Echoes of a Season Past

 

ROGER TABER - POETRY READING
21 March 2017 – Part 2

From Roger’s friend, Graham

Greetings from autumnal Essex, UK,

I’m sharing the second part of Roger’s poetry reading. Again, I’ve embellished the recording with imagery (including the occasional cheeky pun). I’m grateful to the photographers who’ve shared their work (public domain license) on the Pixabay, Pexels and Unsplash websites. Wikimedia has also proven really helpful.

Here’s the link: https://youtu.be/hs3aTILOdtU. Or find it by searching ‘roger taber poetry’ in YouTube if you prefer.

I was reflecting on my previous comments about performance poetry being more expressive than printed form. How it reveals the intensity, passion and human frailty of the poet. And yet, conversely, a soundtrack could be interpreted as the author’s impressing of a particular perspective on his work. I wonder if poetry, art or music is really more about multiple viewpoints…? And written verse, perhaps, remains more accessible to those differing interpretations. Either way, I still think the recording adds an interesting facet to Roger’s published work.

The selection contains some personal favourites – ‘Suggestions’ and ‘The Poet’s Song’ among them. I read the latter at Roger’s funeral as part of a eulogy. Although it’s not sombre - rather a celebration of the artform. After all, ‘look on the bright side’ was his mantra. Even on his poetic postcards from the abyss.

Inevitably, the project has left me with a sense of retrospection. Roger died back in March last year although, for me at least, his presence lingers. His connection to the world endures somehow in a continuum of past-present-future. Like a pebble cast into water, his life-force resonates through a sea of time…

Memory’s warming embers ever glimmer in the shadow of grief.

Thanks for reading/listening.

G x

 

*  *  *

 

‘I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place.’
Michel Foucault

‘No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.’
Terry Pratchett

‘As long as there are memories, yesterday remains. As long as there is hope, tomorrow awaits. As long as there is friendship, today is beautiful.’
Billy Joel

 

*  *  *

 

ROGER TABER - POETRY READING
Tuesday, 21 March 2017

PART 2

The Master Baiter
W-A-R, Crucible Of Remembrance
Spring Magic
Logging On To Life
Imagination, Painter Of Dreams or Masochist
National Trust Outing
Suggestions
Shades Of Comic Genius
Engaging With Nature or Living With Prostate Cancer
Patchwork
Ode To Apollo or Profile Of A Life-force
Heartbeat or Waking Up To The Power of Positive Thinking
Poems By Passing Clouds
The Poet’s Song
In Good Company

(CC) R. N. Taber 2017

A Tapestry of Life

 

From Roger’s friend, Graham

 

Greetings and welcome,

I hope that you’re thriving wherever you are in the world. A quick update - I’m still working on part 2 of Roger’s poetry reading for YouTube. In the meantime, I’m sharing some further reflections on his poetry.

A recurring theme in Roger’s work is an intimate relationship with nature. His narratives explore complex  interconnectivity between animals, plants, environment and self. Beyond the impressionistic imagery lies a deeper communion with nature aspiring to the sacred. Roger’s inspiration flowed from this affinity with the natural environment. He described it as pantheism - although it also shares ideals with Jainism.

Both Roger and I grew up under the yoke of Christian tradition - which we rejected in adulthood. But our reasons went beyond the insidious anti-gay and misogynist bigotry lurking in certain Old Testament tracts. It was the notion that humans stand alone in all creation as being divinely inspired; uniquely housing a ‘soul’. That flawed foundation of ethics which affords adherents free reign to exploit and enslave (so-called) lesser creatures and desecrate the environment - while obviating responsibility as to suffering or consequence. As with the other Abrahamic religions, Christian dogma conjures the illusion of separation from, and elevation over the rest of nature. (It also provides insight into ecclesiastical hubris.)

The enlightenment of science teaches us that this is fundamentally and evidentially wrong. We share 98.8% of our DNA with chimpanzees - with whom we share a common ancestor 6-7 million years ago. We can trace our evolutionary lineage on the tree of life back through millennia. Our origin and purpose in the universe aren’t inscribed on tablets of stone, but rather, recorded indelibly within strata of rock.

Humankind are not the animal kingdom’s divinely-ordained overlords – we’re it’s caretakers; bearing that weight of responsibility. We’ve close kinship to our fellow creatures. Who could gaze into the eyes of their pet dog, their cat or other domesticated animals and not sense their emotional complexity? Who could fail to acknowledge their affection, their joy or their pain? It offers an inkling that we’re part of something bigger… part of Earth Mother’s glorious magnum opus comprising all living things.

Roger’s nature poems recognise that we’re inextricably interwoven into the tapestry of life; that we’re but threads within the greater fabric of existence.

Take care,
Gx

 

*  *  *  *

 

ANTHEM PLAYED ON A GRASS HARP

Watery sun dripping through trees,
leaves sparkling like jewels in a crown
where we’d wander, my love and I,
ears pricking up at a chick’s first cry,
looking out for others flapping their way
on first flights through dawn rainbows
till gliding with ease as nature meant
for us all, although less so among humans,
a species well known for thinking they
know better than Earth Mother, wishing
them ill (and Hell) who resist straitjackets
and persist in walking tall

On a magic carpet of many colours,
among daisies passing for fairies
in a palace of dreams, we’d go free,
where all prejudices and bigotry
mean less than a fair breeze in the face,
Earth Mother’s caress in the hair,
reminding us how we are, one and all,
as nature intended, no one creature
any more or less precious than another,
each, in their own way, a ‘live’
testament to mind-body-spirit and a history
lending meaning to eternity

We arrived where the carpet
tuned into stone, where no sun shining,
only Shadows, a gathering of forces
preparing to take humanity on and win
any fight it may choose to pick,
no matter rights and wrongs (or alternative
points of view); for them, a certainty
that the world has no place for men, women
and young people whose sexuality
offends a majority choosing to make stand
on a Ship of Fools in a gale force wind, set on
making sense of humankind

Oh, but spring in our hair like jewels in a crown
Love takes for its own!

