Hello again from London UK

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

“Remembrance and reflection, how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.” – Alexander Pope

“We all need to get the balance right between action and reflections. With so many distractions, it is easy to forget to pause and take stock.” – Queen Elizabeth I I

“A Memory is a beautiful thing, it’s almost a desire that you miss.” Gustave Flaubert 

Hello again, dear readers, from London, UK,

Sorry, no poem today as I write this post from a UK in mourning for the loss of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 11 who died at her beloved Balmoral home yesterday. 

To say she was a remarkable woman has to be the understatement of decades. She was poetry in motion, a stable presence in an ever-changing world. Indeed, I suspect that even those of us who never knew or met her, will feel her loss more deeply than they might have expected.

Meanwhile, our condolences and heartfelt good wishes go to the Royal Family as King Charles 111 prepares to take on his mother’s mantle and wear in in a way to make her and this world of our proud.

For many if not most of us, our journey through life can be tough at times. It is as such times when we need to do as Her late Majesty’s quote above suggests – pause and not only take stock but take heart as well. 

We should never lose sight of the bright(er) side of life; though it may well seem we are peering at it through a thickening fog, be sure the fog will clear and we will feel the light and warmth of the sun on our faces again. 

As regular readers will know, I consider myself a pantheist and agree with Frank Lloyd Wright whom I have quoted on the blog before as saying “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.” 

God is Love, God is Nature, a living, permanent presence in us if we choose to let it in and help us on our way through the good, the bad and uglier aspects of the landscape that is life. 

Take care, everyone and many thanks, as always, for dropping by.  In the absence of any new poem-posts, you may enjoy dipping into the archives....?

Thinking of and rooting for you,

Hugs,

Roger

Lakeside

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

“A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.” – William Wordsworth

“Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.” – Wallace Stevens

“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” – Loren Eisley

While recovering from a nervous breakdown some 40+ years ago, I returned to my home county, Kent, often referred to as the Garden of England. I returned to a lake that my mother had taken me to visit many years ago; it helped (a lot) to renew a sense of positive perspective in me.

I guess, going back can help us move forwards, although not a good idea to stay too long and get bogged down in wishful thinking...!

LAKESIDE

One day, I went for a walk
in a local park not far from home,
a light breeze in my hair…
paused by a lake to watch fishes
glide by, glanced down
and experienced a stab of surprise,
failing at first to recognize
a face looking back at me as my own
for looking old, tired and worn

I’d always thought of myself
as one among the young at heart;
no traces of that here,
gazing back at me, all but accusingly,
catching me out in denial
of a Here-and-Now closing in on me
that I cared not to acknowledge
for fear of having to yield to and admit
a sense of loneliness and defeat

Mind-body-spirit then chose
to take me along paths old and new,
past sunny milestones
as well as weepy tombstones,
among sounds of laughter and tears
that have had me ride
such winds, earth and seas across
prose and poetry as have also shown me
a happy, sad ’n’ bad humanity

A face in the lake tossed me a wry smile,
made its peace with heart-and-soul

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Friends of the Earth

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“Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being.” – Victor Hugo

“He who plants a tree, plants a hope.” – Lucy Larcom

“Ancient trees are precious. There is little else on earth that plays host to such a rich community of life within a living organism.” – Sir David Attenborough

“Our destiny often looks like a fruit tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs. Could next spring again be green, bloom and even bear fruit. Yet we hope it, we know it.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Now, email feedback for yesterdays poem was particularly encouraging as most if it had nothing but praise and admiration for Jake Daniels; A.G, “a straight reader” says he hopes the young footballer will inspire other sportsmen and women to come out and effectively become “role models for closet gay people everywhere.” 

