You-Me-Us, Love and let Love

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blogs in 2014.

Oh, but roll on spring, a renewed zest for life, love, nature...always so much a part of us even as winter would have its wicked way with us. Winter, though, even as a season of the human heart such as Covid-19 has imposed on the world, cannot win; if spring simply hibernates, who says the spirit of spring ever hibernates...?

Now, love comes in all shapes and sizes and is just about everywhere you look from childhood through adulthood into our older years; we just need to keep our minds and hearts open, and have no stereotypical ideas about love’s 'ideal'.

Nothing and no one can live up to an ideal. But if growing up is all about getting real, it doesn't have to take anything away from the everlasting beauty of love...unless we let it.

As for gay love…Well, love doesn’t discriminate against us so by what right does anyone? Sadly, there have always been bigots - in one form or another - and no new, better, kinder world was ever built in a day ... we can but do our best to keep tackling chips on shoulders and hidden agendas in tablets of stone.

We may well happen to think a couple in love are not suited to one another for one reason or another, but it is not up to us to impose our feelings on them. However well-meaning any uninvited interference or intrusion concerning the affairs of others, even loved ones, we need to be there for them, not cold shouldering because they choose not to take our 'advice'.

Various socio-cultural-religious issues need to translate into love just as they were invariably intended before certain individuals and groups chose to impose their own interpretations. Similarly, personal integrity needs to embrace the wider implications of human love or what worth social, cultural, religious or political identity? (Yes, and sexual identity too.)

As I have said before on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. We may nurse misgivings, even downright disapproval about the love two people plainly have for one another, but it is neither our business nor right to judge or reject them because they conflict with socio-cultural-religious values, traditions or stereotypes imposed upon us since birth.

The world changes and we need to change with it, clearly discriminating between human values and human vanity as we do so.

Dis I say it was easy?

This poem is a kenning.

YOU-ME-US, LOVE AND LET LOVE

Sworn to ride a dragon

across the world,

home course preferred,

winging our way across skies

a cloudy grey for the sun,

as joyfully (if often fearfully)

we, our seasons run,

whatever the damage done

by Man or nature

Let winds blow, rain gnash

its teeth at us, cyclones

crash into our poor defences,

smash every window, door,

sending cars flying, leaving us

but recourse to initiative,

mind over matter where hearts

dare disprove the universal cynic,

the wavering doubter

Sweet song of a nightingale

lights up our darkness,

heaping comfort on loneliness…

Come dawn, voice of a lark

homing in on us at the very edge

of history, encouraging us

to focus once more on a kinder

landscape than left worn and torn

by nature and Man

To myth, legend, and fairy tale,

I, Love bring certainty ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in an anthology, My Love, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

L-O-V-E, Survivors

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blogs in 2016, ad has since been (slightly) revised.

Staying positive and trying to keep looking on the bright side of life has never been harder for many of us than now as the Covid-19 coronavirus continues to take its toll around the world. Essentially, I am a positive thinking person; even so, life has a nasty habit of contriving circumstances likely to make us think differently, circumstances which, for whatever reason, spot a chink in our psychological armour and send us into free fall ...

Many years ago, my lie took a turn for the worse (not the first time) and I had a bad nervous breakdown; unable to see a way through it, I attempted suicide. Fortunately, life forces I cannot begin to describe kicked in, and I started to see something of the wood through its trees. I recall telling a doctor, "I can't do this." His reply has stayed with me ever since. "Yes, you can," he said, "... just tell yourself over and over that you will get through it, and you will. Better still, focus on all the positive things you want to do that giving up now will never let you, and go with the damn flow, man, go with the flow." 

So … I went with the damn flow, and survived to tell the tale.

Good or bad, we make the world we live in and it is up to all of us to try and make it a better one.

Humanity's rage to live for love and the greater good will always defeat its enemies in the end.

Looking on the bright side of life may not always be easy, but human beings have a natural capacity for love, in all its shapes and forms, and the more we can focus on that the better. 

(Did I say it would be easy...?) 

This poem is a villanelle.

