Mother, Mine (Alice Maud Taber 1916-1976)

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

Hello again, folks, from London UK

Many thanks to the gay reader who says he has been exploring and very much enjoying the blo archives. 

Now, I hope you all managed to enjoy the Christmas spirit in spite of the pandemic and its new Omicron variant raging all around us.

For many families who have lost a loved one to Covid-19 or for any other reason, Christmas, like birthdays and other family gatherings make us all the more aware that someone is missing; it can be a painful experience, but as time goes by, we learn to live with happy memories of that person, always with us in spirit if small compensation for their absence.

For example, I still miss my mother who died in 1976, but her indomitable spirit remains a part of me and has helped me through many a personal crisis. The poem below is the Dedication poem that precedes my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time; it has been significantly revised since publication in 2005.

As regular readers will know, many of the poems in my collections have been revised in the course of appearing on my blogs and I am hoping to publish revised editions before the Grim Reaper comes calling; if not, a close friend has said he will see to, it if we can find a publisher. All my collections include a gay section and no UK publishers have showed any interest, so I self-published limited editions under my own imprint; many copies went to public libraries where I am pleased to say they issued well. As a poet, I am no household word nor ever likely to be, but this general poetry blog has passed 202,012 views and the gay-interest poetry blog has had nearly 170,000 views, so many thanks again, dear readers, for being regular visitors.

Sadly, we LGBT folks - from all walks of life - continue to be much maligned worldwide, but there is less hatred and prejudice than when I was growing up, except within certain religious groups who fail to see that sexuality is not a lifestyle choice, but simply who we are in mind-body-spirit. Their leaders speak of a God of Love and preach Goodwill to All...so, to exempt LGBT folks has always struck me as the height of hypocrisy. (Why can't we all simply agree to differ and respect each other for that, regardless?)As a gay pantheist, I refuse to believe that any God would deny me a sense of His ethereal presence any more than Earth Mother would deny me a sense of Hers; rightly or wrongly, I don’t believe any religious agenda has the right to exclude anyone on the grounds of sexuality alone. (Yes, I know I have said this many times, but, as my dear mother would often say, if something is worth saying, it is always worth repeating.)

We all owe much of what and who we are to one or both our parents or to whoever took responsibility for raising us. I count myself very fortunate, indeed, to have the likes of my late mother as a positive role model.  Although my father and I did not get along, I owe him, too, a debt of gratitude for providing a home for the family. Gratitude, though, is not the same as love.; if he loved me in his own way, he certainly never showed it, and no child can expected to be a mind-reader. As far as I am (still) concerned, he was a psychological bully towards me and , for this reason, could not bring myself to attend his funeral in the early 1980's..

I am working on a poem for New Year's Day, so hope you will join me again then. Meanwhile...

MOTHER MINE (ALICE MAUD TABER, 1916-1976)

Mother, you were always there for me,
always believing in me more than I believed
in myself, knowing me
better than I knew myself, always loving me
more than I loved myself,
although I could not give all you all you' had hoped
for me, live and love how you wanted for me
subscribe to your dream, sadly only ever a fantasy
of family unity...

We did our best by each other, endeavouring
to support one another through life’s cruel maze
of emotional twists, turns and dead-ends;
me, unable to grasp for years
how conflicting family loyalties were daily
tearing at your heart, divided so
by the very loved-ones to whom you gave your all,
never quite finding peace of mind for our making you
Love’s own dear thrall

Yet, years on since a cruel tumour took its toll,
you continue to comfort my very soul, feed into it
all that good about mind-body-spirit,
lamenting its mistakes while making sure it follows
a learning curve, finds inspiration
in the Poetry of Love, resists
rather than too easily caves in to darker life forces
likely to confound and confuse us until we lose any sight
of potential consequences

Mother dear, you will always be the first to whom
I turn, to help and guide me along kinder paths than some
I’ve inadvertently taken, for turning
deaf ears and blind eyes to that still, small voice within
that would urge me not err or sin
on the side of an inflated ego that cannot see woods
for trees nor will admit
any flaws in a mind-body-spirit, much to live for and learn
about what makes the world turn

A part of me now, as always, oh, wise and wonderful mother,
no distant memory, but a part of me forever 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2005; rev. 2021

[Note: A This poem also appears on my general poetry blog today; an earlier version first appears as a Dedication in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

 

 

 

  

True Love Ways

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

Someone once asked me how , as a gay man, I can write love poems. Well, I ask you, does a silly question even deserve an answer? 

