Hi Folks, from London UK

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

Hi folks, from London UK

No poem today, but I should have one ready for you for Monday.

Reader A. S. has emailed to ask how badly the pandemic has affected me, and if I feel now much as I used to before it struck. It would appear that he or she is estranged from their family because for not sharing the same religious faith; clearly both are preying on the reader's mind.

Well, like many if not most people, the pandemic, lockdowns etc. have taken their toll on me, but I do try to practise what I preach with regard to nurturing a positive mindset. Growing old and living alone is never going to be easy. We can but take each day as it comes. The recent death of a former work colleague I knew well hit me hard, the more so, I suspect, because of the stress the pandemic was already imposing. I became all but obsessed with the prospect of dying for some weeks to the extent that I was prompted to revise my Will.

As regular readers will know, I do not subscribe to any religion. It is my choice and I would ask others to respect it just as I respect those who do subscribe to this religion or that, although the former has rarely been my experience among the devout. I have strong views about world religions, not least because I am gay and they make LGBT folks feel excluded, even from having a sense of spirituality to which, as both poet and Pantheist, I do subscribe, very much so. 

For me, personally, religion embodies the sentiment expressed by George Orwell in his satirical novel, Animal Farm: 'All animals are equal, but some are more equal that others.' Certainly, in the world today, much the same applies to human beings, even in the context of religion. Another former work colleague once told me that she enjoyed working with me and was so sorry that I was destined to go to hell (for being gay).  Needless to say, I was neither fazed nor impressed. As far as I'm concerned, we make our own heaven or hell here on Earth, which, given the ways of the world we live in, is not too difficult. 

Many if not most of us fear death, not least myself although I fear an physical pain it may involve than death itself. Nor, incidentally, do I see it as a taboo or even morbid subject. On the contrary, death is as much part and parcel of life as life itself. As I see it, it's not only pragmatic, but also healthy to consider its implications, not only for ourselves, but loved ones too; the legal implications for the latter if we die intestate, for example, can provide the latter with a mountain to climb at a time when they are likely to be grieving. (While we all have our own ways of dealing with grief, none of them are easy.) 

I have written poems about death, not from a sense of morbidity, but to help me come to terms with the prospect in such a way as to prevent it taking over my life as I have seen happen with some people; this was my intention in my poem, Extracts from a Pantheist's Diary about which I received several nasty emails  No offence was intended, however, so I did not publish the apology they demanded. As I ask on the blogs fairly often - including a poem of the same name - whatever happened to agreeing to differ? 

When I die, I will be cremated, and if any of my organs can be of use to anyone, they are welcome. As for 'eternal life' I see that as my living on in the memories of those closest to me, possibly even passed from generation to generation across time and personal space; among complete strangers even, too, with whom I may have engaged in one-off existential chat on public transport, as I do now and then. Certainly, I remember what the latter had to say and have already passed it on...as  I would like to think at least some of my poems may provide food for thought enough to be passed on in much the same  way, although I remain very pragmatic on that front, too, and don't, as one reader put to me only recently ."delude" myself that I'm  a "great" poet. 

Ah, but enough s enough methinks, for now at least. All that remains is for me to  say thanks for dropping by and hope you will do so again soon. Take are, keep well and, yes, be sure to nurture a positive mindset, if only because the alternative is a sure way to make a living hell for ourselves. Life is better than that, so are we.

Hugs,

Roger

[Note: This post also appears on mu general poetry blog today,] RNT

You-Me-US, Peopling a kinder Eternity

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

People often tell me how close they feel to family and close friends that have died or drifted out of their lives for having moved away or whatever… and lost touch. I know the feeling only too well. During coronavirus lockdowns and feeling lonely and/or increasingly ill and no one with whom to exchange mutual whinges (thereby all but restoring a sense of proportion once again) I have been visited my many a ghost from the past, even from as long ago as schooldays… and I’m 75 now!

On the whole, they are a comfort, my ghosts although there are always one or two who feel the need to have a go at me for this or that reason; I guess many of us regret, in hindsight, how we may have treated people in our past, whether intentionally or otherwise.

