Love in all its Rainbow Hues

 

From Roger’s friend, Graham

Growing up is challenging enough, even without the burden of stigmatisation for loving someone of the same gender. There’s room for improvement here in Britain, but generally LGBT+ citizens have equal rights enshrined by law. In places of employment (excepting religious organisations) discrimination on the grounds sexuality or gender identity is illegal. Since the Civil Partnership Act in 2004, same sex couples can join in a legally recognised partnership. And after the UK Marriage Act in 2013, LGBT+ couples are able to marry.

Marriage is perhaps the ultimate expression of love for those fortunate enough to find a soulmate. It’s also a declaration of love to family, friends and beyond. For couples with religious faith, it’s a sacred vow of love with God as their witness.

Love is also a scintillating rainbow of sentiments. Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle wrote of a whole spectrum of emotions such as friendship love; philia, familial love; storge and passionate love; éros. Greek mythology also abounds with inspirational tales of profound and tragic love such as Orpheus and Eurydice. Love can be the light of your life - or the heart of your darkness…

Roger explores these epic themes expansively throughout his writing. Sometimes in sonnet form - popularised in Elizabethan England by William Shakespeare and his contemporaries. (I hope to explore this theme in a later posting). His printed works often devote a section to the theme of love. They are, doubtless, poems interwoven with personal experience.

Roger and I occasionally discussed past relationships and compared notes on our respective missed opportunities, dashed hopes and even disasters. Alas for Rog, he wasn’t lucky enough to find a long-term partner. Although I believe his romantic soul never lost hope in meeting someone special.

In later life, I feel assured that Roger derived fulfilment through the reciprocal love of close friendships. Can this be enough to sustain anyone in the absence of a partner, estrangement from family or societal ostracisation? I imagine we’d all have a differing answer. Throughout my own voyage of self-discovery, friendship has certainly proven to be the most unconditional form of love. An enduring bond with Roger remains testament to that.

 

*  *  *

 

‘Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.’ Dalai Lama

‘Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embroidered by imagination.’ Voltaire

‘Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.’ Oscar Wilde

 

*  *  *

 

I’ll leave you with a trio of love poems – all from Accomplices to Illusion, Roger’s 2007 collection. I should explain that I’m staying with family presently - with only one book for source material. Wiltshire offers a welcome change of scenery. Tall oak trees surround the house. Their upper branches sweep back and forth like an artist’s frantic brushstrokes on a grey-marbled canvas. I look out on the small garden; the colours of shrubs diluted under a dull watercolour sky. A crow flies past; its hoarse cry breaking the mesmeric spell of birdsong. It fades to a black smudge on a watery treeline.

Thanks for reading.

 

*  *  *

 

NIGHT WATCH

I have greeted chimes at midnight
lain half dead at the toll for one
as my lifeblood ebbs to a starlight
behind clouds, watch all but done

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,
seen my life’s light bright in your eyes
promise a beautiful spring day

As nature pauses at stark winter’s cold
so lovers dream, beyond a growing old

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2007 [a sonnet].

 

*  *  *

 

BONDING WITH ETERNITY

It was love opened up my heart
to all life means to me…
nor shall death its bonding part

Sands of time, soulmates at the start,
a song of destiny;
it was love opened up my heart

May the world no finer truths impart
than its natural beauty;
nor shall death its bonding part

Like summer skies, stars, even clouds
charting a fragile humanity…
it was love opened up my heart

If a taste on the tongue sweet or tart,
our togetherness a delicacy;
nor shall death its bonding part

Be nature’s kin struck by poison dart
comprising all humanity…
it was love opened up my heart
nor shall death its bonding part

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2007 [a villanelle].

 

*  *  *

 

WEATHERING LOVE

When I dream of you it is a springtime
of high hopes I’ll not forget

When I think of you it is midsummer,
(that rainy day we first met)

When I speak of you, each word is like
an autumn leaf that’s falling

When I hear your name on another’s lips
it’s but a winter robin calling

At nature’s whims, a beauty, each its own
though we weather it alone…

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2007.

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

 

Love, Cry Me Sometimes

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

A colleague once asked me if I thought he was ‘betraying’ his late partner by finding happiness with someone else.

Well, why be lonely when you can be happy, and who would want anyone to be lonely anyway?

