A Life in the Day of Mind-body-Spirit

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“Make the most of your regrets; Never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it ’til it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

“Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself.” – Gabriel García Márquez  

“Look closely and you will see almost everyone carrying bags of cement on their shoulders. That’s why it takes courage to get out of bed in the morning and climb into the day.” ~ Edward Hirsch

“Happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste.” – Charlotte Bronte

Now, as each day passes, my 77th birthday looming (in December) I am often hard pressed to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. I so miss being young, fit, able to make plans and feel confident that I will be well enough to not only carry them through, but also enjoy and learn from them. I miss having friends around for cosy chats and a laugh; many have moved away now and mobility problems make travelling difficult.

Ah, corny though it may sound, the human spirit really can keep us young at heart and soul, if only we will let it, Rarely (if ever) easy. We can but try, even if, as life itself invariably proves, it’s a case of ‘win some, lose some…’

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

There are times in any life
when the flesh is weak, but the spirit
remains as strong as ever,
whatever its reasons or seasons,
be it a spring, summer, 
autumn or winter of mind-body-spirit;
it perseveres, encouraged
by a heart-and-soul, wiser beyond its years
to sources of human tears

There are times in any life
when waking after a poor night’s sleep 
leaves the body too weary
to even raise a smile at dawn’s rising
above early mist and cloud,
trying to force its way to half-open eyes 
and ears, through drapes 
at windows obscuring Everyman’s perception
of life, love, regeneration…

Finally, though, mind and body
takes its cue from what lends it sense,
sensibility and stability,
from birth to death, whatever in-between
may lie in wait, ready to pounce
and test us to limits sure to weigh heavy
on any host body, 
all the love attending it beseeching its survival
of Humanity’s heart-and soul

Alas, not every ear that hears
can comply with every caller’s bidding;
no call, though, is ever in vain,
no matter of the human outcome be loss,
and pain, in whatever form;
living, partly living, or stored in Memory’s
vault of eternal springtime,
there remain such ways for all selves to choose,
every which way, then…loose?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Smiling Through

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“There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.” - Leonard Cohen

“ What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity.”- George Eliot

“You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Now, as regular readers will know, I have been treated with hormone therapy for my prostate cancer over a period of a good ten years now; one of the side-effects can be - as it is so for me - regular depression and/or a rising sense of panic whenever even small things go wrong. 

I suspect it may seem worse for older people like myself who live alone, which is maybe why we appreciate acts of kindness so much, as it helps (considerably) to alleviate these symptoms; someone able to pare just a few minutes to talk to you and help calm you down can make all the difference.

Since the pandemic, everyone has been under stress. Here in London, acts of kindness are noticeably in far shorter supply than they were previously. For example, fewer people are willing to pause to help ole Rog when clearly in difficulty or offer a seat on a crowded bus or train, so I have to stand, leaning on my walking stick for support. 

 Whenever anyone does offer me their seat, I thank them, throw them a huge smile, and the light in their eyes suggests it is as much welcome to them as their offer of a seat is to me.

As in many old sayings, there is much truth in the one about kindness bringing its own reward. 

Hopefully, we have seen the worst of Covid-19 and its variants, although there remain hard times ahead as the financial crisis finds so many people struggling to make ends meet.

All any of us can do is keep looking on the brighter, lighter side of life and take comfort in the knowledge that there is always light at the end of even the longest tunnel.

No, never easy, but... we have a choice?

SMILING THROUGH

This heart grew heavy,
loaded down with sadness, a sense
of feeling adrift,
barely keeping afloat for sailing
stormy waters,
struggling to make sense of a life
searching heart-and soul
for that familiar surge of a lively inspiration,
now gone quiet, all but a vacuum

Mind-body-spirit
struggling to rise above such despair
as strikes fear
in the hearts of those of us anxious
to make sense
of a You-Me-Us simply drifting along
having all but lost sight
of who we are any more, not as once we were,
birds of a feather, so happy together

Lately, even the smiles 
on our faces tell lies, trying to disguise
a You-Me-Us fallen apart
over tard times without our noticing,
taking us for granted,
failing to see how we rarely any more
as once we would
fondly reminisce about how we met, fell in love,
caught up in the magic of stars above

So… it came to pass,
we agreed a trial separation some time
to think us through,
search the remains of who we once were,
try  and see our way clear
to bring You-Me-Us together again, fill 
the Black Hole
we'd dug ourselves, a lonely, grieving while apart,.
anxious to reconcile mind-body-spirit

Yes, we courted anew, years falling away, tears too,
a shared heart-and-soul smiling through...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

A Feeling for Spring

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“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” - Mark Twain

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” - Martin Luther King Jr.

