Ghost Riders in the Sky

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

As a child, I would love creating stories in my head from cloud ‘figures’. People would laugh and tell me I’d grow out of this fantasising. Well, some people still laugh, but I’m glad I still feel inspired by clouds years on. (I will be 75 later this year.)

They taught me a lot, those clouds; for a start, how to create and enjoy fictions without confusing them with facts although ... well, there was a time in my life when it was a close call.

It is thanks to my childhood fascination with cloud shapes that I became interested in reading, writing and... yes, people. I have written many poems and a few novels, but cannot be described as a 'successful' writer in the sense that it has neither made me rich or famous. Yet, who cares? Nor me, that's for sure. Writing (even more than observing cloud shapes) has taught me much about myself and human nature; more importantly, I have enjoyed every moment, and - as is often the way with any form of creative therapy - it has also helped to keep my old enemy Depression at bay for years.

Clouds have played no small part in making me the person I am today, and hopefully i may even pass some of this on by way of a posthumous consciousness in time and space, to be touched upon by any who may care to remember words I have spoken or written long after this life has had its way with me. For sure, there have been people in my life, long dead, who have remained a 'live' influence on and within my own consciousness, in a very positive way, and always will.  

GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY

I’ve seen ghost riders

chasing sandmen into storm clouds,

and leaves fly

I’ve seen ghost riders

throw a sandman into a dark place,

and trees cry

I’ve seen ghost riders

pluck such as I from fragile shelters,

and no one care

I've seen ghost riders

playing cat and mouse with humanity

(winner takes all)

Ghost riders, goading 

others like me into this sorry world’s

worst nightmares

I’ve let ghost riders

drag me from my armchair, re-awaken

my consciousness

I’ve let ghost riders

rescue me from assault by prime time

TV advertising

I’ve let ghost riders

force me to face my more fragile selves

head-on

I've let ghost riders

leave me trailing behind, and found a way

back to real time

One by one, ghost riders

but a dust cloud, no trace even of a history

(except in me)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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

Last Orders OR A Fond Farewell

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2015.

Now, coronavirus restrictions are driving me up the proverbial wall and, yes, look likely to do so for some time; even as restrictions are relaxed, nothing will (ever?) be quite the same again. At least I have had time to get used to that proverbial wall in the sense that hormone therapy (for my prostate cancer)  has been driving me up it since 2012.  I have arthritis to deal with as well, in my left foot where I fractured the ankle after a bad fall in 2011 and also in my neck. I manage both okay(ish) but it ain't easy in your 70's (I will be 75 later this year) or at any age.

The hormone therapy not only makes me want to pee a lot day (and night) but also affects my memory and, latterly, my whole personality in the sense that I make mountains out of molehills where I used to things in my stride. The blogs help. As well as enjoying the company of readers from 70+ different countries, writing them acts as a form of creative therapy that encourages my old self to stay alive and kicking. I did get upset when a reader contacted me to say he had seen my gay-interest blog called 'sick' on social media, but not for long; it takes all sorts to make a world, warts 'n' all. Being gay is as much a part of me as being human while being human makes me as free a spirit as anyone; in my case, it  also makes me a poet with a responsibility, as I see it, to draw on nature and human nature in all its shapes and forms.. I rest my case...

Time is precious; past, present and future. One day, (hopefully not for a good while yet) the Grim Reaper will pay a visit, and my blogs will eventually disappear from the Internet.  Now, the blogs are the only record of my revised poems as well as many others that have not been published and are not included in my collections. I therefore intend, over a period of time, to publish revised editions of all my print novels and poetry collections in e-format so ...watch this space.

Meanwhile...

During my short time in Australia some years ago I met an elderly aborigine who attempted to explain the aboriginal concept of 'Dreaming'. In short, the Dreaming expresses a timeless concept of moving from ‘dream’ to reality which in itself is an act of creation and the basis of many Aboriginal creation myths. (It is significant that none of the hundreds of Aboriginal languages contain a word for time.) I cannot begin to express much of that myself, and would not presume to try. Even so, it is a concept I suspect any poet can easily relate to, especially one who firmly believes in a posthumous consciousness in the sense of spiritual 'presence (or ghosts) as I do.

