L-I-F-E, Poems for every Occasion

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

For many years, I tried to think of myself as an agnostic because I could not get my head around the idea of a personified God. At the same time, I found myself developing a very close relationship with the natural world that was of a very spiritual nature. 

In (much) later years, I would discover and identify with Pantheism. In my early 60’s by now, I was finally able to relate to the sheer poetry of a spirituality in me that I never found in either the Christianity in which I was raised of any other of the world’s religions. 

At long last, I feel comfortable with a sense of spirituality, less of an outsider for subscribing to no religion, while continuing to nurture a sense of purpose in life that, for many years, had eluded me except in so far as to put it down to poetic whim. 

As to whether or not I am a good poet is less relevant than how poetry brings me closer and closer to nature even though I rarely even get to its glorious landscapes now due to mobility problems. On my wall, I have a painting of woodlands I used to explore as a child growing up in Kent.  I often take imaginary strolls in that painting, recapture a spirit of halcyon days that has never (quite) left me even during the worst moments in my life. 

Pantheists believe that God is nature rather than its creator, which may well explain a Poetry of Spirituality that has always seen me through good and bad times, taken me to the proverbial Edge and back time and again. 

I reason not the need; that a spiritual need in me is answered in this way is enough to keep me looking on the bright(er) side of life, its pitfalls notwithstanding.. 

The words of a vicar's wife, a work colleague who told me she enjoyed working with me and was sorry I would go to hell (for being gay, I presume?) lost the power to hurt me long ago.

If God is nature, could that be why nature does not discriminate in the way many humans (still) do?

L-I-F-E, POEMS FOR EVERY OCCASION 

There are trees whose leaves
speak with the voices of poets, reciting summers,
autumns, even lonely winters
when only robins likely to linger long enough
to promise such regeneration as may yet get to see
its poets live and let live 

There are birds come to nest
and teach their young such poetry of their home-tree
as will see them through its seasons,
encourage them to explore both heavens above,
and earth below, get to know what it takes for kith, kin
and poetry to survive 

There are poets whose hearts
are given freely to an Earth Mother, anxious to be
put through the very motions 
of each season as it comes, share the joys
we take in life, and such sorrow as sure to follow death
as birdsong on human ears 

There has always been poetry
as close to nature as human nature, anxious to see
them working in such harmony
as gives conservation and preservation of species
due priority, whatever it takes to be sure Earth’s poetry
is more than a rehearsal 

Rehearsal for what, who knows? A good start may well be
to listen and learn more from (all) life-poetry...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

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

 

 

Human Spirit, very much Alive and Kicking

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2017.

A winter of the heart such as the Covid-19 coronavirus is bringing to so many people worldwide can be an especially desolate time of year for singles of any age, ethnicity, gender or sexuality. Ah, but if we promise ourselves another spring and do our best to keep that promise, well, who knows…? 

Luck is a fine thing, can strike anyone anywhere at any time BUT we have to be in the right frame of mind to recognise it or it will more than likely pass us by.

The world will not come to us, we have to go out and find it. Yes, there are a lot of mean, nasty people out there BUT there are also a LOT of good, kind people too.

From time to time, we all experience a winter of the heart. Yes, even in midsummer. Yet, we can make the journey back to its spring, especially with encouragement, if not active help, from family and friends. 

Alone, lonely? No help, no encouragement, no one seeming to give a damn? Time, indeed, to tap into the human spirit and set it to work for us as I attempted, with no small degree of success, one bleak December some years ago...

HUMAN SPIRIT, VERY MUCH ALIVE AND KICKING 

Long ago, one bleak winter
a frosty spirit did moan,
heart barely even beating,
no life to call its own,
no one it could confide in,
regarding having (finally) come
to make sense of me 

A lonely Christmas over
New Year out of sight,
asking the point of living
when there is no light,
where no angels dare tread
for fear their ‘never-ending’ story
may well end there 

I heard a voice in my ear
trying to reassure me,
so dropped by a gay bar
and grabbed a chair,
found myself confiding
to a man in grey how I’d only just
faced up to being gay 

Chat became confession,
and once I had begun,
a heavy load grew lighter,
my tunnel all but run;
then my turn to listen how
he’d come out to the world to stay,
no longer afraid to be gay 

We drank beers till closing,
and agreed to meet again,
once strangers, now friends,
and though a snowfall heavy,
I happily made my way,
mind-body-spirit alive and kicking,
on this, its first rebirth day 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; rev. 2020 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in On the Battlefields of Love; by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010 under the title, 'A Feeling for Midwinter.']

 

My Hero is a Tree

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

Another poem today from the archives of my general poetry blog

All my poetry collections are out of print and it is unlikely there will be any revised editions; they sold well (for poetry) but I had to self-publish them because no poetry publishers were willing to combine general and gay-interest poetry. I am in the process of preparing revised editions in e-format for Google Play but this is likely to take some time as I am in my 70's now and am kept busy overcoming various health problems.]RT

 I read the poem over a video shot by my friend Graham Collett for my You Tube channel some time ago: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvoS6PLKqSA ]

Some readers have said the previous link does not work so I have copied and reinstated it; if it still does not work, go to my channel and search under title. As feedback suggests some of you cannot always access You Tube for one reason or another, I have also posted the video below.]

The sum total of my collections is  a diary of journeys short and long, delightful and grim, that comprise my life. Anyone who cares to read them may or may not discern which poems have their roots in autobiography and which do not, but even imagination has to be nurtured by a creative mind, and the mind of poet has to be worth exploring. (Well, doesn’t it...?)  I hope to be around for a few more years yet. Even so, I had always been aware that when my time is up, the blogs will vanish into cyberspace and all that will remain of my poems (and me) will be in my collections. However, it appears the British Library are continuing to archive them so they will remain available to any researcher who may be interested.

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Now, regular readers will know how much I love trees. I am fortunate to live near Hampstead Heath and have written several poems about it that express, if only in part, the immense satisfaction I used to take from strolling among its grassy slopes and ponds, but especially admiring its splendid trees of all varieties. Sadly, mobility problems mean I can rarely visit the Heath now, but my memories of  those strolls continue to inspire me. Needless to say, I am a passionate about Green issues, and support cries for action against climate change; we are all at risk, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious differences.

How ironic that it should take a threat to the whole planet to break down divisions and unite people where common human nature so often fails, I ask you!

MY HERO IS A TREE

Leaves on my hero are budding,

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life

to field and valley, filling the lonely heart

with thoughts of love;

leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, filling hearts growing old

with memories of love;

leaves on my hero are turning

red and gold in the company of dreams,

swallows leaving, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old

fly the colours of love;

leaves on my hero are drifting

across time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley like bright eyed children

running with kites;

leaves on my hero are budding.

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life

to field and valley, and new takes on old stories

we tell on love;

leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, teasing hearts growing old

they know nothing of love;

leaves on my hero are turning

red and gold in the company of dreams;

swallows leaving, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old

fly the colours of love;

leaves on my hero are drifting

across time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley, the children we were,

running with kites

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]