nature's living memorial to it...

ODE TO THE FALLEN or ENGAGING WITH A DEAD TREE TRUNK

Fallen, but not forgotten,

by its own kind,

sure to keep a vigil of sorts

the whole year round

Fallen, but never alone

among its kind

proudly waiting for their turn

to come around

Fallen, by whose hand

no one knows;

some say an axe man, others

blame the wind

Fallen into glorious decay,

like autumn leaves;

nurturing, inspiring greener

memories

If dead, not left without a care

by an Earth Mother   

demanding nothing of Time

but its signature

Once, a living icon for a world

of love and peace;

a cue for ants to keep running

rings around us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2020

Revelations

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

A reader complains that "too much of your poetry is social commentary, you should stick to writing about nature and real poetry.” Well, maybe I should, but I won't because - rightly or wrongly - I feel that a lack of responsible social awareness is a contributory factor in bigoted points of view often rooted in misleading stereotypes and subsequent bad attitude. I try to encourage a more positive or at least fairer approach to life and people. Wherever a poem results in constructive criticism - of content rather than form - it is on its way to achieving just that.

‘Real' poetry, what’s that?

Readers often comment that my love poems could apply to anyone, gay or straight. Well, that's the whole point.

Regular readers will know that my partner died long ago. We did not have many years together. Yet, our love is a part of me still and always will be. At the same time, we should never compare lovers or even friends because that’s not fair on anyone.

Invariably, we change as we mature; so, too, does love. If we're lucky, we mature together.

Sometimes, for all kinds of reasons, love falls behind. Meanwhile, the lock on our heart's door may well need removing. Nothing will be the same. Yet, if two people want each other in their lives, it is always worth leaving the door open. Be sure, it’s not the dead who keep the door shut; only the living can do that. True love never knowingly closes the door on itself.

As I have said many times on my blogs, moving on does not mean leaving anyone behind. 

REVELATIONS

The day you died,

I tossed my heart in your wake,

could but weep

for its loss, letting mine break …

Why you had gone,

no one thought to confide

as I watched you into the sunset

on a pale horse ride

Where had you gone?

I fiercely rejected all speculation

for believing  

in a custom made hell or heaven;

the last words I heard you say

were on living this life to the full

as yours passed away like sunshine

come nightfall

I looked up, saw a cloud

steal your sweet smile  just for me,

felt your kisses like rain

inspiring this poor body of mine

to live, even love again …

I watched the cloud move on

with thanks for its letting my heart  

know where you had gone

Long after you died,

a new love is making vows I yearn

to return, return…

Born again, risen like the phoenix

from the same sweet smile

I’ll see in every passing cloud

where you’ll look to reassure me

it’s no betrayal

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2015

Mind-Body-Spirit, Will and Testament

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

I, for one, am sick and tired of being told I’m in the wrong by people because I happen to disagree with them; called a sinner because I don’t comply with dogma according to a religion to which I don’t even subscribe; generally having various social, cultural, religious and political views rammed down my throat…

What is wrong with agreeing to differ? Why can’t people live and let live, respecting each other’s differences instead of berating, even punishing them for their refusal to be bullied or emotionally blackmailed into changing a particular point of view? I would say moral issues aside…but certain socio-cultural-religious and political parties seem to have little respect even for those except when it suits them.

All I can say is that, I, in turn, have no respect for bullies.

Meanwhile...

Although I reject immortality in any religious sense, regular reader will know that I often engage with the prospect of a posthumous consciousness in which we continue to play part in the lives of those on whom we have made an impression  - for better, for worse  (hopefully the former) - by way of word, deed, whatever...

This poem is a kenning.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, WILL AND TESTAMENT 

I ensure the greater inheritance

to which humankind is born, regardless

of station in life or place in the world’s

way of things that ticks away according

to how strong we are, how much

we earn or even how the heart may yearn

for a kinder way of living among its kin,

boxed up as we are, ticked off then sat on

to try and keep us down

I ensure the greater inheritance

to which humankind is born, finer spoils

of every persuasion under the sun

if it chooses to look, see, hear and, listen,

play the chameleon (as well it may)

since few people see with the inner eye,

hear with the inner ear, preoccupied

as they are with ritual and religion diverting

attention from the bigger picture

I ensure the greater inheritance

to which humankind is born whose tragedy

is a potential for greatness

beyond the riches of its sheikhs and kings,

tunnel vision of clerics insinuating

its personal space, claiming Squatters Rights

should anyone try to move them on,

any appearance of mutual negotiation

but paying lip service to reason

I am Mind-Body-Spirit, a creative ingenuity
redefining immortality

Copyright R N Taber, 2012, 2016

[Note: Revised (2019) from an earlier version under the title 'The Executor' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.] 

