Love, a Saving Grace

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

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.” – Jimi Hendrix

“Love recognises no barriers; it jumps hurdles, leaps fences [and] penetrates walls - to arrive at its destination full of hope.” - Maya Angelou

“Where there is love, there is life.” Mahatma Gandhi

“Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality.” – Emily Dickinson

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved, we can never lose, for all that we loved deeply becomes a part of us.” – Helen Keller

Now, a group of friends in a pub were toasting the late Queen Elizabeth II. I overheard an observer’s caustic comment: “Huh! As if anyone’s death is an excuse for celebration…!” to which their companion responded: “If those left behind don’t celebrate a life that’s been lived and give thanks for their part in it, who will?” to which the other person’s lack of response said volumes, I thought, for the power of silence…

As we all know, love takes many shapes and forms; whatever, its life force in us never dies, gifted as it is to the heart-and-soul.

Nor, I put it to you, is love in one shape or form any the less relevant a life force than another; its inspiration is immeasurable. It is why, perhaps, I think of myself as a Pantheist rather than subscribe  to any conventional religion, whose approaches to love invariably seem to me as more dogma-based than humanitarian. For example, the daughter of the late Desmond Tutu has reportedly been prohibited by the Church of England from leading her godfather's funeral because she is gay, married to a woman.  

LOVE, A SAVING GRACE 

There is a rustling of leaves
in the woods where I’d tread wearily
back bent from carrying
a load, daily, times when I’d long
to escape negative forces
ever closing in on me as if intent
on bringing me down 
under the weight of fears that cannot speak
for thinking of me as weak

Weak, yes, for missing you,
yet stronger, too, for your loving me,
no matter where you are
or where I may be in a world blessed
with love in it enough
to inspire all mind-body-spirit,
even in the absence 
of those upon whom we can always depend,
our own world-without-end

No words can begin to express 
feelings empowering me with such love 
and peace as will see us
survive the worst either skies above
or earth beneath may bring
to bear on You-Me-Us by way of wiles
with which any darker elements
of nature and human nature are only too familiar,
yet be sure they back a loser

Though life, at times, seem a trial and tribulation,
trust the power of love, a sure salvation 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

 

I, Temptation

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

″You are young,’ replied Athos [to d’Artagnan] and your bitter recollections have time to be changed into sweet remembrances.” – Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers)

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.” - Henry David Thoreau 

Poetry might be defined as the clear expression of mixed feelings. – W. H. Auden.

“All art forms are in the service of the greatest of all art forms: the art of living.” - Bertholt Brecht 

“You can’t really move forward until you look back.” - Cornel West

I was an avid reader from an early age. I first read Dumas’ swashbuckler novel when I was about 10 years old. For all its swash and buckle, it was the quotation above that aught my eye and struck a nerve. I had bitter recollections even then and doubted whether, even in the course of time, they would eve become ‘sweet remembrances.’ 

Time would prove me both right and wrong. While I continue to be haunted by ‘bitter recollections’ from time to time, these have, indeed, been mostly eclipsed by ‘sweet remembrances. ’Sadly, ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has deprived me of many instances of the latter; some, I can recall vaguely, of others I have no memory at all. 

The same, it is true to say, can also be said for any ‘bitter recollections’ with which even a failing memory would continue to disturb me but for a creative spirit that is quick to dismiss them, replacing them, if not with ‘sweet remembrances’ in any detail, at least with the spirit of them on which I continue to thrive by courtesy of a creative imagination. 

Now, poetry may well be a form of creative therapy, but it is also an art form. I feel privileged to access each, even as my growing old and accompanying health issues threaten daily, but in vain, to deprive me of both..

I, TEMPTATION

I can make you feel good
or I can make you feel so bad
like you’ve been had,
taken in by so strong a feeling
that’s swept you away
on winds of such desire there’s no escaping,
come willpower’s unresisting

You need to let me pass
let mind-body-spirit be a friend,
and listen well to all
it has to say about staying loyal
to its kith-and-kin,
for knowing a heart-and-soul will be grieving
the company you’re keeping

No battle compares with one
set to undermine better instincts,
give a persuasive alter ego 
pride of place, albeit under cover
of lies and deceit
in such a hellish darkness as defies confession
to make way for absolution

Yet, I will have my wicked way
with you, pour scorn on hindsight’s
attempt to wipe your tears,
haunt any positive-thinking mindset
throughout whatever time
would have mind-body-spirit live with its shame,
a posy of thorns by any other name

Now, however long it may take
to make reparation for any mistake
that’s a sacrilege, surely
against all one purports to hold dear?
Such lessons to be learned,
though they weep us on repentance’s tough rack,
as teach the art of moving on, not back 

Whoever considers walking out
with me needs must give due thought
to tackling the task
of repairing any likely damage done
a fairer, kinder, truer self,
last spotted shadowing an existential imagination
by way of addressing potential salvation

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Riders of the Watch

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

Today's poem has not appeared on the blog since 2007, and I have since revised it; the original version also appeared in a Drifting Thoughts, Poetry Today (Forward Press), 2000.

I recall once walking along the water’s edge in the moonlight. I was very unhappy. I saw no point in continuing the battle of wits between head and heart. Yet, the feisty beauty of a summer night touched whatever it is in us we like to call ‘soul’ and instead of lamenting an ending, I began to anticipate a new beginning...

(Photo taken from the Internet)

RIDERS OF THE WATCH

Moon shadows,

riding white horses across a vast rippling plain

of dark despair;

a dashing of hooves,

indelible imprint on what passes

for the soul

Ghost riders, all deceit and lies,

shivering, shimmering, desperately willing us

to run...

Oh, but where?

Stripped bare, a lifetime's audacity;

time to cast off the trappings and pretty wrappings

of integrity;

Waves, a crashing ovation

for giving reason its marching orders, joining

the heart’s accomplices

Ghost riders, all deceit and lies,

shivering, shimmering, desperately willing us

to run...

Regeneration

Moon shadows, a force for salvation

among the flotsam and jetsam of human frailty

left for us beachcombers

to spot and salvage

what dreams we can (if at nature’s caprice)

without losing face

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]