On Waking Up (or not) To Fact and Fiction

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

I will be 76 later this year and was very saddened, only recently, to hear that the grandson of an old school friend had died of a drugs overdose; he was just 23 years-old and had been an addict since his mid-teens. His younger brother had also experimented with drugs, but not to the same extent and a period in rehab saved him from becoming permanently addicted; he even went on to achieve a university degree, and is now happily settled with his partner and  a job he loves. 

I guess wanting to be free of any addiction is not enough, it has to be fuelled by a sense of purpose. 

Years ago, I asked a former drug addict what, for him, had been the attraction of drugs. I expected him to say for the thrill of it. Instead, he answered with one word, “Escapism.” I understood the principle only too well, having been an avid reader of fiction since early childhood by way of escaping from certain realities with which, for the life of me, I couldn’t get to grips, including aspects of myself that I didn’t have the experience to understand and made me feel uncomfortable; during my formative years, these included an undiagnosed hearing loss and untreated speech defect. Later, I would have to deal with being gay, a fact from which family and society attitudes in those days compelled me to run away for nearly twenty years. 

A brief stay in Australia in the late 1960’s was a form of escapism. I felt guilty and cowardly until I met an old aboriginal man with whom I shared confidences I had bottled up for years. “There is no shame in running away,” he told me, “Sometimes we need to run away to find out just what it is we’re running away from. Only then can we decide to tackle it head-on or keep running. Waste of a life, running away. It can only ever end in tears... or worse, much worse...” he added thoughtfully. 

Indeed, it can, and I owe that man my life because I was offered drugs only a few days later, by which time I was able to refuse, having made up my mind to clear up the mess I’d made of my life so far, and stop running. A week earlier, I may well have been desperate enough to choose one of the worst forms of escapism, not uncommon among those of us made to feel but ‘losers’ by personal circumstances that, as likely as not, would see us fail to rise above its growing pains. 

ON WAKING UP (OR NOT) TO FACT AND FICTION 

Bright and sunny my days
in the park where once I loved to play
among peers of yesteryear,
relieved just to put any worries on hold,
leave reality behind awhile,
relaxed and happy in the company
of friends, left to explore
brave new worlds of such inspired imagination
as lent us a temporary freedom 

Dark clouds threatening rain
would send us running hell for leather
to find any shelter on hand,
still concerned with keeping reality at bay
a growing anxiety taking hold
of a mind-body-spirit, too easily tempted
by mixed growing pains
to explore the potential of other makeshift worlds
by way of latch-key passwords 

The passage of time grown dark
and scary, the only sure relief on hand
at the prick of a needle,
lending me all the thrills of such yesteryears
as would have had me access
a kinder world than ill-met by sunny days
offering a temporary freedom
from stormy weather, mind-body-spirit left to fight
that incorrigible demon, hindsight 

Alone in the park where once I so loved playing,
just another druggie, no happy ending 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

WHY? or Placing the 'I' in Perception

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

Congratulations to all those participating in The Olympics. Only a fool would deny that it isn’t about winning and losing, just as only a fool would dare suggest it’s all about winning and losing; it’s the taking part that really counts, just being there. 

Much the same might well be said of life; it’s the being here that counts and giving it our best shot in whatever ways we can. So, some of us may fall short of the proverbial mark, so what mark might that be and who’s to say who put it there? Everyone will have an opinion, of course, and a world turning on opinions is healthy enough... until those opinions proceed to sow seeds of discontent, even aggression, doing more harm than good. 

As I have asked on the blogs time and again, whatever happened to agreeing to differ?

............................................

PARENT to CHILD: Why does it always have to be why this and why that with you? Why can't you just do as you're told?

CHILD (shrugs) Because...

WHY? or ON PLACING THE ‘I’ IN PERCEPTION 

I have winged the world
by day and night, let its beating heart
move us, now to such tears
of pain as embracing life forces can bring,
now for such years of joy
as teach the heart to sing in finest hours
of a personal space left free
to follow mind-body-spirit whenever inspired
by soulful prose and poetry 

I have sailed angry seas,
skimming waves incited to wreak havoc
among such creatures
great and small as dwell below, swim above,
or simply seek to cool
the heat of such everyday anxiety as likely
to attack humanity
at its every twist and turn as it seeks to do or die
in its quest to answer – why? 