Of all the love poems I have written, this has to be one of my favourites. A sudden need to revise the original as it appears in my collection was like a cry from the heart, reminiscent of Cathy's ghost calling to Heathcliff in Emily Bronte's classic novel, 'Wuthering Heights'. [Oh, yes, in case you hadn't guessed, I am, among other things, an incurable romantic, always have been, and make no apologies for it.]

LAST ORDERS or A FOND FAREWELL

May the last ‘live’ art I see,

be a lark dropping from the sky,

my last breath but endorsing

its love song, life force of nature

and human nature

May the last my senses inhale

be a heady fragrance of flowers,

my last dream, awake-asleep,  

recreating a collage that’s our life

in picture poems

May the last thing I ever feel

be the sensual touch of your skin,

the last of Earth we ever share

our toasting love in its finest wine,

sealed with a kiss

As the good earth calls ‘Time’

on all its children sooner or later,

so shall its ghosts call its bluff,

addressing the human spirit’s remit

for immortality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem this poem was first published under the title 'Last Orders' in an anthology, A Ray of Light, Poetry Now, (Forward Press)1999 and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Love, Testament to Life OR Au Revoir, Mon Amour

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

There will be no blog entries for a week or so after today while I make time to start preparing a new collection; it is now ten years since Tracking the Torchbearer appeared under my own imprint. (Oh, and, yes, they did sell well and I even made a profit albeit a small one.) I also need to start work on new editions of earlier collections as a number of poems have since been revised, often only slightly, but always significantly. Only one (U.S.) publisher has expressed any interest so far, but messed me about so much that I withdrew my submission; others did not want to include gay-interest as well as general poems, and I will not compromise on this. Being gay is an integral part of who I am, but it is only a part, and we are all the sum of our parts. I may not publish  print editions again, though, but upload as e-books, but time enough to cross that bridge as and when I come to it. Hopefully, some of you will enjoy exploring the blog archives in my absence.

I will try and post a new (or revised) poem from time to time, although, like so many people around the world - not least those of us who live alone - I have to confess to lockdown fatigue at the moment. As I suspect I had the milder version of Covid-19 back in early January, and count myself fortunate, everything I do still seems to be taking much longer.

Take care, folks, and many thanks - as always - for the pleasure of your company.

Meanwhile ...

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016. At the time, a reader who had been browsing blog entries and emailed to ask why on earth I should think anyone reading a general poetry blog would be interested in a gay relationship. Fair enough, except that poetry is about human nature as well as the natural world; most of my gay-interest poems only appear on my gay-interest blog, but I happen to think the occasional entry here is not as inappropriate as ttis reader plainly thinks. Like it or not, there are many LGBT men and women in the world, and we are no less human (or naturally so) for that. Why must so many people rush to judgement on others, a judgement often based on shallow stereotypes? Being gay is an important part of a gay persons' whole identity, but it is only a part; what about those other parts that make us who we are?As for why I publish the poem here, I guess I live in hope that stereotypical and bigoted attitudes will eventually bee seen as fake news; there are many gay-friendly straight people out there who don't have a problem with a person's sexuality because it is the whole person they are happy to call a friend. Besides, there is nothing wrong or unusual (or immoral) about the ages-old principle of agreeing to differ ... is there?

Regular readers will know that my partner was killed in a road accident many years ago. He was not my only love, but the only person with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life, no reservations whatsoever. Sadly, we did not have long together, but his love has inspired me (and my poetry) ever since.

Now, there is nothing romantic about death, but neither is death any match for love.

I will be 75 years old this year. For me, it has never been so much the case that that time heals as that any brush with mortality makes life all the more precious while the pain of loss serves to remind us that we are, indeed, very much alive. It is a philosophy that has also served me well since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February, 2011. 

"Why should I fear death? If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?" - Epicurus 

LOVE, TESTAMENT TO LIFE or AU REVOIR, MON AMOUR

I have kissed Death on the cheek as it slept,

let a flow of memories course my veins

while Hope, past a grieving heart, it crept,

ghost rider tugging gently at the reins

I have kissed Death on the lips as it rested

where nature's tides may flow no more

but neither its finer spirit’s growth arrested;

songs of love and peace, no talk of war

Life called out my name as I would leave,

its firm, kind, touch wiping away a tear,

prising my fingers but gently from its sleeve,

for conceiving its eternal watchtower ...

Fear not as Death calls, or where it takes us; 

be sure of waking among Memory's flowers

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2007; 2020 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in my collection, Accomplices to Illusion, Assembly Books, 2007; this post also appears on my gay-interest blog today..]

