Love in all its Rainbow Hues

 

From Roger’s friend, Graham

 

Growing up is challenging enough, even without the burden of stigmatisation for loving someone of the same gender. There’s room for improvement here in Britain, but generally LGBT+ citizens have equal rights enshrined by law. In places of employment (excepting religious organisations) discrimination on the grounds sexuality or gender identity is illegal. Since the Civil Partnership Act in 2004, same sex couples can join in a legally recognised partnership. And after the UK Marriage Act in 2013, LGBT+ couples are able to marry.

Marriage is perhaps the ultimate expression of love for those fortunate enough to find a soulmate. It’s also a declaration of love to family, friends and beyond. For couples with religious faith, it’s a sacred vow of love with God as their witness.

Love is also a scintillating rainbow of sentiments. Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle wrote of a whole spectrum of emotions such as friendship love; philia, familial love; storge and passionate love; éros. Greek mythology also abounds with inspirational tales of profound and tragic love such as Orpheus and Eurydice. Love can be the light of your life - or the heart of your darkness…

Roger explores these epic themes expansively throughout his writing. Sometimes in sonnet form - popularised in Elizabethan England by William Shakespeare and his contemporaries. (I hope to explore this theme in a later posting). His printed works often devote a section to the theme of love. They are, doubtless, poems interwoven with personal experience.

Roger and I occasionally discussed past relationships and compared notes on our respective missed opportunities, dashed hopes and even disasters. Alas for Rog, he wasn’t lucky enough to find a long-term partner. Although I believe his romantic soul never lost hope in meeting someone special.

In later life, I feel assured that Roger derived fulfilment through the reciprocal love of close friendships. Can this be enough to sustain anyone in the absence of a partner, estrangement from family or societal ostracisation? I imagine we’d all have a differing answer. Throughout my own voyage of self-discovery, friendship has certainly proven to be the most unconditional form of love. An enduring bond with Roger remains testament to that.

 

*  *  *

 

‘Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.’ Dalai Lama

‘Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embroidered by imagination.’ Voltaire

‘Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.’ Oscar Wilde

 

*  *  *

 

I’ll leave you with a trio of love poems – all from Accomplices to Illusion, Roger’s 2007 collection. I should explain that I’m staying with family presently - with only one book for source material. Wiltshire offers a welcome change of scenery. Tall oak trees surround the house. Their upper branches sweep back and forth like an artist’s frantic brushstrokes on a grey-marbled canvas. I look out on the small garden; the colours of shrubs diluted under a dull watercolour sky. A crow flies past; its hoarse cry breaking the mesmeric spell of birdsong. It fades to a black smudge on a watery treeline.

Thanks for reading.

 

*  *  *

 

NIGHT WATCH

I have greeted chimes at midnight
lain half dead at the toll for one
as my lifeblood ebbs to a starlight
behind clouds, watch all but done

I have heard the clock ticking over
for the passing of happy hours…
nor shall, when it stops, run for cover
but embrace a time forever ours

I have heard sweet songs at sunrise,
watched the last stars slip away,
seen my life’s light bright in your eyes
promise a beautiful spring day

As nature pauses at stark winter’s cold
so lovers dream, beyond a growing old

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2007 [a sonnet].

 

*  *  *

 

BONDING WITH ETERNITY

It was love opened up my heart
to all life means to me…
nor shall death its bonding part

Sands of time, soulmates at the start,
a song of destiny;
it was love opened up my heart

May the world no finer truths impart
than its natural beauty;
nor shall death its bonding part

Like summer skies, stars, even clouds
charting a fragile humanity…
it was love opened up my heart

If a taste on the tongue sweet or tart,
our togetherness a delicacy;
nor shall death its bonding part

Be nature’s kin struck by poison dart
comprising all humanity…
it was love opened up my heart
nor shall death its bonding part

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2007 [a villanelle].

 

*  *  *

 

WEATHERING LOVE

When I dream of you it is a springtime
of high hopes I’ll not forget

When I think of you it is midsummer,
(that rainy day we first met)

When I speak of you, each word is like
an autumn leaf that’s falling

When I hear your name on another’s lips
it’s but a winter robin calling

At nature’s whims, a beauty, each its own
though we weather it alone…

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2007.