A friend once told me he wished he had fewer regrets, but mostly only had himself to blame for them and playing the blame game never did anyone any favours, so he focuses on happy memories in the company of family and friends instead. Another friend, present at the time, commented to the effect that it was a very selfish attitude. Me, I am all for a healthy mind-body-spirit; any happy memories always need to be at the top of anyone's agenda for mind-body-spirit.  Bad memories may well hover, but the kinder ones will always see to it that they don't get much of a look-in so long as we continue to nurture a positive mindset.  Not always easy, that's true, but always worth the effort.

As my mother used to say, life is too short to keep looking back when there is so much to look forward to if we but pause a moment or two to think about it, even if it does take the form of wishful thinking as often as not…

YOU-ME-US, PEOPLING A KINDER ETERNITY

Inner eye, clouding over,
mixed feeling tearfully washing away
favourite memories,
mind-body-spirit left to make what it will
of free fall, feeding on
such details as it can still make out
and taking heart…
even as Time plays its cat and mouse games
with us

Here-and-Now, a window
on a you-me-us still letting in sunshine
as it has always done,
even if the view now misting over, curtains
all but closed;
yet, weary though Apollo may be
of giving way…
there’s still (potentially) time yet for keeping
promises

Promises, no more or less kept
or broken as those we make to ourselves
and each other, meaning well,
but misled by finger messages on the heart’s
window, left ajar…
to keep the air (and us) flowing as freely
as possible while mulling
a shared past-present’s failings in living up 
to its future 

Given a misting over windows
on the heart all but making us prisoners,
any finger messages
haunt us like ghosts played out in all shades
of light ‘n’ dark
if only for a peace and love their promises
challenged us to make or break
as the case may be, with the happy-sad poetry
of humanity

Night falls, Apollo’s turn to haunt us,
try to lighten our heavier loads, taking us
through the motions,
encouraging us to attend to the world’s evils,
demanding we rise above them,
(win some, lose some) even as a Darkness
called Death sheds light enough
on all living history to form the kinder landscape
of our eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today, given that feedback suggests many LGBT readers do not visit both blogs.] RNT

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

Looking on the Bright(er) Side

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

We are all waking to another day of Covid-19, although hopeful that any approved vaccine will reach us and loved ones in time,before mortality strikes any devastating blow. Should it come too late, as for some of us it inevitably will, let our tears be joy as well as grief, celebrating a life and our having been a part of it.

LOOKING ON THE BRIGHT(ER) SIDE

Seagulls crying,
tide coming in fast, anxious
to offer consolation 

Breaks in clouds,
a sunbeam breaking through,
hinting at a kinder day 

A little light rain
as if to refresh a troubled Earth,
feed its hopes for spring 

Skylarks, flocking
to new habitats, but continuing
sing us into wintry dawns 

Humanity, waking
to yet another day of living fearful
of Covid-19 coronavirus 

Tears, for loved one
spirited away on wings of mortality
to nests of remembrance 

Nature, an example
to us all in persevering, keep looking
on the bright(er) side

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

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

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

 

Waking Up to Life

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

One of the (many) problems of living with prostate cancer and being treated with hormone therapy (Zoladex) is that its success depends on keeping testosterone at bay. 

Most of the time, I have no sexual urges so am relatively content. Every so often, though, a rush of testosterone creates the urges while failing to address bodily functions anywhere near adequately. (In other words, I can barely get an erection, if at all!) Being sensually rather than sexually active is even more frustrating than being without a regular partner, given that there are usually brief encounters to be had if you know where to go. Knowing where to go, but well aware it would be a complete waste of time, however, now that can be soul-destroying. 

Oh well, I just have to keep looking on the bright side of life and be thankful that (75 soon) I am still here to tell the sorry tale. Stay positive, I am always telling people so I guess I need to practise what I preach! (I do, mostly, but now and again I allow myself to lapse into whinge-mode…)

Not in any wasteland, though, not me, not any more. There is more to life than wanting what we can't have; we just have to find ways of making the most of what is available to us and, no, that doesn't mean having to settle for less. The human condition is incredibly adaptable to its circumstances, just as the human spirit can rise above even the worst life throws at us ... if we let it.

