Empathy with a Camel

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

"Lives of great men all remind us, we can make our lives sublime, and, departing, leave behind us, footprints in the sand." A Psalm of Life - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The key to Longfellow’s often repeated quotation has to lie in the words ‘remind us’; for better or worse, we all leave our footprints in the sands of time, not only the famous (and infamous).

EMPATHY WITH A CAMEL 

Crossing a desert,
hump on the back, sniffing
out oasis and shade,
penetrating mirage on mirage
enough to attack
a hopeful visage, angry pricks
of sand, graffiti
on a human soul, left to the mercy
of fingers on a rag doll 

Crossing a desert,
hump on the back, sniffing
out oasis and shade
under the spell of a culture
of adventure,
needing to explore Dante’s inferno,
no matter vultures
invariably homing in like drug dealers
at a local disco 

Crossing a desert,
hump on the back,
sniffing out oasis and shade,
compensating for delusion
with illusion...
Lords of Misrule taking the blame
for any blisters
on the soul, although (trick or treat?)
it’s our call 

Making our way
across the sands of time, leaving
our mark, one way
or another, inspiring a generation
of hopefuls
with no intention of becoming food
for vultures to leave
misleading messages while raking over
bones of history? 

Humanity, making
what it will of its ever shifting
landscapes of sea,
sand, earth and sky, each to its own,
whether a camel
at home in a desert or human being
intending to flower,
last seen counting rings on a tree stump
and getting the hump

Whoever we are,
whether travelling on a train, bus,
sailing boat, private jet
or taking a camel ride into an inferno,
so will the Winds of Time
have us set out on yet another journey,
for better or worse,,
the richer or poorer, across multifarious
landscapes of memory 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2002, rev.2022

[Note: This poem takes its cue from an earlier poem that appears under the title 'Riddle of the Sands' in my collection, First Person Plural, Assembly Books, 2002; it is a complete re-working of the original poem to the extent that I hesitate to call it a revision.] RT

 

Mother, Mine (Alice Maud Taber, 1916-1976)

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

Hello again, folks, from London UK

I hope you all managed to enjoy the Christmas spirit in spite of the pandemic and its new Omicron variant raging all around us.

For many families who have lost a loved one to Covid-19 or for any other reason, Christmas, like birthdays and other family gatherings make us all the more aware that someone is missing; it can be a painful experience, but as time goes by, we learn to live with happy memories of that person, always with us in spirit if small compensation for their absence.

For example, I still miss my mother who died in 1976, but her indomitable spirit remains a part of me and has helped me through many a personal crisis. The poem below is the Dedication poem that precedes my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time; it has been significantly revised since publication in 2005.

As regular readers will know, many of the poems in my collections have been revised in the course of appearing on my blogs and I am hoping to publish revised editions before the Grim Reaper comes calling; if not, a close friend has said he will see to, it if we can find a publisher. All my collections include a gay section and no UK publishers have showed any interest, so I self-published limited editions under my own imprint; many copies went to public libraries where I am pleased to say they issued well. As a poet, I am no household word nor ever likely to be, but this general poetry blog has passed 202,012 views and the gay-interest poetry blog has had nearly 170,000 views, so many thanks again, dear readers, for being regular visitors.

Sadly, we LGBT folks - from all walks of life - continue to be much maligned worldwide, but there is less hatred and prejudice than when I was growing up, except within certain religious groups who fail to see that sexuality is not a lifestyle choice, but simply who we are in mind-body-spirit. Their leaders speak of a God of Love and preach Goodwill to All...so, to exempt LGBT folks has always struck me as the height of hypocrisy. (Why can't we all simply agree to differ and respect each other for that, regardless?)As a gay pantheist, I refuse to believe that any God would deny me a sense of His ethereal presence any more than Earth Mother would deny me a sense of Hers; rightly or wrongly, I don’t believe any religious agenda has the right to exclude anyone on the grounds of sexuality alone. (Yes, I know I have said this many times, but, as my dear mother would often say, if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating.)

We all owe much of what and who we are to one or both our parents or to whoever took responsibility for raising us. I count myself very fortunate, indeed, to have the likes of my late mother as a positive role model.  Although my father and I did not get along, I owe him, too, a debt of gratitude for providing a home for the family. Gratitude, though, is not the same as love.; if he loved me in his own way, he certainly never showed it, and no child can expected to be a mind-reader. As far as I am (still) concerned, he was a psychological bully towards me and , for this reason, could not bring myself to attend his funeral in the early 1980's..