Ode to the Fallen OR Engaging with a Dead Tree Trunk

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

This poem has appeared on the blog before, some years ago. As regular readers will know, I have a You Tube channel that is as much about my friend Graham’s videos as my poetry. Many a time, I have felt inspired to write a poem to try and do the video justice and vice versa. We hope you will enjoy what has been a team effort from the start:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

I read today's poem over one of the videos there. Graham shot the video while visiting family in Wiltshire, and I love it. I played it back several times, and then just had to sit down and write a nature-cum philosophical poem to accompany it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W37DVIo3pJM

Many years ago, I confided in my mother that I was afraid of dying. Later that day we went for a walk in the countryside and she pointed to a dead tree trunk; we watched a variety of insects, birds, mosses growing and a colony of ants all building their lives around this 'dead' thing. You see," said my mother, "there is no death without life so there is really nothing to be afraid of...whether you believe in God or not," she added, knowing full well that I did not share her religious beliefs. (I had chosen to take a growing sense of spirituality from nature even at the young age of eleven). "Life and death," she said before changing the subject, "are simply different sides of the same coin."

My mother died of cancer 40+ years ago, and I still take great comfort in recalling the day we paused to observe a dead tree trunk and nature's living memorial to it...

ODE TO THE FALLEN or ENGAGING WITH A DEAD TREE TRUNK

Fallen, but not forgotten,

by its own kind,

sure to keep a vigil of sorts

the whole year round

Fallen, but never alone

among its kind

proudly waiting for their turn

to come around

Fallen, by whose hand

no one knows;

some say an axe man, others

blame the wind

Fallen into glorious decay,

like autumn leaves;

nurturing, inspiring greener

memories

If dead, not left without a care

by an Earth Mother   

demanding nothing of Time

but its signature

Once, a living icon for a world

of love and peace;

a cue for ants to keep running

rings around us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2020

M-E-M-O-R-Y, Mind Games OR Tell-Tale Diary

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

Who are we? What are we? Where are we at in life’s journey, and how long may we stay? Where next, and what will we find around the next corner? More of the same, perhaps, or better, worse…? 

Whatever, we can but continue trying to work through and  make sense of those parts of us that make up the human condition; in so doing, shape and reshape ourselves and each other, hopefully for the better.

M-E-M-O-RY, MIND GAMES or TELL-TALE DIARY

Names, names, more names...
rushing the mind
like commuters boarding a train

Faces, faces, younger and older,
collage of the heart,
prize pictures in an exhibition

Places, places, and more places,
focusing the inner eye;
home movies at a birthday party

Good days, bad days, and so-so
ganging up on us
in a well-meaning consciousness

Regret, regrets, and more regrets,
like grains of sand
measuring us out in an hour glass

Mind-body-spirit, and all it takes,
for getting the better
of our worst fears, come what may

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Leftovers OR Food for Thought

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

Most critics agree that the poetry of Robert Browning is influenced by the devout Christian views of his mother and wife. I often wonder, though, if he ever regretted penning the lines, 'God’s in His Heaven/ All’s right with the world.'For me, they convey naive if not misleading approach to life and God, but in the context of Pippa Passes (in which play-poem they appear) a wry irony is also present. 

Now and then devout Christian and other religious fundamentalist readers get in touch to berate me for attacking their religion. I never attack any religion. What I attack is a tunnel-minded if not naïve view of life and God, invariably based on either misinterpreting passages in various Holy Books or taking them out of context (which amounts to much the same thing) and using them to justify shutting out just about everything and everyone else.

Religion is meant to be about love and peace. In reality, there is too much divisiveness,not to mention  one-upmanship between the world religions and within themselves, ensuring that world
 peace will always be up against it.  Let’s face it. The absence of a world war doesn’t mean we are at peace. Take Iraq, Afghanistan, the Middle East…and local conflicts worldwide. And that’s just the fighting. Whatever happened to peace of mind?

I often  refer, on the blogs and elsewhere, to those people I have met in the course of my life whose humanity is every bit as important as their religion. Sadly, it has been my experience that such people are a rare if not a dying breed, which is why I rejected religion and turned to nature even as a child. As I grew older, I saw no reason to change my mind. Meanwhile, nature feeds my mind and imagination; it also gives me a sense of spirituality and peace I never found in religion. Nor does it have anything to do with my sexuality, but simply the kind of person I am.  Besides, I hate tunnels. A teacher at my old school once described history as "a tunnel through which we travel towards the light we call learning." Maybe, although I suspect there are more takes on what ‘learning’ comprises than fish in the sea. Apply the same metaphor to religion and the light would be what some call Faith, God, Heaven or whatever. Oh, but how many takes on that…?

