Spelling it Out

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“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” Albert Einstein 

“The world helps you to keep evolving and hope it's for better. You have to rise above all the tragedies in life. You have to grow, and if you stop growing, you are old.” - Hrithik Roshan“

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”- Helen Keller 

“Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.” - Paul Theroux  

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” ― Maya Angelou

Now, after all the fun and fireworks, the early days of any new year can become daunting as we place our hopes in what lies ahead, no idea whether or not we will see them fulfilled, fail in the attempt or be outwitted by forces beyond our control…? A scary prospect.  The more we contemplate a whole new year ahead, so excitement and enthusiasm may well give way to a mind-body-spirit likely to leave us  less able to think straight than the worst hangover ever.  

So…? We may well need help. We may well need a sounding board. We may well need a good friend (who knows us well) to confide in and help our more positive thoughts to find a voice, give us feedback, help us through the hangover into whatever it takes to help us confront, make sense of and (eventually) rise above whatever is gnawing away at us…

SPELLING IT OUT

Old year done and dusted,
another to get through, for better
or worse, as we can but try 
to keep looking on the bright(er) side
of life, whatever challenges
invading our personal space demand
we meet them head-on, 
resolve to tackle each as best we can,
bring out the best of being human

We can wish our cares away
to no avail, side-step, put on hold
our worst fears in vain,
inevitably have them catch us out
when we are least prepared
for not having thought them through,
shared our feelings with a friend,
sought more than a shoulder to cry on,
called on the best of being human

Every worry, every sadness
needs to find a voice, similarly
every voice needs someone
to listen to what it has to say, hear
what lies beyond the words,
help us to understand our world,
(even make it a kinder place?)
bring such inspiration to personal space
as lets heart-and-soul set the pace

Another year of spelling out You-Me-Us;
keywords: patience, peace, happiness

Copyright R. N. Taber 2023

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my gay poetry blog today, given that feedback continues to suggest that many LGBT readers remain inclined to give this one a miss.] RT

 

Shades of Grey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SHADES OF GREY

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

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

Starting Over

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“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” – Henry David Thoreau

“The mind is its own place and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” – John Milton

“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.” - Buddha

Now, overheard in a supermarket on Christmas Eve:

1st Person: “I so love this time of year. It’s so good to unwind, but it’s over too soon, and where are we then? I mean, where’s the excitement, the fun, in a whole new year stretching ahead that’s likely to stress us out all over again?”

2nd Person: “Life is what you make it. For my part, I love the feeling of starting all over again and being given the chance to put a few things right and be happy again. I can’t explain it, but it’s not a bad feeling, quite the opposite…”

I so empathised with that second person. Although I do not subscribe to any of the world religions, I am neither atheist or agnostic. Nature has always filled me with a sense of spirituality I cannot explain, even to myself. Maybe that’s why I write poetry, as an attempt to define the indefinable; not just a feeling, nor a religious faith, but a faith, no less. Whatever, it has seen me through some pretty bad times and some great times too. For better or worse, it has made of my life what, at surface level does not amount to much, but, a n ‘other’ self in me recognizes that it has been an incredible learning curve.

I guess it’s the same for everyone, although in my case it has taken 77+ years to even begin to understand what has to be, in no small part, the role of personal space in the overall meaning of life. As for hope, optimism, positive thinking - whatever we like to call it – maybe that, in turn is the role of the kind of faith that nature inspires in many of us?

For me, anyway, Spinoza’s sense of God and Nature being much of a one-ness, has seen me has seen me through more ups and downs of life to my late 70’s…and I suspect hasn’t finished with me quite yet. So, a new chapter looming in the shape of a new year, is scary, but curiously exciting one. 

Who knows that lies ahead for any of us? We can but trust that still, small voice that goes by whatever name we choose, whatever our personal space learns to feels OK with…? Having grown in the bigoted 1950’s, is it any wonder that it took me until my 30’s to listen to mine and tell the world I’m gay…?

STARTING OVER

End of another year looming,
a global consciousness continuing to plead 
for peace and goodwill
to take root in the hearts of warmongers
in high places left swivelling
on comfy chairs in plush, warm home zones,
rehearsing a Rhetoric of Peace
along with political ends, in keeping with a faux morality
that haunts a weary humanity

End of another year looming,
a global consciousness continuing to hope
for kinder times ahead
on the backs of the quick and the dead
left grieving losses, asking questions,
looking for answers where angels fear to tread
lest they encounter lost souls 
asking the way to a safe house heard tell of called Heaven,
Peace of Mind, second to none

End of another year looming,
mind-body-spirit busy working out
how best to survive;
in or lose, resolving to understand
just who we are
by the end of it all (one way or another) 
not least for listening, believing
in each other, and lending a helping hand, ear, eye, whatever.;
life force, human endeavour

Heart-and-soul preparing to get the better of our flaws again;
mind-body-spirit of being human

Copyright R. N. Taber. 2022

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

 

Poetry Live

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'There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
 There is society where none intrudes,
  By the deep Sea, and music in its roar;
  I love not Man the less, but Nature more…’ - Lord Byron [Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage]

“Beauty awakens the soul to act.” - Dante Alighieri

“Equality is the soul of liberty; there is, in fact, no liberty without it.” - Frances ‘Fanny’ Wright

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” - Carl Sandburg

Now, yet another a reader asks why I write poetry “…in a world where, let’s face it, poetry is considered ‘old hat’ by most people?”  Most people, perhaps, but certainly  not everyone , given that blogger stats confirm this blog alone has had 212.000+ views since I started writing it up about 10 years ago; my gay-interest poetry blog, too, has had 160, 000+ views.

