A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Merry ‘Pantheistmas’

2025-12-24T22:47:00.005+00:00

It’s clear from knowing Roger that he ascribed meaning to Christmas. Meaning beyond enjoying festive drinks and indulging in mince pies and other seasonal treats. Superficially, it seems odd that a Pantheist would celebrate, or even write poems about a Christian festival (albeit with pagan roots). And yet his poetry collections reveal an array of festive delights such as Messaging Christmas Day, Home For Christmas, Once Upon A Wiccan Yule…

Certainly Roger’s opinion on Christianity, and indeed on other monotheist religions, was more ‘charitable’ than my own. He recognised wisdom in some of the core teachings while rejecting those doctrinal absurdities. However, for both of us Christianity always seemed merely a comfort blanket for existential angst - whilst failing to explain or probe the universe’s deeper mysteries. From a historical perspective it too frequently inspired persecution over piety. From a scientific perspective it places fable over fact. And from a philosophical perspective it stifles ontological enquiry with dogma…

So why the Christmas poems…?!

I believe Roger drew inspiration from a universal symbolism echoed in the Christmas message. Particularly, the theme of hope-born-anew in the Nativity story. And that disparate collective brought together to celebrate the sacred nature of birth. Other Christmas tropes would have also touched him - such as people coming together in fellowship and song, and the joy of exchanging gifts with family and friends. Roger’s poetry explores an underlying sentiment abounding, like the joyous peel of church bells, in the collective consciousness. Although often juxtaposed against feelings of loneliness, even alienation.

Roger recognised an overarching Christmas message to explore transcendent qualities within; beneficence, goodwill, forgiveness, and reconciliation. To reconnect over our shared humanity, rather than obsess over tribal differences. More than anything he savoured that brief collective commitment to a spirit of agape - if tempered by a healthy dose of skepticism.

Season’s greetings to all and my best wishes for 2026.

Graham

P.S. My apologies to regular readers for the long absence. It’s neglectful of me although health issues and work pressures too often take precedence.

* * * *

ANOTHER COUNTRY

You’ll come naked to my dreams

and breathe life into me,

repair my body at its fraying seams,

fill me with ecstasy

You’ll croon a love song in my ear,

play on the same guitar

I bought you for Christmas the year

we first kissed each other

You’ll make love to me, our passion

a bitter-sweet hymn to Creation,

though I must wake too soon, too soon,

at time’s cruel persuasion

Parted by forces fired by human bigotry,

reunited forever in love's 'other' country

R.N. Taber, 2020. From the collection Addressing the Art of Being Human
(To be published in eBook format, 2026)

Glimpse through a Veil

2025-04-11T14:12:00.001+00:00

ROGER TABER - POETRY READING

21 March 2017 – Part 3

Note from Roger’s friend, Graham

Hello again, welcome. And sorry for my long absence.

I’m sharing the final recording segment of the trio. I haven’t included the usual visual narrative for much of this as it’s essentially a question and answer session. The audience pose some interesting questions, I think, and Roger’s answers are candid. It lifts the veil on his creative process to some extent – which may interest any aspiring wordsmiths out there. In hindsight, I should have recorded and filmed more of his performances*. Ah well, c’est la vie.

Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gygG7RTkbbw.

I intended to post this clip last autumn. Sadly, circumstances overtook me with the passing away of my mother. We were very close and I’m still not reconciled to her loss.

One of the tragic aspects of getting older is the inexorable loss of those we love. It can feel as if one’s life is being dismantled piece by piece. The grand aspirations we build – all brought to ruin. But even destruction has beauty. The fallen tree makes space for, and feeds new life. In dissolution, rebirth.