I dare say we all experience more than our fair share of tunnels, yet Life is an open road. Yes, even as we struggle to head off the  COVID-19 pandemic. Religion, too, is an open road for those to whom it means so much, as it did to a very dear mentor of mine, the same who once told me that we all need to at least try to keep an open mind and open heart or we are betraying our common humanity; by default, any religion that, in practise, denies this may well be said to be betraying its very origins.

A university tutor of mine once paraphrased the late American humorist, Evan Esar, with the comment "All things in life may well come to those who wait, but they are mostly leftovers from those for whom it wouldn't."

LEFTOVERS

“Come with us, we leftover ghosts

of all seasons past and enjoy the feast

that lasts forever, no fear of hearing

cries of hungry men and women again

or whimpering skeletons of children 

promised mortality is humanity's road 

to Heaven, discovering differently

"Come with us, we leftover ghosts

of seasons past, "and toast the peace

that lasts forever, never fear to hear

the groans of warring men and women

or whimpering children left to pray,

assured the price for war is paid in pain,

all things under the sun God-given ..."

"Come with us, we leftover ghosts

of seasons past, "and let’s play the jest

that lasts forever on any ignoring 

the groans of brave men and women

trying to save the planet’s children,

keep its trees and flowers fairest colours,

feed refugees, let asylum seekers in ..."

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2009

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 'Tracking the Torchbearer by R N Taber, Assembly Books, 2012; the original quote by Esar is "All  things come to him who waits, but they are mostly leftovers from those who didn't wait."

L-I-F-E, Seasons in Time and (Personal) Space

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

A reader writes, how can you write poetry when the world is being devastated and left bereft by COVID-19? I am not sure if this is meant as criticism or compliment so will take it as both. Well, it 

isn’t easy, even at the best of times, to compose a poem that attempts to strike a balance between a celebration of nature and human nature while also acknowledging their flaws. 

Given that the Here-and-Now in the shape of COVID-19 is probably among the worst of times ever for many of us, the task has felt all but Herculean; it has taken several days of writing and rewriting to arrive at the poem below. Hopefully, most readers will get a sense of the spirit of optimism in which it was written, but as we all know, you can please some of the people some of the time but never all the people all the time …

Whatever, fingers crossed …

Another reader comments, “… it feels like we are heading for Armageddon.”  Well, I take his or her point, but beg to differ. I have had my fair share of ups and downs in life, and if the experience has taught me nothing else, it has shown me the power of positive thinking.

Never underestimate the human spirit, neither its natural resourcefulness nor its compassion; we may well find ourselves at the edge of some transcendental abyss from time to time, but the human spirit will always lend us the strength to resist diving into it if we can but touch base. Never easy, and sometimes we fail; it has worked, for me - albeit more subconsciously than consciously - more than once, but especially when I had a bad nervous breakdown in my early 30’s and attempted suicide.  (I will be 75 later this year.)

To date, I know of only one friend who has died of a COVID-19 related illness; we played together as children, lost touch for years and found each other again online a few years ago. Every death is a tragedy for family and friends left behind.  At the same time, I am reminded of something a teacher at my old school back in the 1950’s told the class: “Love and friendship never dies, not only for remaining a part of us all our lives, but also for that part of them in us being passed on in ways and to people we may never know … and so it goes on. A university lecturer would later refer to it as a posthumous consciousness to which, as regular readers will know, I often make reference in my blogs and poems.

Remembrance is no compensation for loss, but I have always found it a great comfort to sense that no one’s life has ever been in vain since we all make a positive contribution even if we don’t always realise it. [Some readers may get a greater sense of my mindset here from my reading of my poem,  ‘The Enchanted Wood’ @  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGCv54LM4yo ]

I am not a religious person, and consider myself a pantheist. Nor do I believe that religion has a monopoly on spirituality. In the sense that I try to give the human spirit a voice in my poems, hopefully they express something of the spirituality with which I invariably engage as I write them.