I am working on a poem for New Year's Day, so hope you will join me again then. Meanwhile...

MOTHER MINE (ALICE MAUD TABER, 1916-1976)

Mother, you were always there for me,
always believing in me more than I believed
in myself, knowing me
better than I knew myself, always loving me
more than I loved myself,
although I could not give all you all you' had hoped
for me, live and love how you wanted for me
subscribe to your dream, sadly only ever a fantasy
of family unity...

We did our best by each other, endeavouring
to support one another through life’s cruel maze
of emotional twists, turns and dead-ends;
me, unable to grasp for years
how conflicting family loyalties were daily
tearing at your heart, divided so
by the very loved-ones to whom you gave your all,
never quite finding peace of mind for our making you
Love’s own dear thrall

Yet, years on since a cruel tumour took its toll,
you continue to comfort my very soul, feed into it
all that good about mind-body-spirit,
lamenting its mistakes while making sure it follows
a learning curve, finds inspiration
in the Poetry of Love, resists
rather than too easily caves in to darker life forces
likely to confound and confuse us until we lose any sight
of potential consequences

Mother dear, you will always be the first to whom
I turn, to help and guide me along kinder paths than some
I’ve inadvertently taken, for turning
deaf ears and blind eyes to that still, small voice within
that would urge me not err or sin
on the side of an inflated ego that cannot see woods
for trees nor will admit
any flaws in a mind-body-spirit, much to live for and learn
about what makes the world turn

A part of me now, as always, oh, wise and wonderful mother,
no distant memory, but a part of me forever 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2005; rev. 2021

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appears as a Dedication in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

 

 

 

 

Love Letters in an Attic

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

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

Togetherness, Poetry set to the Music of Time

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

Spring, summer, autumn, winter... mixed experiences, all weathers and feelings as nature runs the gamut of its potential. Likewise, mind-body-spirit as it passes through the seasons of its life on Earth.

If the finest of weathers is sunshine and the warmth it brings so, too, the finest of feelings has to be love... and who’s to say, in the winter of our years, whether or not we shall ever see another summer...?

Love comes in all shapes and forms and, yes, sometimes the illusion can be such that we mistake it for reality, but the spirit of true love never dies...

TOGETHERNESS, POETRY SET TO THE MUSIC OF TIME

Hope, rippling summer corn

like stirrings of a child unborn,

wondering in the womb

on whatever may lie waiting between

life and tomb...

I lift my eyes to a gorgeous sky,
loose more dreams, watch them fly
like the tail of a child’s kite
flapping bravely against nature's 
might till barely a flicker, 
waved out of sight with tearful eye
and puckered brow, the child
I once was, returning now across
shadowy years, watery eyes
less of a surprise in the summer air
than once having sought 
without finding, been hurt without
making a sound while caged
in a breast so often deprived of rest,
tired of hearing “it's for the best,”
weary of waiting for waiting’s end,
lonely for want of a dear friend,
finally found, only to sail off on a sea
of corn,  FREE – and you’re smiling
wistfully back at me who’s left to bear
a heavy heart, weather the pain
that has us part, your look that says
“We made our world a far, far happier,
and kinder place..." 

A summer breeze, making music 

like a piano player idling at the keys

with an artist’s ease, lulling Earth’s

so-restless womb before the breaking

of a storm that’s spreading alarm

amongst the corn; I spot a field mouse,

tiny, quick, soon forgot, needs must

hasten my own tread, the music growing

to a crescendo in my head, like LIFE,

LOVE... Instead, I’ll linger in this place

and to wind and rain, I’ll lift the face 

of one who’s glad he came to see-hear

our history passing into such beauty

as I’ll always cherish for being no less

a part of you-me-us than s the shoes 

I wear, though much worn through a world 

much torn in two, three, and more 

by envy, hate and war, I have to say, kneeling

now to pray (to what or whom, who knows

with certainty until we get to be part

of the poem that's eternity?) Now, though,

dear friend I cannot let you go without 

thanks for today,  its agenda

for lasting peace and love ringing all the truer

for our being together... 

Hope, rippling  summer corn

like the stirrings of a child unborn,

wondering in the womb,

at whatever may lie waiting beyond 

life and tomb

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001, 2021

 [Note: The original version of this poem was written in 1998 and was first published under the title ‘Once More, Dear Friend’ in my collection, Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; it has recently been considerably and significantly revised.] RNT

 

A long Walk by the Sea

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

Apologies for having to had to withdraw  and reinstate this poem upon discovering that blogger doesn't always accommodate poetry now; the poem was not appearing as it should, in separate stanzas. I had the same problem with a new post-poem that I will attempt to publish here again tomorrow.