For a start, LGBT folks are as capable of love as anyone. Possibly, my questioner was confusing love with sex, as many people do. He may well choose to set himself up as judge and jury regarding our approach to that, but by what right does he do so? His religion may well condemn same sex relationships, but what justifies imposing his religious agenda on me?

Sex can be an expression of love, of course, but it's by no means the only one. Besides, love comes in all shapes and forms, as I have pointed out on the blog many times. We may well love family, friends, places, pets... in which neither sex nor gender (or sexuality) play any part whatever.

Love is a powerful emotion in both human and natural worlds, nor is it any less natural  in the former for same sex couples. No one chooses their sexuality, it is purely a matter of genetics. Why condemn same sex couples for something many if not most heterosexual couples take for granted? Bigotry - on religious grounds or narrow mindedness - causes considerable hurt to those it attacks, so much so that many LGBT folks are fearful of being open about their sexuality; yes, even in the 21st century! Fear (not shame) may well mean a closet existence, one I endured until my mid-30's  and, believe me that closet  gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Hell on Earth'.

Is saddens me so that I've met LGBT folks from all walks of life (yes, all walks of life) who risk losing family, friends, even their lives, not because of their sexual persuasion but as a result of bigoted, stereotypical perceptions of it. While it is encouraging to see less of the latter these days, we still have a long way to go before certain communities worldwide are ready to put them aside, if ever...

Yes, I've said all this before, especially on my other poetry blog, but - as my dear mother used to say -if something is worth saying, it has to be worth repeating.

Take care, keep well and be safe everyone.

            ( NB Image taken from the Internet.)

TRUE LOVE WAYS

Though Fate us part awhile
relax, enjoy a cup of tea
or a walk in the park, but smile
and laugh for thinking of me

Though Life us part awhile,
play a game, see a movie;
no moping, keeping a low profile;
move on, have fun, think of me

Whatever has us part awhile,
our love will keep us close;
so, no tears, just summon a smile,
be as dawn to a river as it flows

For engaging with life forces
and any blows they let fall,
there’s a You-Me-us of happiness,
able to defy, rise above them all

Let Death conspire against us
(with nothing better to do?);
Love, the stronger of all life forces,
will find ways to see us through

Whoever, in life, to a Heaven aspires
has but to nurture true love ways

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

Mind-Body-Spirit, Subject to Time and Consequence(s)

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

A wise woman, my mother. She died 25+ years ago, but I probably listen n to her more now than I ever did. I could be a naughty child (who isn’t?) at which times she would teach as well as scold. She once pointed out that almost everything we say has consequences, for better or worse, for ourselves and/or others; the latter, especially, we may never be made aware of... 

All the more reason, I eventually understood, to think before we do something, or don’t do it as the case may be... 

Easier said than done, of course, yours truly no less guilty than anyone else of forgetting to look before we leap and risk feeding this or that cliché its potential for truism. 

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, SUBJECT TO TIME AND CONSEQUENCE(S) 

Surely, the tide,
as surely life’s sweet dreams saving us
from ourselves and each other for offering
alternatives? 

I see your face
in a brave moon, straining to shine on,
but in vain as needs must it, too, take its cue
from Apollo

 Surely, the tide,
as surely as high hopes of fame, fortune
superseded by life-images of lovers kept busy
building bridge 

They laughed us
off the planet, yet we’d take it on the chin,
find a white horse to help us find our way back,
time and again 

We rode to hell
and back, you and I, joining Earth Mother
in races against the clock, win some, lose some,
no going back 

Yes, we fell prey
to a collective giving, taking, having to settle
for less than we bargained for, our personal space
a saving grace 

Now, a sure tide’s
surfing me still (always will), moving me on
to that one-and-only shore proving longer than life
for being loved

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

[NB: This poem also appears on my general blog today; it has its origins in an earlier poem, Surfing, that appears in my first collection, Love and Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2000 (see also Gay blog, March, 2011). The original poem had already appeared in several poetry journals and worked well enough at the time, but 20+ years on, subsequent changes in form and content defy my referring to it as simply a revision.] RNT