What's done is done, and gone. No one gets their time over again, neither the good parts nor the bad. What we can do, though, each and every one of us, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious or other forces working for or against us, is start looking ahead, resolve to make the most not only of what we have, but who we are in a Here-and-Now that has the potential to let us play not only as constructive a role in our past-present-future as any personae we may have previously adopted, but all the more so for a positive thinking mindset.

WAKING UP TO LIFE

Overslept,
dreams preventing deep sleeping,
or eyes opening,
taking m places I'd rather not go
but can't stay away
because they are an integral part
of my history

Overslept,
revisiting brief, intimate encounters
(high hopes dashed)
that promised everything, but left me
stranded in a wasteland,
worse off than ever for misreading
not seizing the day

Overslept,
cuddling up to a pillow, surrendering
to the surreal,
long enough to leave all emotion spent
on fuelling imagination 
into meeting more pro-active demands,
body stalling 

Waking up,
faces on the ceiling floating wry smiles
for a sleepy-head
sick of taking each day as it comes, only
to be left stranded
on some lonely wasteland without a clue,
body on stand-by

Getting up,
resolving not to include a dead yesterday
in my calculations,
no more truck with illusion and delusion
needs must get real, start
exchanging negatives for positives by way
of mind-body-spirit 

Starting over,
(finally) getting to grips with life as it is,
people as they are,
learning to laugh again (even at myself)
finding silver linings
wherever I look, no going by any text book, 
and all the better for it

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

(Note: This poem also appears on both poetry blogs today given that issues it raises  may well affect us at some point in our lives, regardless of  ethnicity, culture, gender, sexual persuasion or, yes, growing old...] RNT

Sunlight on a Country Churchyard OR Memo from Apollo

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

Another new poem today, just when I didn’t think I had another poem in me … and not for the first time either. No, not a gay-interest poem as such, but worth remembering perhaps that Apollo was reputed to be bisexual.

The coronavirus has been with us for months now and there are signs Covid-19 that the stress is taking its toll on everyone. Lately, I have heard the following statements from different people along the lines that “I really can’t take any more …” and “I sometimes wake up in the morning and wish I was dead …”  I know the feeling, I really do; I will be 75 later this year, live alone and hormone therapy for my prostate cancer affects my thought processes as well as my memory with the effect that, among other things, I panic easily.

A few months ago, my best friend Graham and I visited a certain village in Essex for the first time; it is a charming place. I was feeling tired and low at the time, but the village itself manifested such a delightful atmosphere that it cheered me immensely. We needed to take a footpath through the local churchyard; a whispering in the trees could easily have been voices of the dead urging me to be glad just to be alive and make the most of each day as it comes.

I had been feeling depressed. Suddenly, I felt altogether different, mood lifting and various life forces (including creative forces) coming into play; all mind-body-spirit, regenerating.

Needless to say, we have returned to the same village several times since.

That is how I came to write the poem; hopefully readers will take heart from it, as I did; even as I was writing it; I was back in the village, far away from that dark place the coronavirus had dumped me in.

SUNLIGHT ON A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD or MEMO FROM APOLLO

Summoned by a breeze

to enter a country churchyard

while simply passing by;

pausing for thought, agreeing to comply

without quite knowing why,

yet sensing an urgency, pounding

at all sense and sensibility

as if some human spirit had chosen me

to set it free

Following feisty leaves

fallen from proud oaks forming

a Guard of Honour

on either side of a gravel path from gate

to church door,

urged by whisperings I cannot explain

to take a right turn,

wander among the graves

until (finally) called upon to stop, look, listen

and pay attention

My eyes, they are drawn

to a headstone nearby, its wording

ravaged by time,

yet I can just make out dates below a name

and parts of a poem

more critical of than favouring a person

Death dared presume

to steal away a good few years before their time,

so reads the poem

Highlighted by brilliant rays

of sunshine chasing dark clouds above,

the poem is as if rewritten

all words (and meaning) made clear and plain

to a certain someone

grown as war weary of life as with time,

death almost welcome

Apollo now whispering in my ear, “Rise and Shine”

