In the Swim, Whatever

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

We are each and every one of us in the swim of life; some are strong swimmers while the rest of us can barely keep our heads above water.

Whoever and wherever, we can but strive towards a shore that is sometimes distant, sometimes agonisingly close but always inspiring shoreline where dreams and best intentions beg our attention.

Life is a fast flowing river of good times and bad for everyone, although I suspect most if not all we LGBT folks endure more than our fair share of the latter. We can but swim  on and hope to arrive at some fair shore that will welcome us, and there are many.

I well recall once telling my mother she had a wonderful sense of humour to which she replied, with a wry smile, how we'd all be much the poorer without one. (A wise woman, my mother, dead some 40 years now but always in my head and heart.)

IN THE SWIM, WHATEVER

I grow old and, yes, the bottoms

of my trousers are rolled,

treading water in a vast sea, afraid

to swim, let a heat mist

swallow me up, let roaring shores

disappear since no respite there

for a troubled mind, but crowds

oblivious to my missing you,

Apollo’s kisses on me like darts

inflicting the bloody poetry

of pain, though waves wash it clean

so no one sees, no one reads

but upon whom it outs and feeds

I grow old and, yes, the bottoms

of my trousers are rolled

as I soak up the last of summer days

inclined to follow autumn’s ways

even as Apollo’s heat on me assumes

the contours of your body

against my bare skin and we are joined

as once we were, promising

to stay together forever, not knowing

life had other plans for us,

consumed by a summer’s history,

left to but blindly drift

the teasing shores of eternity

A sudden thrust of time and tide

demands an instant decision

(swim or drown?) Panic seizes me

in passion’s grip, my body

thrashing wildly like a lover in the heat

of an incredible lovemaking,

caught out confessing and climaxing

a bloody poetry of pain

no waves need wash clean, spoils

of ecstasy for all to see,

lovers finding rhythm enough to swim

the waters of eternity,

no matter who, or our sexuality

Swimming strongly now for the shore,

drawn by sounds of love and laughter

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2017

[Note: This poem first appeared in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; rev. ed. in e-format in preparation.]