The poem below was written in 1999 and appeared in several UK poetry journals before I included it in my first major collection; a further revised version also appeared in the blog in 2013, but has since been removed due to my experiencing difficulties in editing/ updating the post.

Reading the poem from a distance of some 20+ years, I felt compelled to revise it yet again.

When feeling low, a walk by the sea in all weathers and at any time of day will send me into positive thinking mode and keep me from falling into that awful free-fall that is depression at its worst. 

I live in London and sometimes a stroll on nearby Hampstead Heath will do the trick, but more often than not I will catch a train to a favourite spot, near or far, and spend some time by the sea.  

Some readers may also be interested in a video - Front Seat - shot by my friend Graham Collett in 2012 for my You Tube channel - over which I read the title poem and another, but  only Ancestral Voices remains on the blog. Hopefully you will enjoy the poem if not the sight of an ageing yours truly wandering along Brighton beach:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUJPl94MMGk&t=21s

A  LONG WALK BY THE SEA

The sea, the sea! 
Mocking me with such poems
of love, peace, happiness, 
and a gutsy immortality as I could
only ever but a guess

At work, even at play
I took to wearing masks rather 
than show such faces
as find favour with society's various
airs and graces

Suddenly, a You-Me-Us
appears, starts tugging at my masks,
exposing the person 
whose heart's desire had so long been 
to let its home truths in  

The sea, the sea! 
You-Me-Us left strolling side by side;
nor can your death us part
for the poetry of such love as we dared
write upon its heart

The sea, the sea! You -Me-Us,
 together, forever... 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; rev.  2021

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

 

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.]

 

 

 

 

 

Hello again, from London UK

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

           Another reader has emailed to ask, “I don’t have prostate cancer, but get very depressed. How on earth do you cope as antidepressants don’t seem to help me.”. I have tried to answer this question before, but, as my mother used to say, if you think something is worth saying, it has to be worth repeating...

            For a start, I don’t avoid depression altogether; some days I feel very low and too near the edge of some psychological abyss for comfort. The poetry blogs help by way of creative therapy to keep despair at bay, and I would recommend it for anyone who has to cope wit any form of illness, be it a form of cancer or whatever. You don’t have to write poetry, of course; gardening, knitting... these can be as effective a means of distracting a person from everyday stress as any of the arts. Simply walking and taking in our surroundings can also provide a healthy distraction, often triggering precious memories of yesteryear. (I don’t entirely agree with those who take the view that looking back is pointless, the only way is forward.)

            Sadly, prostate cancer can affect the memory, as in my case, to such an extent that if I imagine mind-body-spirit as building, it feels like huge parts of my life are being removed, brick by brick. It is a frustrating and distressing experience, but one has to learn to live with it, and creative therapy encourages a positive-thinking mindset that can provide a way forward when, at times, there may well not seem to be one.

            A positive-thinking mindset can help us through any life-crisis if we but take a step back from it, take deep breaths, consider firstly its nature and causes and then how we might alleviate both our own distress and that of those closest to us. There are no easy answers but there is always a way forward; even if the only way forward looks likely to end in death, we can at least prepare ourselves for it. Those who have a strong religious faith, can take comfort and strength from it; those who cannot relate and therefore don’t subscribe to any religion can at least reconcile themselves to resting in pace. Me? As a Pantheist, I believe that God is nature; having not only always felt a strong affinity with nature, but also taken an indefinable sense of spirituality from it, I cannot believe that it means me harm.

            Mortality’s closes ally and human beings’ weakest link it is fear. Lose our fear of death, and it can only lose the battle for our lives while. the human spirit is left to win the war for an after-life of sorts, depending how we envisage it. I, personally, as regular readers well know, like to believe there have been more positives than negatives in my life; although the first may neither excuse nor compensate for the latter, I can only hope it is the latter that will endure in the mind-body-spirits of those to whom I have tried to pass those same positives on to remain an influence for the better and passed on, in turn, to others.

            Such is the posthumous consciousness that, rightly or wrongly, I envisage as a form of after-life; as positive a view of mortality as I can envisage.

            As for concepts of Heaven and Hell, I suspect many if not most of us experience both, each in our own way as we go though life. Death has to bring peace - especially for any among us who have felt constantly at war with our inner selves, for whatever reason – or life itself becomes but passing of seasons between birth and death, make what we will of them... or not, as the case may be.