As it happens, they were a gay couple, not that sexuality has anything to do with love, loss, or moving on. Moreover, as I have said on the blogs more than once, moving on doesn’t have to mean leaving anyone behind. Love never dies, but remains an inspiration along life's journey and beyond. 

Ah, but never compare love and lovers; that isn't fair on anyone.

Now, yes, it’s good to cry sometimes, but let’s never forget how to laugh, love …and live.

LOVE, CRY ME SOMETIMES 

Don’t cry me
because you still love me,
yet cry me sometimes
if only because it so happened
I couldn’t stay

Don’t cry our love
left in your safekeeping,
yet keep it safe
if only because love deserves
its say

Don’t cry the times
we’d always pull together,
yet cry me sometimes
if only because it so happened
I couldn’t stay

Don’t cry the mistakes
we’ll always be sorry we made,
yet cry me sometimes
if only for those we didn’t get
to put right

Don’t cry me
because time did the dirty on us,
yet cry me sometimes
if only for your being happy
with someone else

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: This poem first appeared on the blog several years ago, and a reader has asked me to reinstall it.]

Home for Christmas

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

Today's entry is from my gay-interest poetry blog archives for December 2015.

As you will all know by now I am not a Christmassy person, but no spoilsport either and will always wish everyone a very Happy Christmas/ New Year, and mean it. 

As a pantheist, I don't celebrate Christmas in any religious sense. As a poet with a strong sense of spirituality - that I take from nature - I enjoy taking stock of my life at this time of year, counting my blessings and glossing over numerous flaws in the status quo.

On Christmas Day, I like to be on my own (yes, really!) strolling down Memory Lane and re-living the GOOD times while allowing myself time to be sad for the bad times. I like to remember those I have loved and lost, again dwelling on happy times together while not attempting to stem any tears.

If I spend Christmas with anyone, I feel obliged to make an effort rather than quietly surrender to any feelings of sadness and let them pass of their own accord.  I am not a sad person. On the contrary, I am a very positive thinking, lively guy. No one, though, can be positive thinking and lively all the time so when I feel sad, I let myself BE sad, and the sadness quickly passes, invariably replaced by happy memories to which the positive thinking, lively, part of me can more easily relate and build upon. Christmas brings many sad memories rushing back; I need to let them rush past me so I can enjoy the many happy memories I have shared with those I may have loved and lost but who sustain me still. 

We hear about families and friends getting back together for Christmas...but poles apart again by New year's Day. Let us never forget that love is not (and never has been) just for Christmas or any other religious festival where it needs to make an appearance. Any love worth having is worth saving, even if that means having to agree to differ with loved ones and accepting that our differences don't make us different, just human...

New Year? Well that's a different story altogether, celebrating a whole twelve months ahead to enjoy with friends and rediscover the true meanings of peace, love, and joie de vivre...

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS 

I’d hear talk of Christmas,
and my heart would sink for memories
of so many lonely Christmases
since love walked out of my life and family
never understood

I’d hear carols at Christmas,
and my heart would skip a beat or two
for recalling happy Christmases
when love took centre-stage in my life,
nothing else mattered

Friends planning for Christmas,
with smiles on their faces for all the fun
of such joyous Christmases
as once I had, and never (quite) abandoned
by fate, chance, love…

Christmas Eve, everyone rushing
for last minute buys, and then back home,
ever hopeful of Christmas
fulfilling its promises of peace and goodwill
around a festive table

Me, I hear talk of Christmas,
and my heart leaps  just for remembering
our conspiring with Christmas,
we total strangers, one starry Christmas Eve
of rediscovering love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

On the Intimate nature of Stargazing

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

This entry is from my gay-interest poetry blog for September 2012.

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2010. So many readers have said they can identify with it, having spent time apart from boyfriends, girlfriends or partners from time to time.

The intensity of missing someone is the same for anyone, of course, gay or straight, but gay people often seem to get left out of even such a timeless equation as this. Yes, even these days, especially where gay relationships are still looked upon as an offence against religion if not morality. So where’s the harm in reminding everyone that we miss loved ones too. [The likes of Giles Muhame please note, although let’s not suppose for a moment that such foolish socio-cultural-religious bigotry exists only in a less enlightened southern hemisphere. Dear me, no, it is everywhere.]

Meanwhile...

Pick  and share a star with a loved one, and you can be sure that finding it again when you miss them most helps hold the dream and bring them that little bit closer.

