Come, Springtime OR Let there be Light

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

A new reader has emailed to say, “… it’s all very well to wax poetically about hope, but when life takes a turn for the worse and there is no one to lend a helping hand, hope is inclined to fade like spring mist.” An appropriate analogy, if I may say so, given that once the mist fades, it is still springtime. 

Regular readers will know that I went into freefall some 40+ years ago and remained in the throes of a nervous breakdown for nearly four years. I did have some much-valued support from several people, and staring to write again proved very therapeutic, but I saw no future for myself, the chances of getting another job remote. I joined a local support group, which helped me re-learn how to connect with people; this, in turn, helped me recover a degree of self-confidence. 

Chance took me to a charity that helped people get back to work who, for whatever reason, considered themselves to be unemployable; within months, I was working again, albeit on a trial basis which later became permanent. 

They still haunt me, those years, and always will, but in a good way; they inspire me just as they have done throughout the pandemic and as I grow old(er). I am 75 now, and having to contend with various health issues that get me down sometimes. There are many people out there who are a LOT worse off than me, though, so I try to take each day as it comes, just glad to be alive even if my quality of life is less than I would like. 

A teacher at my old school some 60+ years ago once commented that our limitations should not be seen as restricting us but as challenges, inspiring us to overcome them, each in his or her own time and way.

The blog archives are accessible from the right hand side of any blog page and ew readers are welcome to explore them; hopefully you will fine some poems  you like, bearing in mind the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln:

You can please some of the people some of the time, all of the people some of the time, some of the people all of the time, but you can never please all of the people all of the time.

COME, SPRINGTIME or LET THERE BE LIGHT 

Once, darkness and cold,
as if winter had refused to surrender
to yet another spring;
with all the intensity of an impending doom,
it had me wandering
a maze of tunnels as lost and alone
as children waking at night, too scared even to cry,
too young to reason why 

Now, a glimmer of light
has me heading that way with a surge
of hope in my heart
offering all mind-body-spirit a potential lifeline,
reasons to dream
that had long since all but died, buried alive
under mixed emotions barely allowing room to move
or space to draw breath 

Yet, making slow progress,
every step as if my feet are unwilling
to chance arriving
at much the same awful place as had failed me
once already,
but for a yearning in me to see kinder heavens
smiling on us than have angry echoes of weepy ghosts
bringing us to our knees

Now, let there be light. Children of the Earth awakening
to the return of spring

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: In response to the reader who has just e-mailed me, no this is not a kenning; kennings comprise three stanzas of nine lines + a couplet; and, yes, this post-poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today.] RNT

 

 

 

A Yew Tree and a Rose (Revisited)

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

Covid-19 continues to take its toll on us across the world, and as a neighbour recently commented, "We are surrounded by death. True, but it will be Valentine's Day soon, so here's a poem to remind us that we are also surrounded by the evergreen nature of love. 

"The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration." - Little Gidding (Four Quartets) - T.S. Eliot

A YEW TREE AND A ROSE (REVISITED)

I had come to lay a rose
at your grave, already in tears,
pausing by an ancient yew,
to rage at its mocking humanity,
mind-body-spirit
at a loss for being left alone
to dwell on its being
denied the lifespan of certain trees
over centuries. 

“You carry poison in sap,
berries and leaves,” I screamed
at the yew, “while a love
that gives mind-body-spirit
its joie de vivre
remains subject to such trials
or blessings as nature
sees fit to permit, regardless of class
or circumstances." 

"Love, too, carries poisons
of its own,” the tree pointed out,
“possessiveness, envy,
and jealousy but three of those
so, speak not to me
of poisons, given how humanity
delights in half-truths,
all the more so for their having spread
among the living dead.” 

“Yes, there are some call me
‘Tree of Death’ who are ignorant
of leafy needles
I let fall to live and let live
over centuries
and of any healing qualities
in sap, leaf or berry as your apothecaries
may use against diseases.” 

“Earth Mother, will give and take,”
the tree went on, “for such is nature
and human nature,
each their moments in time
to be loved and leave,
though neither forgotten
nor even dead to those privileged to share
any part of their time here.” 

My tears dried, and raging no more
at the world for its coming between us,
I lay my rose
on your grave, murmuring words
of love, returned
in a light breeze that's kissing me,
promising, as you make us a home in my heart 
that death will not see us part

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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

Hello again, Everyone

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

Hello again, Everyone, 

I am still working on a poem here, but hope to finish it soon. In the meantime, we can but all do our best to be safe, keep well and nurture a positive mindset.

Another “new reader” writes that it is ‘…unfair to talk about religious bigotry.’ He or she is entitled to their point of view, of course, but - not least as a gay man - I have been on the receiving end may times. Most religions are homophobic and always ready to quote from one religious text or another to justify the unjustifiable. Religion is far more than dogma, though, and that is often interpreted to best suit the accuser. 