            Whenever I have been close to nature, as man and boy, I’ve experienced a spirituality that reassures me as much now as it did years ago. A religious leader once told me that “Faith defies reason and logic, dependent as it is on true Belief, and therein lies its strength...”       Who’s to say that one Belief is truer than another? 

Bye folks, , take care, be sure to nurture a positive-thinking mindset and I'll be back with a poem soon, 

Hugs, 

Roger

Not (Quite) Anonymous

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

In some ways, this post-poem continue the debate on mental health which Puzzles, Puzzlers and Halfway Houses hoped to open, not least because the pandemic will have taken its toll on the mental as well as physical well-being of many of us across the world; a subject which too few of us are willing to consider, let alone discuss.

Now, we are all comprised of many parts, such is the complexity of most if not all human beings as we run a daily gamut of emotions, positives and negatives, often having to struggle to beat off the latter in order to give the former a clear run. Many of us succeed most of the time; sometimes, though, other considerations take their toll. In mind-body-spirit, it is mind that’s likely to start feeling the stress of everyday struggles the most, despite assurances from an innate spirit that all will be well; as for the human body, it so wants to believe all its spirit urges, but our minds may well have other ideas…

It is always worth the struggle, just to let the human spirit win through, get professional counselling if possible. Family and friends may well be supportive, but they are no more likely to understand the psychology behind what is happening to us than we are ourselves; nail the underlying reasons, and we stand a good chance of configuring solutions.

Sadly, for some of us, everyday life is never (quite) enough; we need to find a way to bridge the gap between the personae we present to the world and who we are. Most people make a good job of just that, more than simply tapping into the Happy-Ever-After ethic, but actually living it, despite the usual ups and downs of everyday life. Others pursue the dream, never (quite) make it, but remain content if not (quite) happy enough to settle for what they have. Yet others…well they remain caught between emotional rocks and hard places, but prefer to pretend otherwise, thereby succeeding in (almost) convincing themselves (and others) that all’s well in their personal space, so...no worries...!

Sharing an emotional as well as any other problem with a trusty confidante is always a good idea; it not only halves the burden in helping to bring it into focus, but openly acknowledging its very existence has to be a good start, too, in helping to find a solution if only because we are no longer having to muddle through on our own.

NOT (QUITE) ANONYMOUS

No one ever (quite) gets to know me,
although some may like to think they do,
for whatever it is I've let them see;
no one ever (quite) understands my reality,
though some may yet get to find
and follow clues left in prose and poetry;
no one ever (quite) gets close to me
sufficiently to hear just what the mind-body
takes for a sense of spirituality 

No one ever (quite) understands a self
in me that certain other selves do their best
to put down, even bully into agreeing
motions no joint mind-body-spirit inspires
only certain rogue elements reluctant
to ever accept any such majority decisions 
that exclude them from personal space,
has them force a different pace, leave its host
(that's me) to do its best...or worst 

No one ever (quite) gets to unearth in me
such roots as only ever sought to grow, flower
forever in a loved one’s own eternity;
no one ever (quite) gets a response from me
along lines of any mistakes I've made,
abandoned to shallow graves in living memory;
hopefully, some may come to think of me, 
once I am no more, see that any kinder parts
have as great a say in my history...

I am that life-force driving humanity’s choices
to lend mind-body-spirit its truer voices

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

Hi folks, from London UK

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

Hi folks, from London UK

No poem today, but I should have one ready for you for Monday.

Reader A. S. has emailed to ask how badly the pandemic has affected me, and if I feel now much as I used to before it struck. It would appear that he or she is estranged from their family because for not sharing the same religious faith; clearly both are preying on the reader's mind.

Well, like many if not most people, the pandemic, lockdowns etc. have taken their toll on me, but I do try to practise what I preach with regard to nurturing a positive mindset. Growing old and living alone is never going to be easy. We can but take each day as it comes. The recent death of a former work colleague I knew well hit me hard, the more so, I suspect, because of the stress the pandemic was already imposing. I became all but obsessed with the prospect of dying for some weeks to the extent that I was prompted to revise my Will.

As regular readers will know, I do not subscribe to any religion. It is my choice and I would ask others to respect it just as I respect those who do subscribe to this religion or that, although the former has rarely been my experience among the devout. I have strong views about world religions, not least because I am gay and they make LGBT folks feel excluded, even from having a sense of spirituality to which, as both poet and Pantheist, I do subscribe, very much so. 