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Defiant Ones

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

Unfortunately, Blogger does not change the date of post-poems published as and when I (often) revise them.  Several readers have emailed to say they find this frustrating as they may well not chance to view the blog archives and read any revisions for themselves. I have therefore deleted the original post on which the poem below was first published and am reworking it as a ‘new’ post together with the revised poem (the second one below) so readers can compare, may even feel it’s worth browsing the blog archives sometime after all...?

the 2012 post included a link to a video on my YouTube channel relating to a poem about Oscar Wilde: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxcbIozftcE&list=UUSdhLgPQOsng2Xz8n5m0ViQ

[To go directly to my YouTube channel for other videos:

https://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber/videos

As regular readers will know, I publish my collections under my own imprint because it would appear that poetry publishers are not happy with poems on a gay theme appearing alongside poems on other themes. Yet, poetry does not discriminate so why should we (or they?) Besides, I feel it would be hypocritical for a gay man to publish a collection of poems and ignore his sexuality. As I have often said on the blogs, as far as I’m  concerned, a poem is a poem is a poem and no theme is or should be taboo.  

Now, some readers may be interested to know that the original post in 2012 was published especially for ‘Enrique and Salvo’ who had been in touch to say they recently came out as partners to friends and family and ‘despite a few problems to start with, everything had settled down and they are “very happy.” I have heard from them again since; they are still together and “deliriously” happy.

 THE DEFIANT ONES (first version, 2010)

When I enter you and we are joined as one,
a fine spirituality embraces us,
centres us in a womb-tomb of earth, fire
and water, where we become as nature
intended, taking us into a vast eternal NOW
we feared until our sexuality confirmed
its identity

No longer afraid but glimpsing those ends
where new beginnings are made
to answer to the ghosts of childhood with wisdom,
where ignorance would prey on lovers
expected to lie down and die for each other

just as we lie here, you and I, chancing
a power of love far greater than the dictates
of religions, promises of politicians,
rhetoric of personal ambitions citing the prose
and poetry of a common humanity taken
from a a well-thumbed page in its history, praising
colour creed, sexuality and age,
coffin makers worldwide anxious to spread
the word that you and I would die for each other
than surrender to a lesser power whose lessons 
in glory but give the lie to our love story

If our bed be a coffin, better to die here and now
than with a lie on these twin lips we’ll kiss,
this flesh we’ll devour, its blood turned to wine,
our bodies as one

willing the world move on
and leave us alone

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This earlier version of the poem below first appeared in my 6th collection, On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010 and subsequentlyo0n the blog in 2012 only to be significantly revised (see below) June 2021,]

THE DEFIANT ONES (Revised version)

It's as we make love and are joined as one,
a fine spirituality embraces us,
centres us in a womb-tomb of earth, fire
and water, where we become as nature
intended, taking us into a Here-and-Now
that we feared - until (finally) sexuality
confirms its spirituality, showing us a love
that is our eternity 

No longer afraid but glimpsing those ends
where new beginnings are made
to answer ghosts of childhood with wisdom,
where ignorance would prey on lovers
expected to lie down and die for each other
just as we lie here, you and I, chancing
a power of love far greater than the dictates
of religions, promises of politicians,
rhetoric of personal ambitions citing the prose
and poetry of a common humanity taken
from well-thumbed pages in history, praising
colour, creed, sexuality, gender and age,
coffin makers (worldwide) anxious to spread
the news that we would die for each other
before caving in to worldly powers whose bigotry
but gives the lie to our love story 

If our bed be a coffin, better to die here and now
than with a lie on these twin lips we’ll kiss,
this flesh we’ll devour, its blood turned to wine,
our bodies as one, the world embracing us
as of its own, not as stereotypes would cast us,
(‘freaks’ of nature but one) LGBT folks 
but asking to see the world move on in its time
end (all) hate crime

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, rev. 2021 

[Note: Another reader asks why I post poems here only to revise them at a later date? I will try and answer that by way of a prose entry on my general poetry blog tomorrow. Meanwhile, both poems and an appropriately reworked version of the essentials of this post also appear on my general poetry blog today.] RNT

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

The Tree House

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

To the reader who asked why I don't always post my poems on both poetry blogs, I have relatively few readers who access my gay-interest poetry now, especially since feedback suggests that many gay poetry lovers who have dipped into its archives now dip into both blogs, having come to see that a poem is a poem is a poem, regardless of whether or not they can relate directly to it; every poem has something to say that's (hopefully) worth addressing.  