Many Christians, for example, are quick to quote from the Old Testament, especially Leviticus 18, that suggests gay sex is an 'abomination. rather than the New Testament’s assertion in Mark 12 that we should  treat each other as we would expect to be treated ourselves. 

The same “new reader” claims to enjoy some of my poems and is 'genuinely sorry' that I will go to Hell when I die. Since I believe that any hell lies in what we make of life in the Here-and-Now we must agree to differ, but…  who knows, until we are beyond reach of all human consciousness or conscience?

Take care, folks and I hope to complete a new poem today, disorderly thought processes (more than a little out of sync with bardic aspirations) notwithstanding.

Many thanks for dropping by, much appreciated,

Do try browsing the archives in my absence as, when and if the whim takes you… for better or worse.

Hugs,

Roger 

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

 

Hi, Everyone

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

Hi, Everyone,

Many thanks, as always, for dropping by.

Sorry, no poem today, although I am working on one. Unfortunately, a worsening ear infection means that I am not feeling up to doing much at all at the moment, but hopefully it will soon pass.

Several readers have asked how I cope with the prostate cancer. Well, I just try to take each day as it comes and keep my fingers crossed.

I am 75 years-old, have been treated with hormone therapy (zoladex) since I was first diagnosed in 2011 and have injections about every 18 months. Although successful in preventing the cancer from becoming aggressive, the zoladex affects my memory; in the early years, I feared I was a candidate for dementia, but my consultant assured me it was the hormone therapy. I also get scared, even panicky sometimes, and this is not the kind of person I am. However, I’ve learned to live with these side-effects and do my best not to let them send me into free fall.

Diet has helped. I stay clear of dairy and meat products now. Soya milk and other soya related foods seem to help energise my system; it may not work for everyone, but it works for me; if the proof of any the pudding is in the eating, well, here I am, 10 years on, not quite the man I used to be, but still alive to tell the tale.

A reader has emailed to say he lives alone (as I do) and has just been diagnosed with prostate cancer.  It is scary, I know, but a positive thinking mindset helps… a LOT. Family and friends are likely to rally round and offer support, so let them and take strength from it; some people bury their heads in the sand and that helps no one.

Scary, too, is the coronavirus pandemic… for everyone. It is ok to be scared, we can but do our best to rise above our fears and not let them get the better of us. Easier said than done, I know, but it’s not as if we have much choice. Some of you will have lost loved-ones, friends and workmates to the coronavirus, and that is always a tragedy, but as I have said many times before, love never dies, buts remains a life-force within us... if we let it.

Take care, everyone, stay safe and keep as well as any of us can expect to be during a pandemic.

Back soon, I hope. Meanwhile, feel free to explore the poetry archives, accessible on the righthand side of any blog page, Oh, and for the reader who had some kind words for my fiction blog... many thanks, much appreciated.

Hugs,

Roger

A Swan in the Morning

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

Feedback suggests that some readers appear to have problem with my being gay. Well, that's their  problem. Whatever our sexuality, though, and whoever and wherever we are, there are families who only want the best for us, but cannot see that has to be our decision, no one else’s.

A blog reader has emailed to say that her husband of some 30+ years has died after contracting the coronavirus. I am sure we all be thinking of rooting for her and the whole family.  Sadly, it appears that she has been estranged all that time from her parents and siblings who were unhappy about her marrying a black man.

Another reader contacted me a year or so ago to say that he had been a widower for some years but recently remarried and was very happy but for “… my family adored my first wife and won’t accept either her or that I could possibly love anyone else.”

As a gay man, I know all about prejudice and how it can affect even ruin people’s lives. In latter years, attitudes have changed very much for the better, but prejudice in some people and communities is so deeply rooted that it may well be several generations yet before it disappears altogether.

I regret not coming out to my immediate family for years. I suspect it would have made little if any difference to our becoming estranged, although political correctness may well dissuade them from saying so now. Whatever, I told very few people when I fell in love with another man in my early 20’s. Ironically, we had decided to tell our families only days before he was killed in a road accident.

Subsequently, I grieved alone and would remain in the proverbial closet for some years yet. As regular readers know, I have never met anyone else with whom a such a love-relationship was ever in our mutual interest. on the cards. Oh, I have loved, yes, enjoyed occasional sex as well, but would never rediscover the kind of love that life-partnerships are founded upon.

Now, February is LGBT History month and this poem is my contribution to it; not an explicitly gay poem, but a love poem no less. We cannot help with whom we fall in love. Thankfully, love does not discriminate the way some people do, and whoever or wherever we may be, losing someone with whom we have been in a love-relationship, no matter how long or short-lived, hurts, terribly. 

Whether or not we find such love again, any love lost will always hurt, but love has a generosity of mind-body-spirit that not only lives on in us, but actively encourages us to reach for the stars, even if many of us have to settle for wishing on them. Hurt will heal, if we let it, but healing does not mean forgetting; happy memories shared will last forever and are meant to be treasured for that, never to make us feel guilty for getting on with our lives.