L-O-V-E, SURVIVORS

Though bigotry and hate thrive 

among the world’s power brokers,

it’s love that will see us survive

Always, people willing to drive

forces for good to the aid of others,

though bigotry and hate thrive

While terrorist-led plots connive

to mock this world’s peacemakers,

it's love that will see us survive

Open heart and mind ever contrive

to expose the worst attention seekers,

though bigotry and hate thrive

If life giving forces as bees to hive,

(a warning sting for potential takers)

it’s love that will see us survive

As sure to keep freedom's name alive,

as frustrate its would-be code breakers;

though bigotry and hate thrive,

it’s love that will see us survive 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016, 2020

A Temporary Heaven OR Love-Hate, Hobson's Choice

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

Today’s poem first appeared here in 2017 and has since been substantially revised; it is but one of a number of poems that I am posting on either or both blogs that are no longer accessible in the archives. [Archives are available on the right hand side of any blog page.]

It can (and does) happen to anyone, gay or straight, male or female, young and old alike; we fall in love and, in return, are offered an ‘open’ relationship, no strings. It all sounds very ‘modern’ and we convince ourselves we are OK with the arrangement rather than reject it (and be rejected, in turn) for the raw deal it so often can be, especially where ‘open’ gives the green light to one party to look elsewhere.

 I know people who have spent the greater part of their lives persuading themselves that any deal is better than no deal, any arrangement better than none, all the one-sided sacrifices worth every heartbeat; it happened to me once. At the time I was feeling lonely, unloved and could see no light at the end of a long tunnel. I savoured every moment we spent together closing my mind to those aspects of his life in which I was never invited to play a part. I convinced myself I was a martyr to love, and almost enjoyed the role.

Ah, but only almost …

Few people knew about us, such was the nature of our relationship. One day, I confided in a friend who told me I was a fool to dance to his tune. I protested, insisting love was a tune to which only a fool would not dance. “On your own?” he asked, incredulous. “Sometimes, yes, but all the time…?

I knew he was right, of course, but it was a good while before I would admit it to myself, thereby freeing my tearful heart from such self-imposed shackles as I had been fooling myself were pretty ribbons around a box of delights I could not nor should not resist. On opening the box, though, I had seen only what I wanted to see, failing to get to grips with the psychology of wishful thinking.

Like most learning curves, it was a bumpy ride but, yes, worth every heartbeat just to get my life back. 

A TEMPORARY HEAVEN or LOVE-HATE, HOBSON'S CHOICE

As someone obsessed with public perception,

your body could only (ever) offer a temporary haven,

no strings attached, warning me from at the start

never to fall in love with you for love is only for fools

(you said)

You warned me at the start about falling in love

its course only ever likely to run true but in dreams,
and we 'worldly' types have (far) more sense 
than to let ourselves be carried away by such fantasies
of mind-body-spirit

Gladly I would let your incredible body take mine

in the hope you would (eventually) learn to love me,

despairing as each frantic, mindless, orgasm

ripping into us, much like s classic double-edged sword

we call honesty

My lover, no less indifferent to true love’s needs

than any folly of delusion on which its loneliness feeds,

remained true to his word, watched me fall apart,

sensing neither need nor responsibility (or should he?)

for my heart

Not before time, I walked away of my own free will,

much as I had been complicit in making of love’s heaven,

a living hell, years of mixed feelings ahead of me;

Yet, whatever hindsight might demand I do, a part of me 

goes on loving you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared on the blog in 2007] RNT

Breaking Cover OR Making Sense of Sensibility

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

This poem has appeared on he blob before but was removed and revised after receiving few visitors.

There are various ways of breaking cover. What nicer way for two gay people to come out to each other than with a kiss under the stars ... whatever their sex, sexuality or socio-cultural-religious background? As for letting everyone else know, it is rarely if ever easy, but worth every heartbeat as well as any tears along the way...

In some countries and home environments, gay people just have to seize the day and trust that a time will come that everyone recognises and accepts that the heart is a free country, and our difference don't make us different, only human.

Neither love nor life itself is rarely anywhere near as simple as we would wish, if only because we human beings insist on making everything so complicated with reference to various socio-cultural-religious dogma written in tablets of stone rather than engaging with contemporaneity, and trying to understand human nature, less rushing to judgement and / or  seeing its complexities as an excuse for hate crime, and worse ...