Sadly, although attitudes towards LGBT folks around the world are changing for the better, there are still many people various whose prejudices remain fuelled by misleading stereotypes and various socio-cultural-religious agendas.

Now, genealogy is a fascinating subject for many of us, especially given that our genes contribute so much to the kind of person we are; our mind-body-spirit may well owe more to them than we will ever know. 

It is always rewarding to study a family tree, put names to descendants too distant in time to have their photos in the family album, and go on to discover as much about them as we can. (Invariably, the experience is well worth any search fee). The Society of Genealogists here in London, for example, is always welcoming new members who want to explore its resources to research a past to which their own family is leaf and branch.

THE TREE HOUSE

I come to the tree house
to catch up with family members
I had only ever met
in a mind-body-spirit always curious
about this person and that
as referred to (if only incidentally)
in conversations as likely as not to ask
even more of me   

Home truths and myths,
resting here among their peers,
not only invoke history
but create its very fabrics themselves,
attracting families worldwide
to the tree house, hoping to find
enough to help explain any glaring gaps 
in their archives  

Life takes on new meaning
in the tree house, inviting empathy
with those less likely
to have made history books for news
of neither fame nor fortune,
but simply having tried to make a life
for men, women, children to whom I’m
kith and kin 

I come to the tree house
to look for clues, travel across time,
ask past generations
for any such points of reference
as may yet assist me 
in seeing just how it was we came
to be, in my capacity as leaf and branch
of its history 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

[Note: This poet-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.] RNT

The Whisperers or L-OV-E, open all Hours

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

I had planned to post this poem here on Monday but my to-do list is already barely manageable , so... here it is. A reader (who appears to feel the need to emphasise that she is "not gay" has asked for a poem to help herself and family death with the death of a close friend, suggesting " .. . a celebration of the life we shared rather than homing in on loss and grief..."

At the risk of being boringly repetitive, love comes in all shapes and forms, always a welcome if not essential support to any mind-body-spirit found wanting...at any time, for any reason.

THE WHISPERERS or LOVE, OPEN ALL HOURS

Think not that I have gone,
but only this of me,
that once there was a man
unable to (quite)
enter into access any real sense
of belonging
other than by way of a feeling
for love in all its multifarious shapes
shapes and forms 

Thanks to love, I (finally)
began to rise above
the world’s prejudices and hate,
embrace my sexuality,
commit to it, not least in poetry
inspired and nurtured
by that same Earth Mother
that gives birth to us, whom we leave
but to return in time 

Much like autumn’s kisses,
I’ll rise above any tears,
revisit shared memories sure
to feed love’s seasons,
in all weathers, good and bad,
carrying such seeds
as any Here-and-Now may sow
if only to survive in sickness and health,
for better, for worse 

Though any mind-body-spirit
may miss the realities
of love, its other (existential) self
lives on such memories
as nurture it still, selecting those
homing in on that peace
and kindness sworn to help save
any human heart in left pain, as and when,
whatever it takes 

Our joys, as leaves in a breeze
asking we but look out
for them, hear what they see
in us as they fly by
on wings possibly invoking envy
of a human spirit blessed
with potential for getting the better
of mortality, courtesy of all personal space
and shared history 

While a sorry world continues
to yearn (as it surely will)
for an all-inclusive mindset, I fly
where Doves of Peace 
keep its promises, death shows us
its kinder side and love,
it watches over us, keeps us safe,
who have yet to rework its finer arts on winds
set fair for life

Think not that I have gone, 
for there’s a you-me-us comprising
a mind-body-spirit
wherein any lonely, wintry days
needs must give way
to sunnier climes, if only for the sake
of a love like ours,
free, now, to be of good heart for such heavens
as are open all hours

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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

L-O-V-E, making History

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

Our thoughts this weekend, have inevitably focused on the death of H R H Prince Phillip, the Duke of Edinburgh and the impact his passing will inevitably bring to bear on Her Majesty, the Queen especially, and other members of the Royal Family. 