Photo from the Internet

A SWAN IN THE MORNING

Winter, a gloomy affair,
not least for a conspicuously empty chair
causing mind-body-spirit
to sink for its being moved to recall
a shared history, ours
for keeps, no place as would ever (surely?)
see either of us left alone
to mull over such what-might-have-been days
as would steal our tomorrows 

Spring ,the wistful heart
showing no sign of even attempting to get
the better of its passion
for dwelling on a future never to be,
as we’d once dared dream
of making ours, any tears but for such joys
as only their memories
can build a home on such shared love and trust
as our every kiss had promised 

Promises, come to nothing.
the more so for having meant everything
to we lovers, risen
from a place that’s darker and colder
than any wintry day
or night, if only for a loneliness overwhelming
the mind-body-spirit
that would brave the world, but for its prejudices
threatening the likes of you-me-us 

Together, we could have risen
above any politics of derision as will feed on
whatever scraps thrown,
its penchant for seizing on any stereotypes
likely to spread such divisions
as they can invite to take sides against creatures
great and small,
any half-lies become such half-truths as let humanity
duck any accusations of hypocrisy 

Chancing to look up as I walked on,
eyes brightening for their focusing on a swan
descending from above,
clearly heading for a lake just ahead of me
making noises as if calling
to another, spotted sailing among leafy shadows
silently, with dignity,
feathers stirring in a breeze as if already imagining
imminent courtship and coupling

My swan, it made a perfect landing
on the lake, wasted little time approaching
its chosen companion;
face to face, as if taking sure measure
of each other,
now nodding, as if come to an understanding;
a flurry of wings,
and mating begins, as glorious a spectacle as any other
in the eyes of Earth Mother 

I slowly walked away a lovemaking
in my ears reuniting you-me-us, reassuring
mind-body-spirit
not only that true love never dies
but has needs
it cannot nurture alone, any moving on meaning
neither disloyalty
nor disrespect, no less sure of a welcome than any other
in the eyes of Earth Mother 

Yet another wintry, human heart taking its cue from spring
for engaging with a swan one morning

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

A Human Jungle

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

At the moment, the world, as needs must, is having to focus its attention on the coronavirus pandemic, but needs must, too, we keep a weather eye on other forms of pandemic; racism, sexism, despotism religious bigotry and homophobia among others. 

It has always been a mystery to me, the how anyone can justify their prejudices, let alone attempt to reconcile them with a feeling for humanity.   

Nothing can justify judging someone, or leaping to conclusions about them, based only on the colour of their skin or any socio-cultural differences we might have with them, often for reasons best known to ourselves? 

Human nature is such that none of us can expect to experience an affinity along such lines as love or even friendship with everyone we meet, especially given the variety of circumstances - for better or worse - in which we may well be thrown together; such differences as comprise both natural and human landscapes will see to that. We can, though, try to take each day as it comes, make the best of and see the best in whatever and whoever comes our way, rather than feel inclined to go by such first impressions as are often misleading, if not always. 

No one deserves to feel they are being judged for whatever by appearances, physical or otherwise; similarly, no one deserves to be denied a chance to atone - each in his or her own way - for their mistakes. Time and again, we hear that ‘to err is human’; a truism’ yes, and one we should embrace, but neither as an excuse nor escape clause.   

I well recall a conversation many years ago with a college friend who went on to teach Religious Studies at a secondary school. He made the point that there’s no escaping our mistakes, especially the graver ones. The latter, especially, are likely to haunt us forever; we can but do our best to learn from as well as atone for them, and trust that any ghosts will see to it that we do just that. Although we were light years apart with regard to our thoughts on religion, it came as no small surprise to us both that we saw eye to eye on the subject of ghosts. 

A HUMAN JUNGLE 

Grey skies,
reflecting an affinity with doom
of a world
in the grip of a pandemic
that would cast us
beyond reach of a hopeful heart;
the heart, though,
is stronger than we know, its native spirit
propagating kinder ideas

A smiley sun
does its best to bring such joys
as it can
if only to abandon us
once night falls
to such dreams as may or may not
have us waking  
to another dawn’s rising on such half-truths
as propagating fake news 

As always, it falls
to mind-body-spirit to devise
ways to rise above
the worst that can threaten
its finer powers,
reassure us, whenever despair
gets to enjoy
in its finest hours for tearing us into pieces,
like fodder for hungry wolves 

Forever prowling,
wolves in human shape and form,
hunting such prey
as come referred by various
baser instincts
of nature and human nature,
primed to scavenge
among those of us too easily brought down
by a similar prevalence of flaws 

Such are the ways
of both natural and human worlds,
the better known
(and denied) for various
better instincts
primed to set the world on fire.
not least by inspiring
its finer aspirations to dissuade fragile nerves
from making a case for excuses 

For humanity's taking love and peace on board, 
any jungle drums less likely to be heard...?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[ Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]