 

Copyright R.N. Taber 2010 from the collection ‘On the Battlefields of Love’. Revised 2021.

A Window in Time

 

(From Roger’s friend, Graham)

 

Hi everyone,

Over the years I’ve attended many of Roger’s poetry readings. Many took place in public libraries or art centres. Occasionally they were part of an events programme for LGBT+ History Month (February, here in the UK). Often, friends and old colleagues would attend.

I recently discovered a sound recording among Roger’s personal effects. A reading at the Society of Genealogists hire space, London, back in March 2017. Hearing his voice again was evocative. It made me recount those many convivial evenings enjoying poetry and wine. More interestingly though, it offers the listener an extra dimension. They’re more expressive and nuanced than mere lines of printed verse. The added intonation and emphasis illuminates and counter-shades the narrative.

I’ve opted to add some imagery. A simple slideshow really, which hopefully provides a suitable backdrop. My plan is to publish the entire reading in full on Roger’s YouTube channel. For now though, I’m including a link to the first part here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2klMtjNWuSQ

Happy listening and thanks for reading.

Graham

 

*  *  *

 

ROGER TABER - POETRY READING

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

 

PART 1

Close Friends, Distant Lives

A Short History of London

The Busker or Music, Spirit of Life

Last Take on Multiculturalism

Whatever Happened To Love?

The Ballad of Neighbour Joe

Darkness, The Poetry of Mixed Feelings or The Scenic Route To Daylight

View From A Church Window

Life At The Shallow End or Keeping Up Appearances

The Zen Of Counting Beans

A Family Connection or Time Travel Firsthand

Harvesting Imagination

Looking For Answers or Passing Comment On The Human Psyche

Mother Love

The Guardian

 

(CC) R N. Taber 2017

Shades of Comic Genius (and Quinquagenarian Angst)

 

From Roger’s good friend – Graham

 

Sap is rising, shoots are sprouting and buds are throbbing in anticipation…

Today’s poem ‘Shades of Comic Genius’ offers an amusing take on a couple who rediscover the passions of youth in their later years. A blaze of glory as they surrender to the unbridled urges of nature and cast away, if briefly, the burden of age. It’s an enchanting example of the whimsical aspect in some of Roger’s writing.

Speaking of age, I imagine that cresting past that mid-life hill can be daunting for many of those in my generation. Especially if they find themselves single and there’s an incentive to maintain that sylph-like physique of youth! Although that objective does become a bit of a pipedream, unfortunately, as years advance.

It’s an unsightly truth that age and gravity conspire to steer one’s finest assets on a southward migration. Looking in the mirror recently, I was reminded of one of those mudslide events that you might see in a disaster movie. Although I consider myself fortunate that I can still glimpse my feet between shoegazing moobs. (It’s certainly a stark contrast with the type of ‘hangovers’ I faced during my student days.) Sitting in the bath the other day was reminiscent of a baggy old armchair that had become waterlogged.

As if that wasn’t bad enough I was disappointed recently when my young niece asked me why I appeared to be frowning in some of the family photos. I had to explain that I was just facing down slightly and the mouth was sagging. She was kind enough to offer the assistance of a photo enhancer app although I gratefully declined. (Fastening a large bulldog clip to the back of the scalp might be more effective?)

I remember poor Rog complaining about ten years ago about his midriff getting wider. He was worried about becoming ‘bell-shaped’. I couldn’t think of anything diplomatic to say so I suggested that at least, he’d be the ‘belle of the ball’. Fortunately he was immune to my cheeky banter and laughed. Latterly, his avoidance of dairy products seemed to stop the expanding girth which was some consolation.

Much of the time we tried to laugh about our frailties and work around them. Or imagine, at least, that our salad days hadn’t entirely withered on the vine. Anyway, it’s good to throw caution to the wind sometimes; budding with memories from the bloom of youth…

 

*  *  *

 

‘She said she was approaching forty, and I couldn't help wondering from what direction’. Bob Hope (British-born American entertainer).

 

*  *  *

 

SHADES OF COMIC GENIUS
(For old[er] people everywhere)

We stripped naked under a leafy sky,
saw our bodies turn gold,
for a while forgot about growing old

Rediscovering youth’s feisty passion
we surfed its glorious tide,
put aches, pains and home truths aside

A balmy breeze gave us its blessing
and songbirds sang amen
while halcyon days revisited us again

Though years pass and take their toll,
the spirit of adventure remains
to seize the day, throw off its chains

If love is the greatest adventure of all,
sex is but half the story,
a shared empathy, its power and glory

We dressed quickly, nature applauding
bodies frayed at the seams
acknowledging its comedy of dreams

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010. From the collection On the Battlefields of Love

 

*  *  *

 

I’ve also included a jokey poem that I found in an old email which never quite made the grade for publication (‘Senior Moments…’) . However, it ties in so well I’ve included it. I think older readers will appreciate it...

 

SENIOR MOMENTS or GROWING OLD WITH CHUCKLES
(And, no, Chuckles is not my cat.)