“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.” - Harriet Beecher Stowe 

“For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.”- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Reader A. D. asks why I am “… so preoccupied with inter-communication between people, so-called ‘agreeing to differ’ and engaging in discussion even about personal issues where there are clearly radical differences of opinion. “Better for everyone, surely,” he or she suggests, “to let sleeping dogs lie?”  Well, we must, indeed, agree to differ, say so and shake on it. In my experience many if not most such 'sleeping dogs' are badly in need of a wake-up call; being left to sleep on,  thereby likely to inflict such damage on human relationships as not easily mended.

One of the greater tragedies of human nature is the inability or reluctance of many people to confront those against whom they may hold a grudge, invariably for fear of having to endure a bitter exchange of insults, commonly referred to as ‘home truths'.

Both parties are usually to blame, to some extent for broken relationships, but it takes only one to make a start on a healing process.  Many of us, including yours truly, have no idea how to make a start, whether it be with a family member, friend or neighbour, often for fear of being accused of simply making excuses for what has been perceived as unforgivable behaviour, but may well have been a misunderstanding due to circumstances left unshared. 

The longer any misunderstanding or genuine excuse remains silent, refusing to engage in any healing process, the longer any grudge will fester, mind-body-spirit, turning a deaf ear to whatever heart-and-soul is constantly mulling, even grieving over.

True, some broken relationships cannot be mended, but not for want of trying. Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all, though, surely? The problem remains, though, that some well-meaning efforts may well be misinterpreted, taking us back to square one. Even so, an aggrieved heart-and-soul may yet find a welcome measure of peace for having dispended with the futility of harbouring grudges.

A FEELING FOR SPRING

I am so much the sweeter taste
and fragrance of life, just for having
shed those darker senses
keeping heart-and-soul from engaging
fully, openly, positively
with a mind -body-spirit struggling
under the growing weight
of  ill-judged expectations or responses
plunging knives into You-Me-Us

Having been given no opportunity
to put my side of things as misunderstood
and left to fester, bad feeling
getting the better of any finer senses 
of fair play, never spoken,
kept hidden in recesses of heart-and-soul
feeding on bitterness,
happiness left to but make the best it can
of the contrariness of being human

I am as that first full kiss or spring,
come to relieve the pain of such wintry days
as we have felt obliged
to endure, no hint of  choice, no voice
for having been unable
to penetrate certain defences, both yours
and mine, now worn down 
by tears for such likely misunderstandings 
as deserving of happier landings

I am Forgiveness, making time for a fresh start,
finally come to flower in the human heart

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Bits and Pieces

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“For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.” -  Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Let us not look back in anger or forward in fear, but around in awareness.” – James Thurber

“Bitterness is kike cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns all clean.” Maya Angelou

“Where once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other, everything seems to widen the breach.” – Mary Elizabeth Braddon

“Nothing is as good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” – William Shakespeare

Now. kith and kin fall out all the time, often the closer for falling back in again. But something and someone has to give, at least try to put bits and pieces back where they belong. Easy enough, when everyone shares the same insight, but insight can become worn, even flawed if left in bits and pieces for too long. 

The old saying goes that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ – but like many old sayings, is little more than wishful thinking, depending on why the absences, whose hearts and just how much it matters to all concerned in terms of peace of mind.  Sometimes we don’t try hard enough to secure the latter, or our efforts are discouraged and/or misinterpreted. 

I guess, there’s more wisdom in old sayings than aspires to meet the eye or move the tongue, such as:  ‘There’s no point in crying over spilt milk,’ – but that, too, depends on where spilt, how much, and are we prepared to wipe it up ourselves of leave it to whom we assume responsible?

No easy answers, but if it’s a question we are asking of ourselves, the chances are we need to put our personal space to rights, one way or another, the sooner the better.

BITS AND PIECES

We parted long ago,
haven’t crossed paths for years,
you, assuming why
I fell so short of expectations,
making assumptions, always safer
than asking questions

Ask not, fear not
any answers that might close in
on certain home truths,
best avoided in case tempted
to look to closely at a you-me-us
left in bits and pieces

Blame me as much 
as you will, but it requires two
to dance a tango,
watching others wondering 
why we don't care to take the floor,
nothing there anymore?

Nothing comes of nothing, nor could,
but for asking why we never did

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Bridges

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As is the case for many, if not most of us, the paths I’ve taken in this life, more often than not with few (if any) alternatives to choose from have led me to the very edge of abyss after abyss. Even so, the choices were mine alone, and, for the most part, I cannot blame anyone but myself for my mistakes. 

