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

 

You-Me-Us, a Love for all Seasons

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

Today’s poem is the revised version of an earlier poem; I had already posted it on my general poetry blog this year and a gay couple who are planning to marry soon have asked me to repeat it here for “... friends who think a general blog is too het for them.” I am happy to oblige and send love and hugs to gay couples worldwide. (While I have separate gay and general blogs for obvious reasons, all my poems address a common humanity, regardless of who or where in the world.) 

 I am often asked, especially at poetry readings, why I revise poems, usually at a (much) later date, even if it has been published in its original form. What is the point of having a poem published only to revise it later? I have no definitive answer to that other than I haven’t a clue. I suspect that sometimes a published poem is as good as it gets at the time, but (and the poet has no way of knowing) it is only a first draft.

 Poems have a life of their own; some persist in growing within mind-body-spirit as time goes by, nurtured by various moods, thoughts, emerging philosophies and responses to this, that, and whatever in a subconscious that is an extension of that same consciousness in which the poem was originally shaped. Time, the ultimate mischief-maker, will latch on to a trigger years later and confront the poet with either acknowledging and/ or for compensating for any shortcomings in the original poem; shortcomings of which neither poet nor reader may have been aware at the time although some authoritative critics may have hinted at them without quite understanding at what, precisely, they were hinting.

Now, life doesn’t always go as smoothly as we would like. Trust love to be on hand to help relieve the stress ... although it has to be said that love can also be the cause of stress., especially when found wanting, for whatever reason and/or life tests it (and us) to the limits of endurance, such as when a loved one or close friend dies ...

 Oh, and lovers have no monopoly on love, either; as I have enthused before, and dare say will again, it comes in all shapes and sizes; places and animals, as well as people. Nor, where any of these are concerned does our relationship with love end in death given that remembrance, too, is always on hand to stir the spirit and lift the heart whenever it gets the call.

 My mother once told me not to be sad when someone we care for dies, but “Only shed tears of joy for joy will always get the better of sorrow. Why people think it’s respectful to wear black at funerals is beyond me. Funerals should be a celebration of happy memories, and we all have our share of those or it’s a poor sod who doesn’t … so don’t you wear black at my funeral,” she added with a typical twinkle (or tear?) in each eye. I had no way of knowing at the time that she had a cancer that would find me recalling those words within months.

YOU-ME-US, A LOVE FOR ALL SEASONS

In the eyes of whom I love, a feisty light;
memories of flowers come springtime,
birds nesting, badgers mating, a celebration
of mind-body-spirit's timely reawakening
from a winter of the heart ever listening out
to take its cue from Earth Mother

In the eyes of whom I love, a bright light;
memories of sandcastles come summer,
laughter, ice creams, buckets and spades,
shrieking gulls in concert with children
letting rip with lungs applauding joie de vivre
for its magic, ignorant of illusion

In the eyes of whom I love, as pale a light
as of snowfalls come autumn's wake,
cosy fires of remembrance spreading love
and peace across landscapes less lonely
for Earth Mother's harvesting of time and space,
its enduring echoes of You-me-us

On the face of whom I love, a guiding light,
its sun-moon-stars, my every day and night 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, 2020 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in under the title ‘On the Face of whom I Love’ in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; alternative title added later.]

 

Trailblazers

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

A new poem today, a tell-tale sign that I am fighting depression; the latest of many battles against an old enemy; thanks to creative therapy of the kind writing poetry provides that I may well lose some, but am winning the war.

Charles Darwin changed the way we think about the origin of our species; Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream that continues to inspire the Black Lives Matter campaign;  closer to home, here in the UK, footballer Marcus Rashford has successfully called for free school meals for children from poorer families while schools are closed; actor Chadwick Boseman who has tragically died of colon cancer at the age of 43 has left an inspiring legacy for black actors worldwide … all these, and many others, are trailblazers and will remain trailblazers, a ‘live’ posthumous consciousness in hearts and minds worldwide.

“Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.” Oscar Wilde  

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced." 

- James Baldwin 

“We may have all come on different ships, but we're in the same boat now.”  

- Martin Luther King Jr.

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Eleanor Roosevelt

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” -  Helen Keller

  

TRAILBLAZERS

Assume nothing of humankind,

the Here-and-Now, part reality, part dream

fronting backroads of the mind

fuelling human nature, potential for nurture

(for better, for worse, gift or curse)

where formative years dare come into play

in the making, shaping of all we are

subject to question, reason and human nature’s

expectation of our futures

Ignore any negative voices

never backward in coming forward to tear

into human choices failing the test

of whatever is best for the rest of us has to be

right, invariably losing sight

of any aspiration, inspiration, presented

as a Human Right, while prevented

from seeing the light of day if failing to conform

to some ‘acceptable’ norm

Acceptable to whom, we may ask

having reached a point where we feel confident

of whatever task ahead may well be

misinterpreted under such various pretensions

designed to present gender identity,

and sexuality as a perverse intellectuality

failing (altogether)to see diversity

as a plus, not a minus, an acknowledged integrity

across a common humanity

Dare let that inner self go free, and pit itself against

any socio-cultural-sexual angst...?

Copyright R/ N. Taber, 2020

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

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.

.

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.]