This little poem of mine
may well be missing the occasional line
since senior moments with me
are as common as sugar or milk in a cup
of coffee or tea

Whenever out and about,
I rely on my trusty walking stick’s support,
but will often raise the alarm
when I put it aside and it chooses to hide
(usually on my arm)

An easy to follow recipe
(meant to impress old friends visiting me)
might well prove a mistake
when I get proportions sufficiently wrong
to make us all feel sick

I have hurried for buses
only to find I’m soon counting my losses
for its heading (miles) away
from whatever destination I’d had in mind
and forgetting that anyway

A positive thinking person,
I refuse to let senior moments get me down,
but love to laugh at them
among friends over a few drinks in the pub,
ever toasting, ‘Carpe Diem’

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Spring, Lockdown and the Joy of Birds

 

From Graham – Roger’s close friend (and tipsy cameraman)

With the burgeoning of spring comes a renewed joie de vivre. As nature’s pulse quickens, sunlight streams into my small flat, warming the skin like Apollo’s sensual kiss. Outside an ensemble of sparrows sing their odes to joy as grey squirrels frolic in the sway of radiant daffodils.

I descend three flights of stairs clutching a selection of nuts and grains. Awaiting me, in lofty foliage, an array beady eyes ogling me expectantly. An excited twitter erupts. Magpies cawing, pigeons cooing and the trills of sparrows. At the shrubbery I set out a bird-buffet. A squirrel scampers up to me and I throw him a husked peanut which he grasps like a trophy. He’s joined by a magpie, then a flurry of feeding to a stirring chorale of birdsong.

I return to my apartment happier, elevated somehow... My daily ritual feels sacred and imbued with symbolism. Some traditions believe birds to be messengers of the divine. All I know is that the illusion of separation falls away and I’m at one with nature, the universe... Offline, but connected.

Roger and I discovered the sublime joys of bird-feeding during the Covid pandemic lockdown in 2020. He’d festoon his kitchen window ledge with breadcrumbs and be amused by the argy-bargy of gobbling pigeons. (London pigeons aren’t known for their social graces.)

We explored other avenues to alleviate those gloomy lockdown blues. Our daily ‘whinge-therapy’ phone sessions played a major role in maintaining both morale and sanity. (How I miss them.) I suspect Roger had a checklist of gripes which unerringly ended with a whodunnit. A gripping saga featuring Detective Inspector Taber - hot on the heels of a dastardly dumpster desperado abusing a recycling bin.

Then of course we were utterly enthralled by the enduring mystery of toilet roll shortages here in the UK. Panic buying - with toilet paper tumbling off supermarket shelves like roly-poly lemmings. Who was stockpiling and why - a conspiracy? Did coronavirus cause one to sprout an extra pair of buttocks? Or were there hordes of marauding bog-roll bandits wiping out supplies? Or was it being commandeered to mop-up the rising deluge of bullsh*t from a familiar Downing Street residence? A stream of consciousness is one thing - but this…!?

Rog and I certainly let our wildest imaginings run riot.

Sorry, my preamble turned into a pre-ramble. I meant to offer an upbeat commentary on renewal and springtime but rather went off at a tangent! I enclose two of poems on a spring theme.

 

*  *  *

NEVER GIVE UP ON SPRING

 

Once there was a time
it seemed like winter every day,
only a watery sunshine
streaking a sky that’s leaden grey 
life barely worth living,
past and present unforgiving,
catching me out
in what I took to be a loneliness
of old age as I’d read about
in novels, rarely taking notice,
forgetting the roots
of fiction lie in such harsh reality
as now had me in its grip,
leaving me to fret that only much
the same lay ahead, cruel
twist of fate by any other name,
delivering me into a spiral
of a leaden, grey depression wherein
I could see no hope of rescue
till into that shadowy place you came,
bringing light, warmth, and joy,
sending a long winter of the heart
into a feisty, overdue spring,
lending even its shadows a touch
of wry humour so alleviating
the burden of my distress that I could
make space for a happiness
of which neither age, sex, culture,
creed or sexuality may justly
claim a monopoly since everyone
has a right (fate?) to be as you
make me, finally (blissfully) content
to let unfriendly ghosts lie,
cease berating a rose for either its thorns
or the nurture of spring rain,
but dry my tears, and live, love, laugh,
feel young at heart again…

Though society find a reason to mark
its gay lovers, be sure our season will long,
outlive theirs, and even when life
is a burden that’s grey and unforgiving,
never give up on spring

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

*  *  *

SPRING, RITES OF PASSAGE

 

As a new leaf on a sad oak,
find a mind-body-spirit regenerating
greener centuries

As new buds on a rose bush
find all animal senses coming on heat
after a wintry frost

As new petals on a daffodil,
find emotions rising above their flaws
on a robin’s wings

As driftwood on home shores,
find young potential needing to be put
to better use than this

As seeds on a southern wind,
find life forces placing time and space
on a learning curve

As pilgrims to raison d’être,
find ghosts dead set on helping us live.
let live, have a voice

As fairy tales to a child’s mind,
find ancient legends wringing metaphors
from contemporaneity

As singing wires to cloth ears,
find rebel green campaigners messaging
the Earth’s naysayers

As ashes to ashes, dust to dust
find art and science reading the last rites
over tablets of stone

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2019. From an upcoming collection; Addressing the Art of Being Human.

Suggestions

  

From Graham – a close friend to Roger

It’s only from space the full extent of Earth’s environmental damage can be observed. Deforestation, receding glaciers, coastal inundation and the advance of deserts. From the flattened horizon of a human perspective, few witness the blanching of a coral reef or a river choked with plastic. The devastation remains somehow abstract… deniable.