From time to time, we may well face various issues over which we have little or no control, for reasons as likely to remain as much a mystery as such life forces themselves, as egg us on with no clear idea as to what or where.

Now, in my 77th year, I look back and, incredibly, can count more good times than bad, more very good times even than very bad, not least for coming into contact with some wonderful people who have helped channel life crisis after life crisis into something better, kinder and enduring.

We never forget bad times, but those of us surviving into old age need to draw on the good times to see us through the various issues we need to manage and rise above in order to keep faith with whatever it is in us that others have deemed worthy of their help and support over the years. Sadly we may lose touch with them, but it is never a case of 'out of sight, out of mind' and they continue to shape our lives for the better.

As for those whom we see - rightly or wrongly - as having failed us, we can hardly blame them for an inner eye that cannot see beyond appearances… well, can we?  Besides, appearances are often not as they seem and can lead to misunderstandings, which is why a frequent theme in my poetry has been the need for communication as a two-way process. Nor should it matter who makes the first move so long as someone does, and the other party or parties see that for what it is and responds in like terms. 

The importance of agreeing to differ rather than let any differences cause ill-feeling and subsequent division and/or estrangement; it is also why I feel unable to subscribe to any world religion and have come to think of myself as a pantheist

Needless to say, perhaps, one of my favourite songs is a recording by The Animals in the mid-1960’s of Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood; I was in my 20th year at the time and it resonates with me now every bit as much as it did then. 

BRIDGES

Life, it can get tough with us,
the more so when no one to share
all the mind’s eye gets to see
though windows on everyday scenery;
good, bad, ugly, and such beauty
as likely to motivate 
mind-body-spirit enough to reap,
nurture and harvest such hope and goodwill
as, in turn, recharges heart-and-soul 

Though the road be long or short,
mind-body spirit remains independent,
to no small degree, of any measure
of time as humanity would impose on it,
recharging its batteries
at every available opportunity arising
from taking each day as it comes,
inner eye invariably messaging personal space,
unhindered by either time or place

Many, the paths, our time is likely
to set us on while inviting us to try out 
many a potential resting place,
fulfilling a need to have us  enter, explore,
be they reeking of life, death,
or such things as much a mystery to us
as any Here-and-now seemingly
demanding atonement, suggesting the onus on us
to absolve any failings in our genes

Ah, but not all generations will hold us 
accountable for whatever life forces lead
mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers
to lose their way in such houses of many rooms
as comprise facts and fictions offering 
potential rest and shelter,
even in the worst of weathers, as we pursue
this path or that, increasingly unsure, as often as not,
whether wiser to go on or stay put

On every journey this life may take us,
whether or not from choice, longer or shorter
than such dreams as egg us on  
to explore its various houses of many rooms, 
the human heart will find ways
to enjoy home comforts and peace of mind
if only for having experienced
the best of humanity, as neither fictions nor mere blips, 
but  shaping our loves and friendships

Where mixed feelings may well confuse, even see us lost, 
invariably, find bridges to be crossed and re-crossed

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

Smoke

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 “It is better to understand little than to misunderstand a lot.” - Anatole France

“We’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.”  - Rudyard Kipling

“In the whole round of human affairs, little is so fatal to peace than misunderstanding.” - Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

Sometimes, we convince ourselves we are on the right track for achieving this or that goal; rightly or wrongly, only one way to find out. Invariably, this means communicating our aims and purpose to others, which, in turn requires bringing into play the process of communication. Sadly, we do not always communicate well, - especially with the written word alone - leaving ourselves wide  open to one of the unkindest life-death forces of all… misunderstanding.

Friends and family, for example, often  disagree . Now, agreeing to differ is one thing, but when certain perspectives on whatever it is people disagree about are distorted by misunderstandings, then any smoke in the eyes needs to be cleared, the fire put out while still manageable. 

More often than not, all it takes is a willingness to try and understand each other and talk things through, the life and breath of real communication, a life force so often killed by those of us unable to see clearly for the smoke of human egocentricities. Well, we can but try, bearing in mind that it takes more than one person to talk things through and someone has to make the first move or... 

Many if not most of us often need some signs of encouragement to make that first move; no encouragement, no positive thinking; another family member or friend lost to that old troublemaker,  Misunderstanding. 

As my mother used to say, when in doubt...don't be afraid to ask - or be quick to take offence at what you might hear, just get stuck in and talk things through.

Sadly, given that misunderstandings invariably give rise to false assumptions, those same assumptions only encourage more smoke... in which any need or desire to ask is inclined to go out of sight, out of mind.