No one, of course, knows what goes on behind closed doors, fewer still are aware of the finer workings of the human heart. Even so, media footage and photographs over the years, all tell the story of a couple in love, a guaranteed place in the history of our nation and the world notwithstanding. (While relatively few people can claim the latter, engaging with love - in whatever shape or form - invests it (and us) with a global consciousness that suggests a universal mind-body-spirit intent on making its own history, and us a part of it, if we let it.) 

As I have suggested time and again on the blog, love invests us with a spiritual quality that never dies, but lives on in the hearts and minds of all those whom it may have unforgettably influenced by word, deed or infinite presence; people, places, lines in favourite examples of literature… all these contribute to who we are, and all are associated with the finer aspects of love. 

So it is, that we all contribute to world history by way of the inspiration love inspires, even though most of us will never make the history books. So it is, too, that we all leave our mark on the world, often barely if ever recognised or acknowledged. Such is the posthumous consciousness peculiar to the human race, ensuring that love never dies whether we aspire to the ethics of this religion or that… or not, as the case may be. (Incidentally, I suspect it is also why yours truly identifies so closely with Pantheism.)

L-O-V-E, MAKING HISTORY 

Always there,
trimming edges of all that’s said
and left unsaid 

Always there,
profiling the substance of illusion
enhancing delusion 

Always there,
high flying partner in a trapeze ac
that’s custom-perfect 

Always there,
comforter-mentor to the you-me-us
no one else ever sees 

Always there,
sounding out any sounds of silences
as sure to make waves 

Always there,
light of my life, heart of my darkness,
whatever it takes 

Always there, 
its kinder ideas eager to dry any tears,
for our fears  

Always there,
the Here-and-Now, given us to nurture
a past-present-future 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

A Yew Tree and a Rose (Revisited)

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

Covid-19 continues to take its toll on us across the world, and as a neighbour recently commented, "We are surrounded by death. True, but it will be Valentine's Day soon, so here's a poem to remind us that we are also surrounded by the evergreen nature of love. 

"The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration." - Little Gidding (Four Quartets) - T.S. Eliot

A YEW TREE AND A ROSE (REVISITED)

I had come to lay a rose
at your grave, already in tears,
pausing by an ancient yew,
to rage at its mocking humanity,
mind-body-spirit
at a loss for being left alone
to dwell on its being
denied the lifespan of certain trees
over centuries. 

“You carry poison in sap,
berries and leaves,” I screamed
at the yew, “while a love
that gives mind-body-spirit
its joie de vivre
remains subject to such trials
or blessings as nature
sees fit to permit, regardless of class
or circumstances." 

"Love, too, carries poisons
of its own,” the tree pointed out,
“possessiveness, envy,
and jealousy but three of those
so, speak not to me
of poisons, given how humanity
delights in half-truths,
all the more so for their having spread
among the living dead.” 

“Yes, there are some call me
‘Tree of Death’ who are ignorant
of leafy needles
I let fall to live and let live
over centuries
and of any healing qualities
in sap, leaf or berry as your apothecaries
may use against diseases.” 

“Earth Mother, will give and take,”
the tree went on, “for such is nature
and human nature,
each their moments in time
to be loved and leave,
though neither forgotten
nor even dead to those privileged to share
any part of their time here.” 

My tears dried, and raging no more
at the world for its coming between us,
I lay my rose
on your grave, murmuring words
of love, returned
in a light breeze that's kissing me,
promising, as you make us a home in my heart 
that death will not see us part

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

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

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

Hello from London UK

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

Hi Everyone,

Sorry, no poem today, but I am working on one so... hopefully, soon.

Hope you are coping as well as any of us can in the middle of a pandemic. Me, I do try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, and manage to do just that most of the time, but - like everyone else - I have good days and bad days. On a good day, I can usually complete a poem to publish here, and that always lifts my mind-body-spirit.

A new reader appears to have taken offence by my suggesting that religion has no monopoly on spirituality. No matter, we will just have to agree to differ.  The same reader also disputes that I can have a sense of spirituality without believing in God as according to any religious agenda. Again, each to their own, surely? 