It’s difficult to deny global weather patterns are becoming more anomalous and extreme. Or refute data that tells of rising average temperatures and collapsing biodiversity.

Venus, our nearest planet, suffered the fate of runaway atmospheric heating about 1 billion years ago when she still had surface temperatures akin to earth. This calamitous build-up of greenhouse gasses created a roiling inferno. A tormented celestial augur perhaps, foreshadowing the fate of her sister planet?

Just as our Earth’s marring is only framed in the bigger picture, the solution too, must be holistic. Political elites must be pressured to think pro-action over procrastination. Corporations must prioritise preservation over profit. And even wealthy religious organisations might be encouraged to save the planet rather than souls? They could even get real and recognise that their impending Judgment Day-cum-Apocalypse will likely be man-made rather than deity-designed. Surely this is the true existential crisis and moral imperative for all to confront…?

The onus is also on individuals to be the change through the choices they make. Small personal sacrifices for the greater good of our, and future generations. The cumulative benefits of driving a vehicle less, eating less (or no) meat and dairy, and conscientious consumerism should not be underestimated. The individual is not powerless to affect change by boycotting businesses that despoil natural habitat or cruelly exploit our fellow animals. Or to see beyond that acquisitional mindset fuelled by sly advertising.

Oh, but of course, there’ll always be climate change deniers - last seen at a Flat Earth Society meeting alongside creationist preachers and conversion therapists…

Roger loved this sun-kissed cradle of life we call Earth, Gaia, Terre... ‘Earth Mother’ features widely in his nature poems and was his foremost muse. He was captivated by her kaleidoscopic raiment in the ebb and flow of seasons. He took practical steps to conserve our precious planet too. He was ostensibly vegan and passionate about recycling – to the extent of policing rubbish bins where he lived. He’d leave curt notes in communal areas for offending parties who dumped non-recylcables in the green bin. And, believe me, Roger knew how to lambast even the most shameless slattern or slob!

When Rog was more mobile we enjoyed many a stroll on Hampstead Heath; communing with mother nature, imbibing ambrosial scents of wild, iridescent flora and savouring heavenly birdsong. Sometimes (pre-vegan days) we’d enjoy an ice cream and trace meandering lakeside tracks among coruscating sunbeams. We’d invariably climb Parliament Hill and gaze down on London’s sprawling cityscape then dive into a cosy pub. The Heath was Roger’s sanctuary and connection to his beloved Earth Mother.

This next poem of Roger’s appears in Accomplices To Illusion, 2007. I find it provocative.

‘The fact is that no species has ever had such wholesale control over everything on earth, living or dead, as we now have. That lays upon us, whether we like it or not, an awesome responsibility. In our hands now lies not only our own future, but that of all other living creatures with whom we share the earth.’ David Attenborough

‘Anyone who believes in indefinite growth on a physically finite planet is either mad or an economist’ David Attenborough

 

*  *  *

 

SUGGESTIONS

 

They suggest we try and save garden creatures
and ocean whales before it’s too late

They suggest our luxury choices are sure to leave
the generation of 3000 with none

They suggest parents are scared of their children
and raising monsters

They suggest religious leaders pay more attention
to compassion than division

They suggest politicians aren’t listening to those
who put them there

They suggest our multicultural societies are failing
themselves and each other

They suggest we start learning the lessons wars
should have taught us

They suggest we’re but living will and testament
of a dying planet

So who are they, daring to suggest humankind look
to its shortcomings?

Among leafy choirs, anxious waves, nature rehearses
this world’s passing

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
[Note: Revised (2008) from the original poem as it appears in Accomplices To Illusion, 2007.]

A Walk in the Park

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

“We are not victims of aging, sickness and death. These are part of scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change. This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being.” - Deepak Chopra

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” - Khalil Gibran

“We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.” William Hazlitt

“Forever is composed of Nows.” – Emily Dickinson

Even as a child, I loved being at the heart of nature, not only for its surrounding, but also for the responses to it by mind-body-spirit, communicating sounds and poetry it would be years before I would even begin to define it as a sense of spirituality; years, too, before I felt able to go public with it through poetry. 

As my dear mother used to say, learning curves are not confined to the classroom...

A WALK IN THE PARK

Taking a long walk
in the park, sky many shades
in many moods,
spots of rain urging me pause
by a favourite tree
playing host to feathered friends
bidding me see-hear-listen,
let the indomitable Spirit of Nature
address past-present-future

Becoming more aware
of a Here-and-Now beyond 
rain and cloudy skies,
a part of me opening up, not only
to what it could see
but to feelings, asking questions
of heart-and-soul
it had not thought of asking,
confused by worldly turns of thought,
all but become a habit

Life is for all, no exceptions,
though we are sometimes made 
to feel we don’t deserve
a voice, simply for nurturing
visions of self-identity 
considered ill-suited to this society,
or that community,
for fear of any bullying powers that be;
none so blind as will not see 

Having listened to all the tree
had to say by way of putting lyrics
to the music in my head,
heart-and-soul's reawakened,
already reworking
its approach to everyday living,
less of simply tagging along 
for the ride, up for restating its position;
such is...the art of being human

Ah, but time to go home, hopefully share
all I have yet to make sense of here...