Meanwhile… I’m presently taking time off work to cat sit for a workmate. I’m residing in Whitstable; a small seaside town on the Kent coast. It’s a bright spring day with gulls gliding effortlessly in pastel blue sky. Pebble beaches and groynes interweave and arch; diminishing into a hazy headland. Above the chorus of glittering waves; the wistful cries of the gulls. People gather. Dog walkers call to their excited pets. Couples muzzle one another dreamily. Children, exuberant with laughter. Back at the house my two feline friends greet me affectionately. They gather at empty food bowls mewing expectantly…

I’ve stayed here numerous times over the years. And Roger often used visit. He adored cats and they obviously sensed his affinity for them. Another attraction for him was nostalgia, I think. Roger attended university in the nearby city of Canterbury. As you might expect we enjoyed many a boozy afternoon on his daytrips here. With conversation sometimes descending into vulgarity. I recall his comment at The Neptune (a beachside pub)… about ‘Neptune lapping at the groynes’ (or groins!). A reference to the Roman god of the sea, of course.

I plan to revisit The Neptune later. And watch the sun setting over the oyster beds. No doubt I’ll raise a toast to those dearly departed. Loved ones who remain part of life’s rich landscape.

* * *

PART 3

Questions and Answers

Observations on the Human Nature of Cats

Ode to a Mermaid*

(CC) R. N. Taber 2017

* originally published here: A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...: Ode To A Mermaid.

Echoes of a Season Past

2024-10-22T10:54:00.003+00:00

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

2024-10-12T18:31:00.006+00:00

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

2024-10-03T14:18:00.001+00:00

(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

United we stand, divided we fall...

2024-09-12T20:05:00.028+00:00

(From Roger’s friend, Graham)

Hello, and sorry for not posting here for a few months. Despite best intentions, circumstances prevail sometimes. My mother is receiving end-of-life care so I’ve been making regular trips to the family house in Trowbridge. Thank you for visiting Roger’s poetry blog.

I’ve been contemplating the recent riots here in the UK, following the social media disinformation as to the identity of a child-murderer at a Southport nursery. Beyond the horror of the attack, it has highlighted the mistrust and intolerance which exists within our multicultural society. It underscores the fault lines of disparate communities. More widely it is a global media exposé on a fragmented society. As an egalitarian British guy I feel shameful about what has transpired.

A very wise Ghanaian friend once said to me ‘your rights end where mine begin’. It’s a deceptively simple remark which actually delves into the profound; that freedom to express one’s identity – whether religious, cultural or political – must end at the point where it infringes upon the liberty of others. Freedom of expression cannot be boundless. Especially in a multicultural society which, intrinsically, encompasses differing perspectives on ethics and social norms. It must rely on a degree of acceptance for secular principles. Such as the individual’s right to choose where they worship and who they love. But more widely, multicultural cohesion relies on an acceptance that women share this right, along with those who are uncertain about their gender identity. Those who don’t conform to cultural notions of propriety have an equal right to be free from violence, if not opprobrium. Those who leave a religion too, to become ‘apostate’, ‘gentile’ or ‘blasphemer’ still retain a basic right to be free from violence and threats.

People who think otherwise, well, perhaps they don’t truly belong in a democracy...? Rather, a theocracy, a fascist dictatorship or an ochlocracy where they can happily tie people to the pyre. To so fervently support division whether political, religious, or otherwise, ignores our common humanity. And embraces the illusion of ‘otherness’ - so often stoked by (so-called) community, religious and political leaders.

In an increasingly pluralistic society, there’s a point where we must listen to those seeking to build bridges. Rather than burn them.

* * * *

‘Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.’ Voltaire.

‘The true triumph of reason is that it enables us to get along with those who do not possess it.’ Voltaire.

* * * *

GUEST SPEAKER

I am relatively new
to the world’s societies
bent on testing me
to the limits of tolerance
towards a diversity
keen to embrace everyone,
regardless of race, sex
or creed if on its divisions
determined to feed

I dare have my say
in public places, Holy Books,
political manifestos,
though adults (as a rule)
less likely to grasp
what it is we’re getting at
than the child at school
asked what he or she thinks
life is all about

We have to live together,
which means more agreeing
to differ, if only to defuse
rising discontent with animosity
dished up by this culture
or that religion vying for priority
with precious little respect
for a common humanity

Engage with me, Multiculturalism,
expose any Politics of Separatism

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Love in all its Rainbow Hues

2024-04-08T17:15:00.003+00:00

From Roger’s friend, Graham

Growing up is challenging enough, even without the burden of stigmatisation for loving someone of the same gender. There’s room for improvement here in Britain, but generally LGBT+ citizens have equal rights enshrined by law. In places of employment (excepting religious organisations) discrimination on the grounds sexuality or gender identity is illegal. Since the Civil Partnership Act in 2004, same sex couples can join in a legally recognised partnership. And after the UK Marriage Act in 2013, LGBT+ couples are able to marry.

