Spirit Lake

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

You can hear me read this poem over the You Tube video. However, several readers who cannot access You Tube on their own computers for some reason and have seen the video on someone else’s have asked me to reinstate it on the blog.  (See video below). Many thanks, by the way, for their kind comments regarding my blogs.

The original You Tube video is available at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUShMVosnFs

OR access my You Tube channel and search by title:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

The lake at Stourhead (NB ‘Spirit Lake’ is simply the title I have given to the poem that I read here and video footage) is artificially created. Following a path around the lake is meant to evoke a journey similar to that of Aeneas's descent in to the underworld; passages telling of Aeneas's journey are quoted in the temples surrounding the lake.

Read more about Stourhead on Wikipedia:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stourhead

The video is one of three shot by my close friend Graham Collett, and I wrote the poem especially for the occasion. We hope you will enjoy both.

This poem is a villanelle:

SPIRIT LAKE

World of peace and tranquility
(looking out for its own); 
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Time playing games with history
(myth into maturity grown);
world of peace and tranquility

Dreamland lake in all its serenity
(solitude, yet not alone);
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

The very best of prose and poetry
(open minds freely shown); 
world of peace and tranquility

Watch ripples pausing at eternity
(life force unknown)
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Each heart, wing, flower and tree
(life arts, ever windblown);
world of peace and tranquility,
Earth Mother’s greater legacy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Getting Under the Skin

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

We all need something or someone at some time in our lives, but asking for help is not always easy; sometimes, pride gets in the way or we may well be at such a low ebb that we cannot get the words out.

There is no shame in asking for help; the first step is acknowledging to ourselves that we need it while the next (sometimes the hardest) is finding someone we know well and can trust to listen without judging us or simply telling us what they would do in our situation. I, for on, always avoid giving advice but will always offer various options and alternatives tailored to my knowledge of the person. Where the listener can offer practical help that is always, of course, as good a place to start as any.

Failing at the second step is invariably down to the inability of many if not most people to use their knowledge of a person to be able to offer constructive advice. We are individuals, all different; telling someone what we would do in their situation is rarely much help.

The listener is the greater source of inspiration because any advice forthcoming will be based on what he or she has heard; heard us out, encouraging us now and then by all means, but not interrupting or prompting along lines we think the other person is trying to say,

Need is not always obvious; too often, it is left to fester simply because there are none so deaf as will not hear. Where the listeners of this world are a rare breed, the friend who listens is a friend indeed.

This poem is a kenning.

GETTING UNDER THE SKIN 

I haunt the human spirit

as an alley cat might its territory,

fight off every challenge

until grown weary with battles,

ready to admit defeat,

yet without (quite) conceding

surrender of the kind

that sheds dignity like a second skin

for caving in to despair

I worry the human mind

as a dog might a flock of sheep

that knows no better,

simply goes with basic instinct,

chancing life and limb

to the farmer that will shoot

on sight, worth the risk,

beats gnawing away at an old bone

just because it’s there

I taunt the human heart

where expectation often misled

by parental satisfaction,

peer-led competition, egged on

by target-centred education…

chalices passed from generation

to generation, mistakes

coursing its veins like a slow poison

too often left untreated

Call me poor, inarticulate Need;

on life’s leftovers, I feed …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Mind-Body-Spirit, Garden of Remembrance

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

Today, our thoughts fly to the victims of the recent devastating earthquake in Italy; the living and the dead.

Nature, as we have seen, is constantly reminding us that humankind, for all its progress through the ages, remains vulnerable. (As if we need reminding!) No less vulnerable, the human spirit, but also an indomitable life force.

Now, memories are no compensation for reality. Nothing and no one can compensate for the loss of a loved one; family member, lover or close friend. Even so, it has been my personal experience that memories can keep good times as fresh in our minds as when we first shared them, and in so doing any tears - in time -become more like spring rain than some relentless wintry storm.

Such is the power of love that that it will inspire the human spirit for generations to weather any storm, repair close-knit communities damaged by events beyond their control, and most importantly, concede love the victory over grief. Speaking up about it invariably helps, although words can never quite express what mind-body-spirit are telling us all the time.