Elegy for a Rainbow

In silence, disbelief
Adrift, a tide of tears
Braved the storm of grief 

Laid a rainbow wreath
To arc through golden years
In silence, disbelief

His final fight, but brief;
this champion of queers
braved the storm of grief

Gathered up each sheaf;
those verses no one hears
in silence, disbelief

Our lives, they interleave;
united, faced our fears
Braved the storm of grief 

Though temporal release;
a pride in him endures
In silence, disbelief
braved the storm of grief

[Note: A villanelle for Roger. Graham Collett, 2024. I’m no poet but felt that I ought to contribute a few thoughts.]

Placing the 'I' in Humanity OR Opening Up to Nature

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
  
Some years ago, I met up with a long-time acquaintance who had just lost his partner of many years to a (much) younger model. He was in pieces, and we spent some time over a few beers, mostly complaining about the fickleness of human nature.

About six months later, we met up again. This time, he was far more positive about life and even had a sprightly spring in his step. “I went for a walk in the countryside one day, and had an epiphany,” he told me. “Nature is as nature does, for better or worse. Now, the worst does not necessarily rule out the better so there is always something (or someone) to look forward to, whatever the circumstances. It’s obvious, really, but I couldn’t see the wood for the trees. We have to stay positive, young Roger.” [I was in my early 50’s at the time and he would have been in his mid-70’s.]

'Death has a thousand doors to let out life: I shall find one.' - Philip Massinger, English dramatist, 1583 –1640

Philip Massinger, copper-engraving portrait by Charles Grignion the Elder (Wikipedia)

PLACING THE 'I' IN HUMANITY or OPENING UP TO NATURE

All doors closed on me
when you left me for another,
plunged into a lonely dark,
harder to bear than any closet
for having found and lost
a raison d’être in you, creating
joy out of sad dreams  

Some said it was just deserts
for being openly gay in a world
where (yes, even these days)
gay people are seen as betraying
a native heterosexual ethos,
compensating for our weaknesses
by demanding equality

All doors closed on me
as love stabbed me in the heart
and left my remains to rot
in an open coffin of everyday life,
existence no more or less
than the stream of consciousness
credited an android

In spring, I walked woods
where bluebells nodded knowingly
for understanding my pain,
rabbits darting frantically here,
there, and everywhere,
seemingly with little more purpose
than random thoughts

I would have closed my ears
to birds singing sweet songs in trees
whose new leaves asked
no more or less than my eyes open
to the potential of rebirth
in a world where life is not measured
out in silver teaspoons

Having found an open door,
I felt a faint heartbeat grow stronger,
body, mind, and spirit
coming together like a jigsaw puzzle
until just one piece missing,
and that mattered less than my resolve
to find it and complete me


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Home for Christmas

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

I am not a Christmassy person, but no spoilsport either and will always wish everyone a very Happy Christmas/ New Year, and mean it. 

As an agnostic,, I don't celebrate Christmas in any religious sense. As a poet with a strong sense of spirituality - that I take from nature - I enjoy taking stock of my life at this time of year, counting my blessings and glossing over numerous flaws in the status quo.

On Christmas Day, I like to be on my own (yes, really!) strolling down Memory Lane and re-living the GOOD times while allowing myself time to be sad for the bad times. I like to remember those I have loved and lost, again dwelling on happy times together while not attempting to stem any tears.

If I spend Christmas with anyone, I feel obliged to make an effort rather than quietly surrender to any feelings of sadness and let them pass of their own accord.  I am not a sad person. On the contrary, I am a very positive thinking, lively guy. No one, though, can be positive thinking and lively all the time so when I feel sad, I let myself BE sad, and the sadness quickly passes, invariably replaced by happy memories to which the positive thinking, lively, part of me can more easily relate and build upon. Christmas brings many sad memories rushing back; I need to let them rush past me so I can enjoy the many happy memories I have shared with those I may have loved and lost but who sustain me still. 

We hear about families and friends getting back together for Christmas...but poles apart again by New year's Day. Let us never forget that love is not (and never has been) just for Christmas or any other religious festival where it needs to make an appearance. Any love worth having is worth saving, even if that means having to agree to differ with loved ones and accepting that our differences don't make us different, just human...

New Year? Well that's a different story altogether, celebrating a whole twelve months ahead to enjoy with friends and rediscover the true meanings of peace, love, and joie de vivre...