Love, a Sense of Immortality

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

[Update June 24th 2018: Two friends of mine, Jim and Amy, are getting married in Cambridge today. Sadly, I am not well enough to go so they asked if this poem could be read during the service as then I would be there in spirit. It was a lovely thought and I was thrilled to agree without even having to think about it, especially as it will be read by the bridegroom's mother, an old friend from my student days back in the early 1970's who I know will read it well, I hope you will all join with me in wishing Jim and Amy a long and happy life together as man and wife.]

Meanwhile...

Not only is love is much the same the world over, but it is nearly always the case that anyone who comes between two lovers has either a bigoted axe to grind against one or both of them or is simply a socio-cultural-religious anachronism in this crazy, mixed-up, 21st century of ours.

LOVE, A SENSE OF IMMORTALITY 

I have greeted chimes of midnight,

lain beside you at the toll for one,

while half-dreams flow into starlight

nurturing a life force barely begun

I have heard the clock ticking over

for the passing of happy hours

nor shall, when it stops, run for cover,

but embrace a time forever ours

I have heard sweet songs at sunrise,

watched the last stars slip away,

the dawn of time in Love's bright eyes

promising (another) beautiful day

Where nature pauses as days grow cold,

lovers dream on beyond a growing old

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

[This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it first appeared under the title 'The Night Watch' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

An Affinity (of sorts) with Ghosts

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

We need to measure time in seconds, minutes, hours and days etc. to give our very existence a semblance of structure; similarly, we need language to communicate and try (at least) to make sense of it.  Time and again, though, I get the feeling we are working from false premises. Certainly, means do not necessarily justify ends which, in turn, as often as not, prove to be unfit for purpose. They may well satisfy some of us some of the time, but what about the rest of us and all that leftover time?

For a bigger picture than even the most detailed archives convey, we can but try to read between lines we so love to draw in sand (and the arts) if only to explore the spaces and establish an affinity of sorts with the immeasurable and indescribable…

The emotions invoked by death are immeasurable, not least because death itself remains beyond even the most creative imagination. Better, surely, if and when we are made to face the indescribable, to focus on we can describe and share by way of giving voice to and in part reliving the joys whose loss threatens us with free fall?

Memory helps, of course and is an infinite source of comfort as we recall happy  times spent with loved ones; a bitters-sweet comfort some might argue as there can be no adequate compensation for their loss and absence from our lives; for me, memories, dreams, daydreams and yes, poetry conjure up the spirit of a person which, albeit posthumous, is as much a part of me as it ever was ...

AN AFFINITY (OF SORTS) WITH GHOSTS

Where wintry days  

would have left us hanging

by dark memory’s thread,

returned to life in the flicker

of a sparrow’s eye seconds

before closing its Here-and-Now

on a world where death

attends creatures great and small

by way of their inclusion

with as select a company of ghosts

as inspire peace and love

Shadows, a gathering

of ghosts around weepy graves

littered with fading flowers,

a pooling of a-political policies

of positive thought to share

without fear or favour with eyes

to see, ears to listen,

lips able to move (no strings)

human hearts engaging

with aeons of having to learn

and unlearn, human minds

discovering and rediscovering,

shaping and reshaping,

working and (ever) reworking

parodies of human nature,

cartoons giving home truths a run

for their money

Earth Mother, lending us

an affinity with ghosts so voyagers

across time and space

may follow such tracks as mock

a humankind obsessed

with a Here-and-Now vulnerable

to its vanity’s attempts

at measuring the immeasurable

if only for sanity’s sake,

its worst fears last seen dissolving

into a rainbow, rain clouds

already parting to let the sun back in,

bring hope where there is despair,

give any heart wings to fly wherever,

share love and peace

among all the world’s winners and losers,

each to their own

I took poor sparrow

in my bare hands, clinging

to life in a sticky heat,

faint pulse denying death

its victory until nature

in its greater wisdom giving

the nod to its passing

an evergreen memory in us

of its winging free of time and hour

in every beat the heart skips

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2019

Ghosts, a Love Story

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

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008 and was written for all lovers everywhere whose love, for whatever reason, is frowned upon by family, friends and those who would have us in a socio-cultural-religious stranglehold,

It is high time certain people put their socio-cultural-religious bigotry aside and accepted the fact that we are all equal in a common humanity and that none of us can help with whom we fall in love. Here in the UK, for example, many immigrants bring their historical prejudices with them; the result is many scared boys and girls, men and women having to tread on eggshells between the world from which their families came and the one in which they are growing up. [Multiculturalism is a fine concept in theory; in practice, it has a lot to answer for.]

Love does not recognize the various socio-cultural-religious differences and self-perpetuating boundaries that many societies around the world are inclined to do, including some that profess to be democratic.

As I have said before on the blogs, we should all of us always remember that our differences don't make us different, only human.

