Forever Young OR Ghost, Life Force

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

A new poem today, the one I was working on before I started posting archive titles, but became too stressed-out with coronavirus-related events to continue. I remain stressed, but, as always, the creative therapy provided simply by writing (and finishing) a poem has significantly (if not completely) restored my positive-thinking mindset. 

Sadly, the Covid-29 coronavirus continues to take its toll on the world population, each death a personal tragedy for families and friends left behind to grieve, and ask “Why …”

Me, I still miss the person-to-person contact with those I have loved and lost, but their presence in me, by way of a posthumous consciousness, allows me to keep company with their ghosts whenever I choose.

A reader writes that “Ghosts suggest someone who cannot rest in peace for whatever reason. You should not encourage people to deprive the dead of their right to rest in peace, it is very selfish act.” 

We are all entitled to our points of view, of course, but this reader and I must agree to differ. I think anyone would know if the Spirit of Love returning loved ones to us in this way was unhappy about our calling on it to do so. None of my ghosts summoned by love have appeared in the least unsettled by the experience, quite the contrary. 

There are, of course, ghosts that may haunt us for reasons other than love, those that appear of their own accord, that we would much prefer leave us alone; that, in my experience, is a matter of conscience demanding to be squared, and up to each and every one of us to find a way to oblige.

FOREVER YOUNG or GHOST, LIFE FORCE

It was a so-bleak midwinter
of the heart,
the mind’s window on snow
falling, snow on snow,
the human spirit
in free fall even as it reaches out
for no idea what 

The cold invading my senses,
all but freezing
any desire to rise above feelings
of despair and loneliness
for your having left me
to tackle this cruel world head-on,
clueless and alone 

Suddenly, a breath of fresh air
finds its way 
into the prison of my despair,
assisting a breathing
gone as quiet as your grave,
for playing love’s evergreen song
on my heart strings 

I feel a presence where there
had been none
only moments ago, half turn
to see you standing there,
the same flower in your hair
calling on this heart to seek you out
across a crowded room 

Smiling now as you were then,
that long-ago spring,
your sweet lips shaping words
of love needing no sound
to make their meaning as felt
in me as its life force now homing in 
on mind body-spirit 

The vision vanishes as suddenly
as it had appeared,
but what the eye, it cannot see,
the heart, it will conjure up
Spirits of Love always,
its kindlier ghosts  looking out for us
in the Here-and-Now

 Copyright R N Taber 2020

[Note: This poem also appears on my general poetry blog today; our kinder ghosts are a part of us all, and we are (like it or not) a common humanity whatever our gender, ethnicity, religion, social class or sexuality.] RNT

 

Prisoner of (Another) War OR No one Knows But Me

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

I have met several members of the armed forces who are gay, but even though it is legal now in some countries, (including the UK and US) would not dream of revealing the fact to their comrades-in-arms. As one guy told me, ‘I’m a damn good soldier, but if anyone knew I was gay it would count for f**k all. I might as well shoot myself.’ He was killed in action about a year later. Everyone spoke very highly of him and rightly so. I could not help wondering what his bereaved, closet boyfriend (another soldier) made of it all. I wrote the poem for both of them.

One day, hopefully, human beings will stop waging war on themselves; in more ways than one.

This poem is for 'Mick' whose partner was killed on active service. Mick says, 'I so regret we were out to no one, but we had no choice. No one should have to grieve alone.'

Grief is a lonely business for anyone, but I dare say we all know what he meant.

PRISONER OF (ANOTHER) WAR or NO ONE KNOWS BUT ME

You had told no one you are gay

by the time you went to war,

leaving me alone to try and pray

Whether at work, rest or play,

I’d love and miss you more;

you had told no one you are gay

You said we’d come true one day

when you’re ready, not before,

leaving me alone to try and pray

There is so much I longed to say,

our secret, a weeping sore;

you had told no one you are gay

My worst fears came true one day,

and at my whole being tore,

leaving me alone to try and pray

It still hurts when I hear people say

we were good friends (no more);

you had told no one you are gay,

leaving me alone to try and pray

[From: On  the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

 

Shaping the Clay

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

As regular readers know, most if not all my love poems are written with my late partner in mind even though he died many years ago and we only had a relatively short time together.Today’s simple poem has not appeared on the blog since 2009; it is repeated today for new readers and especially for ‘Christina’ who has been in touch recently to say she came across the poem by chance while browsing the blog archives and it made her cry. Apparently, it had upset her deeply that she had never been unable to cry for her partner, killed in a random attack by a mentally ill person some months ago ...  until now.