Whimsical, you say? Well, yes, and why not if it works...? Oh, and it invariably does, believe me. Try it, and see.

ON THE INTIMATE NATURE OF STARGAZING 

Once I wished on a falling star
as lovers the world over will do,
that soon we can be together,
knowing you’ll be wishing too 

The star vanished in the night,
though others kept me company
as I wondered how you are,
knowing you’re thinking of me

I felt even closer to you then
than at times when you’re here,
fighting back tears, the zen 
of star-crossed lovers anywhere 

No heavens frowning upon us
(see the Old Man take our part)
only the world’s prejudices
would force us, gay lovers apart 

For now, they may have won
a battle or two, but never say die,
for love will see us through
in this as in darker years gone by 

For every person wishing us ill,
others echo Earth Mother, calling
on us to live, love, and follow
a dream for every star that's falling 

May we each find joy and peace
in one another, wherever we may be,
make the world a kinder place,
let all its star-crossed lovers go free

Copyright R N Taber 2012, 2019 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

 

The War Widow

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

Tody's post is from the archives of my gay-interest blog for November 2010 after ‘Edith’ (a lady in her 90s) kindly contacted me to say that she and another war widow friend were moved by it. It appears that the friend's great-grandson has taught them to use a computer and access the Internet. I have to say it is wonderful to be contacted by someone from an age group that often has reservations about using the Internet if only because they feel intimidated by new technology. I will be a mere 65 next month but it just goes to show that we are never too old to learn new tricks.

To my surprise, Edith also told me that she enjoys dipping into my gay-interest blog as well my general blog. It appears she has always felt and thought of herself as a war widow since the death of a female partner who joined the Wrens (WRNS) during World War 2. No one knew of their relationship at the time of course. As far as anyone else was concerned they were simply two friends sharing a home. Apparently, they met at school and were secret lovers for some years. She never married or found anyone else to share her life that way but says she feels blessed for having loved and been loved.

Edith, it seems, has led an active life and continues to ‘feel blessed by wonderful friends and neighbours.'

A sad story, yet, beautiful too. Many thanks for sharing it with us Edith. A lesson there, too, perhaps for those only too ready to rush to judgement on LGBT folks worldwide...?

THE WAR WIDOW

A soldier’s widow knelt at his grave,
their children by her side;
comrades-in-arms gathered nearby
wondering (never aloud)
whose turn next to shed tears
at whose grave

A soldier’s widow swore on his grave
to love him till the end of time,
raise their children to take great pride
in a father whose presence
felt with lasting passion nor less
for his absence

The soldier’s widow took the left hand
of a thirty something veteran
who had lost his right hand in Iraq
the first time around
before the Mandarins of Power
had second thoughts

The soldier’s widow rose, took comfort
from the young man’s smile
that shone like a beacon of hope
from his wheelchair
among the wreckage of a life
once thought inviolate

A war widow wipes her children’s tears,
the Last Post ringing hollow in the ears


Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Nature, Poetry of Remembrance

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

Update (May 2016): A reader has been in touch to ask for the link to an interview I recently gave a student at my old university (some 40+ years ago) about my poetry for a multi-media project on 'an interesting person'. It was fun. Moreover, it warms the cockles of this septuagenarian's heart to know people still find me interesting. Unfortunately, this reader used the Comments button, but did not include an e-mail address so I am posting it again here.]

https://r224e31251.racontr.com/index.html  (NB. Copy into your browser to access this link.)

Meanwhile…

My mother died in 1976. I once asked her what she wanted out of life. She replied, ‘All I ask is that people remember and think well of me after I’m dead. I'd so like to be more than a photo on the mantelpiece," she added almost as an afterthought. 

What more can any of us ask for, eh?

Oh, I didn't quite get it at the time. I do now. Oh, yes, especially in springtime when I go for a walk in the countryside; I can see her smile and hear her voice everywhere I look... or... when I get home and listen to Shirley Bassey, her favourite singer...or... visit an art gallery and enjoy the Turner landscapes she loved...

Art, like nature, is always with us. Nature, though, is very much a living organism in its own right while art relies on the observer (or listener) to achieve much the same. Memories, too, are always with us, especially those surrounding loved ones. Yes, art can stir memories. Nature, though, offers a more direct route, reminding us that all living things, not just people, have their seasons, pass away and come again...