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS 

I’d hear talk of Christmas,
and my heart would sink for memories
of so many lonely Christmases
since love walked out of my life and family
never understood

I’d hear carols at Christmas,
and my heart would skip a beat or two
for recalling happy Christmases
when love took centre-stage in my life,
nothing else mattered

Friends planning for Christmas,
with smiles on their faces for all the fun
of such joyous Christmases
as once I had, and never (quite) abandoned
by fate, chance, love…

Christmas Eve, everyone rushing
for last minute buys, and then back home,
ever hopeful of Christmas
fulfilling its promises of peace and goodwill
around a festive table

Me, I hear talk of Christmas,
and my heart leaps  just for remembering
our conspiring with Christmas,
we total strangers, one starry Christmas Eve
of rediscovering love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Ebb Tide

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

Love is often a win some, lose some affair, and I suspect most if not all of us have found ourselves brooding over the latter at some time or another.

The trick is not to brood for too long, and be sure to go with the tide when it turns as invariably, in time, it will…

EBB TIDE 

Black waves

sucking the feet, tugging the soul;

distant lights pricking

the flesh, like pins in this doll man

of yours

Ours once,

moon and stars, a night like this!

Sea breeze, salty

and sensual like a first kiss before

passion takes over

We surfed

the clouds, played in moon craters

like children knowing

that soon, too soon, Someone

would call us home

Black waves

sucking the feet, tugging the soul;

same sea breeze, its promises

stripping us bare, a lifetime to share

gone, gone, gone

You, in another man's heaven;

me, on the mud banks of Eden

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2014

[Note: This poem has been revised (2014) from an earlier version first published in an anthology, The Shadows of Life, Poetry Today (Forward Press) 2000 and subsequently in 1st eds. of Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Where Unicorns Roam

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

Firstly, many thanks go to those readers who send comments. I never publish comments, but read them all. Please remember that if you would like me to reply, send an email to the usual (above) address. Many comments are not genuine and include spam links that can spread viruses; others are just links to advertising. I did not want to be accused of publishing only the good comments so decided at the outset that I would publish none at all. Quite a few readers email me, though, and I have struck up some great email exchanges since starting the blogs and made wonderful new friends worldwide. Occasionally, some of these have visited London and we have met up to put the world to rights over a few beers or a meal. It has been a lovely way to meet people.

Meanwhile…

Now, several readers have asked where they can buy the novels serialized on my fiction blog. Many thanks for asking, but after a good many false starts, I gave up trying to interest literary agents or publishers and decided to post all my unpublished works on the blog rather than have them doing nothing and going nowhere on my computer. It is my intention to publish them as e-books (along with 2^nd (revised) editions of my poetry collections) at a later date. Meanwhile, anyone is welcome to dip into the fiction blog and see if there is a storyline that catches their interest.  Staying on top of various health problems make such demands on my time these days that I’m afraid I have yet (if ever) to finish writing Redemption, Book 3 of what was intended as a gay-interest crime trilogy, Blasphemy-Sacrilege-Redemption.

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/

Meanwhile...

It has been my experience that homophobes are often more angry with themselves than with the gay people they profess to deplore. More than once, when I was sexually active, I enjoyed close encounters with guys who had a great line in chat-up, but whose conversation on parting would go something like this:

HE (apologetically) I just can’t live that way, end of story. I’m getting married to a great girl who loves me to bits, What’s more, she’ll be a great wife and mother and an asset to my career.

ME (wryly) If you don’t mind my saying so, you have a very cold blooded attitude for such a hot blooded guy.

HE (shrugs) That’s life...

I never knew whether to laugh or cry.

Now, I personally know several guys who are openly homophobic and privately visit gay cruising areas. [Well, not as openly now that political correctness has driven so much bigotry behind closed doors.] How do I know? Because I have a gay friend who also visits those same places. One day someone may well ‘out’ them, but it won’t be me or my friend if only because how they live their lives is none of our business any more than how we live our lives is any of theirs.

True, I have met married men (and women) who love their partners and children to bits and see no harm in same close encounters of the sexual kind on the side, and I’m not a judgmental person. Even so, I have to say it smacks of betrayal to me. During my youth and early manhood, I had to keep my sexuality a secret from family and friends. Living that lie nearly killed me. As it was, as regular readers know, it culminated in a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30s during which I attempted suicide.

Maybe if more bisexual or essentially gay men and women were to confide in their opposite sex partners from the start, there would be less heartbreak all round? I have met such couples, and it never ceases to amaze me just how much love is prepared to take in its stride.

Without honesty, though, what chance does even love have? I often wonder how many of us live in something of a fantasy world and half expect to encounter a unicorn around the next street corner ...