for the grave is mine

In a blaze of light, love and glory

Apollo goes on his way, as I awake at dawn

from a hazy, crazy dream,

no less scary than beautiful, as meant to frighten

as reassure, enlighten

by way of a mind-body-spirit not yet given

its all, to why no time

like the Here-and Now to enter nature’s own view,

nurture a whole life through

I reached up for my diary on an oaken bedside shelf

and wrote, “Lost and Found, one true self … “

Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

G-A-Y, Flowers of the Field

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

[Update. April 1st 2020]: The coronavirus, COVID 19, is spreading worldwide and various governments feel obliged to take various emergency measures; it all smacks of Big Brother to me although needs must we act responsibly and conform to a whole new socio-cultural-political mindset.

Whatever, let's stay calm folks, use our common sense, trust our basic survival instincts and we will get though what appears to be the worst global crisis since the second world war. Remember that thousands of people die of flu every year; while this corona virus appears to be far more serious than an outbreak of influenza, we all need to stay positive and help each other as best we can. The sick and elderly, are as always, the most vulnerable among us so we especially need to rally on their behalf, even if it means getting to know neighbours who are all but strangers. 

Me? I will be 75 later this year and have been living with prostate cancer since 2011. I live alone, but will stay in touch with friends by phone if mobility becomes severely restricted by any temporary legislation. Meanwhile, I continue to take each day as it comes, and hope for the best...] RNT

Meanwhile...

Whatever our ethnicity, creed, gender or sexuality, it is the same for all lovers and would-be lovers everywhere; if falling out is like a power cut, making up - or (finally) getting together for the first time - has all the natural thrills of an electric storm...

Nothing about love is unnatural, and that applies to LGBT lovers too; never let anyone tell or persuade you differently. Nor is the spiritual nature of love any less for LGBT couples; various socio-cultural-religious dogma may well argue differently, but be sure it is the human spirit in us all that will have the last word.

G-A-Y, FLOWERS OF THE FIELD

We were arguing,

(I forget why) and I stumbled,

fell into your arms,

struck by a sudden electric storm,

your lips, moist and warm

on mine, feisty red-hot tongue

prising them apart,

paralysing every muscle,

my heart folding in

on its epicentre like petals  

under siege

We broke away,

appalled by what we thought

we could see in our faces;

rage, fear, pain… like flashes

of lightning,

a hard rain falling like the tears

of old gods, home truths

lashing out at us like the wind

dragging vulnerable leaves

from brave trees as ever it pleases,

nature teases

We stared at each other,

wide-eyed creatures, less afraid

we’ll come to harm

than a situation caught us out;

no time to duck and dive,

but…a coming alive

in the throes of lightning flashes,

closing in on each other

by way of acknowledging

heavens above taking our part,

nurturing the earth

Storm over, fragile hearts opening

like flowers for the nurturing

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; rev. 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Through a (closet) Keyhole

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

Gay, straight or transgender, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than forward to. (Not so, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? ,We always need to think positively about that however hard gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart.) There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware,

Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”

My friend had chosen a career in teaching.  I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher.

There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful.

A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and am glad I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.

Gay or straight, much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make  the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly…and the chances are, we will never know.

Yes,I try to encourage gay people to .come out, but we are all different and all caught up in different sets of circumstances, some of which make being openly gay impossible. (This is why I despise the practise of 'outing' people.)

Yes, there are far better ways of getting a life than in a closet, but it isn't only LGBT people who have inside knowledge of closets; who doesn't have a secret close to their heart for fear of the harm it might do themselves and/ or others were it to be discovered?

A life without love in it? No way. My friend, for example, loved his job, loved nature, loved travelling ... no disrespect to sex, but there is more to life (and love) than that.