For me, it is this sense of spirituality that nature offers which transcends precious memories into a life-force in a way no religion ever could, and gives the poem its title.

NATURE, POETRY OF REMEMBRANCE 

Come a time I’ll close my eyes forever,

never again observe a waking day,

think of me with love as a new sun rises,

and weep not, but look for me there

Come a time I’ll close my ears forever.

hear dawn’s sweet chorus no more,

think of me as heavens make glad music,

and weep not, but listen for me there

Come a time my senses fail me forever,

never again smell a rain-kissed earth,

think of me as flowers open their petals,

and weep not, but walk with me there

Come a time we’ll have run life’s gamut,

may the dream that was ours never fade,

but merge into Earth Mother’s natural art

created for all our sakes and we for it

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This poem first appeared under the title, 'Rhetoric of Mortality, Poetry of Life' in Accomplices to Illusion: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Mind-Body-Spirit, Garden of Remembrance

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

Today, our thoughts fly to the victims of the recent devastating earthquake in Italy; the living and the dead.

Nature, as we have seen, is constantly reminding us that humankind, for all its progress through the ages, remains vulnerable. (As if we need reminding!) No less vulnerable, the human spirit, but also an indomitable life force.

Now, memories are no compensation for reality. Nothing and no one can compensate for the loss of a loved one; family member, lover or close friend. Even so, it has been my personal experience that memories can keep good times as fresh in our minds as when we first shared them, and in so doing any tears - in time -become more like spring rain than some relentless wintry storm.

Such is the power of love that that it will inspire the human spirit for generations to weather any storm, repair close-knit communities damaged by events beyond their control, and most importantly, concede love the victory over grief. Speaking up about it invariably helps, although words can never quite express what mind-body-spirit are telling us all the time.

This poem is a villanelle.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE,

In thoughts so near, so far away,

inspiration visits old Memory Lane,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Whether or not we choose to pray,

love will survive us time and again

in thoughts so near, so far away

Deep sleep, no guiding light of day

nor dark, only kisses like spring rain,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Come despair keeping life at bay,

cue for human love to take the strain

in thoughts so near, so far away

Where a body quits worldly affray,

good hearts repeating its finer refrain;

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Though life bury us in colours grey,

trust human goodness ever to remain;

in thoughts so near, so far away,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Waking up to Life

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

Spring is in the air, season of new life and hope although this sorry world continues to turn as oblivious to positives as to negatives. We human beings, on the other hand, while we, too,  continue our daily lives, we can but look to the former for the inspiration  to carry on just as we must shoulder the latter in order to survive the worst of global conditions and human nature.  

Being positive when the immediate outlook appears bleak is possibly the greatest challenge we face in life. For my part, I always tell myself that spring follows winter, and - trite as it may sound - it has seen me through some BAD times.

May the joyful spirit of spring be with you all regardless of race, creed, sex or sexuality. (Oh, and none of us have to wait till springtime, either, but may well anticipate it by nurturing our own eternal springtime of the heart, arguably the more splendid of all its seasons, bursting with the joy of renewal and the sweet smell of hope.)

WAKING UP TO LIFE 

Showers
in clouds above, promises
of springtime,
tears for a lifetime
of such love 
and loss, joy and sorrow 
haunting us...
thereby remaining a part 
of us forever,
never (quite) leaving us
on our own to run
(oh, so self-consciously)
the eternal gamut
of socio-cultural-religious
trappings coercing
nature and human nature
for selfish gain
if only to get the upper hand
over any secular ethos
promoting self-awareness,
exposing its flaws

Showers
in darkening skies, closing in
on daily lives
trying to make the best of things,
put the worst behind,
bearing in mind a long winter
passed, asking only
of human hearts to open (at last?)
to a side of human nature
that’s less judgemental,
seeking even to be instrumental
in brokering peace
among enemies, encouraging
(mutual) respect)
for multiple differences
of opinion, faith, lifestyle choices,
in a world that rejoices
a civilized society's championing
Human Rights 
for its majorities, minorities too,
no cronyism.

As life-giving showers come and go,
so we, ourselves, aspire to know


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This poem appears has been revised since appearing under the title 'A Feeling for Spring' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007[

Happy Sad (Christmas) Memories

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

Christmas is not a happy time for everyone, not least because it is also a time for missing loved ones no longer with us. Remembrance, though, can bring a peace of its own making, but only if we let it.