Nor is poetry 'old hat' in schools, as some people suggest, including a good many schoolchildren; it has its place, among all the arts, on the learning curve that is life

If just one reader enjoys a poem and it gets them thinking about, not necessarily agreeing with its contents… well, that is reward enough for any poet.

For me, all nature is’ live’ poetry; the more people enjoying it and thinking about its contents, I suspect the chances are the more likely they will want to play their part in keeping it alive for generations to come. Combating climate change, for example, is more than a rescue mission for the survival of humankind, but for a natural world that existed long before us and deserves better from us. Even the most indefatigable resilience  can be worn down over time, especially by circumstances (and people) working just as indefatigably against it, knowingly or otherwise.

POETRY LIVE

Sunlight creeping through my window
roused my eyes to a far cheerful awakening
than an unhappy dreaming had led me
to expect, a welcome surprise after a night
of mind-body-spirit’s being tossed about
on such feisty, restless waves of broken sleep
as left heart-and-soul crying out for rescue,
growing more fearful of no help ever happening 
until it heard a skylark singing

Encouraged and inspired by Apollo’s
first kiss on the grassland where it nested,
it rose to greet the morning on wings
of a song bringing a sense of love and peace
forever crying out to be found
among shadows silenced by human fears,
left chasing the sun by day, moon
by night, invariably made to make do with echoes
of wishful thinking for centuries

Ah, but the Here-and-Now can see me
through whatever, if I will only but let it catch
a shadow or two, give the echoes
haunting mind-body-spirit substance enough
to make even half a dream come true,
much as the arts endeavour to do in music, 
poetry and painting, a creative therapy
inspiring such kinder life forces as it always will
an all-embracing heart-and-soul

For every human shadow, may its silences be heard
as pleas for peace around the world

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Love, a Saving Grace

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“When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.” – Jimi Hendrix

“Love recognises no barriers; it jumps hurdles, leaps fences [and] penetrates walls - to arrive at its destination full of hope.” - Maya Angelou

“Where there is love, there is life.” Mahatma Gandhi

“Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality.” – Emily Dickinson

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved, we can never lose, for all that we loved deeply becomes a part of us.” – Helen Keller

Now, a group of friends in a pub were toasting the late Queen Elizabeth II. I overheard an observer’s caustic comment: “Huh! As if anyone’s death is an excuse for celebration…!” to which their companion responded: “If those left behind don’t celebrate a life that’s been lived and give thanks for their part in it, who will?” to which the other person’s lack of response said volumes, I thought, for the power of silence…

As we all know, love takes many shapes and forms; whatever, its life force in us never dies, gifted as it is to the heart-and-soul.

Nor, I put it to you, is love in one shape or form any the less relevant a life force than another; its inspiration is immeasurable. It is why, perhaps, I think of myself as a Pantheist rather than subscribe  to any conventional religion, whose approaches to love invariably seem to me as more dogma-based than humanitarian. For example, the daughter of the late Desmond Tutu has reportedly been prohibited by the Church of England from leading her godfather's funeral because she is gay, married to a woman.  

LOVE, A SAVING GRACE 

There is a rustling of leaves
in the woods where I’d tread wearily
back bent from carrying
a load, daily, times when I’d long
to escape negative forces
ever closing in on me as if intent
on bringing me down 
under the weight of fears that cannot speak
for thinking of me as weak

Weak, yes, for missing you,
yet stronger, too, for your loving me,
no matter where you are
or where I may be in a world blessed
with love in it enough
to inspire all mind-body-spirit,
even in the absence 
of those upon whom we can always depend,
our own world-without-end

No words can begin to express 
feelings empowering me with such love 
and peace as will see us
survive the worst either skies above
or earth beneath may bring
to bear on You-Me-Us by way of wiles
with which any darker elements
of nature and human nature are only too familiar,
yet be sure they back a loser

Though life, at times, seem a trial and tribulation,
trust the power of love, a sure salvation 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

I, Temptation

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″You are young,’ replied Athos [to d’Artagnan] and your bitter recollections have time to be changed into sweet remembrances.” – Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers)

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.” - Henry David Thoreau 

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings. – W. H. Auden.

“All art forms are in the service of the greatest of all art forms: the art of living.” - Bertholt Brecht 

“You can’t really move forward until you look back.” - Cornel West

I was an avid reader from an early age. I first read Dumas’ swashbuckler novel when I was about 10 years old. For all its swash and buckle, it was the quotation above that aught my eye and struck a nerve. I had bitter recollections even then and doubted whether, even in the course of time, they would eve become ‘sweet remembrances.’ 