THROUGH A (CLOSET) KEYHOLE

I grow old alone,
those who may have grieved me
gone into that unknown
some call Heaven,
Paradise or whatever, anything other
than Death

Death, a cruel word,
metaphor for a ghost, last spotted
peering over the shoulder
of one such as I
in a bedroom mirror, grown anxious
for sleep

Sleep, harbinger
of dreams, good, bad or too ugly
to ever contemplate
in the light of day
where alphabet lanterns spelling out
my darkness

Darkness, companion
to personal space if sure to keep
a (very) discreet distance
since it would not do
to discover even tenuous connections
in circulation

Secrets, running rings
around me, less able to send them
to those dusty archives
of mind-body-spirit
than younger personae less concerned
with repercussions

Repercussions, haunts
of bygone days, years of answering
to outward appearances,
inner self suffocating
in a closet I let few in, and among those,
nobody to love

Love, always so near
yet so far, on the tip of my tongue
but at the last minute
struck dumb
for centuries of homophobic propaganda
finding its mark

Ah, but what’s that I hear?
voices out of nowhere reminding me
of words said, soon forgot,
(and to whom)
thanking me for lending a guiding hand
to get a life

Alone, yes, but lonely no more
for invisible hands warmly shaking mine
re-awakening sensibilities
half-forgotten;
of despair for a life with little to show for it,
nothing to speak of

Through the keyhole, head high,
no need to make my peace with mortality,
having done my best
for an upbeat heart
in as free a spirit of peace, kindness and love
as I can speak of

Would that I could have spoken out
than let bigotry have its wicked way with me
through formative years
that all but provided
a rope to hang by, but though a time of strife,
I've had a life


Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

A Gentle Rain

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

"The quality of mercy is not strain’d, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven/Upon the place beneath" - Shakespeare - The Merchant of Venice (Act-IV, Scene-I). 

I love walking in a gentle rain; it so helps clear my head, no small mercy as my head is often cluttered with feelings and ideas I could well do without as I grow older. (I will be 74 in December.) There are days when my bad foot plays up, and I feel so angry; angry with the world for all but passing me by to the extent I feel I'm missing out, but even angrier with myself for feeling this way when there are millions of people across the world enduring far greater hardship and crises. 

Walking in the rain helps me to regain a sense of perspective, often the first thing to go into free fall when a person is in pain or simply having a bad day. Having had this discussion with various people over many years who, at times, have felt much the same way, I woke up the other day feeling an urge to express the experience in a poem, and share it. If one of the worst feelings in the world is guilt, , it is also one of the first feelings to grab hold of us when we are feeling sorry for ourselves. We know there are so many people so much worse off than ourselves, yet that pales into insignificance against whatever it is that's dragging us into a downward spiral we need, want to fight and break, but just can't.

Earth Mother works in mysterious ways; now harsh and unforgiving, now the complete opposite...not unlike human nature. My late mother once commented along the lines that, for her, a gentle rain acts as a cleansing of mind-body-spirit, only temporarily perhaps, but time enough to recharge its batteries and make sense of a world in which every day can well be a battle against bigotry, hypocrisy, dogma, convention...whatever.it is that’s threatening our well-being. Are we or they in the wrong? We need to clear our heads, let inner eye and native sense of fairness have their say...do we not?

I understood that I am gay at 14 years-old, yet throughout my 20's and into my early 30's, I was constantly doing battle in my closet with points of view invariably put forward with a logic of sorts, and with conviction, that would send mind-body-spirit into free fall time and again. As regular readers know, I eventually had a mental breakdown and attempted suicide. Recovery was tough, and took several years, but during that time I received so much support, experienced so much human kindness from unexpected sources. that it bears no comparison with a walk in the rain to clear my head. Yet, the latter, too, has its place in our lives, can help rework and restore both confidence in self and humanity; whether male or female, relating to an LGBT ethos or a 100% heterosexuality, I suggest we all need to find ways to get and stay as closely in touch with ourselves and the world around us - including the natural world - as we can. If a walk in the rain can help, go for it.