Happiness may not last, but it is never truly lost. The trick is to take stock of happy memories and nurture that happiness (not add to a growing heap of regrets) thereby sowing the seeds of an inner peace and love for years to come…

Whatever Christmas may mean and bring to you, here's wishing everyone joy in peace and love always...the joy of an open mind, free spirit and kind heart, no matter what manner of hurt this life inflicts.

HAPPY SAD (CHRISTMAS) MEMORIES

I heard a robin singing
just as dawn was breaking
on Christmas morning,
its bells (as ever) promising
Peace on Earth

I saw a couple kissing
while noon happily chiming
as if applauding
true love (as ever) promising
Peace on Earth

Dark clouds gathering,
the air, it smelled of snowing;
home fires burning,
Christmas roses presupposing
Peace on Earth

I wept for your passing,
yet we had no sense of parting,
our love as enduring
as any Christmases promising
Peace on Earth

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Testing Times OR A World of Differences

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

Losing a loved one is hard enough, but losing someone in an accident or with such suddenness that we have no time even to say goodbye has to be about as hard as it gets…

This poem was written some time ago, but in the light of the recent air tragedy in Ukraine our hearts go out to the families and friends of the victims on board flight MH17, apparently shot down by a surface-to-air missile while crossing a war zone. Our hearts go out, too, to those killed during the recent Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

I am left wondering just what kind of sick world we are living in, and is there really the socio-cultural-religious-political will among its leaders to nurse it back to health?  I guess we can but play our part in our own little corner, and trust the ripples spread...

Different people from different cultures, religions and social backgrounds will always have their differences; we should always remember that our differences do not make us different, only human and, as such, part of a common humanity.

When, oh, when, will humankind discover that peace lies in accepting that our differences do not make us so different, only human?

TESTING TIMES or A WORLD OF DIFFERENCES

You left this world

without a word, no time

to say goodbye

You left my world

cold and dark, its comforts

bitter-sweet

You left this world

before your time, its tears

making headlines

You left my world

your body, mind and spirit

to keep it sane

You left this world

its anger and grief, playing

blame games

You left my world

on the wings of a heartbeat

forever ours

We gave this world

the benefit of our worst doubts

in return for…this?

Testing times, indeed

for lovers in a world subject

to the vagaries of time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Summoned by Ghosts

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

I have learned to live side by side with ghosts. Ghosts can be good company. They are no threat and have a place in our lives. The trick is not to confuse their hopes and aspirations with our own (as we may well have done to our cost when they were alive).

Death is nothing to fear, but life must always take priority. That may sound like commonsense, but I have known people haunted by ghosts to the extent that they might almost be one of them.

There are times when we are particularly vulnerable. A sense of loss leaves us especially open to persuasive voices that may be well-meaning, but don’t always understand how our best interests can be served. When this happens to me as it does from time to time, especially at night and during early hours, I turn to Earth Mother, and invariably find the reassurance I seek.

SUMMONED BY GHOSTS

Come a late hour’s whim,

witness home hills turn to silver ghosts,

shades of midnight’s children

playing with stars, prisoners of the moon,

unable to sleep, anxious of dawn

Above, chance to watch an owl’s

graceful flight., see it circle, swoop, soar,

but can only guess at its prey,

victim, too, of a night that’s no friend

to the vulnerable, lonely…

I have wandered, asked questions

of shadows always mocking me, teasing me

with solutions, chasing grey rabbits

across dark meadows, party to a sad mind’s

convolutions...

At last, hills and sky hosting a new day,

sure to keep less welcome ghosts at bay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000

[From: Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2000.]

Sometime Healer, All-time Friend

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

When a loved one dies, we need to give grief a chance, allow love a healing process of sorts so that its wounds can be tended rather than be left to congeal and possibly leave the body physically as well as emotionally damaged for the duration.

Love must be allowed to run the gamut of regret, anger, bitterness, disillusionment, even guilt so that it can emerge from the long, dark tunnel of loss refreshed and strengthened. There will be scars, of course, yet we should let grief clean them with our tears so they, too, are not left weeping, but become landmarks of love to guide us through the time we must spend without the loved one, help us see that where a door closes on our lives, a window really will open for us if we’ll only it.

I have seen people spend the rest of their lives behind that closed door, rarely letting anyone in; for those of us permitted even limited access, it is painful to witness what is essentially a process of disintegration.