Time would prove me both right and wrong. While I continue to be haunted by ‘bitter recollections’ from time to time, these have, indeed, been mostly eclipsed by ‘sweet remembrances. ’Sadly, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has deprived me of many instances of the latter; some, I can recall vaguely, of others I have no memory at all. 

The same, it is true to say, can also be said for any ‘bitter recollections’ with which even a failing memory would continue to disturb me but for a creative spirit that is quick to dismiss them, replacing them, if not with ‘sweet remembrances’ in any detail, at least with the spirit of them on which I continue to thrive by courtesy of a creative imagination. 

Now, poetry may well be a form of creative therapy, but it is also an art form. I feel privileged to access each, even as my growing old and accompanying health issues threaten daily, but in vain, to deprive me of both..

I, TEMPTATION

I can make you feel good
or I can make you feel so bad
like you’ve been had,
taken in by so strong a feeling
that’s swept you away
on winds of such desire there’s no escaping,
come willpower’s unresisting

You need to let me pass
let mind-body-spirit be a friend,
and listen well to all
it has to say about staying loyal
to its kith-and-kin,
for knowing a heart-and-soul will be grieving
the company you’re keeping

No battle compares with one
set to undermine better instincts,
give a persuasive alter ego 
pride of place, albeit under cover
of lies and deceit
in such a hellish darkness as defies confession
to make way for absolution

Yet, I will have my wicked way
with you, pour scorn on hindsight’s
attempt to wipe your tears,
haunt any positive-thinking mindset
throughout whatever time
would have mind-body-spirit live with its shame,
a posy of thorns by any other name

Now, however long it may take
to make reparation for any mistake
that’s a sacrilege, surely
against all one purports to hold dear?
Such lessons to be learned,
though they weep us on repentance’s tough rack,
as teach the art of moving on, not back 

Whoever considers walking out
with me needs must give due thought
to tackling the task
of repairing any likely damage done
a fairer, kinder, truer self,
last spotted shadowing an existential imagination
by way of addressing potential salvation

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Sleepy River

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"I don't believe in failure. It is not failure if you enjoyed the process." - Oprah Winfrey

“There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere. “ – Jane Austen

"Make failure your teacher, not your undertaker." Zig Ziglar

" To see a world in a grain of sand/ And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand/ And eternity in an hour." - William Blake 

Hi folks,

I hope you are all coping with the exceptionally warm weather, unseasonably hot in some places around the globe, even those accustomed to high temperatures. 

Now, today’s poem was inspired by a favourite song of mine, recorded by the late African-American, baritone singer and actor, Paul Robeson. 

Years ago, when I was still at school and living with my parents, I would sit at the dining room table and do my homework, then sit back and listen to his beautiful voice while letting this particular song lead me through a landscape of dreams. 

Ah, the dreams of the young, so accessible, we would engage with and be inspired by them, whatever the chances of their coming true; all the thrills of fame and fortune with none of the spills that real life so loves to dish us all from time to time...

Relatively few dreams/aspirations of mine ever came true, but I still revisit them, even as I grow old, if only for their remarkability to keep me young at heart... until I find myself looking in a mirror and wondering just where I want wrong in the pursuit of those same dreams. 

Yes. they haunt me now, such dreams that I had, but mostly as friendly ghosts, whose company I have enjoyed, notwithstanding multiple errors of judgement on my part along the way…

SLEEPY RIVER

Walking in the sunshine
by a sleepy river where years ago
we’d stroll, hand in hand,
engaging with a fantasy landscape
of daydreams, destined
never to come to such fulfilment
as mind-body-spirit
aspired, but such is life, and no worries
so long as there’s you-me-us

Reasoning not the need
we’d travel the world first class
among such cloud faces
as had the measure of us, but happy
to keep company with smiles
of intrepid aspiration
as invariably accompany young lovers
wherever and whomsoever
they may be, in all walks of life in a world
where survival is the keyword

Ah, but too often dreams
fall foul of misunderstandings, 
barefaced lies, excuses
and good intentions, like shipwrecks
of which the less said, the better,
fat chance of retrieving 
remains of relationships abandoned
for lack of true staying power, togetherness,
found wanting under duress

Now, I grow old, saddened
for having failed so many dreams,
gladdened, though,
for having battled to see them fulfilled,
nor any sense of failure
in having surrendered them to vagaries
overtaking me, not one dream
forsaking me, but still able to inspire, embrace 
the poetry of personal space

Sleepy river, every tide a collective you-me-us,
every ripple, every wave, a life force...

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

The Lilac Tree, no Fairy Tale

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“I’ve not much interest in the important things of life. Only in the beautiful things. Just” this lilac here makes me happy. – Erich Maria Remarque (Three Comrades)

“The smell of moist earth and lilacs hung in the air like wisps of the past and hints of the future.” – Margaret Millar

“Philosophy: A purple bullfinch in a lilac tree.” – T. S. Eliot

There was, indeed, a lilac tree in the garden of the house where I was born in Gillingham (Kent); true, too, it was still there when I made a point of passing that way during recovery from a mental breakdown in the 1970’s. True, also, that its fragrance filled me then, as it always has and always will, with the life force that is hope; for every blind alley, a kinder alternative.