Sadly, certain world cultures and religions will never condone same sex relationships, but human nature is not only resilient, it is inventive, the human spirit, too, so… where there’s a will to love, I suspect it will always find a way to live and let live…

FRIENDS OF THE EARTH

I have loved to walk among trees
I can now but enjoy, find love and peace
in such memories of you-me-us
as inspire every beat of this heart we’ll share
while a tree still stands, somewhere

There is a tree I see from a window
that grows in a garden that I cannot access
from my studio flat in London,
where magpies nest, bring us year after year
such songs of life as bind us together 

Soon, fledglings among its leaves
lend the tree a new lease of life in providing
sanctuary for young birds yet to learn
to fly, explore the skies, make ready to escape
the hostilities of a wintry landscape 

Less, lonely here, this sad heart lifted
by a wintry sun breaking through, promising
the return of my magpie friends
to the tree whose life forces gifted it by the earth,
gifting you-me-us, also, with rebirth

I have but to close my eyes to embrace you,
anytime, anywhere, let the warmth and beauty
of our love lend me a sense of eternity;
you-me-us, birds in a tree growing in a garden
in all weathers, lifeblood of inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Empathy with a Camel

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"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

 

The Rose Grower

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Yes, another love poem. I guess I am a sucker for them, even though I have only been in love with someone once in my life, years ago. Short-lived, though, out time together, I will always rate it ten out of ten among other treasured memories of others whom I have loved - living or deceased -in other ways.

No happy memory is quite the same, nor even dependant on whom we may have shared it for there are times when we need to be alone, if only to think things through; it can be a lonely experience, it’s true, but it can also be an unforgettably spiritual one.  

Yes, yes, I know I’ve said much the same thing on the blog before, but as my mother used to say, if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating... to oneself as much as to anyone else, especially when looking on the brighter side of life resembles searching for a needle in a haystack, a feeling many if not most of us will be only too familiar.

THE ROSE GROWER

Find tears on my pillow
crafted from such memories
of loved ones I treasure so

Seeing tears on my pillow
I am inspired by every shared
yesterday-today-tomorrow

Times, made to last forever,
of flesh-and blood committed
to ensuring we stay together

Death, even, it has no claim
on a pillow’s happy memories,
a rose by any other name...

The truth is, love cannot die,
the proof, in m every heartbeat
as beside it, each night, I lie

Let flesh-and-blood part us,
but trust that we’ll stay together
in love’s ‘live’ consciousness

No personal space compares,
or company, the evergreen nature
of an eternity that’s You-Me-Us

No happy memory quite the same,
a rose by any other name 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

 

 

 

 

Hello from London, UK (Yes, it's the old codger-poet again!)

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

Hello again from London UK

No poem to day, but soon... if my messed-up thought processes can rise to the occasion.  My prostate cancer isn't painful, but...oh, I have such fond (if distant!) memories of getting a decent night's sleep!

Straight people, all ages, sometimes ask what it's like to be gay and "not in the swim of everyday life." A silly question, if only for assuming that LGBT folks are not in the swim  of everyday life. We are, after all, human beings and, as such, no less a part of a common humanity than anyone else.

Sometimes people, all ages, also ask me how I cope, not just with the prostate cancer, but also with growing old in general. To be honest, I'm not sure, but on the whole, I just do... I suspect it's down to Mind-Body-Spirit pulling together as good friends will during hard times. 😉 Body is likely to prove the weaker link at any moment in time, but especially after it has been around long enough for a good many years to leave their mark, but - more often than not - Mind and Spirit act as pacemakers, and Body feels encouraged to press on...

Ah, but what if Mind falls foul of the darker of human temptations and  gets too close to The Edge of it all, cannot find the will to draw back, prevent freefalling into that same darkness? It is at such times that the human Spirit comes into its own, encouraging native willpower to see the trees in the wood for the beautiful species they are, find a way through to a place of such potential reassurance as to offer a good chance of our being able to enjoy the flowers and birdsong that the inner ear is pleading with us to  hear and take heart...

That's all very well, but what if the human Spirit, too, has lost its way, become confused, unable to see any wood for its damn trees that seem to be closing in on it, their motives unclear although an encroaching darkness s a sure threat, no comfort there, no sleep to rescue us from despair with sweet dreams and memories of how things were before... whatever. Mind may well  struggle to restore Spirit to its senses, Body too, but what chance of success, Spirit being by far the stronger of the trinity?