A GENTLE RAIN

Traipsing in the rain,
getting soaking wet, beyond caring
about health concerns,
cash flow problems, fiasco politics
and other crises
threatening to attack brain cells
but for mind-body-spirit
having none of it, a gentle rain
come to lift a sinking heart 

Walking in the rain,
listening to a furious past-present
ranting in my ears,
growing quiet as kinder memories
find a way through,
as if summoned by piano fingers
to play favourite songs,
recalling all the beautiful people
that are the better part of me

Humming in the rain,
dragging footsteps now quickening
like a sad heart
daring to retrace the kinder side
of a life lost its way
among the garbage-in, garbage-out
of a human nature
so easily led astray by expectations,
left feeling angry, let down

Singing in the rain,
oblivious to any stares from passers-by
curious as to how anyone
might find within themselves
any such expression
as bringing home the sheer joy of life
for its own sake
to one last seen or heard of on the run
from complex life choices

Clouds parting, Apollo
attending a native sense for human need,
penetrating sleepy clouds,
the better to shine on lonely people
taking on the role of martyrs
by way of covering for the shortcomings
of a consciousness
preferring to put self-awareness down
to a short circuit of sorts

Laughing in the rain, free
as a bird from cares of past-present-future
resolved to let the world
see and take me for the better part
of all I am (warts 'n' all)
like any human being finding their way
through such shades of light
and dark by which Earth Mother continues
to test all human mettle

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019

[Note: This poem also appears on my general blog today; for any readers who may be interested, I started it up some years ago to help - albeit in a small but (hopefully) effective way - to make the less discerning heterosexual aware that there is more to anyone than their sexuality; many if not most either cannot or will not see beyond the stereotypes surrounding us. As I have said so many times on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human.]

G-A-Y, Epic Poetry

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

In my 70’s now, I sometimes find myself thinking about death, not in a negative or despairing way but curious and generally hopeful. I have never feared death, only pain. Whenever I (frequently) commune with nature, I rediscover a huge sense of reassurance which has to do with growth beauty and renewal although I cannot quite put my finger on just what it is that fills me with a sense of well-being  especially when I am feeling low or intensely reflective for one reason or another.

I have nature to thank for a strong sense of spirituality that has seen me through some BAD times and continues to inspire me as I struggle sometimes with the various ups and downs of growing old.

One day, I will depart for the evergreen foliage of Mount Parnassus. I can but hope people may remember me not only as a poet but also as a gay man who found much inspiration in both his sexual identity and the rest, neither of which contradicting an ever-growing sense of spirituality found in nature. (Religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality.)

While I do not subscribe to any religion, who’s to say that whatever life force some call ‘God’ did not simply create nature but IS nature?

G-A-Y, EPIC POETRY

As a wind across the world
blows cold,
and in the eyes of the world
I grow old,
where is the Word that says
we are free,
but for slaves to its prejudices
like you and me? 

As the sun across the world
sinks lower,
and people across the world
blame each other,
wherever in the world will I be
on my last day
and will all they say of me
is that I was gay? 

As a wind across the world
blows cold,
and in the eyes of the world
I grow old,
wherever in the world shall I lay
my head
if all they ever know of me
is I am dead? 

As the sun across the world
disappears
in ashes and dust, sum total
of our fears,
may I yet rediscover all the love
and humanity
kind folks always lend each other
as you to me? 

As a wind across the world
blows cold,
and in the eyes of the world
we grow old,
Earth Mother waits, ever ready
to acknowledge our part 
in an epic poem most LGBT folks
learn by heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009, rev. 2021

 

Second Chances

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

There are night moves and more night moves, but there are no moves quite like lovers homing in on each other to make up following a lonely, soul-destroying separation, especially after a quarrel …

Even some gay-friendly readers have asked why I write gay love poems. There is no such thing, of course; there are only love poems. Besides, I am a gay man and the love of my life, too, was gay; tragically, for both of us, he died in a road accident many years ago.

Writing about love galvanises its flickering flame in me to flare yet again, and makes me feel good (as he always did) especially when I am feeling low. 

The poem is partly wishful thinking in so far as the love of my life and I will never be reunited other than in a posthumous consciousness, and partly in response to a reader, Rob, writing in to say he has just been reconciled with the love of his life and both are 'deliriously happy'. Congratulations, both of you, and enjoy ...

SECOND CHANCES

Fast asleep, foetal position,

I did not hear the seventh stair

that would always creak

even when sly tiptoes trying

to sneak, unheard ...