THE LILAC TREE, NO FAIRY TALE

Once upon a time,
a lilac tree grew in the garden
of the very house
where I was born, lived and played
with friends and family,
would see birds and butterflies attracted
by its fragrance in full bloom,
extending a poetry of spring into early summer,
memories to treasure

Come winter, pruning
would bring tears to the eyes
of family and friends,
less hardy than the little lilac tree,
more vulnerable
for having to weather less-than-kind
ways of the world, eager to give it
a fighting chance to thrive, stay safe, be strong,
lend us a focus for living

Grown old and weary,
yet no less spirited for all that,
a whim took me treading
an alleyway in time and personal space
to the same garden gate
of the very house where I was born,
first felt the fragrance of lilac
encouraging heart-and-soul to weather whatever
in nature and human nature

In one corner of a stranger’s garden, I can still see
my lilac tree, sweet smell of eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Friends of the Earth

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“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

Hello from London UK

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Hello,  everyone from a bitterly cold London, UK,

Sorry, no poem again today as I am unwell, although still looking on the bright(er) side of life and hope to be back with a poem soon.

Only a few days ago, we were basking in warm spring sunshine here, but now, the weather witches have magicked up a brief return to a wintry climate. So, it's off with the tee shirts and shorts and on  with the overcoats and central heating again...

Sadly, with rising food and energy costs, many people are having to live with the cold; some families are even having to keep their heating low or off, just to be able to feed themselves while others are increasingly having to make use of food banks. 

Yes, hard to believe in 21st century UK!

Nothing, of course, compares with the everyday misery and suffering endured by the people of Ukraine as Russian troops continue to pursue invasion tactics with merciless intent, tens of thousands  of civilian survivors forced to flee the ruins of their homes and cities. So far, sanctions, by various countries in a shocked and appalled West, seem to be having little effect on Putin, although already making themselves felt on the  everyday lives of ordinary Russian people.

It is awful to think that many Russians believe the misinformation they are fed by a State-controlled media that not only encourages them to support Putin in believing that the war in Ukraine is totally justified, but is also responsible for many young Russians having gone to fight, believing they are  'liberating' Ukraine from some Nazi-like repression.

Yes, hard to believe in a 21st century world.

A friend here in the UK who has a Russian neighbour tells me that she has been disowned by her family in Russia for speaking out against the Russian invasion of Ukraine. In parts of Russia itself, though, some people have access to alternative News reports; there have been a growing number of anti-war protests; protesters are immediately rounded up, arrested, and now face the likely prospect pf long prison sentences.

Yes, hard to believe, even in a 21st century Russia. 

Me, I count my blessings. My health issues are nowhere near as debilitating as those endured my many people around the world, including here in the UK; I can get out and about, albeit slowly, with the aid of my trusty walking stick and have been living with prostate cancer for nearly ten years now, longer than I anticipated when first diagnosed, so... I may not be able to enjoy retirement just as I once imagined, but I remain young at heart and continue to take each day as it comes and try to make the best of them rather than dwell on the worst, just as I did when I was young for real.

Yes, I miss the mutual exchange of love and support between friends and loved ones who have died, but that love and support lives on within us, as a source of inspiration as well as precious memories; we can continue draw on it as much, if not more so, as from the living.. and having known some very inspirational people, from various walks of life, I do just that. 

We all make mistakes, some we can redeem, some we can't, bur we can at least learn from them and not repeat them; where broken relationships are concerned, it takes two to dance that particular tango; it remains on of the greater human tragedies that some just can't... or won't.

Yes, mind-body-spirit has much to be thankful for even during such hard times as history has shown the human race across its history, no exceptions made for a 21st century world population enduring much the same across various landscapes of personal space.

Expect a poem again before too long, folks. Meanwhile, we can but all do our best to nurture a positive thinking mindset if only to feed those hopes and dreams that, in turn, feed a joie de vivre that may well suffer serious injury from time to time, but will, as likely as not be inspired to rise above them,  live to fight and defeat its demons another day...

Yes, such is the poetry and prose of everyday life...in any century.

Take care,  folks, and many thanks, as always, for dropping by,

Hugs,

Roger

Hello again, from London UK

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Hello again, from London UK

I thought you might be interested to know that, according to the stats on the home page from which I publish my poem-posts on blogspot.com, readership now stands at 203,004. So, a BIG thank you from yours truly for staying the course with me.

I did not think many people would be interested in my poetry when I first started writing up the blog    nearly 10 years ago, especially as feedback from poems I have published in UK magazines and elsewhere was not always in a positive vein. One reader went s far as to complain that “... I don’t see how you can write general and gay-interest poems of the socio-psychological kind you write and call it poetry...

Clearly that reader hasn’t read much poetry; all poetry attempts to convey a socio-psychological landscape as the poet sees it at any moment in time. As for my gay-interest poems, the title of the blog to which I publish them speaks for itself, surely? Some heterosexual readers have even browsed it from time to time; feedback suggests they have found it helpful in coming to a better (and kinder) understanding of LGBT family members, friends, peers and work colleagues. It is due to such encouragement that I have continued (and enjoyed) writing up all three blogs.