Wishing you all love and peace, whoever and wherever you are in the world,

Hugs,

Roger

L-I-F-E, SEASONS IN TIME AND (PERSONAL) SPACE

Spring arrives, offering all nature

and human nature a time to nurture

and flower, making such promises

as it craves will see our lives spread joy

on our graves

Summer comes, offering all nature

and human nature a time to give senses

their head, deck humanity with love

and peace, see any living nemeses left

for dead

Autumn comes, reworking all nature

by winds and rain enough to blow away

its debris, imploring mind-body-spirit

remain free before winter dares impose

captivity

Winter comes, nature, so eerily quiet

but for redbreast, forever making the best

of the worst, coaxing the human heart

into the Spirit of Stoicism, living metaphor

for its heroism 

Nature and human nature, deserving

a time to come, go, rest, and come again

in light and dark, each in its turn,

a measure of life and death, come ultimate

Harvest Home

Copyright R N. Taber, 2020

[Note: As requested by several readers, this poem will appear in my next collection 'Addressing the Art of Being Human' that I am working on now.]

Engaging with Mortality

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

We all complain about the quality of our lives from time to time, some more often than others. It can take a tragedy like the COVID-19 virus to put things into perspective.

Life is for living. Everyone has his or her own perspective on life. We all want different things and that’s how it should be. [Thank goodness we are not a race of clones…yet] Nor should we let some well-meaning person try and live a secondhand life  through us as some parents are inclined to do and are quick to show disappointment if we fail to oblige,

Sometimes, it can take a tragedy to make us realise we should never (as we are sometimes inclined) take anything or anyone for granted. Our ambitions, aspirations, dreams…Yes, these are are ours and ours alone, yet worth so much more with the willing participation and active encouragement of those we care about; even so, not everyone will understand, and it’s down to us to make what we can of it all. So... let’s get on with it, and give it our best shot while we still can.

Now, we can't all be great philosophers, artists poets...but the mere fact that we are human equips us with strengths (and weaknesses) of mind-body-spirit able to pass on at least something of all that to future generations; they may not recall or even be aware of its source in whomsoever, but the sum of its effects on the sum of all those affected comprises a living organism that is who we are, not just who we were though we be dead for decades.

ENGAGING WITH MORTALITY

I observed someone dying

in a busy street.

passers-by looking on,

a Samaritan

working on the heart,

body barely stirring under

beneath a makeshift blanket,

heavens (as if on cue) already

configuring a Plan B

Blue eyes on a cloud

as white as snow,

wondering why the crowd

won’t let go,

wishing it would, yet afraid

it might, and what then

for the poor cloud but to drift

Heaven knows where, lost cause,

no Plan B

Can there really be a place

called Heaven

that will take us in, make pain

go away, humanity

come to its senses, human spirit

letting the world in

instead of blaming the Dodo

for its shortcomings and arguing

for a Plan B?

Parents say this, teachers

say that, while hymns and prayers

are sweet on the ear

but fail to ever make clear

just how affairs of mind-body-spirit

needs must prepare

for a time when even a Dodo

needs must concede to its betters

a Plan B

Snowy cloud called Death

moving on in an ambulance, sirens

shrieking, crowd dispersing,

no one chancing knowing glances

penetrating their defences,

better things to do than engage

with mortality and Dodos...

Besides, come what may, tomorrow

is a Plan B

The sun came out to light up

our world, lusty shouts and smells

from a nearby market

leaving any odour of mortality spent,

calling me back

to lively times with loved ones,

busy chasing dreams,

while saving any cleric-led Heaven

for a Plan B

Now I look to weepy heavens,

and feel humbled so by their tears

on a street tragedy bringing

a lasting epiphany of the kind

any of us can understand,

the better to make the most of life, love,

and nature, each in his or her

own way and good time, assured

of a Plan B

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'An Accidental Life' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

You-Me-Us Revisited

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

Regular readers will know that, while I do not subscribe to any religion, but choose to believe in Earth Mother, I have no problem as such with any religion, providing that it demonstrates humanitarian principles towards Man and Beast.

In the course of my 74 years, I have asked more than one cleric of more than one faith what their religion has against gay people. Do they really believe, I ask, that any God advocating peace and love could possibly be homophobic?

Christians invariably quote Leviticus, regardless of the fact that it is Old Testament and the New Testament all but makes that redundant. The God of whom Jesus of Nazareth preaches is a God of love, a far cry from the vengeful figure of the Old Testament invoking more fear than love. Sadly, the former message seems to linger on around the world. Many a cleric I have spoken to has been inclined to use God as a threat; i.e. Believe or go to Hell.