By what human right do we
outlaw and deplore what we cannot share,
for wont of persuasion
or inclination of mind-body-spirit to enter into
for reasons sound and true,
while bringing the full force of judgement
on any who refuse to comply
with aspects of human behaviour most favoured by
this community, that society? 

Why do religions persist
with agendas that deny human beings a right
to embrace as free a spirit
as gave us birth, let us bond with Earth’s
seas and skies, trees and flowers,
birds and beasts, encouraging such inner sight
as can penetrate surfaces
considered plain, even ugly, for left running scared
of all its formative years foretold? 

Life is life, death is death,
such is the way of all creatures great and small,
though human perceptions vary;
similarly, love is love in whatever shape or form,
nor ours to condemn
for its appealing neither to religious dogma
nor personal agenda,
but deserving thanks for sharing such fine showpieces
as wing eternal in its You-Me-Us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

Some Doors Never (Quite) Close OR Young Love, Old Love

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

Overheard in a local store recently: 

1^st MAN:  She’s only seventeen, so how can she know her own mind? I tell you, the boy’s trouble. I’ve told her to stay away from him, but... 

2^nd MAN: Kids, eh? So much to learn and so much they just don’t want to know... 

(Both men move away.) 

Now, I have no idea of the actual context of this conversation, having only caught a snippet, but it was enough to remind me that not only LGBT folks are up against traditional ideas, one of these being that young people don’t know their own minds. True, they have a lot to learn, but how to learn if they are not encouraged to do so? 

The vast majority of parents only want that is best for their children. For many parents, though, their children never (quite) grow up and/ or may well follow a different learning curve to the one their parents have in mind for them. Whatever, mulling over this snippet of conversation resulted (for better, for worse) in a poem. 

SOME DOORS NEVER (QUITE) CLOSE or YOUNG LOVE, OLD LOVE

There’s a love song
been running around in my head
all day, today
and most days since last we met,
said our goodbyes,
promised to meet up again soon;
only, it wouldn’t happen;
life would deal us more cruel blows
before we’d meet again 

I hear it in the wind
as I lie in my bed at night, dreaming
of you, wondering
where and how you are, recalling
all the plans we made
for a future with neither sorrow
nor pain to haunt us,
but love alone to see us through all life
may send to taunt us 

They meant us well,
both family and friends who warned
we were not meant
to be together, no birds of a feather,
you and I, but chalk
and cheese who could not hope
to ever realise our dreams
of a world that would gladly see its lovers
rise above its divisions 

Time passed, the same
song in my heart urging me to overcome
society’s resistance
to the you-me-us of years when we
thought of ourselves
as free to be together, no matter
how great the pain
as may well take us to task for going against
its traditional grain 

Give it time, they had said,
and we’d see the wisdom of advice given,
but my love, it lived on
in mind-body-spirit until I resolved
to seek you out,
take a chance on the feelings we had
making such choices
as we’d have made then, but told “too young"
by older, wiser voices 

Decision made, interrupted
by a knock on my door I hesitate to answer
for fear of losing the thread
of mind-body-spirit’s engaging me
with such home truths
as I’d been advised to put aside by those
wanting better for us
than what they could not even begin to consider
for themselves 

It was in something of a daze I opened the door
to find you smiling there...

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

 

 

 

Hello again, folks, from London UK

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

Hello again folks, from London UK

No poem today, but I am working on one, not only for you all but for me too. As with most people, the pandemic continues to taken its toll on yours truly. As if growing old and living alone was not enough to contend with, I find myself struggling to rise above the kind of depression that comes with battling various health issues - not least, my prostate cancer - on a daily basis.

At least I understand the nature of what I what I am up against and do so with a hopeful heart. Some battles are beyond understanding, prejudice being one of them. Prejudice against another human being is a sickness I find very hard to understand, and I am not speaking simply as a gay man.

Those who nurture feelings of racism, sexism, any kind of hate form against another human being simply because they don't like colour of their skin, their gender or the  nature of their sexuality... or whatever... is beyond all understanding.