GHOSTS, A LOVE STORY

At the farthest edge of twilight,

wrapped in a misty sky,

we’d haunt the shores of love,

you and I

We’d pause at its quiet places,

fall into each other’s arms,

enjoy Earth Mother’s embraces,

employ her charms

Let kisses tasting of yesterdays,

closing on us like stars,

shape all the world’s tomorrows

set aside for lovers

Our bodies joined as day to night,

we’d surf life’s raging sea

at the farthest edge of a twilight

hinting at eternity

Come splendid night, we’d lie

and wonder at its glories;

each star, a kiss shared by lovers

in other centuries

At daybreak, dreamers waking

to walk where angels fear

for love where there for the taking,

its enemies ever near

On a cruel sea of local dissent,

among wreaths of flowers,

we were dispatched prematurely

to the stars

At the farthest edge of twilight,

wrapped in a misty sky.

we‘ll haunt the shores of love,

you and I

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2014

The Zen of Yellow Roses

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

When a loved one dies, a part of us dies also. Yet, my experience of death has been that, even as time passes, the worst of grief fades, and memory may even start to play tricks on us, love sees us continuing to share in the experience of loving and being loved, the quality of our inner life is all the better for that.  

In the language of flowers the yellow rose is for remembrance. What better icon then for the mind to click on at birthdays, anniversaries, whenever loss makes itself especially felt, than a yellow rose, and let flower the bitter-sweet joy of a happy memory risen above its thorns?

This poem is a kenning.

THE ZEN OF YELLOW ROSES or 

I bring truth

where imagination would feed

on fear and speculation,

engage with those seeking comfort

and reassurance

in far darker places than even

Orpheus searching

for his lost love in the bowels

of the Earth

I combat the terrors

of sleepless nights spent tossing

and turning

in early hours with no respect

for human dignity

or a desperation feeding

on such crumbs of hope

as left out for birds in winter

at its worst

I bring a lasting sense

of peace to mind, body and spirit,

where shadows

gather like key conspirators

with intent to kill,

yet kept at bay by a natural

instinct for survival,

struggle though it may against

hellish odds

As a rose its thorns, to pain I rise above,

who am Remembrance-Peace-Love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Misty Memories OR Time, No Final Curtain

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

An earlier version of this poem  appeared in Poetry Monthly magazine (April 2007) and subsequently in my collection, Accomplices to Illusion, the same year; it was written with a friend in mind, but also for the many thousands of people diagnosed with dementia and their carers to try and give them some encouragement and help them through the early years of what is a heart-breaking condition

My friend rarely indicates that he recognises me now, but his friends and family know the person who is my friend is still there, inside the person he has become, because every now and then he finds a way - if only fleetingly, through the ever thickening mists of dementia - to tell us so. 

Time, even unto death and beyond, has neither remit nor power to erase living memory altogether, especially where love is concerned.

'Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.' - Oscar Wilde

“That I shall love always,
I argue thee
that love is life,
and life hath immortality”
- Emily Dickinson,  That I did always Love

MISTY MEMORIES or TIME, NO FINAL CURTAIN

Let life be painting pictures on the heart

for the soul’s grasp forever to retain,

so the mind’s eye, less clear than at the start

and peering through mist,can enjoy again

Though memory’s jigsaw, it may fall apart,

fitting the pieces, we make bad choices,

the mind’s ear, if less clear than at the start,

is still listening out, hears love’s voices

Our finer senses, heart and soul shall hone,

if seen to work in mysterious ways,

so Memory, though fair stripped to the bone,

to the inner self stays true all our days

Though we be taken for but shadows in a mist,
we know better whom love has ever kissed

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

[Note:The dinal couplet of this poems was revied, May 2020.]

The Longest Journey

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

Of all the joys in life as we journey through it, love has to be the greatest. As for the pitfalls, love can always be relied on to pick us up, brush us down and help us start all over again ... but only if we let it. For some, sadly. life is cut short sooner than they or we would wish, but any love they inspired will sustain us as we continue life's journey on their behalf, in mind-body-spirit through all time and space whatever our socio-cultural-religious persuasion.

THE LONGEST JOURNEY

Love, it has many faces,
some gay, some not,
journeys many places,
laughs, cries a lot…
No finer friend you’ll find
to share peace of mind
where demons on the brain
come again, again
for the soul - or we will
surely fall

Love, it has many faces
comforts, make afraid
in least expected places,
reflects all that’s likely
to make us tearful, sublime,
captives of Time;
in a world (not of our choice)
its sweeter voices may yet
ease the soul or, yes, we will
surely fall

Love, it has many reasons,
asks questions, tells lies;
reflecting all human seasons
as the need flies…
in the heat of human sorrows,
through dark tomorrows;
brave hearts on wing in spite
of everything that drags
on the soul or, yes, we will
surely fall

Love, it wears a friend’s face,
makes no demands;
a single candle left burning
at my heart’s command…
under threat of darker sorrows,
striving better tomorrows,
a light in the soul’s gloaming
to guide an epic roaming
at freedom’s call or, yes we will
surely fail

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001]