SMOKE 

The voice is clear
so, too, its sounds falling on my ear
even as they become distorted
by other voices in my head raising
doubts, confusing me
for their incompatibility with sounds
I expected to hear, the words
in my ear all but another language to me,
a growing incompatibility

The way is not clear
to make a reply to silences in my ear,
taken me by surprise by smoke
in the eyes where the only fire lit lies
within a heart-and-soul
unable to quite believe what it’s hearing,
questions put to life forces
prompting a need to engage in discussion,
only to change direction 

Having wrestled clear
of doubts, fears and other nightmares,
I continue on my way
as first mapped out by my convictions,
disturbed, but not deterred
by smoke, in other eyes now, failing to see
the alternative reality inspiring
me to go on, in pain for leaving you behind,
unable to read your mind…

Time, barely healing its cuts from our failing
to head off tragedies of misunderstanding

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello from London UK

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Hello,  everyone from a bitterly cold London, UK,

Sorry, no poem again today as I am unwell, although still looking on the bright(er) side of life and hope to be back with a poem soon.

Only a few days ago, we were basking in warm spring sunshine here, but now, the weather witches have magicked up a brief return to a wintry climate. So, it's off with the tee shirts and shorts and on  with the overcoats and central heating again...

Sadly, with rising food and energy costs, many people are having to live with the cold; some families are even having to keep their heating low or off, just to be able to feed themselves while others are increasingly having to make use of food banks. 

Yes, hard to believe in 21st century UK!

Nothing, of course, compares with the everyday misery and suffering endured by the people of Ukraine as Russian troops continue to pursue invasion tactics with merciless intent, tens of thousands  of civilian survivors forced to flee the ruins of their homes and cities. So far, sanctions, by various countries in a shocked and appalled West, seem to be having little effect on Putin, although already making themselves felt on the  everyday lives of ordinary Russian people.

It is awful to think that many Russians believe the misinformation they are fed by a State-controlled media that not only encourages them to support Putin in believing that the war in Ukraine is totally justified, but is also responsible for many young Russians having gone to fight, believing they are  'liberating' Ukraine from some Nazi-like repression.

Yes, hard to believe in a 21st century world.

A friend here in the UK who has a Russian neighbour tells me that she has been disowned by her family in Russia for speaking out against the Russian invasion of Ukraine. In parts of Russia itself, though, some people have access to alternative News reports; there have been a growing number of anti-war protests; protesters are immediately rounded up, arrested, and now face the likely prospect pf long prison sentences.

Yes, hard to believe, even in a 21st century Russia. 

Me, I count my blessings. My health issues are nowhere near as debilitating as those endured my many people around the world, including here in the UK; I can get out and about, albeit slowly, with the aid of my trusty walking stick and have been living with prostate cancer for nearly ten years now, longer than I anticipated when first diagnosed, so... I may not be able to enjoy retirement just as I once imagined, but I remain young at heart and continue to take each day as it comes and try to make the best of them rather than dwell on the worst, just as I did when I was young for real.

Yes, I miss the mutual exchange of love and support between friends and loved ones who have died, but that love and support lives on within us, as a source of inspiration as well as precious memories; we can continue draw on it as much, if not more so, as from the living.. and having known some very inspirational people, from various walks of life, I do just that. 

We all make mistakes, some we can redeem, some we can't, bur we can at least learn from them and not repeat them; where broken relationships are concerned, it takes two to dance that particular tango; it remains on of the greater human tragedies that some just can't... or won't.

Yes, mind-body-spirit has much to be thankful for even during such hard times as history has shown the human race across its history, no exceptions made for a 21st century world population enduring much the same across various landscapes of personal space.

Expect a poem again before too long, folks. Meanwhile, we can but all do our best to nurture a positive thinking mindset if only to feed those hopes and dreams that, in turn, feed a joie de vivre that may well suffer serious injury from time to time, but will, as likely as not be inspired to rise above them,  live to fight and defeat its demons another day...

Yes, such is the poetry and prose of everyday life...in any century.

Take care,  folks, and many thanks, as always, for dropping by,

Hugs,

Roger

For Better, for Worse

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“I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I can’t believe you.”  - Friedrich Nietzsche

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.” – Ernest Hemingway

“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.” – William Blake

It has happened to most if not all of us at some time or another, either as innocent victim or thoughtless perpetrator... a valued trust left in pieces, possibly reparable, given time and mutual understanding, but never quite the same again.

FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE

I take my time
to make friends and allies
with whom to bond
mutually, steadfastly and true
for better or worse,
as nature and human nature
treats us on good
and bad days, those lonely, sad days too,
our world, various shades of blue

I try to give as much
if not more than comes my way,
along such lines
as humanity in its finest hours
offers support
as a matter of course, no waiting
around while close ones
dither on what, whom, even whether to ask,
but instinctively up for whatever task

I will accompany
any friend or loved-one wherever
a last mile may lead us,
as he or she will, I know, do the same
for me, confiding
our hopes and fears for all our years,
whether or not
likely to flower, blossom, bear fruit enough
to sustain, inspire mind-body-spirit

I am Trust, among the strongest life forces of all,
yet, time and again, left in pieces by betrayal... 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Addressing Time and Personal Space

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While out shopping the other day, I overheard someone say, "Growing old is bad enough without having to deal with Covid-19 as well..." I can empathise, especially as I will be 76 in December. Even so, I take the same view as Her Majesty the Queen who, at 95, recently turned down a 'Golden Oldie' award on the grounds that "You're as old as you feel."  Or as young, as the case may well be.

Mind you, I defy anyone to say they never feel their age. Some days...!

Here in the UK we need to put our clocks back an hour before going to bed tonight. Oh, and still on the subject of time...😉

ADDRESSING TIME AND PERSONAL SPACE 

I grow older,
my life is full of ghosts
inclined to taunt
and haunt me with its ebb and flow
of hopes and dreams

I grow older,
needs must find ways
to adapt to changes
progressively haunting, taunting me
with mixed feelings 

I grow old,
looking back in anger, love
and tears for all I am
that’s bent on breaking ties that bind
mind-body-spirit 

Young, once,
a part of me that will always
bask in a kinder
past-present-future that insists I stay
the course...

Younger, once,
on a learning curve that’s taught me
to keep looking
on the bright(er) side of life, whatever
it throws at me 

Younger, once,
discovering the art of letting laughter
get the better of tears,
happy talk giving alter ego more time
to swim than sink 

I grow older,
memory bent on playing tricks on me
while imagination
conjures up a positive thinking mindset
that’s ageless 

I grow older... so?
If youth and old age are but seasons
of life, let’s engage
more with rainbows than rain, roses
than snowdrops? 

Time, having us run
its gauntlet, reasoning not the need;
Earth Mother,
taking me to heart who has given it
my best shot 

Me? I am humankind,
evolving in personae after personae
as its 'live 'poetry
reaps the harvest of such memories
as it can bear 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

A long Walk by the Sea

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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.]

 

Points of View

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Rising above a deteriorating quality of life these days, mostly due to various health issues, I am rarely in the mood to reply to emails unless they are from friends and/or about poetry or such passions as also provide mind-body spirit with creative therapy as well as a healthy emotional diet.  However, someone who signs themselves ’an elderly male reader’ has expressed despair at being “...unable, for various reasons, to make love to my partner of nearly thirty years.” and worries that the partner “... is already  looking elsewhere, and I will be left alone...”

I am in no position to advise as I have been without a partner for the best part of a lifetime, but I have been in love and I strongly suspect that this reader has nothing to fear. It is important, though, that he and his partner talk about this. Too many of us fail to discuss our more intimate concerns with loved ones; either we are embarrassed and/ or fear the possible outcome. Whatever, it is always better to know than just suspect; the latter can only loose all manner of demons upon us, not the least being jealousy.

As regular readers will know, years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has left me with no appetite for sex in any form; even porn mags don’t turn me on. At first, it left me feeling emotionally inadequate, and I missed the sheer pleasure of lovemaking. Now, though, I take pleasure even more pleasure in such simple delights as meeting up and putting the world to rights (as if!) with friends and/or visiting places I love, whether for real or in my imagination.  

While I don’t miss sex anymore, I can appreciate that it's not the same for everyone, nor do all men of a certain age lose either their appetite for sex or their ability/ inclination to perform. Even so, the expression ‘making love’ is something of a misnomer, to say the least; love is not made, it is created between soulmates who are mutually inspired by letting it grow and mature. 

There is great pleasure to be taken from sex between partners who are physically attracted to one another, and nothing wrong with it at all, but whether or not they fall in love, that is something else altogether.

A heart-to-heart between this reader and his partner will establish the emotional paths both need to take; should the partner need to continue satisfying his or her sexual appetite the reader should try not  see this as a poor reflection on their love for one another. Easier said than done, I agree, but life is rarely easy in every way. Such are the ways of love that they, too, are no less inclined to test mind-body-spirit from time to time, trusting it to pass with flying colours... or not, as the case maybe.