Ah, but let's not forget the power of  life forces from which Mind-Body-Spirit engages all the time, whether we are aware of it or not; the sheer Poetry of Love; family, friendship, images of  the natural world that have made such an impression on our sensibilities that we hear them calling to us through time and space . True, we may yet play deaf to the call and teeter over The Edge, but Mind-Body-Spirit, will inevitably pull together and do its best to persuade us otherwise... if we will but pause just a moment from  feeling sorry for ourselves, engaging with the politics of blame long enough to listen . Yes, finding our way through the woods may well be  a hard slog, maybe even impossible...BUT...worth a try, surely?

So much for life forces concerned only with our well-being, whether we choose to engage with them or not, but what of Death's lack of concern for our survival, able to  take us away from the Poetry of Life and Love at the blink of an eye? Well, there is a Poetry of Faith that may or may not be related to any religion that assures us of a place in an all-embracing Mind-Body-Spirit that defies even life itself, sure to carry us into the hearts of any with whom we have shared the Poetry of Love in whatever form it may have taken; it is called Remembrance or Personal Space (Memory) in it more intimate form; sense of spirituality denied no one. I suspect that Personal Space archives memories of it own that even dementia patients are able to take heart and comfort from. even though they may not be consciously aware of their evergreen presence within the deeper, inner self, able to select happy times and leave any bad times to fade like autumn leaves.; such, too is the Poetry pf Spirituality...

"Stuff and nonsense," do I hear some readers say? Possibly so, but there is a life-force within even  of  certain 'Stuff and 'Nonsense' wherein even the most troubled heart can find a degree of peace... if it chooses to look for it; easily enough done if we choose to freely and frankly engage with Mind-Body-Spirit whenever we find ourselves at the end of our tether... for whatever reason.

Take care, folks, stay safe and many thanks for dropping by,

Hugs,

Roger 

Lines on the Extraordinary Nature of Ordinariness

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I am often asked why I revise a poem already published years later. Did I not have a sense of its being incomplete at the time?  The truth is, no I didn’t. As far as expressing a sense of what I was feeling at the time, I was happy enough with the original version of the poem below when it first appeared in my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time in 2005. Rightly or wrongly, I felt the feeling was worth sharing, giving readers food for thought that might even let them experience a similar sense of past-present-future as expressed in the most ordinary surroundings as I did then... 

I feel the same way now, 17 years later. as I have grown older and my feelings matured, so too has my sense of that same ordinariness, especially in so far as there is nothing ordinary about it at all. At the same time, my feeling for poetry and expression, too has matured, and I recognise this. Still wanting to share my experience with others, I find myself working on the same poem, but in a different way, choosing my words no less carefully than before, but making sense in ways that eluded me when I was writing the original version because, albeit unknowingly, I hadn’t yet reached the stage in my life when I had experienced just what it was and is I felt the need to express and share in the form of a poem.

Over to you, dear readers, and I can but hope you will enjoy the experience of time-travelling via magic of ordinariness as much as I do. 

LINES ON THE EXTRAORDINARY NATURE OF ORDINARINESS 

Clouds, magic carpet rides
to exotic places;
awakening us to a repeat
of bath time potential,
pop star, jazz player, classic musician...
bent upon making the world wake up, sit up, 
shut up and listen

 Grass, littered with daisies
sunspots of memory;
trees, waving leafy arms,
telling us off
for the many mistakes we’ve (all) made, 
never meant to happen, best forgotten, easier
said than done 

A broken fence, urging us
to revisit, repair
broken friendships, forgiving
from the heart, so...
who’ll get us off to a good start, forget rhetoric
and more besides by letting actions speak louder
louder than words? 

An old armchair, memories
of a special someone who’ll sit there
no more, words
in the air left unsaid, missed opportunities
for too often forgetting
how much we owe the living
when too late, but for in our dreams of course,
for better or worse 

Crisp, clean pillowcases
all to ourselves, nudging us to observe
a damp patch
on the ceiling, spreading, lending pictures
to half-closed eyes...
landscapes, seascapes, cloudscapes passing by,
letting sleep take over for a spot of joyriding – or
running for cover?