WHERE UNICORNS ROAM 

His body relaxed,

the tip of his tongue stroking my lips

as we made love,

exploring, adoring, each other’s bodies,

oh, so tenderly at the start

then letting rip with pent-up passions

of the heart

It was our first time

and he gave no hint it would be our last

as we made love

in a manner that was sheer poetry,

desire in perfect rhythm,

naked flesh feeding on the pleasures

of wet dreams

We became as one,

riding a feisty unicorn over leafy meadows,

majestic mountains,

to lush, heather-scented slopes

leading to the sea

where we lay, spent, on a sandy shore

content in its embrace

I stroked his hair

where its flames but flickered in the hearth

he had made of my heart

and I longed to rouse his heat in me

again, again, again…

even as each wild, exquisite flame died,

one by one

He stirred, kissed me

till my mouth felt bruised by the intensity

of that long goodbye,

though not as I sensed he'd have it be

but much the same as I,

lying in sun-kissed sand, as if love meant us

to be together

That kiss was magic, its spell cruelly broken,

his mind bent on marrying a woman

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Engaging with the Spiritual Nature of Love

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

Some people will argue that love is either platonic or romantic. Yet, there are various shades of love in between. For example, those same people might argue that sexual passion does not even come close to love, or even romance, and in many ways they would be right although any mutual sexual attraction has the potential for engaging with love in its own way. Even in sex for its own sake can take us beyond the parameters of simple pleasure while between two people who truly love each other there is invariably a spiritual dimension (that has little or nothing to do with religion) in the coming together not only of bodies but also minds, elements of mind-body-spirit experiencing a  sense of fulfilment that dims with neither age nor time.

And then there is rapport. There can be such a rapport between friends that may not be romantic, but is far more than the everyday platonic.

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2009. I wrote it a few months after the death of a very dear friend who was also an occasional lover. He was not the love of my life nor was I his, yet we were able to physically as well as emotionally comfort and inspire each other in a way I cannot describe.

While it’s true to say (technically at least) that we were occasional lovers, we never thought of each other as such, but only very close friends.  Our relationship is the only one I have ever had that transcended platonic while never coming close to such heights of feeling I would experience when  being with the one great love of my life.

My friend died of AIDS some years ago. If he was still here and I was still sexually active, he would be yelling at me as he once did, ‘Make sure you play as safe as it gets, Rogie, and damn well get yourself tested because there’s no such bloody thing as foolproof.’  He was a lovely guy and would have been 70 years-old today.

No, it this not a gay poem. But then love doesn’t give a damn who or what we are, does it? It leaves that to those content to remain slaves to certain historical conventions, dogma, culture, whatever...for which, thankfully, the human spirit is more than a match when challenged by any or all.

ENGAGING WITH THE SPIRITUAL NATURE OF LOVE

Death, rippling the summer corn

like the stirrings of a child unborn,

wondering in the womb - what

freedom between cage and tomb?

I lift my head to a gorgeous sky,

loose a few more dreams, watch them fly

like the tail of a child’s kite

flapping bravely against heaven’s might.

Now, barely a flicker, waved out

of sight with tearful eye and puckered brow,

the child I was, resuming now

across wintry years to wet an eye

that might have stayed dry

in the summer air, seeking all it never found,

hurting without making a sound,

feasting on harvest corn, caged in a breast

deprived of rest, tired of hearing

all’s for the best, weary of waiting

for waiting’s end, lonely for want

of a dear friend running free in summer corn,

smiling wistfully at me who’s left

with a heavy heart to somehow weather

the pain that’s let us part, cut to quick

by a look on your face that says this world

could have been a kinder place...

Music, murmuring a summer breeze

like a guitar strummed with artist’s ease

to lull earth’s restless womb

before the breaking of a Great Storm

spreading alarm amongst the corn.

I spot a field mouse (or maybe not?)

so tiny, quick, soon forgot, and should hasten

my own tread, the music fair bursting

in my head. Oh love, life! Instead, I’ll linger

in this summer place and to the wind

I’ll lift the face of one who is, oh, so happy

for witnessing this transcending

of our history, passing into such natural beauty

as I’d forgot is no less a part of me

than these shoes badly worn through a world

sadly torn in two, three, and more...by love,

hate and war; famine too, I have to say,

as in the corn I kneel to pray although to what

or whom (in this life) we may never know.

Ah, dear friend, I grieve to let you go, but joyous

for a chance to give thanks for a love

we shared that’s alive in me, keeping us close

though you pass into a spirituality Time

likes to keeps secret from us, but for kisses

to remind that what was, still IS...