Not for the first time, I received complaints about my last post along the lines that "... a gay-interest poem has no place on a 'supposedly' general poetry blog." That may well be true, but the motivation behind a poem is every bit important as the poem itself.

There are many men and women out there to whom the faith in which they were raided remains important to them even if they discover during puberty that they are of an LGBT+ persuasion, which most religious dogma condemns. Homosexuality and gender identity are no less a part of the human condition than any  mind-body-spirit that identifies with and feels a compelling empathy with the religion in which they have been raised.

Another reader has emailed to complain that "As you say you are not religious yourself, how can you, a godless person, justify a poem that is a religious allegory - of sorts..."

Hopefully I have explained if not justified the reason for the poem in the previous paragraph and other blog posts. As for my being a "godless" person, I have never claimed to be one, except in the way most world religions would have it. Pantheists believe that God is nature, not its creator. 

Anyone who has experienced as intimate an affinity with nature as with a God that not only doesn't discriminate along such prejudicial lines as some human beings, but neither sees any form of  bigotry as a "natural" element of any mind-body-spirit. Over the years, I have meat many people who share much the same experience, albeit I dare say they my well prefer not to see themselves as pantheists... or poets, for that matter.

 How a person feels, how he or she fills their personal space, that is where human choice lies, and it is only human to make  bad choices sometimes; these can never (quite) rectified, but the capacity to recognise  and change is also innate to mind-body-spirit and it should not require religion to state the terms of  a sinner's repentance or forgiveness. If we can repent and forgive ourselves, it is my belief that the greater, natural part of mind-body-spirit will rest easier for that and form the better part likely to engage with an empathic consciousness in life or death. 

      I'm not asking anyone to agree with me, simply trying to answer (to myself as much as anyone) why poetry helps me get through bad times and lets me feel a sense of spirituality as well as sheer pleasure in better, kinder times. Not an answer that will satisfy some if not many readers, I'm sure, but like everyone else, I can but try to get to the root of such thought processes that many philosophers and many a finer poet than I has attempted to reach for centuries.

Take care, keep well and nurture as positive thinking a mindset as you can,

Back soon,

Hugs, 

Roger

[Note: This post also appears on my general blog today since feedback suggests that some LGBT readers only dip into this blog

A Force to be Reckoned With

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

Today’s poem was written in much the same spirit as the one before for which I make no apologies.

As we grow older, our thoughts inevitable turn to mortality and what it means to us in an intensely personal way; sorrow for having to leave family and friends – at least in a physical sense – is only half the battle some of us wage within ourselves as we recall images arisen from threats and promises made during long-ago formative years that are rarely as easy to shrug off as we might wish.

Over the years, I have met gay men from all walks of life and religion; the latter imposing far more guilt and despair on them than they deserve for their rejecting certain aspects of dogma by which a defensive worldly agenda would exclude them from both faith and any sense of spirituality altogether.

While I mean what I say about respecting a person’s religious beliefs, I also mean what I say when I blame religion for so many of humanity’s divisions and flaws, including my own.

Recently, I got chatting with a  gay Catholic man, in his mid-70’s like myself, besieged with doubts and fears regarding a Heaven he never ceased to believe in, but spent the best part of a lifetime in a weepy closet, made to feel by family and peers that he had no right to believe in anything much, including himself.

At the risk of being reprimanded for repeating myself yet again, no religion has a monopoly on spirituality.

The human spirit will be guided as much by the body’s innate feeling for all things positive as the mind’s inclination to trust its own judgement. Together, all three are a force to be reckoned with as world religions are beginning to realise; the more LGBT+ folks who learn to have faith in themselves and each other, the less likely they can be made to feel denied or undeserving of either those aspects of religion with which they most identify or the sense of growing reassurance it brings that no one’s spiritual well-being is threatened by their sexuality alone.

Regular readers will know that, as a pantheist, I reject the kind of dogma perpetuated by most world religions. Many who, likewise, cannot relate to a personified God any more than I do, or the teachings found in Holy Books, may well think of themselves (openly or not) as atheist or agnostic. Whatever, the human spirit clearly does have a will of its own, is capable of generating a sense of spirituality among even the most irreligious of human beings, not least in our capacity for love, in all its shapes and forms; lose that and, yes, we may well be on the road to a living Hell of our own making...