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, rev. 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mind-Body-Spirit, Subject to Time and Consequence(s)

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A wise woman, my mother. She died 25+ years ago, but I probably listen n to her more now than I ever did. I could be a naughty child (who isn’t?) at which times she would teach as well as scold. She once pointed out that almost everything we say has consequences, for better or worse, for ourselves and/or others; the latter, especially, we may never be made aware of... 

All the more reason, I eventually understood, to think before we do something, or don’t do it as the case may be... 

Easier said than done, of course, yours truly no less guilty than anyone else of forgetting to look before we leap and risk feeding this or that cliché its potential for truism. 

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, SUBJECT TO TIME AND CONSEQUENCE(S) 

Surely, the tide,
as surely life’s sweet dreams saving us
from ourselves and each other for offering
alternatives? 

I see your face
in a brave moon, straining to shine on,
but in vain as needs must it, too, take its cue
from Apollo

 Surely, the tide,
as surely as high hopes of fame, fortune
superseded by life-images of lovers kept busy
building bridge 

They laughed us
off the planet, yet we’d take it on the chin,
find a white horse to help us find our way back,
time and again 

We rode to hell
and back, you and I, joining Earth Mother
in races against the clock, win some, lose some,
no going back 

Yes, we fell prey
to a collective giving, taking, having to settle
for less than we bargained for, our personal space
a saving grace 

Now, a sure tide’s
surfing me still (always will), moving me on
to that one-and-only shore proving longer than life
for being loved

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021 

[NB: This poem has its origins in an earlier poem, Surfing, that appears in my first collection, Love and Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2000 (see also Gay blog, March, 2011); it had already appeared in several poetry journals and worked well enough at the time, but 20+ years on, subsequent changes in form and content defy my referring to it as simply a revision.] RNT

Now & Then

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Reader A. H. writes that his family disapprove of his choice of life-partner and says, “My family are everything to me, but so is the woman I love. What can I do?” 

The reader must make a choice, and I would not presume to advise. I would only say that if his family are as close as they would appear to be, the chances are they will come, sooner or later, to his choice of bride.  Sadly, it is a choice many LGBT men and women around the world also have to face. 

As I have often said on the blogs, in preambles and poems alike, love comes in many shapes and forms, but there is a common denominator – survival. Where strong and true, love can endure even the worst life throws at it, in life or death; where unacceptable to some, that is their loss. 

I have seen families split by life choices made by this or that member. Sometimes our choices prove to be at worst misguided, at best flawed, but all of us need to learn by our mistakes, and that works for everyone concerned. Closed doors can be re-opened, but there needs to be a clear will on both sides, not always there...so they remain closed, everyone left asking why, and expecting someone else to make the first move.  

Love never dies, but it is as capable of inflicting hurt and being hurt by human nature as any of us or nature itself. 

NOW & THEN

Once, I’d hide in an old tree
for an ages-old game of hide-and-seek
among peers grown young
with me, Apollo taking a peek
through leaves of spring
taking my side, a brisk south wind
up for playing its part,
while letting rip with a warning shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!” 

Once, I’d lie by that same tree,
feeling blessed for having you at my side
the two of us so happy
just to be together, no words needed
to express expectations
of a future to build, share and enjoy
in such ways as love brings
for letting rip to the world with a shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!” 

Now, returned to that old tree
to share treasured memories of you-me- us,
revisit the dreams we shared,
ask why we were able to fulfil so few,
parted as we were too soon,
yet thankful, indeed, we’d found
in each other such life-forces
as inclined to let rip to the world with a shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!” 

Among leaves of an old tree, hear Apollo shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!" 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021 

Emissary OR The 'u', 'i' and 'y' of Humanity, Parts of a Whole

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Overheard in a local supermarket on the day (widely reported in the media) when princes William and Harry recently unveiled a statue of their late mother, Princess Diana:

LITLE GIRL:     What happens when you die, Mummy?