BREAKING COVER or MAKING SENSE OF SENSIBILITY

We lay on the ground,

barely touching, the only sound,

owls hooting;

your piano hands as if playing

the stars as we debate

women from Venus, men

from Mars

One toe brushing mine,

letting me share your body heat;

your eyes, winking like stars

as I clutch at your every word

like a man drowning;

you edge closer, thigh nestling

against mine

I'm stroking your shirt

while you're talking, unaware

of my being tossed about

on waves of desire, longing

to shut your mouth

with my lips, explore your body

implore your love

All the sounds of night

a serenade for lovers, caressing

each secret part of us

as I can but cling to every timbre

of your voice like straws

in a summer breeze, Cassiopeia

blinking back tears

Eventually, you wearied

of words, seemed to count stars

while I continued

to chase pipe dreams till the owls

broke cover, flew over us

as if at Earth Mother bidding,

a blessing of sorts

Enchanted, we shared

the owls' graceful flight across

silvery meadows

of night into a heart of darkness

that struck us both,

as lonelier than our lying there

needing each other

Slowly, tearfully, you turned to me,

kissed me, and we made love ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004, rev. 2011

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

Where the Keyword is Self-Awareness OR Where there's a Will, there's a Way

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

A new poem today, probably brought on by my having too much time to think during such days of Covid-19 coronavirus that the world is waking up to every day, but none of us know how any day will end; even so, 'Hope springs eternal' ...  which definitely has to be my all-time favourite among corny truisms. wry bardic grin

Some of us, for whatever reasons, get off to an uneasy, if not downright unhappy or bad start in life; some blameworthy fate seems to have it in for us.  I felt this way for years as a teenager and young man, not least because I was gay and same sex relationships were illegal at the time; other influences, too, mostly from family and peers, saw my younger self in something of a psychological mess for which it suited me to blame some existential fate rather than take responsibility for myself.

Eventually, I came to realise that any hell I was in was of my own making; it was the start of my finding a way back to a self with whom I was (and still am) more comfortable.

Where there's a will, there really is a way, and the way may well be heavy-going, but worth every heartbeat if we want it bad enough.

“I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.”
- Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”  often attributed to C. S. Lewis

WHERE THE KEYWORD, IS SELF-AWARENESS or WHERE THERE'S A WILL, THERE'S A WAY

There is a part of me

that no one ever gets to know

for my living out

its fantasy, a nightmare fiction imposed

on mind-body-spirit

Mind, it can but fight

as best it can to get the better

of forces as unremittingly

as uncaringly infiltrating the human body

time after time

Spirit, it can but resist

until worn down by nightmares 

passing for home truths

by certain elements of human psychology

worn on its sleeves

The better part of me,

struggling with secrets and lies

it’s made to house

in a heart hell bent on betraying appearances

behind closed doors

The years, they but pass

in tears for needing  to break free

of a mind-body-spirit

that would ransom me to Reason, but Reason

is having none of it

Finally, Reason pays up,

returning me to the kind of self

that is a kinder person,

if vulnerable to life forces that can get the better

of you, me, anyone

I grow old, but less haunted

by secrets and lies putting me down

than by other ghosts, 

old allies in adversity come to rescue me again,

and dry my tears,

That's life, and human nature;

we may well seek to nurture a natural 

predilection for peace 

and love in a world open to taking on all-comers,

but… who knows…?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today..] RNT

Lockdown, Loosening Up

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

A new poem today inspired by a true-life story as sent in by Jay and Shakil.

If little else of a positive nature, Covid-19 had made many if not most of us realise that we may not have as much time left as we think so … all the more reason to get real about ourselves and stop playing mind games.Time, too, to think about what we really want and need from life, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious agenda-dogma imposed on us since birth; let the human spirit have its say, and trust it to help us make our own decisions without being made to feel threatened by some existential hell for going against established 'norms'.

If sharing our life with someone or living our lives in a way that does not correspond with how family and friends think we should, for whatever reason, offends them to the extent they shun us, that’s their loss; often, rejection is more of an impulsive, shock reaction, but where there is love, and it is strong, it will invariably make us see sense in so far as what our loved ones do is who they are, and it is who they are - family or friend – that remains whom we love, no matter what.

Rarely easy, but only a heartbeat away, and the heart heeds must have its say ... whether we choose to listen or not.

Sadly, love is not always as strong a life force as we would have it, and the human heart may well encounter  human opposition; we can but give the latter time to get used to the idea that the former has human rights too.

Meanwhile, I’m sure we all wish Jay and Shakil every happiness, Covid-19 notwithstanding.