POINTS OF VIEW

At open windows by the sea,
listening to waves telling and retelling
stirring tales of derring-do,
discovery and exploration, lifting
spirits while breaking hearts
of those left counting days and nights
before any returns on dreams
likely to leave pride in tears, love in pain,
time after time, and time again 

At open windows on cornfields,
leafy woodlands and all manner of bird
and beast sure to nurture
its natural surroundings in the time left
before the human race,
cocksure of ways and means to match
any end-of-world scenarios,
continues to confuse its images of progress
with paths of peace and happiness 

At open windows on the world,
expecting even more from its seasons,
in demonstrating our worth,
nature and human nature, each as vulnerable
as the other to kindness
and neglect, pride, disrespect. even violence
as weathered during Earth Mother’s
labour pains for both peopling and colouring
landscapes worth the nurturing 

At dead of night, left to reflect
on such life-forces as have inspired us
to let love light up our lives, thereby creating
a kinder, wiser personal space, addressing
past mistakes, shying away
from a Here-and-Now that’s dependent
on algorithms as may well suffice,
but never replace innate sensibilities, life forces
defining Earth Mother for centuries... 

Reminding nature-and-human-nature how progress
is best judged by its capacity for alleviating distress

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

Love, Enduring

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

A reader, S. J. asks why I often write poems about love when I live alone. Well, what has living alone to do with out capacity for love? As I have said in the past on the blogs, love comes in all shapes and forms, including a posthumous consciousness wherein any love we ever had for anyone who has passed away never ceases to be the subject and object of our feelings, continues to keep them very much alive and kicking. Places, animals, and events we have loved sharing with others... these, too,  will often help revive flagging spirits, courtesy of our feeling for happy memories. 

The same reader suggests that my poems are become "somewhat repetitive" given that "there is only so much a poem can say about anything, including love..." while kindly adding that he enjoys many of them anyway. Hopefully, other readers feel much the same way. He has a point, of course and I try to avoid substantial repetition, but a long-running battle against various medical issues (including depression) means I am not always at my best some days. The inner strength I take from writing poems is just about all that sustains me some days, that and the everlasting of love, in all its shapes and forms.

So what happens if and when memory fades? As someone whose mother has dementia recently told me, "Love is always a part of us and its power will always shine through, no matter the details might become somewhat sketchy..." Our feeling for them never fades.

Oh, and I am delighted to say that recent feedback suggests that a significant number of readers have started to explore the blog archives; many of the poems there have been revised.

Meanwhile...

LOVE, ENDURING

In the ways of love,
I embrace the platonic kind,
no less a treasure
than any other come to marry
with a like human mind
for better, for worse, in sickness and health,
till death us do part 

Yet, death shall not part us,
for that other 'virtual' existence
we call memory,
allowing us face-time whenever
the need arises
to revisit  a sharing of such frank confidences
as only intimates know 

Nor does sex have a monopoly
on such home comforts as laughing
at bad jokes, the worse
for a vulgarity only like minds enjoy,
no offence taken,
only a sure appreciation of life partners in crime,
though death us do part 

The beauty of love, in all its shapes
and forms, lies in its needing no words
to express and share
the focus of its attention, sounding out
and empathising
with any posthumous consciousness (still) nurturing
such seeds as saw it flower 

In shades of intimacy as envisaging all love enduring,
find the mind-body-spirit everlasting 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: The final couplet in this poem has been slightly, but significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog.] RT

S-e-x-u-a-l-i-t-y, Life Drawings OR L-O-V-E, the Anthology

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

Despite the usual trolls, the likes of which I always ignore, yesterday’s prose post on my gay-interest poetry blog appears to have been well received by its readers, so much so that I felt inspired to write a new poem; while it will be of special interest to LGBT readers, I am also posting it here although I suspect it may offend some people. What’s that I hear? How can a poem offend anyone?  Oh, but I learned way back in my formative years how quickly some people take offence, even where none is intended. 

An old friend, knowing that I am gay, once commented that he feels uncomfortable in the presence of gay people. I chose not to take offence, especially as he hadn't known I was gay when we first met some 40 years previously, but the hurt I felt remains to this day.

At 75, my memory is none too reliable, not least due to various health issues and subsequent treatment  and I’m often told off for repeating myself, but - as my dear mother would often say - if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating; in this case, that a poem is a poem is a poem, whatever its theme, just as a person is a person is a person, whatever their gender, ethnicity, political/ religious persuasion or, yes, sexuality. Few of us would argue differently on principle; as for putting that same principle into practise, human nature being what it is...