Copyright R. N. Taber (2023)

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

Starting Over

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

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” – Henry David Thoreau

“The mind is its own place and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” – John Milton

“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell.” - Buddha

Now, overheard in a supermarket on Christmas Eve:

1st Person: “I so love this time of year. It’s so good to unwind, but it’s over too soon, and where are we then? I mean, where’s the excitement, the fun, in a whole new year stretching ahead that’s likely to stress us out all over again?”

2nd Person: “Life is what you make it. For my part, I love the feeling of starting all over again and being given the chance to put a few things right and be happy again. I can’t explain it, but it’s not a bad feeling, quite the opposite…”

I so empathised with that second person. Although I do not subscribe to any of the world religions, I am neither atheist or agnostic. Nature has always filled me with a sense of spirituality I cannot explain, even to myself. Maybe that’s why I write poetry, as an attempt to define the indefinable; not just a feeling, nor a religious faith, but a faith, no less. Whatever, it has seen me through some pretty bad times and some great times too. For better or worse, it has made of my life what, at surface level does not amount to much, but, a n ‘other’ self in me recognizes that it has been an incredible learning curve.

I guess it’s the same for everyone, although in my case it has taken 77+ years to even begin to understand what has to be, in no small part, the role of personal space in the overall meaning of life. As for hope, optimism, positive thinking - whatever we like to call it – maybe that, in turn is the role of the kind of faith that nature inspires in many of us?

For me, anyway, Spinoza’s sense of God and Nature being much of a one-ness, has seen me has seen me through more ups and downs of life to my late 70’s…and I suspect hasn’t finished with me quite yet. So, a new chapter looming in the shape of a new year, is scary, but curiously exciting one. 

Who knows that lies ahead for any of us? We can but trust that still, small voice that goes by whatever name we choose, whatever our personal space learns to feels OK with…? Having grown in the bigoted 1950’s, is it any wonder that it took me until my 30’s to listen to mine and tell the world I’m gay…?

STARTING OVER

End of another year looming,
a global consciousness continuing to plead 
for peace and goodwill
to take root in the hearts of warmongers
in high places left swivelling
on comfy chairs in plush, warm home zones,
rehearsing a Rhetoric of Peace
along with political ends, in keeping with a faux morality
that haunts a weary humanity

End of another year looming,
a global consciousness continuing to hope
for kinder times ahead
on the backs of the quick and the dead
left grieving losses, asking questions,
looking for answers where angels fear to tread
lest they encounter lost souls 
asking the way to a safe house heard tell of called Heaven,
Peace of Mind, second to none

End of another year looming,
mind-body-spirit busy working out
how best to survive;
in or lose, resolving to understand
just who we are
by the end of it all (one way or another) 
not least for listening, believing
in each other, and lending a helping hand, ear, eye, whatever.;
life force, human endeavour

Heart-and-soul preparing to get the better of our flaws again;
mind-body-spirit of being human

Copyright R. N. Taber. 2022

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

Hello, Everyone, from London UK

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

“Faith is a passionate intuition.” - William Wordsworth  

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.” - Martin Luther King, Jr. 

“Faith is an oasis in the heart which will never be reached by the caravan of thinking.” - Khalil Gibran

“The belief that one's own view of reality is the only reality is the most dangerous of all delusions”. - Paul Watzlawick

Now, it is the day before Christmas wherever the birth of Jesus Christ is celebrated; a time, too, to reflect on just what any religious faith means to us, both personally and universally.

As regular readers will know, I consider myself a pantheist. Pantheists believe that God is nature.

Why do I think this way? I have no idea, except that I could never relate to a personified God, yet whenever I have engaged closely with nature, I have always experienced a sense of spirituality which I had always associated with religion, although religion had never given me access to the same experience; a very intimate experience, I should add.

No one person’s perspective on life, faith, whatever, will ever be quite the same, not least because we are all different.  That is not to say that one or other perspective is right or wrong, simply an integral part of who we are. 

Me, I find various religious dogma too prescriptive and often incompatible with my perspective on life as all-embracing, all-inclusive; no excluding anyone on the basis of gender, sexual identity, walk of life etc. Humanity thrives on our differences, differences we need to accept and respect. Religious leaders profess to agree, yet their dogma argues differently. Accordingly, many of their followers may argue differently too.

As regular readers will also be very aware, I am very much in favour of agreeing to differ in a spirit of peace and love, not the kind of divisiveness that causes, families to estrange, nations to declare war. <<wry bardic grin>>

Sadly, human nature is such that we often find ourselves caught on either side of various divides, that cannot or will not see where each is coming from, cannot or will not bring themselves to communicate and even try to understand and find common ground.

Human nature itself is complex, confusing, invariably expected to explain itself, when our actions cannot always be explained away; feelings are not necessarily the same as motives and do not lend themselves easily to the vocabulary of reason. From early years, we are taught that to understand ourselves and each other we need to be insightful as to what motivates, even justifies certain actions.  Yet, as the quotations above suggest, there are elements within all of us that even we, ourselves, are at pains to explain away.

Anyway, enough of my amateurish attempt to explain my deeper sentiments from which has evolved an all-inclusiveness that I try to inject into many of my poems. How far I succeed or not is up to the reader to decide.😉

It is Christmas Eve and, in the Spirit of Christmas, I want to thank you all for looking in on my blog posts and poems, it means a lot to me.

All that remains, for now, is to wish you all safe, well and hopeful always. Sadly, the ways of the world and human nature are such that this is not always the case. Even so, we can but keep looking on the bright(er) side of life and do our best to spread happiness, comfort and joy along the way; rarely easy, yet we can but try.