I feel very moved and privileged to have helped ease her pain even just a little. She said ‘thank you’ but it is me who must thank her. I ask you, what more praiseworthy comment on a poem can any poet ask?

'Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.' - Aristotle

And strange to tell, among that Earthen lot

some could articulate, while others not:

And suddenly one more impatient cried—

"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"  -  The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam                                                                                                               [as rendered into English by Edward Fitzgerald]

This poem is a villanelle.

SHAPING THE CLAY

It’s love sustains me every day,
bad times, good times, whatever
although my lover passed away

It doesn’t matter that I am gay,
there are ties death dare not sever;
it’s love sustains me every day

I listen to what the season’s say,
and take my cue from Earth Mother
although my lover passed away

While some despair I’ll not pray
to God, (mine the Spirit of Nature);
it’s love sustains me every day

Highs and lows, come what may,
thoughts of spring defeating winter,
although my lover passed away

Shaping my will to live, like clay
in the hands of a centuries-old potter,
it’s love sustains me every day
although my lover passed away

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

G-A-Y, as Written in the Stars

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

This poem has not appeared on the blog since April 2009 and it saddens me today to post it for ‘Mark’ whose boyfriend was killed in a homophobic attack ‘...in his own country, by members of his own race and blinkered culture only a few years ago.’ I have no details. Tragically, the murder could have been committed by just about any ignorant, intolerant, homophobe anywhere in the world; there are plenty of them still, just as there plenty of gay men and women enduring pain and misery in secret for that very reason.

The poem was written for lovers everywhere whose love, for whatever reason, is frowned upon by family, friends and those in high places who have us in a stranglehold, yet could so easily change things for the better if they had any sense of human decency.

Countries like Uganda, Iran and parts of the Arab World may spring immediately to mind, but our hearts go out to gay men and women worldwide who live in fear of imprisonment and worse should their sexuality become public knowledge.Even in the so-called 'liberal' West, families are still divided by a son or daughter's declaration that they are gay. Oh, we have come a long way since I was a gay schoolboy in an era when same sex relationships were a criminal offence, but there is a long way still to go before our sexuality is universally accepted as something perfectly natural and incidental rather than a major issue.

It is high time certain people put their socio-cultural-religious bigotry aside and accepted the fact that we are all equal in a common humanity and that none of us can help with whom we fall in love. Here in the UK, for example, many immigrants bring their historical prejudices with them; the result is many scared gay boys and girls, men and women having to tread on eggshells between the world from which their families came and the one in which they are growing up.


G-A-Y, AS WRITTEN IN THE STARS

At the farthest edge of twilight,
where the sky a misty blue,
we’d haunt the shores of love
where dreams come true ...
We’d pause at its quiet places,
fall into each other’s arms,
enjoy Earth Mother’s embraces,
employ her feisty charms

Oh, kisses tasting of yesterdays
closing in on us like stars
shaping the world’s tomorrows
set aside for (all) its lovers!
Our bodies joined as day to night,
we’d surf life’s raging sea
at the farthest edge of a twilight
hinting at eternity...
Come splendid night, we’d lie
and wonder at its glories;
each star, a kiss shared by lovers
in other centuries ...
At daybreak, dreamers waking
to proceed as chisels to stone
at a love marked for the taking
once its battles won...