MOTHER:          If you’re a good girl, you go to Heaven.”

LITTLE GIRL:   Is Princess Diana in Heaven?”

MOTHER:          I imagine so, yes.

CHILD:               And will I go there, too, when I die?”

MOTHER            If you’re a good girl, yes, of course.

CHILD:                So, will I get to meet Princess Diana?

MOTHER:           Well, err, maybe, who knows what lies ahead for any of us.

A long pause

CHILD:                So, if I’m bad, will I go to Hell?

MOTHER:           Oh, look, darling, there’s Penny and her mummy. let’s go and say hello...”

 As a child, I well recall being promised Heaven and threatened with Hell as according to this or that religious dogma, and 75+ years on it is still happening. No wonder I feared death then, before I discovered that the human spirit, too, has a mind of its own, and is less threatening than inspiring. 

People are entitled to their faith, and should be respected for it, but no browbeating religious agenda / dogma will ever get a thumbs-up from yours truly. 

As for Death, I remain pragmatic, but also hopeful that the better part of me will continue to commune with those I have loved (as they do with me) and any among humankind whose own mind-body-spirit is happy to let me in.... unlike the former work colleague (a clergyman's wife) who told me she thought it was a shame I'd go to hell (for being gay.) She is as entitled to her faith, as I am entitled to reject it, as I did...long before I realised I'm gay. 

EMMISARY or THE ‘U’, ‘I’ & ‘Y’ OF HUMANITY, PARTS OF A WHOLE 

Sooner or later,
I call on everyone everywhere,
sparing no one;
rich or poor, young or old,
none ever get to run
whenever I choose to appear
and make myself known,
nor do I need to wait for an invitation,
such is the nature of my mission 

Oh, many are they
who would slam doors in my face
rather than let me in,
having no time or use for me,
preferring to send me
on my way, were I to but listen
to what they have to say,
while I prefer to avoid any altercation,
such is the nature of my mission 

Misted-over eyes
of a wistful, wishful, woeful world,
see me as bad news,
not least for refusing to budge
on my demands;
some, though, make a good case
for staying put awhile,
and I'll mull over making due provision,
such is the nature of my mission 

While I can’t claim
to come as friend, neither am I enemy,
though assumed so
by kith and kin, neither ready yet
nor (quite) willing
to explore a universal truth with us.
the like of which
defies even the most creative imagination,
such is the nature of my mission 

We’ll pass on dreams,
beyond the ken of mortals, bid the portals
of those mind-body-spirits
we may have known, loved, touched
by word, deed, hearsay
or art forms invariably inspiring debate 
for centuries by courtesy
of empathies surpassing all expectation,
such is the nature of my mission 

I am the Spirit of Death,
come to restore, rework, reshape human life
whenever, wherever,
take it through personal space
into as evergreen a beauty
as grows from seeds of love and friendship,
(life-forms without equal)
sure to nurture remembrance and celebration,
such is the nature of my mission 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting Down, Getting Up, Going Home

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I have often heard it said that too many people live in their heads; reflecting on life too much is likely to have its finer realities pass them by.  In my mid-seventies now, I get that, I really do, but disagree.

Growing old, and more to look back on than look forward to, I consider the life choices I have made and, yes, I regret many of them. At the same time, I can see (now) how they have enriched my perceptions of nature and human nature; whether or not I communicate these, is something else, of course.)

So, would I do things differently, were I to have my time over again? I like to think so, but doubt it.

We are who we are, after all. When it comes to making choices, an innate mind-body-spirit, as mentored by our inner selves, will invariably decide for us. Now, what that says about us as individuals is probably best left to those get to know something of it, one way or another, to decide...