Whether we celebrate Christmas or not (I don’t) may the spirit of Christmas - one of hope, peace and kindness - be with us all.

Oh, and yes, I am working on a new poem, so do drop by again soon.

Take care, folks, whoever and wherever you are.

Hugs,

Roger

PS Many thanks to those readers who take the trouble to point out any print or spelling errors in some of my poems; I always take note, re-read the poem as it appears on the screen and make any necessary amendments.

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

You-Me-Us, Reason not the Need

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

“The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.” – Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Man is the only animal for whom his own existence is a problem which he has to solve.” -Erich Fromm  

"The greatest tragedy of human existence is the illusion of separateness." – Albert Einstein

"As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being." – Carl Jung  

"We must not wish for the disappearance of our troubles but for the grace to transform them." – Simone Weil

Now, as regular readers of either or both poetry blogs will know, I will be 77 years old later this year. As old age continues to takes its toll on various health issues, I often find myself wondering what it has all been for and…why, me?  There are no easy answers, of course. 

The main question has to be, have all the extreme ups and downs been worth it in so far as they have, at least, taught me much and brought be to this Here-and-Now, albeit one with whose pace I am finding it increasingly harder to maintain an appearance of even trying to keep up… wry bardic grin

Well, on reflection, happy memories will always get the better of bad ones; I cannot ‘see’ many of those memories now, but I can still feel them and the joy they generated.

So, yes, on balance, I am glad to be here to tell the tale. Do I deserve to be? Well, let’s face it, I’m biased… wry bardic chuckle. 

Oh, and for the reader who emailed to ask if, by You-Me-Us, I mean human relationships, the short answer is ‘yes’, bearing in mind that we can enjoy a lasting relationship with anything and anyone, at any level, if it feels right; an affinity with people, pets, nature, works of art…

YOU-ME-US, REASON NOT THE NEED

We live to love
and find ways to be happy,
but human nature
does not always concur,
mind-body-spirit
not always able to keep pace
with a heart-and-soul
subject and vulnerable to override 
by its darker side 

Ah, bur humankind
also exists to do its very best
to nurture potential
for seeing mind-body-spirit
shine a light through
any darkness, compensate 
for its mistakes
wherever, whenever and however,
(better late than never)

Yet, Time will seek
to always have its wicked way, 
with You-Me-Us,
regardless of circumstances,
answerable only
to itself, leaving humankind
at the whim
of what some would argue as its fate, 
‘late’ always too late

Time, though rarely
reckons with the positive 
nature of humanity,
its inclination to encourage
better, kinder ways
to rise above negative thoughts
inspiring the worst
in us all, leaving us prey to biased hype
and cruel stereotype

Yes, Time’s no match
for either the sheer resilience
of a common humanity
or the power of human memory
to retain, nurture 
and learn from any misfortune,
no matter the burden,
urging heart-and soul to do its very best
to alleviate the worst

To some, the meaning
of life is a blur, any reasoning
unclear as we pursue
such dreams as everyone enjoys
(win some, lose some);
only heart-and-soul has the true 
measure of us, 
whether we find ourselves united or alone
for … being but human

In whatever keeps heart-and-soul together
lies a joy forever

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[NB: Not a gay-specific poem-post (and also appears on my general poetry blog today) especially for those readers whose email feedback suggests they remain unconvinced that poetry is all-inclusive.] RT

An Empathy with Nature (3)

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

"If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” - George Orwell

“If freedom of speech is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.” -George Washington

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” - Charlotte Brontë

"The moment you say that any idea is sacred, whether it's a religious belief or secular ideology, the moment you declare a set of ideas to be immune from criticism, satire, derision or contempt, freedom of thought becomes impossible. - Salman Rushdie

Now, the recent attempted murder of Sir Salman Rushdie an active supporter of free speech has shocked the free-thinking world

The Indian-born Briton, whose novel The Satanic Verses led to death threats from Iran in the 1980s, was about to deliver a lecture at the Chautauqua Institution in New York state, when his attacker leapt on stage and stabbed him.

Fortunately, it has been reported that Sir Salman is no longer on a ventilator and is able to speak, although it is possible that he may have sustained potentially life-changing injuries as a result of the attack on Friday.  

Free expression and a personal space which embraces a sense of spirituality, whatever our religious or secular beliefs, deserve to be seen as mutually inclusive. I see it as the bottom line in the argument for agreeing to differ, on which most if not all my poetry posts are based

AN EMPATHY WITH NATURE (3)

Humanity is all-embracing
where ‘all’ includes you-me-us 
in any language, culture
and creed, a worthy heads-up 
to freedom of expression
and a sense of no holds barred,
in such walks of life
and corners of an ever-sickening world
where denied the last word

Fear of losing kith and kin,
has never been reason enough
to hide behind any lie
or threat even love may feel
called upon to impose, adopting
a false persona,
for an only-human need to be seen
betraying neither native beliefs nor ideals
incumbent on heart-and-souls

Life was a closet -prison,
no escape, till I found someone
to listen to me
(non-judgementally) sensing
my pain and insecurity
as a human being, no awful stereotype
conjured up by society
to conceal its ignorance, put its shame to rout
for failing LGBT+ folks coming out

I am Redemption, author of my own salvation,
if only for taking the edge off being human 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

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

Anthem Played on a Grass Harp

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

Some years ago, the children of friends of mine married without the blessing of their parents because both sets of parents disapproved of the match because is a lot older than her. Neither could accept their grown-up children’s choice of life partner. As it is, they have missed out on all the pleasures of being grandparents and seeing their grandchildren grow up.