A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH 

A young man stood weeping
at the Gates of Hell where he’d been told
told to wait by certain “betters”
among humankind until let in to join others
whom the Devil has taken
for his own, down to words said, deeds done,
no malice intended, but seen as sinning,
deserving the worst all God-fearing folks can imagine 
within the parameters of their religion 

An angel came out of nowhere,
asked the young man why he shed such tears,
and the young man replied
how it was the sum of all earthly fears to be there
at Death’s door, waiting to see
the flames of hellfire, be made to dive therein,
due punishment for such worldly sin
as being on love with another man, much the same as he 
for engaging with homosexuality 

“Love is love, whatever its nature,”
said the angel, hand to head in sorrow and pain,
“Nor was eternity intended
for such troubles as mortal minds are inclined
to inflict rather than agree to differ,
allow for such reality es as they cannot be a part,
its seeds sown and nurtured in the heart
by assorted mind-body-spirits, rejected by such religiosity
as imposes its own spirituality...” 

“Are you saying I might even qualify
for Heaven? the young man asked, barely daring
to entertain the thought,
yet inspired by the angel’s understanding smile
to hope for more from eternity
than either burning or being as alone as made to feel
for much of his time on Earth
as neither of Earth Mother or Father born,
but an outsider, a freak of humanity, if only in failing to see
religion's monopoly on eternity 

“We who are not of Earth are well aware
of all that goes on there, can see into a human heart,
the sum of all its many parts
as lending the individual any benefit of doubt,
sitting less in judgement
than in compassion, allowing for a sense of spirituality
as comprises a whole that some call ‘soul’
where others see a human spirit engaging purely and simply
with a feeling for what comes naturally 

The young man took the angel’s hand in his,
and flew realms of time and personal space he’d seen
only in dreams of a kinder world,
no one made to suffer for ways of life and thought
that some may well see differently,
but the human spirit deserves a place and say in a world
that, try as it might, cannot dictate
how a person should feel or believe in order to (ever) qualify
to go wherever angels have no fear to fly

Copyright R.N. Taber 2021 

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

Emissary OR The 'u', 'i' and 'y' of Humanity, Parts of a Whole

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

Overheard in a local supermarket on the day (widely reported in the media) when princes William and Harry recently unveiled a statue of their late mother, Princess Diana:

LITLE GIRL:     What happens when you die, Mummy?

MOTHER:          If you’re a good girl, you go to Heaven.”

LITTLE GIRL:   Is Princess Diana in Heaven?”

MOTHER:          I imagine so, yes.

CHILD:               And will I go there, too, when I die?”

MOTHER            If you’re a good girl, yes, of course.

CHILD:                So, will I get to meet Princess Diana?

MOTHER:           Well, err, maybe, who knows what lies ahead for any of us.

A long pause

CHILD:                So, if I’m bad, will I go to Hell?

MOTHER:           Oh, look, darling, there’s Penny and her mummy. let’s go and say hello...”

 As a child, I well recall being promised Heaven and threatened with Hell as according to this or that religious dogma, and 75+ years on it is still happening. No wonder I feared death then, before I discovered that the human spirit, too, has a mind of its own, and is less threatening than inspiring. 

People are entitled to their faith, and should be respected for it, but no browbeating religious agenda / dogma will ever get a thumbs-up from yours truly. 

As for death, I remain pragmatic, but also hopeful that the better part of me will continue to commune with those I have loved (as they do with me) and any among humankind whose own mind-body-spirit is happy to let me in...unlike the former work colleague (a clergyman's wife) who told me she thought it was a shame I'd go to hell (for being gay.) She is as entitled to her faith, as I am entitled to reject it, as I did...long before I realised I'm gay. 