“Not choice, but habit rules the unreflecting herd...” – William Wordsworth

SITTING DOWN, GETTING UP, GOING HOME

Sitting on a wall
by a canal, watching shades
of light streaming
a global consciousness, lending 
personal space
time enough to get a feel for days
of wine and roses, inviting us to enjoy 
pleasuring in its reflections

Sitting on a wall
by a canal, watching clouds
drift by amongst 
paper wrappings, plastic bottles
and pizza boxes,
even the occasional tabloid,
tossed aside without a thought for others
pleasuring in its reflections

Risen from a wall
by a canal, where once we’d pause
to let moonlight
shine peace and love in our faces
before we’d kiss,
drift among such wonders of time
and (personal space) as only lovers ever get
to pleasure in its reflections

Risen from a wall
by a canal that knows me too well
to spare me looking in
on the consciousness we nurtured,
you and I, across years
of laughter and tears, joy and sorrows,
enabling such tomorrows as we’ll not get to see
to pleasure in its reflections 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

You-Me-Us, peopling a kinder Eternity

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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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L-O-V-E, making History

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

Our thoughts this weekend, have inevitably focused on the death of H R H Prince Phillip, the Duke of Edinburgh and the impact his passing will inevitably bring to bear on Her Majesty, the Queen especially, and other members of the Royal Family. 

No one, of course, knows what goes on behind closed doors, fewer still are aware of the finer workings of the human heart. Even so, media footage and photographs over the years, all tell the story of a couple in love, a guaranteed place in the history of our nation and the world notwithstanding. (While relatively few people can claim the latter, engaging with love - in whatever shape or form - invests it (and us) with a global consciousness that suggests a universal mind-body-spirit intent on making its own history, and us a part of it, if we let it.) 

As I have suggested time and again on the blog, love invests us with a spiritual quality that never dies, but lives on in the hearts and minds of all those whom it may have unforgettably influenced by word, deed or infinite presence; people, places, lines in favourite examples of literature… all these contribute to who we are, and all are associated with the finer aspects of love. 

So it is, that we all contribute to world history by way of the inspiration love inspires, even though most of us will never make the history books. So it is, too, that we all leave our mark on the world, often barely if ever recognised or acknowledged. Such is the posthumous consciousness peculiar to the human race, ensuring that love never dies whether we aspire to the ethics of this religion or that… or not, as the case may be. (Incidentally, I suspect it is also why yours truly identifies so closely with Pantheism.)

L-O-V-E, MAKING HISTORY 

Always there,
trimming edges of all that’s said
and left unsaid 

Always there,
profiling the substance of illusion
enhancing delusion 

Always there,
high flying partner in a trapeze ac
that’s custom-perfect 

Always there,
comforter-mentor to the you-me-us
no one else ever sees 

Always there,
sounding out any sounds of silences
as sure to make waves 

Always there,
light of my life, heart of my darkness,
whatever it takes 

Always there, 
its kinder ideas eager to dry any tears,
for our fears  

Always there,
the Here-and-Now, given us to nurture
a past-present-future 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Addressing the Art of Positive Thinking

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

We have lived with the pandemic for more than a year now and everyone is feeling very fed-up if not depressed. Yes, the vaccines bring hope to us all, but these are still dark times.  

Recalling happy memories can be inspirational s well as sad, more than reason enough to look forward to being happy again; never in quite the same way, of course, but happiness comes in many shapes and forms, and better to be happy than sad, yeah?

ADDRESSING THE ART OF POSITIVE THINKING 

It’s down to us
to give the sad, weepy eye
reasons to smile again,
replace sadness with gladness,
bring such relief to any moody gloom
as lights up any room 

It’s down to us
to open up paths of memory
once skipped for the joy
of holding hands with loved ones
or off for a lively chat with old friends
where the rainbow ends 

It’s down to us
to smooth furrows in the brow
and give worries the elbow
long enough to allow self-esteem
to take pride of place in such company
as inspires all humanity 

Unable to find us?
Oh, but we are always on hand
to lighten loads,
brighten groundhog days, singing
in the rain, splashing in puddles as we go.
give Hell the old heave-ho 

We are memories
of the happy kind, as sure to put
any worse to rout
as the rabbit outwitting a wily fox
for refusing to let fear have its wicked way,
resolving to live another day 

Just one more day,
and who can ever take the measure
of its weather?
Kinder winds, as likely as not
to gift our past with a present even a future,
nature and human nature 

Copyright R.N. Taber, 2021

 

 

 

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

A Yew Tree and a Rose (Revisited)

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

Covid-19 continues to take its toll on us across the world, and as a neighbour recently commented, "We are surrounded by death. True, but it will be Valentine's Day soon, so here's a poem to remind us that we are also surrounded by the evergreen nature of love.