We can keep faith with love, and still move on if only because our loved ones would have it no other way. Besides, love’s place is among the living; only there can it thrive and preserve its losses.

'Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.' -
Edgar Allan Poe

This poem is a kenning.

SOMETIME HEALER, ALL-TIME FRIEND

I bend like a flower in a cruel wind,

sing sad songs learned from the trees,

sink to my knees among shadows

like monks in shabby cowls kneeling

in prayer urging me to do the same,

but I cannot pray for the only feeling

left in me is a pain that is all my own,

yet there is another as much to blame

for leaving me here alone, so alone

I prostrate myself at the altar of Time

that sees all, spares nothing and no one,

cold within the folds of winter’s dark,

angry at the cheerful song of a skylark

circling above, predisposed to celebrate

the natural world, precious little thought

for the fragile nature of a human heart,

broken, as mine, into insignificant pieces

no one will spare a second glance

What would you have me do, skylark,

get up and dance? How dare you deny me

this moment of cut-throat bliss that is

(they say) but the other side of happiness?

Leave me! Let your sweet song beguile

ears anxious to hear, not mine, closed now

to cheery sounds and smells of summer

where autumn has shed its tears and long,

lonely winter days sure to last for years

I am Grief, a healing (of sorts) - Guardian
of Loss to the heart left nursing its pain

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 20114

Poppies, for Remembrance

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Today’s poem was written in 2004 and appeared in my 4th collection the following year; it has also appeared in an anthology, The Colour of War, Forward Press, 2011.

I have written almost as many poems about the tragedy of war as I have about the inspiring quality of love, much influenced by the powerful poems of World War I poets like Rupert Brooke, Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon and Vera Brittain, to name but a few.

The irony cannot be lost on anyone. Given that the horrors of war have been passed on so graphically from generation to generation since, it neither prevented World War II nor this sorry world of ours remaining a battleground for various socio-cultural-religious-political forces worldwide.

Here in the UK, as Armistice Day approaches, many of us buy a poppy as a symbol of remembrance; the money raised goes to the British Legion, a charity that, for many years, has provided financial, social and emotional support to members of the British armed forces, veterans, and their dependants.

National anniversaries of remembrance rightly salute the dead, but the dead would not want those they leave behind or injured friends and colleagues who survive to be forgotten either. Charities like the British Legion  and Help for Heroes have stepped in where successive Governments much prefer not to tread.

Countless poppies, countless tears; hopes, shared by millions for a peaceful world while haunted by the growing sense of a twenty-first century no less inclined than any other to the rhetoric of peace.

  

Photo: Cenotaph war memorial, London (UK)

Created by ceramic artist Paul Cummins with setting by stage designer Tom Piper; ceramic poppies commemorating the centenary of the outbreak of World War scheduled to progressively fill the dry moat around the Tower of London until Armistice Day, November 11th, 2013.

Photo: In the war memorial Neue Wache (Berlin) the moving sculpture, 'Mother and her dead son' by the Berlin artist Kathe Kollwitz says it all...

POPPIES, FOR REMEMBRANCE 

In two world wars, and conflicts since, they died

for love of country, freedom and their own;

shells, mortars, bullets and bombs they defied

so we may reap the rewards they have sown

Let’s remember those who never came back,

(sitting comfortably, watching TV);

Somme, Dunkirk, Korea, Falklands, Iraq...

(So much for the lessons of history!)

The wounded, too, deserve our thanks and pride,

some forgotten, left but to fade away

in pain, loneliness, no one at their side

as fought with them so bravely, won the day

World in remembrance of hope, prayers and tears

for peace in its time to yet end its worst fears

[From: A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

A Colouring Book

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Now, when we use colour, we choose carefully because we want to make an impression although what impression we make is likely to vary from observer to observer.

So it is, I suspect, with nature, just as the impression Earth Mother intends to make will vary and quite possibly leave many if not most of us none the wiser.

A COLOURING BOOK 

Blue, blue, the colour
of a morning sky;
golden the sun, risen high;
green, green, the grass
where lovers lie, giving us
reasons to care

Red, blood red, crushed
poppies in the hand
like a fallen soldier’s wounds,
attempting to atone,
and only a solitary skylark
left to mourn

Grey, a silvery grey,
dusk’s sad pall;
tears of Earth Mother, nurture
for sweet dreams
of peace and caring better
for each other

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was published in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]