LOCKDOWN, LOOSENING UP

Workmates on furlough,

we could but say “Hello” knocking elbows

in a bar, coronavirus demanding

no more or less of us, while something

about his smile

sending tremors down my spine

the way it never had before,

both of us experiencing the same,

afraid to say more

We talked about work,

wondering how things would work out

for us, once our furlough done,

trying to stay positive about returning

to how things once were

before the pandemic took the world

by the scruff of its neck,

demanding we reinvent ourselves,

make or break

Empathy bringing us closer

than we had ever been as office colleagues,

it slowly metamorphosed

into emotions we had fought off for years,

now close to surrendering,

weary of sad, lonely years threatening

an even worse fate

than Covid-19 killing us off, so… time

to Come Out?

Several drinks later, we parted in pouring rain,

a dead cert we'd be together again soon ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

(London, UK July 19th)

Love, an Enduring Light

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016. 

Some lovers are lucky enough to grow old together while the rest of us must be content with focusing on happy memories.  

For the inner eye, though, the line of vision is always the same, on love, as it was at the start and always will be ..

Oh, and who cares if the writer of a love poem is gay or straight? For that matter, why should anyone mind about someone else’s sexuality anyway? As for those who so love to bring God into the debate, if God created humankind, He (or She) also created our differences and is hardly likely to reject anyone for those differences since it is, after all, our differences that make us ... no, not different, just human.

As those of us well into our 70's and beyond, there is nothing romantic about growing old, especially if you live alone; it's tough; no older person would dispute that. At the same time, where there is love in the heart, a feisty spirit is rarely anywhere near as far away as it may seem to the casual observer; invariably, there is a life within that refuses to grow old... even as it prepares to explore the Poetry of Mystery we call death. It is an open invitation we dare not refuse; whatever our ethnicity, sexuality, religion (or non-religion) the human spirit can and will survive anything life throws at it; we have but to sow and nurture its seed so that others may (or may not) appreciate its flowering long after our all our seasons have passed into remembrance.

My old English Teacher, 'Jock' Rankin once commented that "It may be down to us to write the chapters in life, but it is left to time to publish our biography." - words that meant little at the time, but have become more meaningful with each passing season.

LOVE, AN ENDURING LIGHT

If strands of grey in the hair turning white
and less subtle laughter lines in the face,
you smile, and my world is filled with light,
as tired limbs summon dignity and grace

If the voice sounding weaker than before,
its familiar lilt still as sweet on the ear,
and a heart that keeps listening out for more,
the happier for knowing we’re together

If time, it parts the world’s lovers too soon,
our nurture of nature will have its way,
and who seeks among craters of the moon
will find flowers we planted there today

In good times and bad, love’s light endures,
though Death's tears its vision blurs

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2020

[Note: This post/ poem also appears on my general poetry blog today; an earlier version of this poem appears under the title ‘Line of Vision’ in Tracking the Torchbearer R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.] 

Freedom, Beacon of Hope in a Darkening World

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

The poem below can still be found in my general poetry blog archives for 2016; a reader in Poland has asked me to repeat it here as he thinks “my gay friends will like it, but they don’t visit your general blog …”  Feedback suggests that many gay readers rarely if ever dip into my other poetry blog because, as this same reader says “…we don’t think it is relevant to us.” While I can understand that, it saddens me because poetry is an Open House; we may not always agree with or even like what we find there, but … blame the poet if you must, not the poem. 

Many years ago, one of my teachers once described freedom to the class as the best of human spirit personified. I agree, though I guess it all depends on an incorrupt spirit and a sense of freedom for everyone, not a select few.  

Whatever, we should never take personal freedom for granted, always resist any efforts by anyone to undermine it, moreover understand and accept that it can mean different things to different people while much the same force for good.

The Covid-19 threatens our personal freedoms like few human repressive forces, not least in the sense that it is an invisible enemy; we can but do much the same as when confronted by any enemy, resist it as best we can.