While it is true that my gay poetry blog lags behind this one, stats confirm close to 169,000 views, so I am well-pleased.

There are both gay and general novels on my fiction blog, whose stats are much lower, approaching around 22,000 views. I enjoyed writing my novels, but came to the conclusion that I am no novelist. I cannot deny I was disappointed to discover this about myself, and seeing pipe dreams of fame and fortune burst like playful soap bubbles.

As Robert Louis Stevenson suggested: "To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive." (Virginibus Puerisque,1881.) Besides, nothing, including fame and fortune, is ever quite how it is portrayed by various media which, in turn, brings to mind another old truism along the lines that none of us knows quite what goes on behind closed doors. The rich and famous are only human, after all, and life is no less likely to have its ups and downs for them as for the

Need to rest now. It is inly mid-morning here in the UK, but while growing old doesn't have to be a major issue in itself when like, yours truly, you are having to contend with various health issues as well, it is no picnic...😉 Even so, I continue to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life and urge you to do the same; never easy at any age, but the alternative is we spend our lives peering into The Abyss while life itself passes us by...

Bye for now, folks, and many thanks for dropping in. I am working on a new poem and hope to publish it here very soon.

Take care, keep safe and be sure to treat those who show they care for you with the love and respect they deserve,

Hugs,

Roger

In the Blink of an Elephant's Eye

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A reader asks how I manage to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life “... in order to end most of your poems on a positive note?”  Well, I do try and have probably posted more such poems than usual lately, partly to knee-jerk a positive thinking mindset of my own in to action while, hopefully, encouraging any readers who may be feeling at a low ebb, to recharge their batteries.

I am by no means good with new technology. Writing up blog posts on my p c has always been stressful for me, but the kind of stress I welcome, if only for knowing that, by the time I am ready to publish, I will have shown various health issues just who’s boss.

Progress is, of course, part and parcel of life, but some of us adapt to it better than others, for various reasons, not the least of them being growing old and/ or having to tackle mental health issues.

To those who adapt to change fairly easily, welcome it as a challenge even, I would, of course, always encourage so positive and forward-looking approach; at the same time, I would also ask them not to be dismissive of those of us not up to the mark in one respect or another, for whatever reason. 

As we journey through life, our weaknesses often become obvious, less so the strengths that enable us to carry them, not least memories of kinder, happier times; the latter has never been about wanting time to stand still, rather it's about being inspired to journey on... whatever the next day may have in store for us. 

IN THE BLINK OF AN ELEPHANT’S EYE

Peering into the digital eye
of an elephant, my screen saver,
carried on a tide of empathy
by the beast into a digital jungle,
trumpeting our arrival
above other noises, all despairing
of anyone listening

Empathy, mind-body-spirit
conceding any virtual trumpeting
able to suss out surrounds,
savaged every day of every year,
its habitats and sources
of vital life forces put under duress
in the interests of progress

Progress for whom, though,
among creatures great and small,
left behind, struggling
to adapt while not knowing why
needs must all species
move on, make front pages of history
for classroom curiosity?

Can hear new bells tolling
nature and human nature’s failing
to solve new puzzles,
fathom new mysteries, making out
we know what’s going on,
whether or not (really) up to the mark,
all but in the dark...

Computer crashes, leaving me
wondering why, and what on earth I do
next by way of resuming
whatever progress I’d been making
in a winking, blinking,
elephant’s eye, invariably taking heart,
to reboot and restart

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Peace

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We may or may not face a difficult winter with Covid-19 continuing to spread among our neighbours in the European Union, not to mention the risk of illegal immigrants passing through and crossing the channel from other parts of the world.

Myself and most of my friends here in England think it was madness to relax basic safety precautions such as wearing face masks in busy areas, shops and on public transport, especially when N.I., Scotland and Wales have had the good sense not to do so. I, for one, will continue to do so as I do not share our Prime Minister’s optimistic approach.

Yes, the vaccination program is a huge success and the booster jab will provide greater protection; science appears to confirm that effects of the first two vaccinations are likely to significantly diminish without it.

Meanwhile, I try to keep an image of the first Peace rose of spring in my head and let it inspire me to find and nurture peace of mind, whatever the coming winter may hold for any of us during these trying times.

PEACE

It’s a hybrid rose called Peace
come to carry spring into summer,
letting its petals fall in autumn,
like memories to shield human hearts
from the worst of winter

Coloured yellow, the Peace rose
is for reminds us of good times past;
where love, like a rose, endures,
so Earth Mother nurtures, promising
kinder times just ahead

At any time of year, whenever
we yearn to inhale love’s perfume,
the Peace rose feeds us images
to delight the eye, lifting other senses,
lightening other burdens

Sometimes, loved ones are called
to serve in wars, maybe never return;
if they do, never quite the same
person we knew before, human nature
left to endure to survive

If the awful reality and casualties
of wars across centuries their ghosts
try to warn us, and only fools ignore;
the Politics of Power is such that it cares
little for Peace roses

At such times, we must be strong,
take well-worn paths the heart knows
and loves, for where here’s love
there is always hope for a kinder spring,
and a new Peace rose

Copyright R. N. Taber c2010; rev.2021

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – written in 2009 - appears in my collection On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

On Reading the Hand that Writes us Up

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The Climate Change Summit in Glasgow has had a lot to say on the subject, but one cannot help wonder how many will translate into meaningful action. Even so, Hope springs eternal...

