The Tree House

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

To the reader who asked why I don't always post my poems on both poetry blogs, I have relatively few readers who access my gay-interest poetry now, especially since feedback suggests that many gay poetry lovers who have dipped into its archives now dip into both blogs, having come to see that a poem is a poem is a poem, regardless of whether or not they can relate directly to it; every poem has something to say that's (hopefully) worth addressing.  

Sadly, although attitudes towards LGBT folks around the world are changing for the better, there are still many people various whose prejudices remain fuelled by misleading stereotypes and various socio-cultural-religious agendas.

Now, genealogy is a fascinating subject for many of us, especially given that our genes contribute so much to the kind of person we are; our mind-body-spirit may well owe more to them than we will ever know. 

It is always rewarding to study a family tree, put names to descendants too distant in time to have their photos in the family album, and go on to discover as much about them as we can. (Invariably, the experience is well worth any search fee). The Society of Genealogists here in London, for example, is always welcoming new members who want to explore its resources to research a past to which their own family is leaf and branch.

THE TREE HOUSE

I come to the tree house
to catch up with family members
I had only ever met
in a mind-body-spirit always curious
about this person and that
as referred to (if only incidentally)
in conversations as likely as not to ask
even more of me   

Home truths and myths,
resting here among their peers,
not only invoke history
but create its very fabrics themselves,
attracting families worldwide
to the tree house, hoping to find
enough to help explain any glaring gaps 
in their archives  

Life takes on new meaning
in the tree house, inviting empathy
with those less likely
to have made history books for news
of neither fame nor fortune,
but simply having tried to make a life
for men, women, children to whom I’m
kith and kin 

I come to the tree house
to look for clues, travel across time,
ask past generations
for any such points of reference
as may yet assist me 
in seeing just how it was we came
to be, in my capacity as leaf and branch
of its history 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

After Dark

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

Sometimes we despair of any beauty in the world for being reminded day after day by the media of its ugliness. Fair enough, since we should not turn a blind eye or we risk becoming complacent within the confines of our own personal space; the world is bigger than that. Oh, but then we have only to look out of a window after a storm to witness all the splendour of nature reasserting itself; a kaleidoscope of colour that reminds us it’s wonderful to be alive even though life may sometimes assume the aspect of a bad dream.

Similarly, just as we start to despair of this sorry world, an act of kindness invariably restores our flagging faith in human nature.

Many people, like me, suffer regular bouts depression; mine have struck at random since early childhood although childhood depression wasn’t recognised in those days. (I am 66 now.) For me, it is always the same sensation. I am being relentlessly, mercilessly sucked into murky depths we invariably refuse to acknowledge as denial or some other form of negativity. Yet, even as a child, a passer-by has always come across me just as I am about to drown, and thrown me a lifeline. By the time I’ve been hauled to safety (and it can be a long haul) I’ve arrived at a whole new, positive perspective on life and self...until the next time.

My rescuer is always there for us all, and is called Hope.  At the same time, I,  am a pragmatist; it is quality of life that counts and that will be different for everyone if only because everyone's endurance threshold is different. If I were to be diagnosed with a degenerative illness, for example, I would visit Dignitas in Switzerland all the while assisted suicide remains a criminal offence here in the UK. Others may well be stronger than me or hold religious beliefs that say suicide a sin, but I know my limitations.

Even if the worst were to come to the worst, though, I would never abandon hope. As regular readers will know, I find and take a strong sense of spirituality from nature, and...spring always follows winter. While I cannot accept there is life (as we know it) after death, neither do I believe the human spirit is so easily defeated; something of ours will live on in the hearts and memories of those closest to us, influencing - if indirectly, even unknowingly - their lives.  They, in turn, will pass on something of themselves - of which we are a part - to others; thereby, a sense of immortality.

I decided years ago that if I am ever diagnosed with an illness likely to gorge not only on my body but on my sense of who I am, I will take a one-way trip to Switzerland; rather that than let pro-life campaigners subject me to a  living hell, take a chance on a some unworldly darkness pushing this mind-body-spirit beyond its powers of endurance into a quality of light worthy of a poem.

'The lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest and thickest mud.' - Buddhist proverb

AFTER DARK

Treading lightly among lotus flowers

risen from mud to show this world of ours

there is beauty to be had, even where

it may seem lies precious little more than

the stuff of a slum child’s dream

Opening my heart to those who dare

allow the same, so they may yet discover

there is treasure to be had, even where

it may seem, at first sight, there’s nothing

to inspire even a poor poet

Offering sustenance to those who seek

to strengthen a mind and body grown weak

from treading heavily among weeds

where nature meant to tell a different tale

were nurture called to account

Bringing vision to those who would see

into the murky waters of pain and misery

where the dark is rising, Earth Mother

but waiting (like us) to flower and produce

fruit that is a poem called Lotus

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2018

[Note: I agonised for a long time over the title of this poem, first published as 'Where There's Life' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]