Storm breaks, yet returns me to a kinder world

for a summer playing love songs in my head

Copyright R. N. Taber 1993; 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised from an earlier version that first appeared under the title, 'Once More, Dear Friend' in an anthology, How Can You Write A Poem When You’re Dying of AIDS? ed. John Harold, Cassell, 1993 and Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

On The Intimate Nature Of Stargazing

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

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2010. So many readers have said they can identify with it, having spent time apart from boyfriends, girlfriends or partners from time to time that you will find it among some 100+ others in my new collection.

The intensity of missing someone is the same for anyone, of course, gay or straight, but gay people often seem to get left out of even such a timeless equation as this. Yes, even these days, especially where gay relationships are still looked upon as an offence against religion if not morality. So where’s the harm in reminding everyone that we miss loved ones too. [The likes of Giles Muhame please note although let’s not suppose for a moment that such foolish socio-cultural-religious bigotry exists only in a less enlightened southern hemisphere. Dear me, no, it is everywhere.]

Meanwhile...

Pick  and share a star with a loved one, and you can be sure that finding it again when you miss them most helps hold the dream and bring them that little bit closer.

Whimsical, you say? Well, yes, and why not if it works...? Oh, and it invariably does, believe me. Try it, and see.

ON THE INTIMATE NATURE OF STARGAZING

Once I wished on a falling star

as lovers the world will often do,

that soon we can be together,

knowing you’ll be wishing too

The star vanished in the night

though others kept me company

as I wondered how you are,

knowing you’re thinking of me

I felt even closer to you then

than at times when you’re here,

fighting back tears, the zen 

of star-crossed lovers ever near

No heavens frowning upon us

(see the Old Man take our part)

but the world’s prejudices

would force us, gay lovers, apart

For now, they may have won

a battle or two, but never say die,

for love will see us through

in this as in darker years gone by

For every person wishing us ill,

others echo Earth Mother, calling
on us to live. love, and follow

a dream for every star that's falling

May we each find joy and peace

in one another, wherever we may be,

make the world a kinder place,

let all its star-crossed lovers go free

Copyright R N Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

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

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

The War Widow

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

I am posting this poem after ‘Edith’ (a lady in her 90s) kindly contacted me to say that she and another war widow friend were moved by it. It appears that the friend's great-grandson has taught them to use a computer and access the Internet. I have to say it is wonderful to be contacted by someone from an age group that often has reservations about using the Internet if only because they feel intimidated by new technology. I will be a mere 65 next month but it just goes to show that we are never too old to learn new tricks.

To my surprise, Edith also told me that she enjoys dipping into my gay-interest blog as well my general blog. It appears she has always felt and thought of herself as a war widow since the death of a female partner who joined the Wrens (WRNS) during World War 2. No one knew of their relationship at the time of course. As far as anyone else was concerned they were simply two friends sharing a home. Apparently, they met at school and were secret lovers for some years. She never married or found anyone else to share her life that way but says she feels blessed for having loved and been loved.

Edith, it seems, has led an active life and continues to ‘feel blessed by wonderful friends and neighbours.'

A sad story, yet, beautiful too. Many thanks for sharing it with us Edith.

THE WAR WIDOW

A soldier’s widow knelt at his grave,
their children by her side;
comrades-in-arms gathered nearby
wondering (never aloud)
whose turn next to shed tears
at whose grave

A soldier’s widow swore on his grave
to love him till the end of time,
raise their children to take great pride
in a father whose presence
felt with lasting passion nor less
for his absence

The soldier’s widow took the left hand
of a thirty something veteran
who had lost his right hand in Iraq
the first time around
before the Mandarins of Power
had second thoughts

The soldier’s widow rose, took comfort
from the young man’s smile
that shone like a beacon of hope
from his wheelchair
among the wreckage of a life
once thought inviolate

A war widow wipes her children’s tears,
the Last Post ringing hollow in the ears


Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Reunion

For a long time after my partner Peter died, some 30 years ago, I felt guilty if I so much looked at another man, let alone slept with one. Then one day I heard Peter whisper in my ear, ‘What are you waiting for? Go for it…’ and realised that life is for living and the dead, especially, would not begrudge us that.

REUNION

Among shadows, softly tread
and have no fear,
reassured by the living dead

I let loved ones into my head
and shed no tear,
among shadows, softly tread

I brood over history and dread
the next chapter,
reassured by the living dead

Gladly, I let those I have loved
find me here,
among shadows, softly tread

I’ll take my true love to my bed,
conscience clear,
reassured by the living dead

Haunted by words in anger said,
find forgiveness here;
among shadows, softly tread,
reassured by the living dead

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem will appear in my new collection - On The Battlefields Of Love - scheduled for publication on March 8th.]