Among all prejudices, ageism is often seen as the ‘poor relation’ but it can devastate lives as much and as needlessly as any other form of prejudice, whether it be based on the colour of a person’s skin, the nature of their sexuality or... whatever.

The couple in question had celebrated their silver wedding anniversary and were very happy until the younger partner died in a car accident. Only then did the families rally round and try to make peace “for the sake of the grandchildren...” Better late than never, I suppose, but so much time wasted, so many golden opportunities missed.

Prejudice in any shape or form doesn’t only eat away at a person’s mind-body-spirit, however much he or she may resist and rise above it, but can destroy families, even communities that are the chief losers in a human equation that will never quite add up until certain people see sense and recognise that all good people have a right to live their lives as they see fit, whether or not it quite adds up to what others might prefer.

I have seen prejudice drive people to crime, even suicide; such a waste of human potential. Whatever happened to respecting and making the best of our loved one’s choices for the good of everyone concerned? Driving home a point from a which misplaced pride refuses to let us budge can so easily make losers of us all.

ANTHEM PLAYED ON A GRASS HARP

Watery sun dripping through trees,
leaves sparkling like jewels in a crown
where we’d wander, my love and I,
ears pricking up at a chick’s first cry,
looking out for others flapping their way
on first flights through dawn rainbows
till gliding with ease as nature meant
for us all, although less so among humans,
a species well known for thinking they
know better than Earth Mother, wishing
them ill (and Hell) who resist straitjackets
and persist in walking tall

On a magic carpet of many colours,
among daisies passing for fairies
in a palace of dreams, we’d go free,
where all prejudices and bigotry
mean less than a fair breeze in the face,
Earth Mother’s caress in the hair,
reminding us how we are, one and all,
as nature intended, no one creature
any more or less precious than another,
each, in their own way, a ‘live’
testament to mind-body-spirit and a history
lending meaning to eternity

We arrived where the carpet
tuned into stone, where no sun shining,
only Shadows, a gathering of forces
preparing to take humanity on and win
any fight it may choose to pick,
no matter rights and wrongs (or alternative
points of view); for them, a certainty
that the world has no place for men, women
and young people whose sexuality
offends a majority choosing to make stand
on a Ship of Fools in a gale force wind, set on
making sense of humankind

Oh, but spring in our hair like jewels in a crown
Love takes for its own!

Copyright R.N. Taber 2010; rev.2021

Note: This poem appears on both poetry blogs today and has recently been significantly revised since first appearing in my collection On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Book, 2010.] 

A Hymn to Pantheism OR Redefining the Spirit of Nature

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

I live alone and am in my mid-70’s now so, like many if not most of us, have struggled with various health issues and to nurture a positive thinking mindset during the pandemic. Having had my Covid booster and flu jabs recently, I am starting to feel more confident when out and about in crowded places, shops and on public transport where I continue to wear a face mask; it is glaringly obvious that we are not out of the proverbial woods yet. 

Now, a new poem today rather than  another revision of an earlier one, prompted by reader M J who emailed to say he and his wife enjoyed the poetry reading I gave on the 4^th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square back in 2009; it was my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley’s ‘live’ sculpture project, “One and Other.” M J also asks “Do you still consider yourself a Pantheist?” Well, many thanks M J and the answer to your question is - yes, I do. 

While I respect anyone’s religious beliefs, I had never felt comfortable with religion. Raised as a Christian in the Baptist tradition, I could never truly relate to a personified God, even as a child. I first read about Pantheism in my mid-adult years and instantly engaged with it. 

Pantheists believed that God did not create nature, but is nature. I have always been able to engage with nature and experience a sense of spirituality from doing so. For this reason, I have always rejected criticism of my poetry for talking about spirituality when many readers would argue that ai am an atheist or agnostic because I don’t subscribe to any of the central world religions. 

Incidentally, in the course of my plinth reading, I told the crowd below that I was both gay and a Pantheist. Interestingly, I wasn’t heckled once during the whole hour.  What would social media trolls have to say about that, I wonder...?

A HYMN TO PANTHEISM or REDEFINING THE SPIRIT OF NATURE

Some pray to God, the Father,
who goes by many names,
yet, essentially, is much the same
in so far as He would have us learning
to love one another? 

Others lift up heart and voices
to Earth Mother, alias nature,
yet who’s to say the are not the same
in so far as both would have us at peace 
with one another r.? 

Some say God created nature
upon whom we depend
as we depend on one another to see us
through our time here on Earth, nurturing
mind-body-spirit 

World religions would separate
such inspiring life forces
to which He and She would see us bond
and nurture, yet some say we  are all of us
in ‘it’ together 

So, what is ‘it’, nurturing, inspiring,
all past-present-future,
nature and human nature learning how
to live together (or not, as the case may be)
and making history? 

Some say, God and Earth Mother
are so closely bound in spirit
and nurture that to engage with one
is to engage with the other, all part and parcel
of a common endeavour 

To each our own feeling for eternity,
a sense of spirituality
(independent of religion?) for seeing how
the kinder parts of nature and human nature
are the stuff of its poetry

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: I don't relate to Pantheism simply because I'm gay, but my sexuality has certainly played its part since most world religions consider same sex relationships a sin. and would deny me the sense of  spirituality that, among other things, helps me cope with growing old, Whatever, this poem appears on both poetry blogs today.] RT

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming, Ready or Not OR Now & Then

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

Reader A. H. writes that his family disapprove of his choice of life-partner and says, “My family are everything to me, but so is the woman I love. What can I do?” 