Marriage is perhaps the ultimate expression of love for those fortunate enough to find a soulmate. It’s also a declaration of love to family, friends and beyond. For couples with religious faith, it’s a sacred vow of love with God as their witness.

Love is also a scintillating rainbow of sentiments. Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle wrote of a whole spectrum of emotions such as friendship love; philia, familial love; storge and passionate love; éros. Greek mythology also abounds with inspirational tales of profound and tragic love such as Orpheus and Eurydice. Love can be the light of your life - or the heart of your darkness…

Roger explores these epic themes expansively throughout his writing. Sometimes in sonnet form - popularised in Elizabethan England by William Shakespeare and his contemporaries. (I hope to explore this theme in a later posting). His printed works often devote a section to the theme of love. They are, doubtless, poems interwoven with personal experience.

Roger and I occasionally discussed past relationships and compared notes on our respective missed opportunities, dashed hopes and even disasters. Alas for Rog, he wasn’t lucky enough to find a long-term partner. Although I believe his romantic soul never lost hope in meeting someone special.

In later life, I feel assured that Roger derived fulfilment through the reciprocal love of close friendships. Can this be enough to sustain anyone in the absence of a partner, estrangement from family or societal ostracisation? I imagine we’d all have a differing answer. Throughout my own voyage of self-discovery, friendship has certainly proven to be the most unconditional form of love. An enduring bond with Roger remains testament to that.

* * *

‘Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.’ Dalai Lama

‘Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embroidered by imagination.’ Voltaire

‘Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.’ Oscar Wilde

* * *

I’ll leave you with a trio of love poems – all from Accomplices to Illusion, Roger’s 2007 collection. I should explain that I’m staying with family presently - with only one book for source material. Wiltshire offers a welcome change of scenery. Tall oak trees surround the house. Their upper branches sweep back and forth like an artist’s frantic brushstrokes on a grey-marbled canvas. I look out on the small garden; the colours of shrubs diluted under a dull watercolour sky. A crow flies past; its hoarse cry breaking the mesmeric spell of birdsong. It fades to a black smudge on a watery treeline.

Thanks for reading.

* * *

NIGHT WATCH

I have greeted chimes at midnight
lain half dead at the toll for one
as my lifeblood ebbs to a starlight
behind clouds, watch all but done

I have heard the clock ticking over
for the passing of happy hours…
nor shall, when it stops, run for cover
but embrace a time forever ours

I have heard sweet songs at sunrise,
watched the last stars slip away,
seen my life’s light bright in your eyes
promise a beautiful spring day

As nature pauses at stark winter’s cold
so lovers dream, beyond a growing old

Copyright R N. Taber 2007 [a sonnet].

* * *

BONDING WITH ETERNITY

It was love opened up my heart
to all life means to me…
nor shall death its bonding part

Sands of time, soulmates at the start,
a song of destiny;
it was love opened up my heart

May the world no finer truths impart
than its natural beauty;
nor shall death its bonding part

Like summer skies, stars, even clouds
charting a fragile humanity…
it was love opened up my heart

If a taste on the tongue sweet or tart,
our togetherness a delicacy;
nor shall death its bonding part

Be nature’s kin struck by poison dart
comprising all humanity…
it was love opened up my heart
nor shall death its bonding part

Copyright R N. Taber 2007 [a villanelle].

* * *

WEATHERING LOVE

When I dream of you it is a springtime
of high hopes I’ll not forget

When I think of you it is midsummer,
(that rainy day we first met)

When I speak of you, each word is like
an autumn leaf that’s falling

When I hear your name on another’s lips
it’s but a winter robin calling

At nature’s whims, a beauty, each its own
though we weather it alone…

Copyright R N. Taber 2007.