For me, personally, religion embodies the sentiment expressed by George Orwell in his satirical novel, Animal Farm: 'All animals are equal, but some are more equal that others.' Certainly, in the world today, much the same applies to human beings, even in the context of religion. Another former work colleague once told me that she enjoyed working with me and was so sorry that I was destined to go to hell (for being gay).  Needless to say, I was neither fazed nor impressed. As far as I'm concerned, we make our own heaven or hell here on Earth, which, given the ways of the world we live in, is not too difficult. 

Many if not most of us fear death, not least myself although I fear an physical pain it may involve than death itself. Nor, incidentally, do I see it as a taboo or even morbid subject. On the contrary, death is as much part and parcel of life as life itself. As I see it, it's not only pragmatic, but also healthy to consider its implications, not only for ourselves, but loved ones too; the legal implications for the latter if we die intestate, for example, can provide the latter with a mountain to climb at a time when they are likely to be grieving. (While we all have our own ways of dealing with grief, none of them are easy.) 

I have written poems about death, not from a sense of morbidity, but to help me come to terms with the prospect in such a way as to prevent it taking over my life as I have seen happen with some people; this was my intention in my poem, Extracts from a Pantheist's Diary about which I received several nasty emails  No offence was intended, however, so I did not publish the apology they demanded. As I ask on the blogs fairly often - including a poem of the same name - whatever happened to agreeing to differ? 

When I die, I will be cremated, and if any of my organs can be of use to anyone, they are welcome. As for 'eternal life' I see that as my living on in the memories of those closest to me, possibly even passed from generation to generation across time and personal space; among complete strangers even, too, with whom I may have engaged in one-off existential chat on public transport, as I do now and then. Certainly, I remember what the latter had to say and have already passed it on...as  I would like to think at least some of my poems may provide food for thought enough to be passed on in much the same  way, although I remain very pragmatic on that front, too, and don't, as one reader put to me only recently ."delude" myself that I'm  a "great" poet. 

Ah, but enough s enough methinks, for now at least. All that remains is for me to  say thanks for dropping by and hope you will do so again soon. Take are, keep well and, yes, be sure to nurture a positive mindset, if only because the alternative is a sure way to make a living hell for ourselves. Life is better than that, so are we.

Hugs,

Roger

You-Me-Us, peopling a kinder Eternity

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

People often tell me how close they feel to family and close friends that have died or drifted out of their lives for having moved away or whatever… and lost touch. I know the feeling only too well. During coronavirus lockdowns and feeling lonely and/or increasingly ill and no one with whom to exchange mutual whinges (thereby all but restoring a sense of proportion once again) I have been visited my many a ghost from the past, even from as long ago as schooldays… and I’m 75 now!

On the whole, they are a comfort, my ghosts although there are always one or two who feel the need to have a go at me for this or that reason; I guess many of us regret, in hindsight, how we may have treated people in our past, whether intentionally or otherwise.

A friend once told me he wished he had fewer regrets, but mostly only had himself to blame for them and playing the blame game never did anyone any favours, so he focuses on happy memories in the company of family and friends instead. Another friend, present at the time, commented to the effect that it was a very selfish attitude. Me, I am all for a healthy mind-body-spirit; any happy memories always need to be at the top of anyone's agenda for mind-body-spirit.  Bad memories may well hover, but the kinder ones will always see to it that they don't get much of a look-in so long as we continue to nurture a positive mindset.  Not always easy, that's true, but always worth the effort.

As my mother used to say, life is too short to keep looking back when there is so much to look forward to if we but pause a moment or two to think about it, even if it does take the form of wishful thinking as often as not…

YOU-ME-US, PEOPLING  A KINDER ETERNITY

Inner eye, clouding over,
mixed feeling tearfully washing away
favourite memories,
mind-body-spirit left to make what it will
of free fall, feeding on
such details as it can still make out
and taking heart…
even as Time plays its cat and mouse games
with us

Here-and-Now, a window
on a you-me-us still letting in sunshine
as it has always done,
even if the view now misting over, curtains
all but closed;
yet, weary though Apollo may be
of giving way…
there’s still (potentially) time yet for keeping
promises

Promises, no more or less kept
or broken as those we make to ourselves
and each other, meaning well,
but misled by finger messages on the heart’s
window, left ajar…
to keep the air (and us) flowing as freely
as possible while mulling over
a shared past-present’s failings in living up to
its future 

