Reflections

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A few years ago, a friend from my student days got in touch and expressed an interest in meeting up. 

I hadn’t heard from him for a good forty years and we hadn’t been close friends, but I remembered him well and recalled that we had always got on ok. He had married and raised a family, so I hadn’t expected him to stay in touch. I had heard on the grapevine that he and his wife had separated So, we met up and enjoyed catching up over a few beers.. 

During the next couple of years, I sent the occasional email, but received no reply, so was content to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time. However, when he contacted me again, out of the blue, I was quite simply no longer interested in meeting up with him. 

He thought I was being unreasonable, and pointed out that he had other friends with whom he rarely kept in touch. Having made the effort once, though, with a view to possibly reviving an old friendship, I felt no inclination do so again, especially as I was busy at the time and not feeling very sociable anyway. 

As my mother used to say, if a friendship I worth having, it is worth keeping, works both ways, and deserves better than being taken for granted. 

REFLECTIONS 

I provide the fuel
for a season’s fires to help us
feel safe and warm
as the world, it grows colder,
all the children
of Earth Mother growing older
time on her side
but on ours, too, if only enough to make
our presence felt 

I light such flames
as take their cue from life forces
likely to inspire us
to love, hate, laugh and dream
of ways and means
more likely to make life the better
for being kinder,
mind-body-spirit all the stronger for making
its presence felt 

I keep them burning,
those seasonal fires lit to help u
feel safe and warm
if only for such dreams as urge
rough sleepers
to waken and try again to make a life
that’s better, kinder
to a mind-body-spirit craving more than being
daily passed over 

I am wishful thinking, close kin to one called fate,
if only for having let a season’s fire go out

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

 

Engaging with a Speculative Mind

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Society - that is to say, the more vocal and 'pushy' of its so-called  'betters' - may well like to think the human condition can be moulded as it sees fit, but it underestimates the human spirit, that inner self inclined to resist all attempts to fit us into boxes for which we were not made.

By all means, let us resist ...

ENGAGING WITH A SPECULATIVE MIND

Some turn to love but for escape, comfort,

weary of a world full of pain and hate,

sick of always being told what to do (or not),

seek peace, understanding in a kind heart

Some find an escape and comfort they seek,

believe they're safe under sheltering skies;

some, disenchanted by love for its own sake,

weary of the same people, places, half lies…

If squaring up to life’s clout is never easy,

squaring up to love is harder still by far;

as for looking both in the eye with sincerity,

that demands the sureness of a guiding star

As clay to the potter's wheel, human nature

can but do its best with what's on offer ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2016

[Note: First published under the title ‘Horoscope' in A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Come the Spirit of Christmas

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Some people think I am an oddball because I don’t celebrate Christmas. Well, for a start, I do not subscribe to any religion. Yet, as regular readers well know, I like to think I have a strong sense of spirituality although I fake it from my relationship with nature rather than religion.

I often spend Christmas Day on my own and enjoy watching some great DVDs and not having to make an effort for anyone. Selfish, perhaps, but this time of year brings back many bad and sad memories, and I prefer to get through it in my own way. Yes, I may get a wee moody now and then, but on the whole I can relax and do my own thing in my own way without any well-meaning people telling me what I should do or how I should feel.

Even so, a part of me relates to what is meant to be a celebration of peace and love and togetherness. (Could it be an element of pagan in me, having been born on the winter solstice…?)

Whatever, I wish all family, friends and readers peace and love now and always. (Regular readers will know that I have nothing in common with my own family and those with whom I have got on well, loved even, are no longer with us, but that doesn't mean I don't wish the rest every happiness.)

As for the Christian message of peace and goodwill to all ... would that it it prevail always, and across all socio-cultural-religious divisions. Ah, but if only ... !

COME , SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS

What does Christmas mean to me?

peace and love need no pretty fir tree,

no decorations, no Christmas fare,

only to spread goodwill everywhere 

What does Christmas mean to me?

The sum of all I am that’s my history;

trying to do better by each new day,

and be a better person, come what may

What does Christmas mean to me?

Beggars on streets (give generously);

No in-fighting on wings of prayer,

world religions feeding on its despair

What does Christmas mean to me?

(A cure for HIV-Aids… oh, let it be!)

Let every day be a Christmas Day,

respecting one another, straight or gay

What does Christmas mean to you?

But listen to your heart and answer true

(else we become our worst enemy);

peace and love need no Christmas tree

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2014

Home Truths, Martyrs to Love

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A reader once got in touch to say he feels such a fool because he can’t help loving his girlfriend even though she continues to see other guys. 

That same day, there was an email in my In Box from a gay guy relating how he could not get even begin to get his head around his boyfriend's wanting an open relationship. While I, personally, would walk away, I do not underestimate either the power of love  or of well-meaning (if often ill-advised) pressure from family and/or friends - reminding us of our various 'responsibilities'; in other words, we mustn't be seen to let the side down. (Better to let ourselves down...?)