Regret, Companion to the Fool

2024-03-29T00:22:00.015+00:00

Roger, 1945-2023. A note from his friend Graham

Welcome from the ‘Essex Riviera’ at night. Thank you for reading.

Job, a minor contributing author to Bible canon, suggests that ‘wisdom comes with age’. Although I’m fairly sure that accumulating years merely confers experience and wrinkles. It’s rather retrospection that informs better choices.

Roger always promoted the idea of agreeing to differ. Even where diametrically opposing opinions clash. It’s the difference between a feisty debate or a blazing row. It is the discipline of healthy discourse, rather than viewing an opposing opinion through the distortion of ad hominem. In a wider sphere, it’s the difference between coexistence and war.

It is an uncomfortable truth that, as with most friendships, Roger and I had our occasional arguments. Even to the extent of hitching up petticoat tails and flouncing away in high dudgeon! Looking back, especially now that he’s passed away, I regret those occasions. They evoke a sense of self-recrimination, and rightfully become somehow absurd under the shadow of mortality. Most of our arguments occurred in the early days of our friendship. Predominantly over my awful timekeeping. I was in my early 30s and so blasé about punctuality. It annoyed him intensely - and rightly so. Mea culpa.

In so many ways, Roger made me a better person. He encouraged me to read great works of literature. He offered constructive criticism with my early attempts at poetry. A mentor really - as well as a best friend. We agreed on most things. But there were contentious issues at times.

The toppling of Edward Colston’s statue by student activists on 7 June 2020 in Bristol, being an example.* Yes, it’s true that destruction of public property is, on the face of it, criminality. And true, reinterpreting history for a political agenda is also problematic. (In this instance relating to Black Lives Matter.) However Roger’s disapproval of ‘vandalism’ by students seemed to me at odds with his core ethos on decrying hypocrisy. It looked like a sop to a politically conservative viewpoint (or perhaps it simply highlighted our generational divide). He regarded the removal of the bronze cast (by John Cassidy, 1895) as a version of mob-rule (ochlocracy). The destruction of ‘art’, Roger suggested, was a prelude to another Kristallnacht** and the horrors that followed in its wake. It remains a valid viewpoint.

But was it really ‘criminal damage’ or mindless destruction in this case? There’s something inescapably symbolic, and subjective, about placing a figure on a pedestal in a public space. It implies moral virtue. Specifically, Colston (1636–1721), a pious, ‘Christian’ man and MP, made various grandiose gestures to charities like Almshouses - to great public acclaim (virtue-signaling in modern terms). A self-publicising philanthropist. Although, his effigy emanates that unholy stench of hypocrisy. As an investor in the slave-trade, he weighed the lives of enslaved Africans as little more than chattel. Does this eugenicist worldview inspire civic pride among Bristol’s multi-ethnic community…?

It seems befitting that Colston’s effigy was cast into the depths of Bristol Harbour. A watery grave shared by so many of those rebellious West Africans aboard trans-Atlantic slave vessels. Karma perhaps. Nowadays, let’s face it, Colston would be languishing in prison for people smuggling and modern-day slavery - rather than occupying the elevated position to which his blood-money afforded him. In my opinion, ridding the public space of him was an act of cleansing. And a collective gesture of moral aestheticism. It is surely valid to question the legitimacy of those figures who are held aloft as pillars of society? (As are the motives of those local civic leaders who strive to keep them there.)

With hindsight though, I realise both our opinions were valid. Both grounded in history and both informed by moral conviction. Opposing interpretations…

I think the point I’m trying to make is that obstinacy (or hubris) has a price to pay. It can be an obstacle to making amends with someone dear to our heart. And to some extent the conceit that accompanies a fervently held opinion deafens a person to other perspectives and blinds them to another’s legitimate counter-argument. It mutes expressions of regret and stifles the words ‘I’m sorry’. It is the genesis of regret. In my experience, a degree of humility is easier to live with than regret.

‘A man is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams.’ Yiddish proverb

Notes:

* It was quite a heated disagreement. I think my indignance stems from visiting Cape Coast and Elmina slave castles in Ghana, 2006. Both housing churches to administer blessings and hear the prayers of men like Colston. And their depravities regarding enslaved female Africans resulted a fair-skinned, biracial local population that continues to this day.