As important as weather patterns,  we need to keep a close eye on human behavioural patterns and not underestimate how they are affected by changes in our personal lives that are constantly taking place, not always for the better. 

The coronavirus pandemic has affected all us and  humanity will need all the life forces it can call upon and sustain during and after it has run its course; the effects on its collective mental as well as physical health will, of course, vary from person to person, country to country, but of one thing we can be sure - nothing will ever be quite the same again, whatever...

ON READING THE HAND THAT WRITES US UP

There's a hand that caresses the first seeds of spring
and bids them grow;
it moves among summer corn in time for harvesting,
courtesy of Apollo

Where autumn's leaves making ready for its turning,
it bestows a blessing;
when winter brings us to its knees, of life despairing,
it guides us into spring

Where we run the gamut of love, hate, peace and war,
find, too, Earth Mother;
better to have its caresses smooth over a troubled brow,
rescue the Here-and-Now 

The question arises, dare we bite the hand that feeds us,
face the consequences
or do we accept it in a spirit of goodwill to all humanity,
put aside our differences?

Beware, or hands rocking our cradle may yet let it drop,
our world breaking up;
it's to read the hand that's writing us up we need to learn
or else... Armageddon?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; rev. 2021

[Note: The original version of this poem was written in 2009 and appears in my collection Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012'; it has only recently been significantly revised.] RT

Love Letters in an Attic

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A reader, J C has emailed to suggest I publish too many love poems on the blog and need to "get real about life." Well, any readers for whom love is not a reality has my sympathy.  Besides, I suspect most of us have hade our fill of having to 'get real during the pandemic. Me, I live alone, but the loves I have known in my life - in all shapes and forms - have saved me time and again from sinking into loneliness and despair.  

Once engaged in, the spiritual experience of love never dies, albeit may well reside in that part of us we reserve for our favourite memories; it can be a person, a place, a pet... whatever. (Yes, I know I have said this before, and probably will again; whatever J. .C may think, the blog is about life and the forces that not only help define us, but see us through thick and thin... of which the strongest and most influential has to be love, surely?

Happy memories can make us sad, but only if we let them rather than be not only comforted, but inspired. by them. No happy memory can ever be repeated or replaced; happiness, though, can be repeated  - time and again - in various scenarios as we pass through the seasons of life;  it is a common mistake, though, to compare what or whom has made us happy with whatever or whomsoever may yet make us happy again. 

Time passes, the world changes, and so do we. Even so, if  happy times have helped make us who we are now, who are we to deny our future the same opportunity? 

Brooding on the loss of happy times is only natural, but we risk losing sight of even those; a counsellor once advised me  - in the course of my having a nervous breakdown some years ago - that the trick is to harness the spirit of happy times and let it move us on, leaving nothing and no one behind whose part in our lives not only endures, but having shown us happy times may well do so again... if we let it...

LOVE LETTERS IN AN ATTIC

Wings of a dove
trailing us, centuries
of pain, love;
many tears shed,
taken as read;
so, glides our history,
Time's passage;
all sadness forsworn,
(for the most part)
any madness forgiven,
mind-body-spirit
bravely moving on,
accompanied only
by thoughts and desires
of the tender kind,
nor leaving anything
no, nor anyone 
behind

Such feelings!
Caress me, thrill me,
enduring bird,
each faded quill,
a tender word;
our love and laughter,
 a symphony,
ever inspiring us,
cheering us on,
we lovers pairing;
twin doves,
winging personal space,
deserving far more
than these outpourings
like acid rain
bent on
having me lose you
yet again

World turning,
moving us on through
 a personal space
as only love inspires;
no boundaries,
just a continuum
wherein we run
a gamut of life forces
letting us win some,
lose some,
but all the while sending
 messages of hope
(defiance, too)
challenging us to see
life through,
the wiser
for having known
each other

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2001; rev. 2021

[Note: This poem was written in 1993, first published in my collection, Love and Human Remains by  R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; revised, 2021.] RT

Hello again from London UK

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Reader A J asks if he or she can put the URL for my blogs on social media “since you seem to disapprove of social media and avoid it yourself...”

I don’t entirely disapprove of social media; it has its merits, but having tried it once, I have no wish to return to it. However, should any readers feel they want to share the blog URL, they are welcome to do so; all three blogs - general poetry/ gay-interest poetry and fiction + archives can be accessed from:

https://rogertab.blogspot.com

Anyone recommending the link may well wish to add that I do not publish comments, complimentary or otherwise. Neither do I reply to emails now - except from friends and regular blog readers - as various  health issues include poor eyesight.