On a cruel sea of local dissent,
among wreaths of flowers,
we were despatched prematurely
to a place among the stars
at the farthest edge of twilight
where a misty blue sky
haunts the shores of such a love
as shared by you and I

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

Surfing

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This poem was written in 1970 while I was reflecting on a brief, necessarily closet affair with a youth only a few years older than me at a time when gay relationships were still a criminal offence here in the UK. I had adored him from afar for ages. (I thought he was way out of my league.)

One rainy night in a backstreet café, we had our first in-depth conversation and a very close relationship blossomed until he was killed in a motorcycle accident. a few weeks before his 21st birthday. I happen to believe in a posthumous consciousness (or ghosts if you prefer) and I often hear him whispering in my ear, especially when I have important decisions to mak, but words of love as well.

The poem last appeared on the blog in 2008 and is repeated today especially for 'Simon' who contacted me to say his boyfriend was killed in similar circumstances; theirs, too, had been a closet relationship. 

Simon wrote, '...[we] used to go surfing a lot. Reading what you said on the blog made me cry. I hadn't been able to do that. It has helped me to carry on.'

I am so sorry for your loss, Simon, but glad my words have helped you, if only just a little, to get on with your life. Grief is hard enough to bear without having to bear it on your own. I'm sure all my blog readers will join me in wishing you well. Here's sending a BIG HUG.

It was hard for young Roger all those years ago, not being able to confide in anyone how much I loved and missed that rascally, streetwise youth who was my first real love if not my first sexual relationship. Nearly fifty years later, it grieves me that I still find people in much the same position, afraid to be openly gay for all manner of socio-cultural-religious reasons of which few if any pay but lip service to the deeper meaning of humanity.

Photo: taken from the Internet

SURFING

Surely, the tide, as surely as my life
at this place where dreams must end
and all fears come. Oh, how I wished
things different, waters of the womb
taken me to another place than such waves
dragging me down! And I see your face
in a brave moon straining to catch the dawn
as would I, or I die. Surely, the tide,
as surely as dreams of fame and fortune,
someone to care. When they laughed,
you shrugged the score, taking on more
than I bargained for and I wouldn’t chance
your blushes but hung back, to let you
ride white horses with the pack – to hell
and back! Surely, our lives, as surely
as pride picking at my bones. I love you!
Yet,I only had time for this tide’s amen,
none for its daily giving and taking. You shy
like a wild thing at the world’s taunts,
refuse to be dragged into line, braving heaven
head-on. Now! A sure tide’s surfing me
where I want to be, with you...
who wore a sandman’s mask but tore it off
to show how some dreams last

Soulmates, drowning in the world’s nightmares,
Saved! On this, our first BIG wave

Copyright R. N. Taber 1970; 2011

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Buddy, Joe

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

This poem was inspired by a conversation with a veteran of World War 2 whose partner has been killed in action. In those days, of course, same-sex relationships were illegal. During the 4+ years since I wrote it,  I have had similar conversations with young men (usually in gay bars) who have lost partners on the battlefields of Iraq or Afghanistan. [No, I wasn't necessarily cruising. I guess I have the sort of face people feel they can open up to.] Two of these guys were serving soldiers.  Same-sex relationships may be legal now, even in the armed services, but as one guy put it, 'Let on you're gay in the army and you're fu**ed up good and proper.'

I was only glad to be in the right place at the right time so they could pour their hearts out as only one can to a complete stranger.

BUDDY. JOE

The day buddy Joe left town,
my heart missed a beat, I nearly died;
I prayed for his safe return
at our secret place - and cried

No one knew how buddy Joe
and I shared a love the law forbade;
my grief I dared not show
for the dreams that once we made

Buddy Joe went to fight a war
in a land of which he’d scarcely heard;
of many others gone before,
the powers-that-be gave little word

The day of buddy Joe’s return
my heart missed a beat, I surely died;
as they lowered his coffin down,
for once my tears no cause to hide

No one knows how buddy Joe
and I indulged a passion the law forbade;
the world has another hero…
I can but grieve the dreams we made

To life restored, piece by piece,
and if sometimes taking a wrong turn,
I'm the richer for love and peace
that to Joe I’ll always look and learn

Copyright R. N. Taber 2006