FREEDOM, BEACON OF HOPE IN A DARKENING WORLD]

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) blocked

by power-hungry rulers

living in the lap of luxury where others

go hungry, and can but dream

of running fresh, clean, water from a tap

that’s close to hand

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted

by fighters who lost battles,

but inspired others to continue the war

against the sickest corruption

in the highest places, best feet forward

to global markets

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom (still) ringing out

loud and clear with howls

of protest punctuated with the shrapnel,

gunfire, and tear gas

that, oh, so often accompanies integrity

even in a 21st century

In some parts of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) littered

with human bones,

occasionally with name tags attached,

others are identified only

by such natural categories as ethnicity

and, yes, sexuality

In some part of the world,

all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted

by voices of the dead,

inspiring men, women, and children

to take greater pride

than many so-called ‘betters’ in rallying

round a flag with pride

In some parts of the world,

heterosexuality is promoted true enough

to hot-blooded stereotype,

some falling for the honeyed-up hype

of tongues, sly and zealous,

while others continue to call for a culture

of Freedom for all of us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

The Gambler OR 'IF' Revisited

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

The poem below first appeared on the blog in 2016; along with other recent posts, it has been removed from the archives and (significantly) revised in order to re-publish here today. For anyone interested, though, there are many poems in the archives that will remain there so feel free to browse any time; I am only removing any that I feel, years on, need some revision (either the poem itself, its title ... or both.)

I am no gambler in the sense that I rarely bet for financial reward, but line most people I have nursed ambitions, followed my heart, fought my share of battles as a direct consequence, and ... yes, won some, lost some. Years ago, I had three driving ambitions; to look the world in the eye as a gay person, be a librarian and a poet. I have managed all three, but it took time for mind-body-spirit to take each proverbial bull by its horns and reconcile myself to as well as accept responsibility for any consequences. While nothing in my life has worked out quite as I had hoped, I remain, at 74, content enough to have,on balance, won more wars with mind-body-spirit than battles lost; it is how I deal with the threat of Covid-19 ... as just another battle in just another war ... and what will be, will be. 

Now, I get angry when people comment along the lines of someone’s having no ambition, just as I get angry when, as often as not, it is the same people who criticise another person's lifestyle and/ or sexual persuasion; it is none of their damn business.

Ambition means different things to different people and cannot be measured in terms of ‘success’ or ‘failure’; far too often these things are measured in terms of fame and/or fortune without taking into account someone’s success as a well-meaning, decent person; in the latter category, you will often find some of the poorest people in the world. 

Gambling on our potential to make a success if an idea or even a relationship is a win-win; even if circumstances conspire against us, we will have done our best; others might not see it that way, but if we are honest with ourselves, we know the truth of the matter. Yes, we may wish we had done certain things differently, made different choices … but, that’s life … and hindsight is not something we should beat ourselves up over. Hopefully, we will not only learn from our mistakes, but also pass them on to help others avoid them too; if there is a silver lining, the latter has to be it.

At the same time, we are all but human, fallible, and not infrequently vulnerable. Few things goad a person into taking a misguided path in life (if - initially, at least - for all the right reasons) than self-criticism for failing to live up to someone else's expectations, especially if that person is a loved one.  We think we need to 'prove ourselves'.  Sadly - as in the case of many a gambler for purely financial gain -we not only risk losing ourselves, but also much of if not all we hold dear along the way.

My late mother, to whose words of wisdom I often wish I had listened to more while she was alive - she died 40+ years ago just months before my 30th birthday - would often say when I confided this or that life plan running circles in my mind - "Always have a plan B, dear, just in case if things don't quite work out as you hoped." Fortunately, I did listen some of the time, and many a Plan B has been a lifesaver.

This poem is a kenning.

THE GAMBLER or 'IF' REVISITED

I can be a friend or foe, take me as you will

to a corner of your heart and let me stay

to whisper sweet words of love and desire

in your ear, bring precious respite

from life’s trials, wars and sleepless nights

for worry, fear, dread of what the day

may yet devour. I can light your darkness.

Only, dare dance with me on the shadow line,

win some, lose some? 

I can be a friend or foe, take me as you will

into a corner of your mind and let me stay

to whisper unkind words of lust and desire

in your ear, rarely offering any respite

from life’s trials, wars and sleepless nights

for worry, fear, dread of what day may bring,

rain or shine. Enough. Time to go along 

with whatever inner forces insisting we have

something to prove? 

Yes, the human whole comprises such parts

as may be taken for partner, friend or foe;

whatever, it insinuates the self, feeds on it, 

driving mind-body-spirit for good or ill,

has no respect for any self-awareness of 'easy'

money as fool's gold, while neither taking 

every dreamer for a fool who feels the need

to live for such tomorrows as may never come

but just might, if ...