** Nazi thugs destroying Jewish homes, hospitals schools and businesses in Germany, 1938.

* * *

REGRET

I move with favour or prejudice
among men, women, children;
To whomsoever calls me out, I will
always answer, no one denied
the music I bring, Blues I sing;
Rich, poor, famous, infamous, saints
and sinners… welcome to tap into
a wisdom some say down to Fate,
lessons learned too late

I touch without favour or prejudice
the loose thread missing a button
that old sock, empty vase in rooms
yawning with boredom for what’s
on TV and must have heard that CD
a thousand times (surely?) though
any sound better than none and
(finally) settling for a plaintive purr
by a lap tray set for one

I bury without favour or prejudice
forgotten dreams, misspent ideals,
wishful thinking on falling stars…
meant to light a kinder, better world;
alas, not meant to be though we
mull over old letters, photos, poems,
home videos… as dead as the cat
whose meows we miss and listen for
at every mealtime

I move without favour or prejudices
among life’s pleasures and losses

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015. From the collection ‘Accomplices to Illusion’.

Shades of Comic Genius (and Quinquagenarian Angst)

2024-03-26T01:59:00.005+00:00

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

Painted Dreams

2024-03-23T12:24:00.009+00:00

From Roger’s friend, Graham.

Greetings from a cloudy Essex riverside, and welcome.

Life can be a bittersweet symphony, as the song by British indie band, Verve, suggests. A shifting interplay of light and shade; smiles, tears, triumph and tragedy. How the individual makes sense of it is, like art, a studied interpretation.

Whether poet, artist, or none of the above, the human sees beyond the innate existence or istigkeit of their subject to reveal deeper truths. Capturing aspects of its meaning, its purpose, or even its cultural symbolism. Though a painting or poem merely occupy a veneer, their expositions delve deep. They’re so much more than just visual facsimiles or mechanical recordings.

Although constrained in his early years by familial and societal expectations, Roger, I think, blossomed in later life. He discovered his métier and befriended his muses. He embraced his passion for poetry, daring to rise above naysayers and the sniffy literati. (Just as any self-respecting Impressionist would disregard the strictures of Académie.) In the period that I knew him, he lived a bold, liberated and authentic life. ‘I’m past caring what people think about me’ he might say. Or sometimes (after a vino or two) he was rather more forthright: ‘Ah boll*cks to ‘em!’ he’d proclaim with a wry bardic grin.

I know Roger loved the paintings of British artist William Turner (or J. M. W. Turner). I sense that influence in his impressionistic wordscapes. His mind’s eye conjuring glittering pools of reflection, rolling pastures of rampant joy, and brooding skies of depression. Edges diffused, flowing and pulsing, in a vivid palette of words. A tree centre stage, feverishly worked into a hazy summer meadow. Figurative renderings; intertwining in storms of passion, making love, coalescing into a single entity. Fleeting beauty, captured in all its fragile and poignant intensity. Grotesque demons of blind hatred and heartless sanctimony exposed in their naked form; their monstrosity and absurdity revealed. Intense outpourings of a soul in ecstasy or agony; becalmed or in the tumult of a raging existential tempest. Unvarnished truths… swirling interplays… bold strokes. Lines of time tracing the vigour of youth to the frailty of old age. A life within and without; captured in all its delicate and gaudy hues.

Though Roger’s passions are now spent, his palette dry and his mind’s eye sleeping, his impressions endure. Open to interpretation and fresh perspectives. But most of all – to be enjoyed in that wondrous communion between artwork and observer.