As I have said before on the blogs, also at my poetry reading on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, back in 2009 (my contribution to Antony Gormley's "One and Other" project that ran for 100 days) I see myself as a pantheist; I still do in so far as I see God as nature, not its creator. The reader clearly sees this as blasphemy, but I could never get my head around the idea of a personified God, even as a child; when I discovered pantheism, I could relate to it instantly. Besides, religious bigotry is not uncommon and - not least as a gay man - I find bigotry in any shape or form as distasteful as it is indefensible.]

No one has to embrace the religious beliefs of others to respect them, and I do, whatever reservations I might have, so how about this reader’s respecting mine…?

Another reader asks how I am coping with various medical issues, not last the prostate cancer with which I have been living since 2011. Again, good days and bad days, and the same with others problems.  Stress has a nasty habit of making us feel worse regarding just about anything likely to prey on the mind, even at the best of times; I dare say I am as prone to coronavirus stress ( hovering at about 80 on a sliding scale of 1 to 100) as anyone else! All we can do is take each day as it comes, for better or worse, and keep telling ourselves that life can only get better. Never easy, but do we have a choice?

Yet another reader is unhappy about my poems and preambles that suggest that my regular reference to ghosts as the personification of a posthumous consciousness indicates “an insultingly casual approach” to the death of loved-ones. Believe me, there is nothing ‘casual’ about it; it is a subject dear to my heart. I am 75 years-old, and those I have loved, as friends or more, are with me always, so great has been the impression they have made on me; impressions and precious memories that have helped me through good times and bad as well as exposing my flaws and showing me - not least by shining example - how to recognise and (hopefully) overcome them as needs must in the course of a lifetime.

Few if any of us are perfect. Others are as likely to take issue with what we consider out strengths as with any flaws or weaknesses, seeing them in a different light altogether. (How we come across to others is never easy to work out unless they tell us, and then it can sometimes come as a shock to mind-body-spirit. At the end of the day, though, I suspect it is how we see ourselves and what, if anything, we choose to do about it that counts, certainly in so far as managing self-confidence, self-consciousness or that old standby conscience is concerned.

Many thanks for dropping by, folks, always much appreciated,

Take care, be safe, and let's all try to nurture a positive mindset, whatever... 

Hugs,

Roger

PS New readers might like to take a look at poems in the blog archives now and then; they can be accessed on the right-hand side of any blog post.

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

Forever OR An Existential Take on Close Relationships

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

Hello again, everyone, from London UK. Many thanks for dropping by, always much appreciated.

Still unwell here, but no coronavirus, just various medical issues (and old age) having their wicked way with me, but I’m hoping to complete another (general) poem soon, so… watch this space.

Q. How can I write poems when I feel unwell?

A. Because the effort required to motivate myself invariably energises me to tap into the Spirit of Creativity which, in turn (for better or worse) chases up mind-body-spirit for a poem. 

Meanwhile…

A poem is a poem is a poem, whatever it has to say. Could that, I wonder, be why feedback suggests more gay readers read both blogs? 

Now, apart from the availability of vaccines, good news in the course of a pandemic is hard to find, so I am more than happy to share some with you. A reader (gender unknown) has emailed to say that both  partners were rejected by their respective families several years ago for being gay “because our religion does not allow it. “Since the pandemic,” the reader goes on to say that “Both families have expressed concern for our welfare and are suggesting a reconciliation They are even willing to ‘tolerate’ our living in sin.” We don’t see our love for each other as a sin nor do we like the idea of being tolerated, but miss our families. What do you think? 

What I think is not important. What matters is what these two young people think. Since they miss their families, I suspect they would regret missing an opportunity to be reconciled. 

As for being tolerated, everyone may well feel they are treading on eggshells for a while, but it is always good news when blood gets the better of bigotry, and we all thrive on good news, so, hopefully, this will pass. I would be inclined to see how reconciliation shapes up while not expecting too much too soon. 

Whatever path his couple choose, I am sure any readers will join me in wishing them every happiness. 