Call me Aspiration, neither saint nor sinner,

but self-styled winner (or loser)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

[Note: This  poem also appears on my general poetry blog today; an earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Dirty Dancing' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Human Spirit, Life Forces

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

Today’s poem is, yes, another kenning; it first appeared on the blog in November 2009, again in 2011 and today (for a second time) by 'Hannah and Jonathan’ for no special reason other than "it always lifts our spirits." Well, thank you, folks, happy to oblige.

Several people have commented to me recently that they feel "like death warmed up" and /or "totally drained" by the pandemic and its everyday implications for and limitations on everyday life; and so say all of us, I suspect. We can but stay positive and trust the human spirit to help us run the gamut and survive the stronger, not than weaker for it. Never easy, of course, even at the best of times.

A friend I knew as a student once confided that he 'envied' poets and others engaging in the arts because ' they can experience at first hand the everlasting quality of a vibrant Poetry of Life that passes so many of us by. At best..." he conceded, "...we can enjoy it while it lasts, provided we even recognise it for what it is at the time, of course. But, let's face it who want to be reminded once it moves on? I mean to say, no one wants to be reminded of any what-might-have-been, do they?"

While these were rhetorical questions, of course, I practised my right to agree to differ anyway, pointing out that no human experience either passes us by or even moves on completely, but remains a part of us, and whether we like/acknowledge it or not, it helps shape who we are and how we learn from whatever might-have-been may have affected us as it clearly had my friend. He shrugged, commented that "you arty types are all the same, always looking on the brighter side of life, and expecting the rest of us to take a leaf out of your poetry books." We both laughed. and he changed the subject.

Strange, isn't it, how some conversations stay with you like the lyric of a song you can't forget, as much for the singer as the song, if not more so...? Arts and artists, they help shape our lives along with their own; as for who gets the better deal, active participant or audience, that's anyone's guess, although I suspect it is in some timely inspiration that lies the key to any answers. Nor should it ever be assumed that anyone outside the arts field has ever been excluded from enjoying the Poetry of Life; it is a global consciousness, open to and welcoming anyone whose natural spirit engages with the poetry (and prose) of life in all its human diversity of expression and experience.

As regular readers of either or both poetry blogs will know only too well, I subscribe to no religion as such; an empathy with nature since childhood, though, leads me confess an intimate relationship with Pantheism in the sense that I see any 'God' as nature, rather than its creator, having never felt comfortable with the idea of a personified God.

Sadly, while I respect world religion/s, few who enter into them respect my point of view; neither atheist nor agnostic am I, though, so can we not simply agree to differ and get on with our lives without invoking words on historical tablets of stone that would keep us apart ...?

So ...what happens to the human spirit once its host body dies?  Regular readers will know by now that my sense of a posthumous consciousness is another of the life forces my poem suggests drives  a human spirit that ia not only eternal, but also, in its own unique way, continues to not only make a 'live' contribution to history .... be it in a personal and/or wider sense.

HUMAN SPIRIT, LIFE FORCES

I am that life force feeling its way

into dreams, making sure moon and stars

shine love’s light through layers

of darkness if only to reveal what’s real

in a world so easily misled by word

or gesture, generally making a poor show

of communicating such feelings

as all our kinder senses often banging

at the doors of closed minds

I am that life force lending a shoulder

to cry on, an ear to confide in, sees caution

thrown to the wind and returns it

as a kindness, suggesting we reconsider

persistently pitting human nature

against its other selves, risk losing face

in the eyes of old (and new) gods

looking down on our crude obsession

with mortality, and wondering why

I am that life force to whom they turn

whom flames of any passion would devour

for better, for worse, but only ashes

where we'd have left a blaze of memory

to comfort, leave us feeling secure,

whatever some Grim Reaper may yet

demand of us; no life force, he,

intending to override the Poetry of Life,

foiled by the resilience of its humanity

Come day or night, find me, Earth Mother,

archiving centuries of nurture

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, 2020

[Note: This post/ poem also appears on mygeneral poetry blog today given that the poem (no less than all poetry) is all-inclusive, and feedback suggests many readers only drop in to one or the other blog; an earlier version of the poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]