The reader must make a choice, and I would not presume to advise. I would only say that if his family are as close as they would appear to be, the chances are they will come, sooner or later, to his choice of bride.  Sadly, it is a choice many LGBT men and women around the world also have to face. 

As I have often said on the blogs, in preambles and poems alike, love comes in many shapes and forms, but there is a common denominator – survival. Where strong and true, love can endure even the worst life throws at it, in life or death; where unacceptable to some, that is their loss. 

I have seen families split by life choices made by this or that member. Sometimes our choices prove to be at worst misguided, at best flawed, but all of us need to learn by our mistakes, and that works for everyone concerned. Closed doors can be re-opened, but there needs to be a clear will on both sides, not always there...so they remain closed, everyone left asking why, and expecting someone else to make the first move.  

Love never dies, but it is as capable of inflicting hurt and being hurt by human nature as any of us or nature itself. 

COMING, READY OR NOT or NOW & THEN

Once, I’d hide in an old tree
for an ages-old game of hide-and-seek
among peers grown young
with me, Apollo taking a peek
through leaves of spring
taking my side, a brisk south wind
up for playing its part,
while letting rip with a warning shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!” 

Once, I’d lie by that same tree,
feeling blessed for having you at my side
the two of us so happy
just to be together, no words needed
to express expectations
of a future to build, share and enjoy
in such ways as love brings
for letting rip to the world with a shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!” 

Now, returned to that old tree
to share treasured memories of you-me- us,
revisit the dreams we shared,
ask why we were able to fulfil so few,
parted as we were too soon,
yet thankful, indeed, we’d found
in each other such life-forces
as inclined to let rip to the world with a shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!” 

Among leaves of an old tree, hear Apollo shout,
“Coming, ready or not...!" 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Points of View

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

Rising above a deteriorating quality of life these days, mostly due to various health issues, I am rarely in the mood to reply to emails unless they are from friends and/or about poetry or such passions as also provide mind-body spirit with creative therapy as well as a healthy emotional diet.  However, someone who signs themselves ’an elderly male reader’ has expressed despair at being “...unable, for various reasons, to make love to my partner of nearly thirty years.” and worries that the partner “... is already  looking elsewhere, and I will be left alone...”

I am in no position to advise as I have been without a partner for the best part of a lifetime, but I have been in love and I strongly suspect that this reader has nothing to fear. It is important, though, that he and his partner talk about this. Too many of us fail to discuss our more intimate concerns with loved ones; either we are embarrassed and/ or fear the possible outcome. Whatever, it is always better to know than just suspect; the latter can only loose all manner of demons upon us, not the least being jealousy.

As regular readers will know, years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has left me with no appetite for sex in any form; even porn mags don’t turn me on. At first, it left me feeling emotionally inadequate, and I missed the sheer pleasure of lovemaking. Now, though, I take pleasure even more pleasure in such simple delights as meeting up and putting the world to rights (as if!) with friends and/or visiting places I love, whether for real or in my imagination.  

While I don’t miss sex anymore, I can appreciate that it's not the same for everyone, nor do all men of a certain age lose either their appetite for sex or their ability/ inclination to perform. Even so, the expression ‘making love’ is something of a misnomer, to say the least; love is not made, it is created between soulmates who are mutually inspired by letting it grow and mature. 

There is great pleasure to be taken from sex between partners who are physically attracted to one another, and nothing wrong with it at all, but whether or not they fall in love, that is something else altogether.

A heart-to-heart between this reader and his partner will establish the emotional paths both need to take; should the partner need to continue satisfying his or her sexual appetite the reader should try not  see this as a poor reflection on their love for one another. Easier said than done, I agree, but life is rarely easy in every way. Such are the ways of love that they, too, are no less inclined to test mind-body-spirit from time to time, trusting it to pass with flying colours... or not, as the case maybe.

POINTS OF VIEW

At open windows by the sea,
listening to waves telling and retelling
stirring tales of derring-do,
discovery and exploration, lifting
spirits while breaking hearts
of those left counting days and nights
before any returns on dreams
likely to leave pride in tears, love in pain,
time after time, and time again 

At open windows on cornfields,
leafy woodlands and all manner of bird
and beast sure to nurture
its natural surroundings in the time left
before the human race,
cocksure of ways and means to match
any end-of-world scenarios,
continues to confuse its images of progress
with paths of peace and happiness 

At open windows on the world,
expecting even more from its seasons,
in demonstrating our worth,
nature and human nature, each as vulnerable
as the other to kindness
and neglect, pride, disrespect. even violence
as weathered during Earth Mother’s
labour pains for both peopling and colouring
landscapes worth the nurturing 

At dead of night, left to reflect
on such life-forces as have inspired us
to let love light up our lives, thereby creating
a kinder, wiser personal space, addressing
past mistakes, shying away
from a Here-and-Now that’s dependent
on algorithms as may well suffice,
but never replace innate sensibilities, life forces
defining Earth Mother for centuries... 

Reminding nature-and-human-nature how progress
is best judged by its capacity for alleviating distress

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

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

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

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

LITLE GIRL:     What happens when you die, Mummy?

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

LITTLE GIRL:   Is Princess Diana in Heaven?”

MOTHER:          I imagine so, yes.

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

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

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

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

A long pause

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Engaging with Conjecture

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

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

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

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

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

“Natural instinct,” he said with quiet conviction. 

“So how does that work?” I persisted. 

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

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

ENGAGING WITH CONJECTURE 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

I