This poem is a villanelle.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE,

In thoughts so near, so far away,

inspiration visits old Memory Lane,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Whether or not we choose to pray,

love will survive us time and again

in thoughts so near, so far away

Deep sleep, no guiding light of day

nor dark, only kisses like spring rain,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Come despair keeping life at bay,

cue for human love to take the strain

in thoughts so near, so far away

Where a body quits worldly affray,

good hearts repeating its finer refrain;

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Though life bury us in colours grey,

trust human goodness ever to remain;

in thoughts so near, so far away,

love’s fairest flowers here to stay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Ghosts, a Prepaid Ticket to Ride

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

Readers often ask if I am on Facebook or Twitter. No, I am not, but if anyone is interested in a regular (or occasional) email exchange or is ever in London and would like to meet up for a chat over a drink, coffee, meal (or all three) feel free to get in touch: - rogertab@aol.com

Meanwhile...

Someone once accused me of lying and told me I would pay dearly for it when I die, as I would for any other sins. Well, I am not a religious person, but I was raised a Christian and am not unfamiliar with the Holy Bible. It has always struck me that Jesus of Nazareth spoke a lot of good sense. When a woman was about to be stoned, he is reported in the Gospels as saying, ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’

If sin embraces lies and other forms of deceit, wrongdoing, selfishness, bigotry and hypocrisy - to name just a few of the worse human traits - I dare say most if not all of us have sinned in one way or another. Some sins can be explained if not excused; others are inexplicable and inexcusable.

So what obscure life force is it within us that makes us sin, sometimes against our better judgement?  Whatever, we can rely on conscience to see we are not let off the hook.

I believe we make our own ‘heaven’ and our own ‘hell.’ To what extent depends on what we do - or don’t do - to deserve either or both. So when, as mythology would have it, the Ferryman comes to row us across the Styx, I see no reason why we should pay a penny more than we have spent a lifetime paying…one way or another.

Someone else once told me that Conscience is our salvation, not Belief, seeing to it that any bad in us pays;  it is the spirit of any good in us that the Ferryman lands on the shores of infinity. (Maybe that is why the poet in me sees and listens to ghosts, all of whom appear to mean well?)

As a child, I loved mythology. Once, I asked my mother how much the ferryman might charge for  rowing me across the Styx, and would he expect a tip? She laughed and commented that we had already paid with our lives, no need for either. 

Would it be a scary journey, I wanted to know? She hesitated only briefly, "Not if you've always been a good boy," she said. "And if not sometimes?" I asked. She shrugged, "Well, it always helps to be in credit, but no one is all bad, and I dare say God is no more above making allowances than the rest of us." 

"I'm not sure I believe in God," I confessed. She was visibly shocked, but as reassuring as ever. "Everyone is different.  Whatever happens when we die, that is taken into account as well. So don't you worry about dying, especially when there's a whole life out there just waiting to be lived. Now, how about an ice-cream...? End of a conversation I barely understood at the ripe old age of 10 years ...but well recall the best part of a lifetime later.

GHOSTS, A PREPAID TICKET TO RIDE

A time must come when we shall die,
and what last steps do we take?
Do we pray or simply weep a goodbye
to all we’ve loved for life’s sake?

Will death us, a kinder ‘God’ restore,
peace of mind, innocence of a child,
or see us writhe in pain at a closed door,
pay the price for being of this world?

What is repentance, what does it prove
but sheer desperation to be rescued
from an eternity denied the spirit of love,
free fall in a well of all lies reviewed?

If life, it play fair at death’s home shore,
why pay the ferryman a penny more?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2016

[Note: This poem has been revised (2016) since first appearing under the title 'Service Charge Included' in The Sound of Silence, TA-TI Edizone (Italy, 2005) and A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; a revised version of my collection - in e-format - is in preparation.]

A Sense of Who We Are

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

Life is what it is; we make the best (or worst) of things. Everyone is different and no one has the right to judge another simply because they appear to aspire to less than their potential suggests. Fame, fortune, travel…these are wonderful achievements if and where the cap fits but aspiring to be nothing more or less than a good parent/person is no less wonderful, even more so perhaps for its invariably being less obvious (or newsworthy).

Whatever, we can always fall back on imagination.