"The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration." - Little Gidding (Four Quartets) - T. S. Eliot

 A YEW TREE AND A ROSE (REVISITED) 

I had come to lay a rose
at your grave, already in tears,
pausing by an ancient yew,
to rage at its mocking humanity,
mind-body-spirit
at a loss for being left alone
to dwell on its being
denied the lifespan of certain trees
over centuries. 

“You carry poison in sap,
berries and leaves,” I screamed
at the yew, “while a love
that gives mind-body-spirit
its joie de vivre
remains subject to such trials
or blessings as nature
sees fit to permit, regardless of class
or circumstances." 

"Love, too, carries poisons
of its own,” the tree pointed out,
“possessiveness, envy,
and jealousy but three of those
so, speak not to me
of poisons, given how humanity
delights in half-truths,
all the more so for their having spread
among the living dead.” 

“Yes, there are some call me
‘Tree of Death’ who are ignorant
of leafy needles
I let fall to live and let live
over centuries
and of any healing qualities
in sap, leaf or berry as your apothecaries
may use against diseases.” 

“Earth Mother gives and takes,"
the tree went on, “for such is nature
and human nature,
each their moments in time
to be loved and leave,
though neither forgotten
nor even dead to those privileged to share
any part of their time here.” 

My tears dried, and raging no more
at the world for its coming between us,
I lay my rose
on your grave, murmuring words
of love, returned
in a light breeze that's kissing me,
promising, as you make us a home in my heart 
that death will not see us part

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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

Engaging with Forget-me-nots OR A Gardener's Tale

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

Several friends are keen gardeners; their eyes brighten up even the dullest of days as they enthuse about spring, its longer, lighter days and splashes of colour;. One mentioned only yesterday that a favourite flower is the forget-me-not.

Now, yesterday was Holocaust Memorial Day. As my thoughts turned to the horrors of Hitler’s Germany, they also took to heart such loved-ones as each and every one of us have lost in past and present times; just as they were a part of us once, so they remain, missed for their physical absence, yet continuing to inspire our every heartbeat.

Such are our fondest memories; flowers that comprise a Garden of the Heart where, once planted, the seeds of remembrance  are as likely to spread no less a burst of colour than time itself… if we but let them.

                                                 (Forget-me-nots (photo from the Internet)

ENGAGING WITH FORGET-ME-NOTS or A GARDENER’S TALE

There is a time to forget,
a time to discard, a time to re-engage
with a native soil
that’s been prepared, cared for,
nurtured in readiness
to give life, hope, and happiness
in a process of renewal
meant to regenerate the Spirit of Spring
in the wake of winter 

Ah, and who can ever forget
such clouds of frothy blue as may well
be gifts from Apollo
from heavens seeking to inspire us,
compensate us in part
for life stories that leave little left
to tell, even less to show
a curious world who or what from the start
engaged a human heart 

I look out on a garden struggling
to survive, its natural zeal encouraging
it to live, root and branch,
letting the eye see what nature can do
given time, space, heart
and hands blessed with an affinity
for an imagination inclined
to keep inner eyes on such moving fingers
as lighten up our seasons 

Bright are the colours of a garden
that temper all weathers with anticipation
of even brighter tomorrows,
sure to lift even the saddest of hearts
above its darkest sorrows,
reminding us of song and laughter
and such sweet truths
as  much-loved ghosts can hear, share with us
its finer, greater treasures 

