It often strikes me as one of life's more bitter-sweet ironies that it's the
heart in winter that focuses most on spring...
Me, I have never been as happy as the too few years I shared with my late
partner a long time ago. Even so, I learned to be happy again. Oh, I have never
met anyone else with whom I wanted to share my life, but I have made some good friends,
found a curious peace, comfort and joy in my poetry as well as being blessed
with a natural optimism to see me through. I may not be a very successful
writer, but success has never meant as much to me as enjoying life in my own
way. [Yes, I have prostate cancer, but have all I need to see me through that too.]
Love comes to each and every one of us in all shapes and forms; its effect on us never (quite) fades even though sometimes it may be but a visitor, passing through. The past, too, is
a part of us and never forgotten, whether or not it needs to be tempered by forgiveness, nor should it ever be where it has made us
happy. Ah, but it's building on that happiness, making the most of the present, each of us in our own way, and
looking forward to the future that counts…no matter what. As for various socio-cultural-religious dogma/conventions refusing to take our side for one reason or another, the human spirit knows better; religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality any more than conventions have rights or dictatorship.
GETTING THE BETTER OF ROCK AND HARD PLACE
I walked in a wood one winter
as I had with my true love one
spring,
promising ourselves to each other;
the trees were bare, yet so splendid,
whose leaves happy enough to perform
the music
of life just for us
Heavens, near
empty and grey,
whose wings of light once, our spring,
gaily affirmed
Earth Mother’s love;
world, a
spread of snow where flowers
(all kinds and colours) created an
ocean
of brave
dreams just for us
I let my heart fall to the ground
where you lay your raincoat one
spring,
our first lovemaking blessed;
yet, my heart refused to stay long,
but spread wings (just as it had
before)
meant to survive all weathers
I’ll not
let it grieve me that nature
should liken
its life force to a graveyard,
and we
among the fallen;
life goes
on, poor humanity caught
between its
rocks and hard places save
for the
enduring power of love
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015