And like his wordscapes, Rog blazed brightly in life too. Illuminating darkness and filling days with colour. Always there for me when I needed sage counsel, shelter, or reassurance. Likewise, I did my best to help him in his times of need. More than that though, he was great fun to be around. We enjoyed many uproarious days out*; consuming far too much ale and jokingly posturing around town as a pair of swaggering Bohemians. I recall our hilarious drunken antics involving spectacles falling into toilet pans, ales inadvertently slopped over crotch areas, and trousers accidentally slipping to half-mast on tube platforms. (Possibly not the sort of exposure an artist craves?) Plus a whole litany of other indecorous displays. It’s a wonder we weren’t arrested! Ah, dear ‘ole Rogie - feet of clay, but his head in the stars. It was a joy and a privilege…

I feel that Roger left this world slightly more picturesque than he found it. His legacy; a gallery of living, breathing landscapes of the imagination. I’ll leave you with one of my favourite poems. (Please forgive this self-indulgence, but I’m hopeful you’ll enjoy it.) It’s raw creative dynamism still paints my daydreams.

Cheers, Gx

* Reference to the period prior to Roger’s nasty fall and subsequent mobility impairment.

* * * *

THE POET’S SONG

I am a Painter of Dreams,
my brush, a pen – words
all the paint available, tackling
the unassailable to bring within reach
of unquiet heart, restless soul,
images of life and love,
vision of a goal beyond perimeters
of time, space - humanity’s crude
conception of grace

I am a Painter of Dreams,
bringing you mine, intruding
on yours, winging heaven’s
elusive towers that flicker in a mist
of aspiration, inviting inspiration,
daring us to home in, defy
the rude mentality of a classroom
morality - humanity’s crude
conception of spirituality

See-Hear-Taste-Touch-Smell,
I am a Painter of Dreams, who
means well but often offends
who dare suggest I speak for all
that seek gold where the rainbow ends
for, like Pandora’s Box, our secrets
once let fly - each to their own;
Painter, dreamer, shades of light
or ships in a cruel night

Senses, falling apart at the seams
for a Painter of Dreams

Copyright R. N. Taber. From the collection: First Person Plural, 2002.

Viva la Villanelle!

2024-03-21T00:35:00.006+00:00

From Graham, Roger’s friend and ole’ drinking buddy

Greetings from sunny Essex, UK.

Spring has arrived in a delirium of birdsong and the intoxicating scent of cut grass. The sun flames low, setting the river ablaze like smelted gold; gilding trees and rooftops. My gaze lingers as a curtain of dusk draws down; a darkening vignette blushes vermilion, among peach and lilac clouds. Stirring a quixotic soul to reverie.

But meanwhile… throughout the two decades I’ve known Rogie he’s loved writing villanelles. You may have noticed there’s entire forests of them populating this blog (and even more in printed collections). His enthusiasm even extended to encouraging me in the art. Although I rarely dabble nowadays. There’s something quite satisfying in their construction. A bit like finishing a crossword puzzle or a Sudoku. They may even have wellbeing benefits, who knows? Stimulating theta brainwaves or something…?

Assuming you’re interested in poetry (and not here checking for offensive content), I’d encourage you to try composing a villanelle of your own. It’s a fun challenge and could help to while away the boredom of commuting? Or offer a welcome distraction from the banal babble, ear-piercing screeches and nose-picking forays of fellow passengers? Certainly preferable to bumping along in a packed carriage facing someone daubing makeup on in some bizarre homage to Picasso?

Rog sometimes bestowed framed villanelles to friends for special occasions. (I’ve included an example near the end; ‘Free Spirits’.) I hope this might offer an added incentive to get writing. Imagine… sending an amorous villanelle to your secret valentine, or a Mother’s Day tribute that would touch the heart. Alternatively, it could be a satirical vehicle on the growing global trend in demagogues and dictators? Whatever, your choice.

I’ve included a writing guide below:

* * *

A lay-person’s guide to villanelles (by Prof. Phil E. Stein)

So I won’t bore you with stanzas, tercets and quatrains, blah blah…

Structure and rhyming scheme:

Simply, a villanelle is a poem of nineteen lines which is divided into 6 verses. The first 5 verses are 3 lines each. For each of these verses the first and third line rhyme. The very last (6th) verse has 4 lines - with the first, third and last line all rhyming.

A second (different) rhyming scheme is used on the second line of all 6 verses.

Line repetition:

From the first verse - Line 1 and line 3 repeat alternately on the last line for verses 2, 3, 4, and 5.