Copyright R N Taber, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

Smiling Through

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

Years ago, while walking along the banks of a river, I met a young man with whom I struck up a friendship that would blossom into love. We lay chatting in the bosom of a weeping willow tree and it was all but love at first sight.  Gay people were much despised in those days – as by some, we still are – so we kept our love a secret. He was killed in a road accident barely eighteen months later, and I bitterly regret that particular secret. As it was, neither of us were openly gay, and I even made excuses not to attend his funeral in case the extent of my grief betrayed us; something else I will always regret

Years later, wandering along that same river bank. I saw two young men emerge, laughing, and holding hands, from the leafy bosom of that same weeping willow. They paused to share a long kiss, then continued on their way towards me, smiling both warmly and defiantly at me as they passed. Needless to say, I smiled back. Any defiance faded instantly, and all I saw was warmth.  How I envied them, less for being young (I was already in my 60’s) than for a sexuality they plainly felt free to express. 

As regular readers will know, I was 30 before I began coming out to the world as a gay man.  Happily, for many gay people it is much easier now. Sadly, for as many others worldwide, it is as hard as it ever was. Bigotry has to be one of the world’s greater human tragedies, worse because it invariably exists behind smiling eyes that are as closed doors to those who support Human Rights in case they are called out for their hypocrisy. 

So, what is a gay-interest post-poem doing on both blogs? As I have pointed out many times, a poem is a poem is a poem, open to readers whatever its theme; no less so, a person is a person is a person whoever, wherever, and whatever their sexual persuasion. There is more to a poem than meets the eye, just as there is more to any of us than our sexuality.

SMILING THROUGH

Willow tree, willow tree,
well may you weep for me
that saw the start
of a love that gave my heart
cause to beat faster
for having found just cause.
no more pretending
all's well in my world, nothing
and no one missing 

Willow tree, willow tree,
you took us in a leafy embrace
when others looked
the other way, wishing us both
in another place
for being gay, and determined
that together we’d stay,
letting our true feelings express
our love and happiness 

Willow tree, willow tree,
well may you weep for our being
scorned and rejected,
even though accepted by others
for being a vital part
of who we are to the human race,
given that love
wears as many faces as humanity
poses questions of equality 

Willow tree, willow tree, within each tear,
a smile for every day we stay together

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where Hope Springs Eternal

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

Armistice Day in the UK and around the world is commemorated every year on November 11th to mark the armistice signed between the allies of World War 1 and Germany for the cessation of all hostilities on the Western Front which took effect from the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" of 1918. Even so, a formal peace agreement was only reached when the Treaty of Versailles was signed the following year.

In 1920, a body was brought from France to be buried in Westminster Abbey on 11th November; the grave, which contains soil from France, is covered by a slab of black Belgian marble from a quarry near Namur. 

Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, Westminster Abbey.

The ceremony at Westminster Abbey today was scaled down to reflect the need to social distancing due to Covid-19; it was particularly poignant as it is 100 years since its arrival and as we continue to fight another World War with the coronavirus.

WHERE HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL

Anonymous, yet as analogous
with Everyman as any of us, well-deserving
a State funeral
as any member of the armed forces
making the ultimate sacrifice
so that others might yet live in peace
despite humanity’s inclination
to give as good as it gets, the greater provocation
guaranteeing an invitation

No sure identity to shape an image
in the minds of any who would visit my grave,
yet weepy eyes,
will summon a mind-body-spirit clearer
than any light of day
and younger, gentler, than any springtime;
forever anonymous, yes,
but never friendless, a presence no less synonymous
with love than it ever was 

Family, friend, lover, whomsoever
shall be reconciled with me on Freedom Road,
know me instantly,
fall into my arms with all the intensity
of emotion for which humanity
is too often inclined to pretend it has forgotten;
reconciliation second to none,
a celebration of such life forces as remembrance inspires
in dark places, at home fires 

I am that Unknown Warrior, so named, that such sacrifice
as made in (any) war may help win and keep the peace

Copyright R. N. Taber,
(Nov. 11^th 2020)