A Lion in Winter

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

Overheard: “This pandemic, it seems to have the heart of lion. Let’s hope the vaccines are good hunters!”

Ah, but the human spirit, too, is more than capable of lending the heart of a lion to any of us whenever we need it most; it also has a lion’s skill in avoiding capture. 

A friend who lost his wife to breast cancer a few years ago, commented at her funeral “Of course, I’ll always miss her terribly, but love has the heart of a lion, and that never dies. Hers  is more than enough to see me through the rest of my life... for better, for worse”

A LION IN WINTER 

Find me in a very lonely place,
its corners dark and bare,
struggling to ward off fears
surging through my body,
snapping at my mind for thoughts
tossing me such ideas as not made to last,
leading nowhere - fast 

All things bright and beautiful
out of sight where windows
sparing me no signs of life-light,
the only shadows, my fears,
my only company, the sounds of mice
come to feed on what may yet be left of me
worth saving for... eternity? 

No place else to go but here, fear
stoking all but dead ashes,
mind-body-spirit as keen to bury
all traces of positive-thinking
as needing to break free of a Black Hole
carved out by the likes of regrets and despair
haunting past-present-future 

Suddenly, flickers of light all around,
growing in shape and form,
warning I not let them out of my sight
or risk returning to this prison,
left blaming Fate for such human flaws
as unable to rally lifeforces enough to restore
a lion grown weary of winter 

Slowly, but surely, inner eye (and ear) freed again
to rework the art of being human 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, rev.2021 

[Note: The original version of this poem appears in my collection The Third Eye, Assembly Books, 2004.]

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

As Spring Rain to a Tree Rose

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

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

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

      “Sort of like ghosts?” I asked

       “Sort of like ghosts,” she agreed.

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

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

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

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

AS SPRING RAIN TO A TREE ROSE

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

Forgiven

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

Today’s (new) poem was inspired by a tale of two old friends of mine, lovers for years, having made it up after a nasty tiff; the tiff itself, probably made all the worse by the tension we are all feeling during this awful pandemic.

FORGIVEN

A masked man sitting near me
in a bar was social distancing body-wise
while getting up close
with wide blue eyes dispensing with any need
for words 

I found myself listening to eyes
enabling words of love to pierce cloth ears,
invade my personal space,
take my heart prisoner, be sure I catch the sob
in its voice 

Any resistance on my part, futile
from the start, those eyes long since engraved
on a mind-body-spirit
regretting harsh words spoken in the rising heat
of a moment 

As I swam in those beautiful eyes,
waves lapping intimately at all parts of me,
it was like a homecoming,
all your senses and mine embracing a missed-you
kind of greeting 

The masked man drained his glass,rose 
and headed for the exit without looking back,
nor was there any need;
four eyes had said all there was to say, two bodies
left on love to feed 

Back home, masks off, in a bubble
of comfortable silence, we ate a meal abandoned
in rage, now forgotten,
tucking in, confident of glorious days ahead for our
having been forgiven

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Take care, folks, and try not to let Covid stress get to you even if looking on the bright(er) side of life requires peering through an emotional fog to find it,

Hugs,

Roger 

[Note a gay-friendly married couple insisted I post this poem on both poetry blogs today on the grounds that "It will probably ring a bell with couples worldwide, gay or straight ...]