What can I say except these are among many men and women around the world who, for centuries, have settled for less - sometimes far less - in a relationship than, at heart, they desire and need. Some people, of course, can live with open relationships; for others (like me) it is asking too much.

It has to be one of the saddest facts of life that many potential partners cannot always see the other person’s take on love or…each other. Yet, many of us will settle for a one-sided relationship than no relationship at all, and the threat of loneliness; the latter reason perhaps why the world is full of martyrs to love.

Relationships between two people can only work if both partners want it to work, and neither should forget that everyone has a choice.

HOME TRUTHS, MARTYRS TO LOVE

You warned me not to fall in love with you,

that it was sex alone, never love, spurring us on,

for love is only for fools (you said) its course

set and steered by wet dreams; we worldly types

know better (you said) while tonguing words

of intimacy as if rites for a benign conspiracy

Keeping up appearances, it was nothing more

(never love) fuelling inspiration. Gladly I’d let

your fine body take mine, clung to the hope

that you’d come to love me, despairing as each

frantic, mindless, orgasm ripped through us

like that double-edged sword we call honesty

A culture of hypocrisy concealing human needs,

never quite able to satisfy the loneliness it feeds

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2015

Shadow Play, Companions for Life

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Now, some of us find that special someone to share our lives and others never do, while some of us find him or her only to lose them again. Death is a part of life, and loss is hard to bear, ye loved ones live on in our mind-body-spirit, always there to comfort, advise and reassure if only we care to listen.

Whatever, most of us have dreams that are more than shadow play but life companions.

This poem is a villanelle.

SHADOW PLAY, COMPANIONS FOR LIFE

Always with me, life companion

(true love so far, so near);

a tall shadow dancing on its own

Left half-awake in my bed alone,

it whispers poems in my ear;

always with me, life companion

Above, a jet plane’s sleepy drone

promises nothing to fear;

a tall shadow dancing on its own

No tears for a lonely half-person

whose way ahead unclear;

always with me, life companion

Come day, night, sun and moon,

its presence strong and dear,

a tall shadow dancing on its own

Asleep, lovers on a plane flown

where summer lasts forever;

always with me, life companion,

a tall shadow dancing on its own

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012 

Chariots of Fire

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I am reminded of a conversation I had many years ago when I was an egocentric teenager. I asked a teacher (as one does) what life is all about. Yes, well…silly question, I know, but I thought it sounded clever. More to the point, I thought it made me appear very clever.  I received what I thought was, in turn, a very silly answer, something about its being a bedtime story for grown-ups.

Now, though, I’m not so sure it was such a silly answer, and suspect it was too profound for my little poem to do it justice.

I recall telling my mother about that conversation. She just said, “He’s a very nice man if a little eccentric/ Mind you, there is always more to eccentric people than meets the eye just as there's nearly always something in what they have to say worth giving some thought to. Now, go and do your homework…’ Another very nice person, my mother . She, too, always had something to say worth giving some thought to. 

CHARIOTS OF FIRE

Sometimes, I regret my lost youth

but for its teaching me
my place in the world, neither high
nor low for racing chariots
of fire across a playground of dreams, 

skimming time and space,
grandest of all arenas least known
to Man

It’s enough, in the end, to land safe

and sound among moon shadows

bringing we charioteers such presence
of mind-body-spirit known only
to children hungering for fairy tales, 

now lost, now finding their way
in some otherworld to take up the reins
and race each other to cheers
and jeers, highs and lows, archived
to living memory 

Can it be, I wonder, that life is, after all,

a (potentially) feel-good bedtime story?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Ghosts, No Random Memory

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Who has never returned to the scene of a once-love, if only in their mind, and wondered how things might have been if only…?

GHOSTS, NO RANDOM MEMORY

Much rougher the sea

than last we ran here, laughing

on the cliffs,

a spring breeze in our hair;

less kind the sky

than last we kissed there,

bluebells surrounding

a passion brought to bear;

sweet memory, wings

of a friendly gull soaring our dreams,

love’s rhythm to fulfill;

such heat to embrace your body,

and bold! In the vaults

of eternity, our lives grown cold;

salty now, the hair blowing

across my face, thinned

like the heather at our special place

Though huddled in a raincoat,

I, oh, so easily recall the glad heart

that made me thrall…

Gulls squeal! No melody,

but a sure grace

whirling against storm clouds

like a pattern of lace

on an altar cloth, would have

smothered us both

Copyright R. N. Taber 1991; 2010

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version as it appeared in several poetry magazines and an anthology 1996-2004, and subsequently  in 1^st eds. of Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]

Birdsong

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

One of my poems begins with the line, ‘I care not for the world as it is now…’.I never said or wrote a truer word. But living in the world is one thing, how we get on with our lives is something else.

We can but try and make our private world a better, kinder, happier place, while hoping some of it will rub off on at least some of those with far more say in world affairs than us so that the world, too, may become a better, kinder, happier place.

