Past-Present-Future, Our Call

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

While I don’t believe we (quite) make our own luck or bad luck, I have come to have a sense of mind-body-spirit’s directing it. 

As regular readers know, I had planned to qualify as a librarian after leaving school in January 1964 (after re-taking and re-failing an A-level.) Unable to take up my place at Library School, I drifted for a good 7 years with no real sense of direction. 

Looking back, though, I may have lost heart, and mind-body-spirit may well aided and abetted my drifting, we never lost sight of what or who I wanted to be. I went into free fall after freefall, made mistake after mistake, but even in the course of these, I never quite lost sight of my original aims in life -to be a librarian and find the confidence to look the world in the eye as a gay man.   

My hearing problem (perceptive deafness) means I often have communication problems in group situations; apart from a love of literature, I am essentially a ‘people’ person so public library work was always the obvious choice of career as it involves a lot of 1-1 information work with which I am (far) more comfortable and can cope (far) more effectively. As for being gay, mind-body-spirit was working on that issue too. 

Yes, I got there in the end and many would say it was more by luck than good judgement. It may sound whimsical, but I suspect mind-body-spirit knew best. Yes, it took me a longer to qualify as a librarian, and I did not leave the proverbial ‘closet’ until my 30’s, but those dark years of drifting like a lost soul in a worldly wilderness gave me a greater understanding of personal crises and (hopefully) has made me a better poet. Although I have always loved writing poetry, I never realised just how much a part of me the poet in me really is until I was much older. 

So, luck, bad luck...up to a point we make our own, but if we never (quite) lose our sense of direction in life... well, yes, I suspect mind-body-spirit will continue to guide us through thick and thin if we but keep faith with it, and let it do just that. 

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, OUR CALL 

Like leaves on a feisty breeze,
the baffled consciousness travels
a puzzled world’s wondering
just what’s what about governmental
decisions, as likely as not to leave us
asking more questions, if only for mulling
what-might-have-been but for pecuniary pies
in various (potential) answers 

Like blossom on a feisty breeze,
the hopeful consciousness travels
as freely as any scepticism
regarding electoral cat-and-mouse games
as likely as not to be interrupted
by as an innate a cynicism as parental calls
for us to participate in home rituals reaffirming
their knowing what’s ‘best’ for us 

Like roots in a feisty breeze
an enduring consciousness travels
time and (personal) space...
coming to rest more by nature’s whim
than any pre-ordained design
yet returning to the earth from whence it came,
perchance to rebirth itself, with the good earth onside
to make reparation, earn forgiveness? 

Chance may well be a fine thing, once it can see  
just who-what-where in life we need to be 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

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.]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Natural Instinct

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

Firstly, I'd like to say a BIG thank you to those readers who have said they enjoyed my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square in July 2009:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [For now, at least, this link needs the latest Adobe Flash Player  and works best in Firefox; the archives website cannot run Flash but changes scheduled for later this year may well mean the link will open without it. Ignore any error message and give it a minute or so to start up. The video lasts an hour. ] RT 3/18

I have made  other recordings of some of my poems on my You Tube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile...

When we are raised to believe that our elders are our betters and know best, it can be hard to grasp that this is not necessarily true, that sometimes (even often) they can be wrong.

As a youth and young man, society made me feel ashamed of being gay. Then one day I thought, ‘No! I’ll be damned if I’m ashamed of who I am!”

I had found integrity and rediscovered self-esteem.

NATURAL INSTINCT

I stumbled on a country road,

bent double with my burden, a fear

of being attacked and robbed

for the flesh-coloured coat shame

would have me wear

I was warned to avoid highways

but keep to side road and dirt track,

by those I’d have trusted

with my life, now a marked outcast

for the coat on my back

I drifted, oh, so alone and lonely, 

harsh, spiteful, words for company

throbbing in my head

like tolling funeral bells denouncing

my awakening sexuality

I finally arrived at a crossroads, 

asked directions of a total stranger,

conveying (at first glance)

looks of a passionless death mask, 

yet no sense of danger

A steady gaze burned into me

with eyes brighter than a spring day,

striking sparks enough

to relight a fire in whose flames

I’d first read, ‘I'm Gay’

Grim lips parted, a sunny smile

that might once have been Apollo’s

lending the warm glow

of recognition to ages-old passions

stepping out of shadows

He gave me a hug, said to follow

and I did, till we came to a busy road

where I caught a bus back

the way I’d come, hugs pumping

a heart come in from the cold

No more playing safe in old haunts,

but as a newborn burst from the womb,

unafraid of dark forces seeking

to enslave me, badge of true identity

a statement of my freedom 

Let the bells toll, I’m in good company,

a hooting of horns applauding me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011