I once put it to a cleric that no LGBT person should not feel alienated from any religious path in spite of the likes of a certain Archbishop of Canterbury saying he has no problem with gay people, even gay clergy, so long as they do not practise sex. (For my part, I suggest that is tantamount to saying you can lead a horse to water so long as you don’t let it drink.) 

"How can you be sure,” I insisted, “…that God is not too well disposed towards LGBT people?"


“Ah, but of what can any of us be sure,” the cleric responded obliquely, “… but better to err on the side of caution, surely?”

 I am reminded of a quote by Bertrand Russell: ‘Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.’

If subscribing to whatever religion makes a person happy, he or she should never let their sexuality undermine either faith or happiness. instead, embrace both, whatever  socio-cultural-religious ethos we subscribe to...surely?

YOU-ME-US REVISITED

I’m walking through the seasons

of my life, with you,

summer, autumn, winter and spring,

no matter what the weather,

come rain, come shine, come mists;

you-me-us, past-present-future

I’m walking through the time lines

of my life with you

by day and night, by night and day,

no matter love and loss,

come tears of joy, come tears of pain

mind-body-spirit, you-me-us,

I’m talking through the raison d’être

of my life with you,

all sociology, politics and religion

expounding views

hell bent, like as not, on compounding

its stereotypes and fake news

I’m talking through the ups and downs

of my life with you,

confidante, counsellor and a best mate,

closer even to alter ego

than either its history or contemporaneity

in shaping its persona so

I’m always savouring, the better things

in my life with you,

taking heart from the poetry of all nature

and human nature

for its working, reworking and sustaining

you-me-us, past-present-future

I’m always  trying to live by principles

of my life with you,

taking each day as it comes, though dark

or sunny skies;

your passing, my every pulse and heartbeat

mind-body-spirit, you-me-us

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019

Catching Up with Raison d'être

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

The new year has not begun well for me, not least for having to rise above the stress of mislaying my debit card last week, having to rally my thought processes to report it missing (online) and then grapple with various aspects of acquiring a replacement; all tasks I would have taken in my stride even in my 60’s, but for which my 70’s resisted even acknowledging the necessity. My delight at receiving and registering a new card, was somewhat dampened - to say the least - by discovering my old card this morning… in the lining of my wallet where it had slipped through an invisible hole. I was furious with myself, having searched high and low for the damn thing. A glass of red wine helped calm me; so much for promising myself a dry January…

On Friday, I will have a PSA test prior to seeing my prostate cancer consultant next week.  Regular readers will know that I have been treated with hormone therapy since 2011 when the cancer was   first diagnosed. If it isn’t the cancer taking its toll on me, it’s the hormone therapy although I dare say growing old plays its part. At the same time, I am having to get used to wearing compression stockings following my being successfully treated for a nasty venous ulcer last year.

Regular readers will also know that I am a great believer in trying to look on the bright side of life no matter what it throws at us, and I do, I DO; never easy, but always worth the effort (which in my case, invariably involves writing a poem) if only because the alternative is unthinkable.

CATCHING UP WITH RAISON D'ÊTRE 

We catch up,

with each other time and again,

go for long walks

in sunshine, snow and rain,

hand in hand

as close friends do, yet neither friend

am I to you nor enemy,

we pair comprising but one mind-body-spirit

anxious to break free

Born to take life,

in our stride little or nothing to hide

through formative years,

though vaguely aware of innocence

doing battle

with articulation, keeping our thoughts

from getting too close

to home truths, shadows increasingly taking on

an air of being human

Time passes,

dreams, daydreams infiltrating reality,

compromising us

at every turn, mind-body spirit

resisting its dark side,

yet still they persist, those shadowy figures

with human voices,

making excuses for writing off abuses of privilege

as but rites of passage

Come, mind-body-spirit

learning to see without always needing to rely

on the human eye,

hear the tick-tock of the human clock

as time passes,

inhale the perfumes of nature, dismiss bad smells

as par for the course

for better, for worse, day or night, trust Earth Mother

to see us right

So what is ‘seeing us right’

supposed to mean? No more or less than each

to his or her own...