A SENSE OF WHO WE ARE

Home truths, like near dead lilies on a lake

running dry

Lifelines, like veins of a turning leaf

come autumn

Desire, taking comfort in homemade soup

in winter

Wisdom, taking its cue from the first

cuckoo of spring

Ambition,  Jack Frost’s tablecloth spread,

our places laid

Passion, saving water lilies from a lake

running dry

Love, preserving archives should humanity

need reminding

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This poem first appeared in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007 and was subsequently published in CC&D v 270, Scars Publications, USA]

On the Bitter-Sweet Politics of Being Human

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

War, more often than not, takes a cruel toll on Home Fronts as well as on the battlefield; it changes people, and in doing so can destroy relationships, inflict all manner of blows on family life, cause individuals to question the validity of any raison d’être on offer.

It is perhaps the greatest tragedy of humankind that it’s multi-ego has a problem with the notion of simply agreeing to differ

ON THE BITTER-SWEET POLITICS OF BEING HUMAN

At war, injury or worse for victory’s sake,

not all survivors showing its scars;

at home, cradles rock and boughs break

Back home, safe passage no piece of cake,

many survivors too weary for tears;

at war, injury or worse for victory’s sake

See the battlefield, its finest heroes make

of women from Venus, men from Mars;

at home, cradles rock and boughs break

All roads to peace, too, their victims take,

for all we’re told an answer to prayers;

at war, injury of worse for victory’s sake

Where war makes waves across time’s lake,

find peace putting its faith in straws;

at home, cradles rock and boughs break

Shall history its peace with war ever make,

its windows on the world need no bars?

At war, injuries or worse for victory’s sake;

at home, cradles rock and boughs break

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2016

[Note: Title (only) of the poem revised (2016) from the version that appears under the title 'War and Peace' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

It Takes All Sorts...

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

"It takes all sorts to make a world," says Badger to Ratty in Kenneth Graham's classic novel 'Wind in the Willows'.

Now, I hate being referred to as a gay poet simply because I write gay-interest as well as general poetry. I prefer to think of myself as a poet who happens to be gay. When I commented as such to someone only recently I was told it was much to be expected as people tend to be judged by/ remembered for their behaviour; it was put to me that my being gay was by far the more significant aspect of who I am as a person. (Bullshit!)

Different takes on life do not make us different, just human. As human beings, we need to respect those differences, not malign them except, of course, where terrorism and other acts of criminality are involved; being 'different' is no excuse for the terrorist or actively criminal mindset.

My being gay IS a significant part of who I am, but other aspects of a person’s individuality are every bit as if not more important than their sexuality.

The same person suggested that being gay was ‘unnatural’ and therefore more likely to ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

Well, nature’s heterosexual majority, it would appear, is far more accepting and understanding of various species’ native traits in this respect than many among its human counterpart.

While there are a number of documentaries on You Tube about homosexual behaviour in animals, the link below will take you to one of my favourite videos:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYdcvRe7ox8

It really does take all sorts to make a world, and we should all remember that befores we even consider attacking someone - physically or verbally - for being 'different' or thinking differently to ourselves. By all means let's agree to differ, and make our own case for ...  whatever ... but without going to personal extremes,

IT TAKES ALL SORTS...

As I walked in the garden one day,
I saw a dog chase a cat into a hedge,
but cat kept its head,
spat and glared till dog backed away
and went after a squirrel instead,
but the wily squirrel was far too quick
and scampered up a tree
while the dog settled for chewing
on a bone left lying on the lawn

As I strolled out in a park one day,
I saw dogs chasing each other’s tails
and clearly having fun
till one glimpsed a cat in the distance,
hared off after it,
the rest on its heels barking madly,
but cat already gone
so began fighting each other viciously,
owners converging in alarm

As I went on a protest march one day,
riot police shields herded us into a corner,
tarring us all with the same brush,
(peaceful protesters and trouble makers)
but someone broke free,
police on their heels shouting madly,
soon catching up with the person
who was then brought down viciously,
dragged off crying in handcuffs

I spotted children observing a dog
taking no notice of a cat but to exchange
glances as if commenting
on the weird way we humans carry on,
now boxing in our own
or fighting, now hugging each other,
while a sparrow in a nearby tree
had to agree, all three alerted by history
to humankind’s split personality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note; If interested, feel free to explore my gay-interest poetry blog:
https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8069559007797345275#template/src=sidebar ]