Any LGBT poetry lovers may well be especially interested in that blog’s archives as I rarely add gay-specific poems these days, mostly due to lack of inspiration; years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have left me sexually inactive and less able to relate to and enter into the spirit of the poem.

In spite of health issues, I am hoping to self-publish limited (print) editions of new collections which, as previously, will include a gay section as well as some poems of interest to LGBT readers in other sections; with any luck, these will also be available on-line at a later date. However, prostate cancer has a mind of its own so there will come a time - hopefully sooner rather than later - when there will be no more tomorrows for yours truly. Whatever, c’est la vie, so better to make the most of what we have while we have it, each in our own way...?

Years of hormone therapy may have played merry hell with my thought processes, but writing poetry helps keep them in some sort of order, so I will continue to add to the poetry blogs as long as I can.

Another reader asks if I intend to add to my fiction blog. Sadly, it is very unlikely as I couldn’t even interest any in my fantasy novel, Mamelon and don’t have the energy these days, let alone inspiration. Even so, I enjoyed my foray into fiction, so no regrets.

Meanwhile, I take each day as it comes, treat it as a bonus and do my best to nurture a positive-thinking mindset. 

I am working on a new poem, and hope to publish it on the blog soon. Sadly, poems take me a lot longer to write these days, but I enjoy making the effort; as I have said many times on the blog, it is a form of creative therapy I can throw myself into and temporarily forget health concerns, pandemic implications and other worries. As my mother used to say, “If you worry, you’ll die and if you don’t worry, you’ll still die, so...why worry?” 😉

Take care everyone, and try to stay positive, whatever life throws at you; time may not heal altogether, but - partnered with good sense and sensibility - it can do a pretty good job, if we let it...

Bye for now,

Hugs,

Roger

Love, Enduring

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A reader, S. J. asks why I often write poems about love when I live alone. Well, what has living alone to do with out capacity for love? As I have said in the past on the blogs, love comes in all shapes and forms, including a posthumous consciousness wherein any love we ever had for anyone who has passed away never ceases to be the subject and object of our feelings, continues to keep them very much alive and kicking. Places, animals, and events we have loved sharing with others... these, too,  will often help revive flagging spirits, courtesy of our feeling for happy memories. 

The same reader suggests that my poems are become "somewhat repetitive" given that "there is only so much a poem can say about anything, including love..." while kindly adding that he enjoys many of them anyway. Hopefully, other readers feel much the same way. He has a point, of course and I try to avoid substantial repetition, but a long-running battle against various medical issues (including depression) means I am not always at my best some days. The inner strength I take from writing poems is just about all that sustains me some days, that and the everlasting of love, in all its shapes and forms.

So what happens if and when memory fades? As someone whose mother has dementia recently told me, "Love is always a part of us and its power will always shine through, no matter the details might become somewhat sketchy..." Our feeling for them never fades.

Oh, and I am delighted to say that recent feedback suggests that a significant number of readers have started to explore the blog archives; many of the poems there have been revised.

Meanwhile...

LOVE, ENDURING

In the ways of love,
I embrace the platonic kind,
no less a treasure
than any other come to marry
with a like human mind
for better, for worse, in sickness and health,
till death us do part 

Yet, death shall not part us,
for that other 'virtual' existence
we call memory,
allowing us face-time whenever
the need arises
to revisit  a sharing of such frank confidences
as only intimates know 

Nor does sex have a monopoly
on such home comforts as laughing
at bad jokes, the worse
for a vulgarity only like minds enjoy,
no offence taken,
only a sure appreciation of life partners in crime,
though death us do part 

The beauty of love, in all its shapes
and forms, lies in its needing no words
to express and share
the focus of its attention, sounding out
and empathising
with any posthumous consciousness (still) nurturing
such seeds as saw it flower 

In shades of intimacy as envisaging all love enduring,
find the mind-body-spirit everlasting 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: The final couplet in this poem has been slightly, but significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog.] RT

L-O-V-E, making History

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Our thoughts this weekend, have inevitably focused on the death of H R H Prince Phillip, the Duke of Edinburgh and the impact his passing will inevitably bring to bear on Her Majesty, the Queen especially, and other members of the Royal Family. 

No one, of course, knows what goes on behind closed doors, fewer still are aware of the finer workings of the human heart. Even so, media footage and photographs over the years, all tell the story of a couple in love, a guaranteed place in the history of our nation and the world notwithstanding. (While relatively few people can claim the latter, engaging with love - in whatever shape or form - invests it (and us) with a global consciousness that suggests a universal mind-body-spirit intent on making its own history, and us a part of it, if we let it.) 

As I have suggested time and again on the blog, love invests us with a spiritual quality that never dies, but lives on in the hearts and minds of all those whom it may have unforgettably influenced by word, deed or infinite presence; people, places, lines in favourite examples of literature… all these contribute to who we are, and all are associated with the finer aspects of love. 