A schoolfriend once commented with a huge sigh that the world turns on human nature, to which another friend commented, “Better that than stereotypes,” to which a third friend added, with a wicked grin, “There’s a difference?” All three looked at me expectantly, but, coward that I was back then, I refused to be drawn and changed the subject. That was some 60 years ago, yet I overheard much the same conversation while keeping a social distance behind four young people only the other day… with my hearing aid turned on, of course. 😉

S-E-X-U-A-L-I-T-Y, LIFE DRAWINGS or L-O-V-E, THE ANTHOLOGY

Once, I hid within myself,
afraid of coming out or being outed
to the world, given to believe
that my being gay was at best, a crime,
at worst, a sin 

Once, when I was younger,
and gullible, less wise to societies open
to homophobic agenda-dogma,
I was given to believe my homosexuality
made me an outcast 

Once, while growing older,
I met a man, fell in love despite my fears,
shared a heavenly spirituality,
of a beauty I’d been warned You-Me-Us
needs must forfeit 

Old now, looking back in anger
for years I may well have missed had love
in all its richness not come my way,
for fear of its being stigmatised by the likes
of my so-called 'betters' 

Some may well wish me in Hell
for my engaging in same-sex relationships,
but love is a heaven of its own making,
and God is Love, so how, by its very nature,
any less worthy of nurture? 

Many questions, as many answers,
as we journey our years and personal space,
but let not fear deprive us of love’s ways;
in love, the greater part of the human condition,
that’s first among equals 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

Connections

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber 
It can take something like a pandemic to make us understand the difference between solitude and isolation. 
Not unlike many people, I used to think I was self-sufficient in so far as  I often enjoy my own company, forgetting the truth expressed in a poet's immortal words, "No man is an island entire of itself, every man/ is a piece of the continent, a part of the main..." - John Donne, Meditation 17. 
Yes, we have the Internet and mobile phones to connect wit each other 24/7, but what can compare with meeting up with friends for real?
In other words, "Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine." - ― Honoré de Balzac 

CONNECTIONS

Friends and family would often ask 

why I so liked to be alone, didn’t the loneliness

get to me, undermine

mind-body-spirit, leave me more asleep

than awake?

I would tell them I needed such time

for reflection, being and communing with nature,

confiding my concerns

to flowers and trees, the more reassured

by their responses 

In such good company, how could I

ever be lonely, such birdsong always at the ready

to suss out my moods,

empathising with and lifting me, gifting me

their joie de vivre

solitude and I, we were such intimates

that I all but forgot human beings are social animals,

much like those of a kind

in the natural world, no less inclined towards

inter-dependence 

Suddenly, my circumstances took a turn

for the worse, a pandemic striking us out of nowhere,

demanding we take care,

world societies, communities in lockdown,

if not self-isolation

among others least afraid of being alone,

I’d tell myself there could be no living in fear for me

of disease or death,

for didn’t I care so for Earth Mother that she, 

would care for me? 

Time passed, one day much like another,

solitude losing its attraction, its not being of my choice

nor anyone to hear

and (hopefully) connect with what I had to say,

empathy or no...

In my imagination, I would try talking to trees,

confiding in flowers as ever, but having to stay indoors

meant I could not walk

among them, let the wind inspire them to respond,

by turn of leaf, lean of stem

As an alternative reality, the kinder inner eye 

has to be first among equals, sure to keep human nature

and Earth Mother,

in sync along such lines as coloured green,

(one for all, all for one)

I began to lose heart, not least for no one in whom

to confide even imagination, invite to share the intimacy

I so enjoy with nature, 

and slowly it came upon me, an emptiness

called loneliness… 

Now, though, I see trees growing leafy once again,

flowers opening up to spring, blossom like a gentle rain,

Earth Mother...

inspiring us all to defeat Covid-19 by way of an innate

capacity for renewal

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

 

Forever OR An Existential Take on Close Relationships

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

Hello again, everyone, from London UK. Many thanks for dropping by, always much appreciated.

Still unwell here, but no coronavirus, just various medical issues (and old age) having their wicked way with me, but I’m hoping to complete another (general) poem soon, so… watch this space.

Q. How can I write poems when I feel unwell?

A. Because the effort required to motivate myself invariably energises me to tap into the Spirit of Creativity which, in turn (for better or worse) chases up mind-body-spirit for a poem. 

Meanwhile…

A poem is a poem is a poem, whatever it has to say. Could that, I wonder, be why feedback suggests more gay readers read both blogs? 

Now, apart from the availability of vaccines, good news in the course of a pandemic is hard to find, so I am more than happy to share some with you. A reader (gender unknown) has emailed to say that both   partners were rejected by their respective families several years ago for being gay “because our religion does not allow it. “Since the pandemic,” the reader goes on to say that “Both families have expressed concern for our welfare and are suggesting a reconciliation They are even willing to ‘tolerate’ our living in sin.” We don’t see our love for each other as a sin nor do we like the idea of being tolerated, but miss our families. What do you think? 

What I think is not important. What matters is what these two young people think. Since they miss their families, I suspect they would regret missing an opportunity to be reconciled. 