In a dream, as always, I stirred,

reaching out for you,

making believe we hadn’t parted

the way we did, lashing out

with cruel words, each wanting

to hurt the other more

(it was like committing suicide);

Now, your body pressing

against mine, this dream-self

responding, oh, so eagerly

with passion, hot lips relishing

your tongue, entering caves

of loneliness, teasing me

with the happiness I cast aside

that night we died

What’s this?  A kiss, surely

meant to restore a lifeless heart,

let the blood course anew

through a body all but ready

for a coffin, for all willpower’s

attempting to find its way

pretences at of everyday living,

taking where it can,

giving precious little in return,

unable to feel anything

for longing to taste your lips

again, again, our sexuality

awakening to the rising heat

of a true reality, nor any words

(ever) necessary

Day and night, you haunt me

taunting me with images

of your naked body, loving arms

holding me closely, tightly,

as once they had before I happened

to hear gossip among those

I took for friends, workmates too,

and openly denied you-me-us

because I was weak, needed to be

one of the lads, though it meant

we’d part, no matter mind-body-spirit

likely to be sent into free fall,

by loneliness, emptiness, despair

for its not defending and clinging on  

to all it holds dear

My eyes fly open

and you are here, no mere vision,

but a whole new love affair,

You-Me-Us, redefined, ‘live’ metaphor  

for second chances 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears (under the title Seeing is Believing) in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.] 

Love Never Dies

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

Loving someone, whether for years, weeks or even less, is sure to leave its mark. Sometimes, when I’m fighting depression, as I am at the moment, I think of all the people I have ever loved, and the sum of that love helps me find my way through the maze of confused thoughts and feelings that invariably precede depression although we rarely have a clue at the time just where they are taking us. [In time, though, we learn to recognise the signs.]

A recent telephone conversation ended with our both agreeing that life can be so unfair sometimes. After I’d replaced the receiver, I found myself back in the maze. Only, this time I wasn’t alone, but accompanied by those who may have played a small or huge part in my life, yet whose own lives were cut short, depriving them of any chance to fulfil their potential. I can’t honestly say that I’ve fulfilled mine, but that’s down to me, no one else. Whatever, I’ve (mostly, not always) enjoyed trying. More to the point, at 66 years-old I’m still here to tell the tale, and can look forward to the roller-coaster ride continuing for a few more years yet. Well, fingers crossed...

It is not only so true that love never dies, but it also never ceases inspire. Moreover, it is as likely to pay us a visit out of the blue, and leave us a better person for that, as we are to spend a lifetime in its company.

Don’t ever be afraid of friendly ghosts. Oh, they can never take the place of real people, but they can be good companions all the same, especially when real people, however well-meaning, fail to grasp what we need most...love, and its (reciprocal) belief in us.

LOVE NEVER DIES 

He had looks, he had charm,

always a pretty girl on his arm;

I could only admire

a swinging of hips as he walked,

an incredible self-confidence

when he talked, a man who knew

his own mind, unafraid

to voice an opinion, no matter

upsetting anyone

I was shy, I was scared

in case anyone suspected I’m gay;

all I could do was pretend

an interest in the opposite sex

even though he was always

on my mind, asleep or awake,

this god with jet black hair

who invariably wore a (very)

tight tee and jeans

One day caught us waiting

at a bus stop in the pouring rain

and we got chatting

about everything and nothing,

my pulse racing,

heart skipping so many beats

I thought I’d die

especially when he teased me

about my school tie

Our bus arrived, everyone

soon aboard but we’d hung back

and somehow the bus

went of without us, leaving us

wondering why were there,

soaking wet, grinning at each other

like conspirators caught out

and not quite knowing what to do

or say next

He told me he’d noticed

how I was always watching him,

demanded to know why;

I expected the worst but, even so,

couldn’t lie;

something in me wouldn’t let me

apologize either

but I couldn’t look him in the eyes

or stop my tears

I turned and walked away

but he laid a hand on my shoulder,

forced me to face him,

pushed me into the bus shelter,

my back to the wall.

waiting for a punch in the face

or worse

but all that came was a long, slow,

gentle kiss

No one ever knew about our love affair;

he died in a road accident a month later

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010