Given a misting over windows
on the heart all but making us prisoners,
any finger messages
haunt us like ghosts played out in all shades
of light ‘n’ dark
if only for a peace and love their promises
challenged us to make or break
as the case may be, with the happy-sad poetry
of humanity

Night falls, Apollo’s turn to haunt us,
try to lighten our heavier loads, taking us
through the motions,
encouraging us to attend to the world’s evils,
demanding we rise above them,
(win some, lose some) even as a Darkness
called Death sheds light enough light
on all living history to form the kinder landscape
of our eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Whisperers or L-O-V-E open all Hours

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

I had planned to post this poem here on Monday but my to-do list is already barely manageable , so... here it is. A reader (who appears to feel the need to emphasise that she is "not gay" has asked for a poem to help herself and family death with the death of a close friend, suggesting " .. . a celebration of the life we shared rather than homing in on loss and grief..."

At the risk of being boringly repetitive, love comes in all shapes and forms, always a welcome if not essential support to any mind-body-spirit found wanting...at any time, for any reason.

THE WHISPERERS or LOVE, OPEN ALL HOURS

Think not that I have gone,
but only this of me,
that once there was a man
unable to (quite)
enter into access any real sense
of belonging
other than by way of a feeling
for love in all its multifarious shapes
shapes and forms 

Thanks to love, I (finally)
began to rise above
the world’s prejudices and hate,
embrace my sexuality,
commit to it, not least in poetry
inspired and nurtured
by that same Earth Mother
that gives birth to us, whom we leave
but to return in time 

Much like autumn’s kisses,
I’ll rise above any tears,
revisit shared memories sure
to feed love’s seasons,
in all weathers, good and bad,
carrying such seeds
as any Here-and-Now may sow
if only to survive in sickness and health,
for better, for worse 

Though any mind-body-spirit
may miss the realities
of love, its other (existential) self
lives on such memories
as nurture it still, selecting those
homing in on that peace
and kindness sworn to help save
any human heart in left pain, as and when,
whatever it takes 

Our joys, as leaves in a breeze
asking we but look out
for them, hear what they see
in us as they fly by
on wings possibly invoking envy
of a human spirit blessed
with potential for getting the better
of mortality, courtesy of all personal space
and shared history 

While a sorry world continues
to yearn (as it surely will)
for an all-inclusive mindset, I fly
where Doves of Peace 
keep its promises, death shows us
its kinder side, as love,
it watches over us, keeps us safe,
who have yet to rework its finer arts on winds
set fair for life

Think not that I have gone,
for there’s a you-me-us comprising 
a mind-body-spirit
wherein any lonely, wintry days
needs must give way
to sunnier climes, if only for the sake
of a love like ours,
free, now, to be of good heart for such heavens
as are open all hours

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

The (Human) Spirit Within

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

Despite the computer hackers, conspiracy theorists, common criminals, those ignoring Covid-19 safety regulations and anyone else hell bent on targeting the human spirit, its resilience to such destructive forces remains an inspiration. Yes, it can feel pain and immeasurable hurt, but in most of us, it is blessed with powers or recuperation, survival and renewal second to none. 

Not long ago, I saw an elderly man slip and fall on a plastic coffee cup carelessly thrown on to the pavement. Fortunately, although badly shaken, he was able to raise a smile and reassure me that no bones appeared to be broken, only bruised, and adamantly refused to let me play safe by calling an ambulance. “I can walk, so can’t be too much the worse for wear,” was his lively response, “NHS staff have too much on their plates at the moment with the coronavirus, I can’t go adding a few bruises when there are people’s lives to save…” I gave him my phone number and he promised to call if he needed any help later. As I watched him go, at first a little shakily then with growing confidence, I had to admire the man for an indomitable human spirit not untypical of his generation; it struck me as something quite beautiful, and I felt inspired for witnessing it. 

Having felt very unwell recently, that simple act of defying odds and self-resolve to overcome them continues to encourage and inspire me to view the rising threat of a new mutation of Covid-19 with a positive-thinking mindset. 

There are, after all, things in life that may well defeat us in part, but never as a whole, given a whole that includes a human spirit that, as likely as not, will leave its mark not only on the Here-and Now, but for generations to come.