FOREVER or AN EXISTENTIAL TAKE ON CLOSE RELATIONSHIPS 

I had never felt worse
than missing someone so close to my heart,
who had passed away,
without my even being there to hold a hand
or say things left unsaid
over years of sharing such bad times as may
have cast long shadows
but for our finding ways to reconcile with every one
each to its own, and in its turn 

There seemed no need
to put our feelings into words, content to let
our hearts speak for us;
yet, don’t actions speak louder than words
and didn’t we two
have the rest of our lives to prove just that?
Death, though, had a whim
to so impose itself on our conjoined personal space
as to have me spit in its face 

Anger, pain, expressions
of grief the heart knows but too well, the more
for such happy memories
as only love can invoke, and invoke, it will,
nurturing the same seeds
that saw it grow in us  re-engage in the process
of (still) taking their cue
from the kinder shades of nature and human nature
in some existential ‘Forever’ 

Where the Gates of Eternity open on love’s poetry,
none are refused entry for their sexuality 

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021 

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

 

 

 

Another Open Letter to Readers

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

Dear Readers,

No poem today, I’m afraid, as I am very unwell. I am still coronavirus-free, though, so hope to be feeling better soon. Meanwhile, I have at least started work on a new poem. 

Creative therapy of any kind is a welcome distraction these days, or course, but it also helps keep my thought processes well-oiled given that 10 years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer continues to put a spanner in those particular works.😉

Meanwhile, thank goodness vaccines are on the way!

As well as an appointment at the Ear Hospital this week, I also need a PSA test prior to a telephone appointment with my prostate cancer consultant next week. AS I have said before, travelling on public transport, especially the Underground, is more than a little scary now as there are always a few people who do not wear their masks to cover both nose and mouth. Oh well, I can but place myself in the hands of Fate; it cannot do a worse job than certain politicians.

Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and dread having to get up and see my way through another days of the Covid-19 variant which is spreading rapidly across the UK. While I fully support a new lockdown, I am not the only one who thinks it should have come sooner.

To those among us who have lost loved ones to the coronavirus, I can but remind them that love never dies, it stays in the heart forever and will continue to support mind-body-spirit, whatever... No, it's not the same, but something from which I have always taken much comfort over the years... and, yes, I can still hear loved ones whispering in my ear from time to time, and encouraging me to perk up and stay positive, especially when I am feeling poorly... and/or in low spirits.😉

Be kind to one another,

Back soon, hopefully,

Hugs,

Roger

PS Some of you may enjoy accessing the blog archives, found on the right hand side of any blog page.

Alone at Christmas OR Flowers of Peace Revisited

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

Poet on the mend here, slowly but surely, while Muse insisting I keep looking on the bright(er) side of Christmas 2020. Muse, though, is not averse to a little cheating, hence an old poem revised only today.

Now, Christmas - like all religious festivals – is a time for coming together. Sadly,  it can also be a time when divisions become more clearly marked than ever.

Where family and friends do come together, those who are and/or made to feel excluded can feel terribly alone and isolated. Birthdays, anniversaries, special moments we long to share with family and friends, these are times when not being able to share them, for whatever reason, can make us feel physically sick with the intensity of exclusion.

Anyone made to feel excluded because they don’t meet the expectations of others, but made their own way in life, deserves better than pity. Indeed, it is high time some people realised that, much as we may want the best for family and friends, we have no right to tell them how to live their lives; we should respect the decisions they make instead of harping on about how they could and should have done things differently. Nor is turning to socio-cultural-religious traditions any excuse for making people feel guilty about how they choose to live their lives...or rejecting them for it. [Multicultural societies will never work well until more of its leading lights get real and bring their followers into the 21st century.]

Let those of us who fare better, wish all those who are alone and unhappy a peaceful time over a particularly tough Christmas this year, and always.

 Peace of mind may well play hard to get, but it is there if we look hard enough; it involves keeping faith with ourselves as well as, if not more than, with each other. Gay, or straight, male or female, we all need to believe in ourselves and can but trust others will come to believe in us too, albeit it may take time for some to accept us for who and what we are.

At the end of the day, there are always loved ones to keep us company, whether or not they can be with us in person.

For those who are  lonely or unhappy, for whatever reason, there is always much comfort to be found among our kinder ghosts and the felt presence of loved ones and friends whenever unavailable in person.