So it is, that we all contribute to world history by way of the inspiration love inspires, even though most of us will never make the history books. So it is, too, that we all leave our mark on the world, often barely if ever recognised or acknowledged. Such is the posthumous consciousness peculiar to the human race, ensuring that love never dies whether we aspire to the ethics of this religion or that… or not, as the case may be. (Incidentally, I suspect it is also why yours truly identifies so closely with Pantheism.)

L-O-V-E, MAKING HISTORY 

Always there,
trimming edges of all that’s said
and left unsaid 

Always there,
profiling the substance of illusion
enhancing delusion 

Always there,
high flying partner in a trapeze ac
that’s custom-perfect 

Always there,
comforter-mentor to the you-me-us
no one else ever sees 

Always there,
sounding out any sounds of silences
as sure to make waves 

Always there,
light of my life, heart of my darkness,
whatever it takes 

Always there, 
its kinder ideas eager to dry any tears,
for our fears  

Always there,
the Here-and-Now, given us to nurture
a past-present-future 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Open Letter to Readers

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A reader kindly asks how I am coping with my prostate cancer during the pandemic, especially as I live alone and have mobility issues as well. Well, not easily, but mind-body-spirit manages to rise above it all... most of the time.

Diagnosed some 10 years ago now, the prostate cancer was not aggressive and I have been treated with hormone therapy (Zoladex) ever since. Yes, having to get up during the night to urinate, often as many as four or five times, doesn't make for a decent night's sleep and I  get very tired some days. But prostate cancer has a mind of its own so I just have to take each day as it comes. 

Safety precautions due to the pandemic means I don't get to see friends, and I miss their support, but knowing they are rooting for me is always good for morale. My best friend is my 'bubble' partner and I see him as much as possible although he has been working from home and doesn't live locally so I miss face-to-face  get-togethers with him too. Hopefully, once he is is working in London again, we can meet up for lunch like we used to.

Readers often ask why I write mind-body-spirit as one word rather than three in my poems. Well, it is because I don't see how you can separate them in so far as they are interdependent. My mother used to say we should never underestimate the power of the human spirit to nurture a positive mindset capable of seeing us through even the worst circumstances. She was so right. I am also reminded of a quote by Helen Keller:

"No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a  a new doorway for the human spirit." 

I see disabled people and others, a LOT worse off than yours truly coping with far more serious medical in addition to other issues, and words fail me; it can only be down to as strong a human spirit as far as I'm concerned. Those of various religious persuasions may well disagree and prefer to credit an ethereal presence within us, but we will simply have to agree to differ. Disabled people and those with learning difficulties are an inspiration to us all, even more so as so many of us are still  having to deal with levels of isolation during the pandemic such as we never imagined.

Yes, it is scary, having to rise above medical and other personal issues  issues , bur what choice to we have?  Fear is perhaps the greatest and most natural threat of all that we needs must overcome threat of all to overcome. What can I say but quote a Frenchman:

1. “He who fears he will suffer, already suffers because he fears.” - Michel De Montaigne.

Yes, I know it is all very well to lean on famous quotes, but their authors knew what they were talking about, just as yours truly endeavours to practise what I try to encourage rather than preach in many of my poems.

Thanks for dropping by, folks, always much appreciated. Oh, and yes, I am working on a new poem that I hope to publish here on the blog by Monday if not earlier. Meanwhile, I hope those of you already exploring the blog archives will find some poems to enjoy.

Take care and keep well,

Back soon,

Roger

The Story of a Life

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Although I am 75 years-old, I remain at heart much the same person I was as a child. Hopefully, I have learned enough from various life-experiences not to dwell on the many mistakes I have made, but take sufficient strength from all they have taught me to keep looking on the bright(er) side of being human. 

The pandemic has given us all much food for thought, not least for a growing sense of isolation. 

Relatively few people have such confidence in themselves that they rarely need to share their thoughts and ideas, especially with those friends and/ or family members whose opinions matter most to us, if only because we can be sure they will be frank rather than just kind. 

The need for social distancing has been kind to no one, often leaving only the inner self to fall back on, not the most objective confidante to share our concerns. Even so, the self is all of who and what we are, and we need to trust it to give mind-body-spirit all the encouragement it may need. 

As a child, I would take my cue from the spirit of Happy-Ever-After tales, however questionably they might have ended. As an adult, I guess I still do. For better or for worse, it has seen me through good times and bad, and I can but hope it will continue to do so…

THE STORY OF A LIFE 

Listen, I am near,
poised to bid a heartfelt farewell
to winter’s darker ways,
mind-body-spirit eager to re-engage
with joie de vivre,
for growing younger, its sunlit days,
a timely reminder,
though whether humanity any the wiser
remains a brain-teaser 

Listen, I am here,
seek me out and you may well hear
whatever the head
seeks to know, while loath or unable
to break down
a heart’s closed door lest it reveal
it was but a dream,
the love for whom you dared hope to be
another’s one-and-only 

Listen, and be sure
to hear of what songbirds are singing,
that joie de vivre
we would all engage in for homing in on
people and places
we can always rely on to fill the heart
with happy thoughts,
inspiring all mind-body-spirit to go for gold
put aside growing old 

I am much the same favourite bedtime story
that’s the stuff of all live-and-let live history

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021