'Beauty is power; its smile is a sword.' - John Ray

THE (HUMAN) SPIRIT WITHIN

World, grown dark,
its peoples sick at heart
for the fears
insinuating mind-body-spirit,
threatening
its positive life forces, giving
negatives
all the excuses they need, and more
to assume control 

Powers of darkness,
the likes of prejudice and hate.
attempting
to win over such powers of light
as empathy,
humility, modesty, such love
for humanity
as would always see its natural affinity
with beauty kept safe 

Beauty, a feeling for all
that’s right, good and fair, giving
the Spirit of Light
an advantage from the start
over any negatives
that may well find ways to send
humankind
into free fall, have us answer to mortality
even before our time 

Beauty, though masking
its finer qualities from time to time
to keep them safe
from such hackers as connive
to turn enough tables
likely to wreak chaos, destruction,
even worse,
engages with the Spirit of Love to mentor all
those who live to learn 

Such is the spirit within, empowering humanity
to turn any (apparent) defeat into a victory 

 Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

 

 

A Light at the End of the World

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

For those with any kind of cancer in their system, it is a scary time. Having lost loved ones and friends to various cancers, I count myself fortunate that prostate cancer, unless it becomes very aggressive, is rarely terminal on its own account. Even so, living with it from 2011 - when I was 65 - into the heart of a coronavirus pandemic has given me some panicky moments. 

For many people, 2020 has been a tragic year, losing loved ones and friends to Covid-19. Someone recently commented on losing her mother to the coronavirus, that “I feel as if it it’s the end of my world…” 

I know that feeling well, but whenever it hits me, I recall something my mother told me many years ago when my grandfather died. “Always remember,” she said, “that love never dies. Whenever you feel the need to be with someone you have lost, close your eyes, picture them as you best remember them, and engage with them as if they were still here…”  

I confess I was sceptical, but have tried it many times since, and it always works, especially with my mother who died some 40+ years ago. Those we love and who inspire us never stop loving or inspiring us. 

There can, of course, be no substitute for the physical presence of those we love, whether we are separated by mortality or simply distance, but if love is what makes our world go round, it is always there, ready to support and comfort us, even (or especially) at such dark times as our world may seem to have ceased to turn. 

Try it, and see…? 

 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE WORLD

Allied to mortality am I,
no friend to mercy or compassion,
nor soul to keep me
from carrying out my worst intentions;
though my kinder host
will have it say, I’d have the last word
be mine, and mine alone,
only to be robbed of the greater epiphany
by such life forces as resist me 

I will seek out the innocent,
and drain the very life from them
without a qualm,
nor showing favour to any nobility,
age, gender, sexuality,
status or lack of it in the eyes of the world;
rich or poor, beggar or thief,
all are equal when my push comes to shove,
but the Spirit of Love resisting me 

My victory may well be assured,
but never complete, trust human nature
to see to that,
with its lust for life and affinity with love
in all its shapes and forms,
bringing to mind-body-spirit such a passion
for the meaning of things,
leave a trail for others to follow, as likely as not
a leading light in their darkness 

I am that cancer forcing mind and body to submit,
but even I cannot kill the human spirit

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Looking on the Bright(er) Side

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

We are all waking to another day of Covid-19, although hopeful that any approved vaccine will reach us and loved ones in time,before mortality strikes any devastating blow. Should it come too late, as for some of us it inevitably will, let our tears be joy as well as grief, celebrating a life and our having been a part of it.

LOOKING ON THE BRIGHT(ER) SIDE

Seagulls crying,
tide coming in fast, anxious
to offer consolation 

Breaks in clouds,
a sunbeam breaking through,
hinting at a kinder day 

A little light rain
as if to refresh a troubled Earth,
feed its hopes for spring 

Skylarks, flocking
to new habitats, but continuing
sing us into wintry dawns 

Humanity, waking
to yet another day of living fearful
of Covid-19 coronavirus 

Tears, for loved one
spirited away on wings of mortality
to nests of remembrance 

Nature, an example
to us all in persevering, keep looking
on the bright(er) side

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

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

Life Force, Second to None

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

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

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

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

LIFE FORCE, SECOND TO NONE

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N Taber 2020

Forever Young OR Ghost, Life Force

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

A new poem today, the one I was working on before I started posting archive titles, but became too stressed-out with coronavirus-related events to continue. I remain stressed, but, as always, the creative therapy provided simply by writing (and finishing) a poem has significantly (if not completely) restored my positive-thinking mindset. 

Sadly, the Covid-29 coronavirus continues to take its toll on the world population, each death a personal tragedy for families and friends left behind to grieve, and ask “Why …”

Me, I still miss the person-to-person contact with those I have loved and lost, but their presence in me, by way of a posthumous consciousness, allows me to keep company with their ghosts whenever I choose.