As for being tolerated, everyone may well feel they are treading on eggshells for a while, but it is always good news when blood gets the better of bigotry, and we all thrive on good news, so, hopefully, this will pass. I would be inclined to see how reconciliation shapes up while not expecting too much too soon. 

Whatever path his couple choose, I am sure any readers will join me in wishing them every happiness. 

FOREVER or AN EXISTENTIAL TAKE ON CLOSE RELATIONSHIPS 

I had never felt worse
than missing someone so close to my heart,
who had passed away,
without my even being there to hold a hand
or say things left unsaid
over years of sharing such bad times as may
have cast long shadows
but for our finding ways to reconcile with every one
each to its own, and in its turn 

There seemed no need
to put our feelings into words, content to let
our hearts speak for us;
yet, don’t actions speak louder than words
and didn’t we two
have the rest of our lives to prove just that?
Death, though, had a whim
to so impose itself on our conjoined personal space
as to have me spit in its face 

Anger, pain, expressions
of grief the heart knows but too well, the more
for such happy memories
as only love can invoke, and invoke, it will,
nurturing the same seeds
that saw it grow in us  re-engage in the process
of (still) taking their cue
from the kinder shades of nature and human nature
in some existential ‘Forever’ 

Where the Gates of Eternity open on love’s poetry,
none are refused entry for their sexuality 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021 

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

Forgiven

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

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

FORGIVEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

Hugs,

Roger 

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

L-I-F-E, Management Issues

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

Isuspect Covid-19 s more of a struggle for people living  in big cities than in rural areas, especially for those of us who live alone?

Perhaps it is because I am growing old, but I take far less pleasure from living in London than I used to.  Even so, my life is here.  While I take much pleasure in its wealth of leisure facilities and history as and when I can, I remain acutely aware that I am passively complicit in this mad world of ours going about an everyday business that leaves much to be desired...

London, like so many cities and suburbs is overcrowded and the air quality leaves as much to be desired as the neighbourliness and sense of community that once existed, and now has become yet another endangered species wherever it remains, as it does, even in certain pockets of modern society. (West can learn much from East in this respect.

I suspect we all run a familiar gamut (to one degree or another) in cities and large towns across the world. In recent years, fake news and social media make a significant contribution to personal anxieties and a sense sometimes of being on a treadmill 

Whatever, all we can do is take each day as it comes, nurture a positive-thinking mindset, and make the best of what life offers rather than whinge about the worst ...

L-I-F-E, MANAGEMENT ISSUES

Manic streets, paved with eggshells

(Oh, so politically correct...)

Big Issue drumming up passing glances

(Equal Ops prime suspect.)

Beggar and dog at the supermarket

(On the outside, looking in…)

Tailbacks on the home run, a nightmare

(No respect for Car is King.)

Blind man making his own way home

(Small change for a pickpocket...)

Arthritic bag lady taking up a park bench

(Move along, security alert!)

Hey, I bet that one’s a terrorist, see?

(Looks foreign to me...)

Thin is sexy or so we’re asked to believe

(Gorging on glossy magazines...) 

School kid mugged for a smart phone

(Better not to get involved...)

Teenage lovers sharing well-used needles

(What about HIV-AIDS?)

Shoplifters killing off the High Street

(Business as usual...)

.

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of the poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007. For any overseas readers, who may not know, The Big Issue is a newspaper sold on the streets of the UK and other countries by homeless people; it gives them a regular income, and more importantly helps restore their self-confidence while preserving their self-respect: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Issue ]

Autumn, Season of Silences

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.

When barely spring here in the UK, it is already autumn in some parts of the world. An Australian reader living and working in London one spring and ‘feeling homesick’ once asked for an autumn poem. [I lived in Australia once, a long time ago, and would love to go back as fate had it in for me at the time and I wasn't able to stay long. Sadly, travel insurance due to my prostate cancer and other health issues is prohibitive so I suspect I never will.]

There is a dreamy quality about autumn that, for me, is like listening to unspoken poems, a spirited silence that no other season can quite match, even a feisty spring or gregarious summer, as if it is loath to go into a winter sleep likely to subdue its silence if not its spirit ...

AUTUMN, SEASON OF SILENCES 

One long, lovely summer

once I spent with you

till fallen angels broke cover;

enter autumn, on cue

Our time together near over,

we were as leaves

on a grieving sycamore

falling like tears

Drifting, piling on a grave

of broken promises,

all the love we’ll never have

for all our kisses

Saddest of autumn dreams,

unspoken poems

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020

[Note: This poem was first published in an anthology, Shades of Autumn, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2004 and subsequently in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]