ALONE AT CHRISTMAS or FLOWERS OF PEACE REVISITED

Never (quite) alone at Christmas
for memories kept close to the heart
among flowers of peace full grown

For errors made, we can but atone
(join a common humanity for a start)
never (quite) alone at  Christmas

Let the world see past a tombstone
in whose memory beats many a heart
among flowers of peace full grown

Recalling wise words writ n stone
(keeps us close, though made to part)
never (quite) alone at Christmas

But revisit past kindnesses shown 
and rejoice with all mind-body-spirit
among flowers of peace full grown

Summon doves of time long flown,
taking comfort and joy in their return;
never (quite) alone at Christmas,.
among flowers of a peace full grown

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2020

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

Life, Sunny Side Up OR Love, Open All Hours

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

One of my general blog readers has emailed about my previous poem here -  posted on both blogs - so far as to ask “You have a gay poetry blog so what on earth is a gay poem doing on this (general) blog. If anyone readers are in the least bit interested, they know where to look. I enjoy many of your poems, but don’t expect to find gay stuff …"

Well, a poem is a poem is a poem, whatever the content, and if the reader cares to look closely, he will see that it is not a gay poem except in the sense that gay folks, like most if not all of us, are capable of jealousy; it is, after all, a common human trait. 

A gay man, I choose to write both general and gay-interest poetry not only for my own pleasure, but also to remind us all that there is more to any of us than our sexuality; readers are as welcome to make up their own minds about the poem as they are about the poet.

Meanwhile …

Today’s poem touched on a theme to which I return to time and again, the enduring power of love and its related consciousness - ‘live’ or posthumous - offering any mind-body-spirit a safe and happy haven from its worldly woes.

LIFE, SUNNY SIDE UP or LOVE, OPEN ALL HOURS

There is a place I know
where the sun always shines,
children playing,
adults engaging in cheerful chat,
where all time spent is sheer magic
nor any Covid-19 to spoil it

There is a place I know
that lets human spirits go free
from troubled minds,
encourages human hearts to look,
learn, love, even be happy, no lifting
it from a favourite storybook 

There is a place I know
that’s an open secret between
family and friends,
lovers, too, accessible to any of us
who believe in a common humanity,
for all its common weaknesses 

It’s a place I got to know
during early years, kept as close
as hand on heart,
no need for any rose-tinted glasses
just a growing sense of live and let live,
a global shortage of glass houses 

So, what and where, a place
any loved one can rediscover joy,
this dream-come-true?
it’s that home from home intimacy
that endures just for sharing it with you,
within and beyond living memory

Where time invites us to enter its portals,
choose well, and revisit love’s immortals

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

[Note: This post-poem has also appeared on my general blog this week (with a few minor amendments) and I am posting it again here as email feedback continues to suggest that many gay readers only access this blog.]RT

Life Force, Second to None

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

It is news to no one that feel-good factors comes in many shapes and forms; romantic or otherwise, for a person, an activity, whatever … a life force second to none, always on hand in the Here-and-Now  to cheer and sustain us through thick and thin.

Yesterday was Remembrance Sunday here in the UK, a time to remember our debt of gratitude to the members of the armed forces who died in the two World Wars and later conflicts; in our minds also, inevitably this year, those across the world who have died fighting a very different kind of war, a very different kind of enemy, the Covid-19 coronavirus.

Someone's death is invariably someone else's tragedy too; remembrance  is one of the many faces of Grief, yes,  ut also a celebration of those who, for many of us, remain a 'living' inspiration.

LIFE FORCE, SECOND TO NONE

World, all but on its knees,
sickness and death paying home visits
just about everywhere …
No change there but for its assuming
the mantle of a coronavirus
striking a greater fear in us for its ability
to catch us unawares
snatch us from family and friends, no time
even for precious goodbyes 

Hospitals overrun with cases,
doctors and nurses working all hours
to save lives, risking theirs,
while reassuring anxious relatives
or having to break
the very news they have been dreading,
yet little time for such tears
as compounding fears confronting humanity
with its own vulnerability 

Battles fought, survivors recalling
loved ones lost with such mixed feelings
as remembrance inspires
love alone able to temper both pain
and grief, lifting hearts
with happy memories, the likes of which may
well never come again
yet enough to sustain a sense of joie de vivre
that, if we let it, lasts forever

Find any human heart’s capacity for endurance
sustained by love’s Spirit of Remembrance

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