EMISSARY or THE ‘U’, ‘I’ AND  'Y' OF HUMANITY, PARTS OF A WHOLE 

Sooner or later,
I call on everyone everywhere,
sparing no one;
rich or poor, young or old,
none ever get to run
whenever I choose to appear
and make myself known,
nor do I need to wait for an invitation,
such is the nature of my mission 

Oh, many are they
who would slam doors in my face
rather than let me in,
having no time or use for me,
preferring to send me
on my way, were I to but listen
to what they have to say,
while I prefer to avoid any altercation,
such is the nature of my mission 

Misted-over eyes
of a wistful, wishful, woeful world,
see me as bad news,
not least for refusing to budge
on my demands;
some, though, make a good case
for staying put awhile,
and I'll mull over making due provision,
such is the nature of my mission 

While I can’t claim
to come as friend, neither am I enemy,
though assumed so
by kith and kin, neither ready yet
nor (quite) willing
to explore a universal truth with us.
the like of which
defies even the most creative imagination,
such is the nature of my mission 

We’ll pass on dreams,
beyond the ken of mortals, bid the portals
of those mind-body-spirits
we may have known, loved, touched
by word, deed, hearsay
or art forms invariably inspiring debate 
for centuries by courtesy
of empathies surpassing all expectation,
such is the nature of my mission 

I am the Spirit of Death,
come to restore, rework, reshape human life
whenever, wherever,
take it through personal space
into as evergreen a beauty
as grows from seeds of love and friendship,
(life-forms without equal)
sure to nurture remembrance and celebration,
such is the nature of my mission 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Engaging with Conjecture

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

I recently met up with a close friend for lunch in a church garden; it was a lovely, sunny afternoon and we were joined by assorted avian friends (mostly pigeons) hoping for such crumbs as we duly obliged. 

While chatting away, we’d sometimes address the birds directly; some would even seem to understand, if only in our imagination. Maybe they did understand, if not the words we spoke, the tone in which we spoken them? Who really knows what goes on in the head of any live creature, including human beings? It can only be pure conjecture, surely? 

I put this to a psychiatrist once. To my surprise, he agreed, adding that it was not his job to know what goes on in patient’s heads, but to help them to know and thereby help themselves. “I’m trained to read signs, not to be a mind-reader,” he pointed out, “Before anyone can begin to deal with problems affecting their behaviour, they have to get to the root cause, rather like having to lift an invisible curtain they don’t even realise is there.  It’s my job to point patients towards it and help them find the wherewithal to lift the damn thing. Even then, it’s only a first step...” 

A naturalist acquaintance once commented along similar lines about conjecture. We were observing a tortoise in his garden. “How does it decide which way to go?” I wanted to know. 

“Natural instinct,” he said with quiet conviction. 

“So how does that work?” I persisted. 

“No one really knows for sure,” he chuckled, “... but we can learn a lot by observation of live creatures and their remains. Even so, all species are different and within any species there will always be individual differences. At the end of the day, even what a specialist learns is only conjecture, but as close to knowing as anyone can get.”  

It was s too complex a conversation for me, though, and I changed the subject... 

ENGAGING WITH CONJECTURE 

In a church garden,
two gay men engaging with nature
and human nature  
in such ways as its hosts would
deny us for our being
beyond both their ken or remit,
according to such dogma
as they would share as a ‘God-given’
insight to Heaven 

Beneath leafy art forms
portraying dream-like cameos
of cloud shapes
and sun nymphs peering down
with watery eyes,
we ate our lunches, two old friends,
tossing breadcrumbs
now and then to birdlife come to share
precious moments there 

Pigeons, various markings
and colouring, engaging with us;
avian and human,
birds of a feather come together,
truce understood,
a spirit of such caring and sharing
as even divided species agree
on nurturing, if the going’s looking good
for credit and reward 

Nearby, a crow has business
of its own with discarded food waste
in open litter bins,
deftly removing sandwich wrappings
and other crumb-potential,
scattering them across public gardens
for passers-by to deplore
such ‘litter-louts’ as never spare a thought
for the environment 

Observing, though, how much
nature and human nature have in common,
for worse as well as better,
who’s to judge any species of creature
great or small for being
as they are, or any within the human race
made to feel outsiders
by any form socio-cultural-religious dogma
now and forever? 

Such are ways to which life forms
are born, better (surely) to trust than see them
forsworn under duress,
reason the need any heart may protest
at being put to a test
it doesn’t even recognise as fit for purpose,
any more than do two gay men
in a church garden, engaging with local nature
and human conjecture? 

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

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