Some will argue we get our just deserts

in any after-life,

while others depend on religion to secure their place

in a Heaven of sorts;

for most, no matter when or how we take leave of Earth,

there is only death

At journey's end, more questions, 

anxious to distinguish an enemy from a friend,

easier said than done

for anyone whose self-awareness

succours the human spirit, 

even while feeding 

on flaws as sure to spit us out 

behind closed doors as expose any shadowy life forms

for who’s who

Yet, no living thing dies

if only because Memory will always care for its own,

nurturing any seeds

we’ve knowingly or unknowingly sown

that may well, in turn,

have touched the lives of loved ones and strangers alike,

our spirit joining theirs

in rising above much the same fears, wiping a world’s tears

for love and peace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

No Match for Love

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

Regular readers will know that I wholeheartedly support assisted suicide when it is clearly what a person wants and there is no hidden agenda on the part of any third party. Oh, and why not; we put down animals in distress so why persist in treating human beings less humanely? Yes, there are religious arguments concerning the sanctity of human life, and I respect these, but why should anyone who subscribes to no religion be likewise bound by them? In some countries, Assisted Dying is legal, but why should anyone have to leave country and friends, let alone have to pay for the 'privilege' of dying on their own terms? So far, I can live with the fact that my quality of life has been much undermined by my prostate cancer; once the cancer becomes aggressive or my quality of life all but beyond endurance...I would prefer a say in dying that does not necessitate the the pain of  leaving not only loved ones, but my country too. Oh, and why not...?

People may argue the sanctity of human life, but what of the quality of human life? We have no say in our being born, we all deserve a say in when and how we die as and when the occasion arises. Whose life is it, anyway? 

Yes, we may (or may not) be much missed by some, but every life touches  others more than it can ever know, and whomsoever it has touched for the good, there thrives the art and poetry of Memory to nurture our posthumous consciousness, playing an active part in lending lives and human spirits  the timelessness we call eternity.

NO MATCH FOR LOVE

I try the patience

of all those who can relate to me

but cannot call me

friend since we do not empathise

with one another;

yet neither am I an enemy,

the likes of which

would see the kinder mind-body-spirit

go into free fall

To the human spirit,

I throw the challenge of a lifetime,

daring it to use me

as it will – go with my flow, turn

the tables on

any open contempt I so love

to put down

by recording its final shouts and screams

that all may listen in

No defeatist, I pursue

friend and enemy alike, inflict on them

ways of seeing

and feeling beyond all imagination,

regardless of race,

religion or gender identity,

no attempt to please,

but bring humanity to its knees, homing in

on its finer flaws

I am Pain, would triumph over all humankind

but for its capacity for love upstaging me

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Alternatives

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

I am often asked why I subscribe to no religion and how, as a poet, I can live with no sense of spirituality. Well, I relate most closely to pantheism - more of a philosophy than a religion - and take a strong sense of spirituality from nature. Yes, I dispute any religion's claim to have a monopoly on spirituality, the human spirit being a combination of mind-body-spirit drawing on nature and the kinder side off human nature for inspiration and, yes, a sense of spiritual well-being.

While I respect other religions, I often feel let down and ill-judged by those same religions that profess to have their roots in the principles of peace and love but are disinclined to apply either to anyone who cannot enter into the religious beliefs in which those principles operate. Yet, are we not all part of a common humanity, deserving better than to be judged on how far we can see eye to eye with one another on life and love?

Many religious people DO take people as they find them and DON'T presume to judge them according to their own  religious beliefs, and they are a credit to humanity, although it has been my personal experience, in all my 74 years, that they are in a minority,

As I have asked many times in blog posts /poems...whatever happened to agreeing to differ?

ALTERNATIVES

I looked for God in heaven

but did not find Him there,

looked again, in sun and rain

for Earth Mother

Some say it’s, oh, so pagan,

as bad as being gay;

I just see myself as someone  

looking nature’s way

God is many things to many,

interpreting His conditions

for the good of all humanity

according to its religions

The sun rises, sets, rises again,

and no one take issue

nor that moon and stars shine

or songbirds sleep as we do

Let nature sue for harmony,

hear our confessions,

and we feed less on acrimony

spread by world religions

To wake, sleep and wake again

may or may not imply rebirth

and, yes, each to his or her own

but we share a common earth

Who looks for God in heaven

and does not find Him there

has but to look in sun and rain

for Earth Mother

See, too, nature assert its power

where humankind gone too far

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012