A reader writes that “Ghosts suggest someone who cannot rest in peace for whatever reason. You should not encourage people to deprive the dead of their right to rest in peace, it is very selfish act.” 

We are all entitled to our points of view, of course, but this reader and I must agree to differ. I think anyone would know if the Spirit of Love returning loved ones to us in this way was unhappy about our calling on it to do so. None of my ghosts summoned by love have appeared in the least unsettled by the experience, quite the contrary. 

There are, of course, ghosts that may haunt us for reasons other than love, those that appear of their own accord, that we would much prefer leave us alone; that, in my experience, is a matter of conscience demanding to be squared, and up to each and every one of us to find a way to oblige.

FOREVER YOUNG or GHOST, LIFE FORCE

It was a so-bleak midwinter
of the heart,
the mind’s window on snow
falling, snow on snow,
the human spirit
in free fall even as it reaches out
for no idea what 

The cold invading my senses,
all but freezing
any desire to rise above feelings
of despair and loneliness
for your having left me
to tackle this cruel world head-on,
clueless and alone 

Suddenly, a breath of fresh air
finds its way 
into the prison of my despair,
assisting a breathing
gone as quiet as your grave,
for playing love’s evergreen song
on my heart strings 

I feel a presence where there
had been none
only moments ago, half turn
to see you standing there,
the same flower in your hair
calling on this heart to seek you out
across a crowded room 

Smiling now as you were then,
that long-ago spring,
your sweet lips shaping words
of love needing no sound
to make their meaning as felt
in me as its life force now homing in 
on mind body-spirit 

The vision vanishes as suddenly
as it had appeared,
but what the eye, it cannot see,
the heart, it will conjure up
Spirits of Love always,
its kindlier ghosts  looking out for us all
in the Here-and-Now

 Copyright R N Taber 2020

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today; our kinder ghosts are a part of us all, and we are (like it or not) a common humanity whatever our gender, ethnicity, religion, social class or sexuality.] RNT

 

Winter, haunt of 'live' Ghosts

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

I may seem strange to publish a winter poem in August. Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2010 at a time when the UK and much of Europe was seeing its worst winter for some years. 

Ten years on and many of us are experiencing a cruel winter of the heart as the Covid-19 coronavirus remains active worldwide; combined with the effects of increasing climate change, the world and everyday life as we know it is changing faster than anyone could have predicted even just a few years ago.

A reader suggests I am "talking nonsense" when I refer to a posthumous consciousness. Fair enough, we must agree to differ.  Only ... an aunt of mine lost both her son and daughter in their early 20's within just a few years of each other; one to a driving accident, the other to breathing difficulties made worse for being asthmatic. She once told me that "Of course I miss them terribly, more than  words can say, but they will always be a part of me and their dad; their presence there is not only veyt real but also very comforting. We are still a family, after all." 

I felt much the same way when my mother died, although having to cope with the reality meant it would take a nervous breakdown three years later to - eventually - reach the same place as my aunt.  

We die, yes, but its is far more than a poet's imagination that we live on through others, for better, for worse, although the human mind-body-spirit is such that it is more likely to take inspiration from the former than dwell on the latter. 

Those life forces that are the making of us all may well be a curious combination of good and bad, but mind-body-spirit will always make more room (and time) for the former ... if we let it, rather than put up roadblocks along the lines of envy, jealousy, and a sense of being unable (quite) to forgive, either ourselves and/ or others. 

WINTER, HAUNT OF 'LIVE' GHOSTS

Where once daisies in meadows green,
footmarks where Jack Frost
has paused, glanced over his shoulder
for any sign of a 'live' ghost
(man or woman?) haunting each step
he takes…
marking each heavy, careless tread,
all green things left for dead
that may yet be saved
where other seasons await their cue
within its savage breast

Sure to bide its time before descending
on wings of a dove
spreading its wings like an eiderdown
of white satin
where a restless world dreams of waking
to a peace and goodwill
folk singers will celebrate for years,
while angel voices make a play
to fill half empty pews
and world leaders grace Sunday prayers
in election years

It will not stay long, if time well spent,
making good at least some
of the damage old Jack inclined to do,
reminding brave robin,
(eternal optimist) of other lives sleeping
off hangovers
from half forgotten centuries lusting
for the joys of spring
all but lost in the thick of such wars
on nature’s own deadlier even than Jack’s
for being human

As peace, to pain, a kindness sure to show;
where winter ghosts, spring sure to follow

Copyright R.N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2007]