Yes, well, wishful thinking perhaps ...

BIRDSONG

Once a bird flew to my window sill

and sung its song for me,

spreading peace, love, and goodwill

as far as the inner eye can see;

over hills, forests, deserts, far away

to lands where little can grow,

and people going hungry every day

while others prefer not to know

As I listened to the bird on my sill,

its song touched my heart

with such peace, love and goodwill

(it saw through me from the start.)

What can we do for the world as it is?

(little enough, it’s true)

but if a bird can prick our consciences,

there has to be more we can do

I watched the bird fly up and away

on wings of that song I’ll hear

as I take in the world News every day

in the comfort of my armchair…

What can I do for the world as it is?

(little enough, it’s true)

but if a bird can prick its conscience,

there’s hope yet for me and you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Dreaming Suburbs

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Suburbs have a reputation for being drab, dull, and boring; they have neither the countryside’s natural beauty nor the excitement of a large town or city.

Ah, but as with most things in life, even suburbia is as we choose to make it.

Besides one person’s nightmare is another person’s dream just as one person’s concrete jungle is someone else’s home...

DREAMING SUBURBS

Daylight fading at the window, thrushes

singing at will;

thoughts turn the mind slowly

like sails of a windmill;

twilight dips a darker hue

(one thrush soars, another stays

to sling its shadow among

the best geraniums);

melody fading, a flickering of feathers

at the sill...

Though darkness drop its shutters

on all the world’s sleepers,

candles lit for a Quixote surely will

guide a thrush to its nest,

let weary heads rest, having

done their best? (As for dreams,

finders keepers)

Gone now, sweet songbird;

nothing’s heard but sails in the wind

teasing humankind

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of Love And Human Remains, 2001.]

Confessions of a Con Artist

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Here’s a cautionary tale today, inspired by my late mother’s capacity for dreaming that enhanced rather than detracted from an earthy wisdom.

Everyone loves to dream. Ah, but beware of substituting dreams for reality; that way, heartache looms unless you can stay awake.

Not everyone who shares your life will share your dreams; don’t shut them out.

Dream on...but in trying for more and better we should take care not to undervalue what we have.

This poem is a kenning.

CONFESSIONS OF A CON ARTIST

At the breakfast table,
we’ll always chat over the cereal
and you’ll ask me
how you look today, what to say
when colleagues
at the office ask about us,
let anxious hands
spoil your hair and put it to me
that I don’t really care

What can I say? You know
as well as I do how office politics
turns on speculation,
feeding on a morbid imagination
that would sacrifice
a best friend to a conflagration
of malice dressed up
to the nines in whatever fashion
creates the best impression

At the supper table,
you always tell me about your day
and suggest we get away
from all this, suggest an early night
and kisses on your pillow
so I can start to show how I feel,
and let’s be carried away
on a rising tide of shelf clock ticks,
spoils of simulated sex

Call me, Dream Maker, if you will;
better still, make your own, get real

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Summer Wishes, Winter Dreams

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In winter, there are always memories of summer to keep us warm and see us through the darkest, coldest, cruellest days… as we anticipate other summers and longer, warmer, kinder days.

Forget log fires and central heating. Lovers can always escape the cold in each other’s arms…so it’s lucky for gay people like me that love doesn’t discriminate any more than weather! It’s just a shame that we can’t always escape bigotry so easily. Yes, life is a lot easier for gay people in some parts of the world…but only some…and rarely that easy, wherever.

Brrrrrrrrrrr. Things can only get better, yeah?

SUMMER WISHES, WINTER DREAMS

Tangled legs on a spread of clover

mouths kissing, arms embracing;

sun nymphs dancing on naked bodies,

breasts bared to the sky, mischief

in each golden eye, making the most

of precious moments, playing to

an audience of doves in the branches

of a guardian tree

Half-remembered lovers ghosting us 

but fleetingly - cannot reach, touch,

yet watch and yearn, burn like candles 

in the wind till snuffed out, freeing us

to be who we are, no mere shadows 

of who we were before we lay here 

together, embracing a brave new future

in the lap of summer

But vaguely aware of doves applauding

in the ears or the passing of past loves 

getting in our eyes like smoky cloud trails

as we are transported by the smileys

on the faces of such as we, discovering 

(as if for the first time) the ecstasy 

of being in perfect harmony with each other

and nature

Inspired to respond to Earth Mother's 

love poetry as naturally as seeds in the air,

nurturing the world, sending it word

that love, like truth, may yet win through

whatever some people think or say

as others vie with ghosts to go one better,

swept along on a tide of inspired togetherness

and sexuality

Be sure love will have the last laugh

on its critics as summer will follow spring,  

autumn fires warm us on its colder days

wherever we are, doves cooing, sun shining 

either side of storm or snow, showers 

that would see flowers grow another day,

open their hearts by way of urging all humanity
to do the same

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2012

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