In the last verse things change. Line 1 and 3 from the first verse couple together – forming the last two lines.

It’s probably easier to understand structure if you search out some examples. Such as ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’, by Welsh poet Dylan Thomas.

Note 1 - on composing villanelles: I’m not aware of any limit on line length. So provided you can read aloud each entire line without gasping for oxygen then it’s probably fine.

Note 2 - on rhyming: ‘Internal rhyme’ can be used in the rhyming scheme, i.e., words with a similar vowel sound but not an exact rhyming match.

Tip: try jotting down two separate lists of all the words that work with your two rhyming schemes. You can then select from these while composing. And remember that line 1 and line 3 in the first verse need to make sense when placed together in the very last two lines.

* * *

As you can probably tell, I’ve never studied literature like wot Roger done. But I can at least pass on his verve for villanelles! I’ll leave you with some selected examples. And as a cheeky bonus I’ve even included one of my own.

Happy writing! x

* * * * * * * * * * * *

THE ZEN OF DISCERNMENT

Like ghosts, our years pass us,
(the mixed blessings of memory)
as hauntingly beautiful as stars

No lesser regard for science
than Earth Mother’s finer poetry,
like ghosts, our years pass us,

Images of laughter and tears
finest art can only ever but copy,
as hauntingly beautiful as stars

No hopes wing more precious
than family and friends in harmony;
like ghosts our years pass us

Come birdsong to fine old trees,
so joy and pain creating our history,
as hauntingly beautiful as stars

As centuries turn nature’s leaves,
so each human heart creates eternity
like ghosts, our years pass us,
as hauntingly beautiful as stars

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2011. Dedication: Jim Howard. From the collection Tracking The Torchbearer.

* *

FREE SPIRITS

To Earth Mother, joy among tears
wherever we run
the gamut of life’s fears

Keeping faith with friendly trees,
embracing every one;
to Earth Mother, joy among tears

Come glorious sunsets on pastures
pink and green…
the gamut of life’s fears

Choice, all humankind gladly frees
to be true to its own;
to Earth Mother, joy among tears

Peace (nature too) will find enemies
where its colours run
the gamut of life’s tears

Gay love, blessed by summer kisses,
a bid for freedom won!
To Earth Mother, joy among tears,
the gamut of life’s fears

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2012. Dedication: written for Paul & Rob to celebrate their Civil Partnership in Biggleswade, Saturday 11 July 2009. From the collection: On the Battlefields of Love.

* *

WATERWAYS OF BRITAIN: MAKING PEACE WITH PROGRESS

On the waterways of Britain
(many neglected for years)
Man and nature as one again

Compensating for acid rain,
find honest sweat and tears
on the waterways of Britain

Ever mindful of loss and gain,
(Oh, spirited volunteers!)
Man and nature as one again

A testament to industry’s pain,
toiling through its centuries
on the waterways of Britain

Hosting the occasional swan,
even water voles and otters,
Man and nature as one again

Among such, pages written
of a nation’s finer endeavours;
on the waterways of Britain,
Man and nature as one again

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016. Note: I wrote this poem to accompany a video shot by Graham Collett for my You Tube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WA8VQoPgX2M

* *

A TREATISE ON EFFLUENCE
[or CONSUMERISM ANGST]

They’re feeding me crap
I’m the worm that turned*
I’m biting back

For our burger and bap
a forest burned
They’re feeding me crap

I am more than a stat!
Processed-mind; unlearned
I’m biting back

Your snake-oil snack
leaves my stomach churned
They’re feeding me crap

This consumerist trap;
my escape route discerned
I’m biting back

I’ll dump all these apps
Sail to Crusoe’s island!
They’re feeding me crap
I’m biting back

By Graham Collett, 2024. [Apologies for this vulgar effort!]

* ‘Even a worm will turn’ is an English language expression used to convey the message that even the meekest or most docile of creatures will retaliate or seek revenge if pushed too far. It was used in William Shakespeare’s play Henry VI. (Sourced from Wikipedia).

The Old Curiosity Shop (and Slumping)

2024-03-17T13:15:00.014+00:00

From Roger’s friend, Graham

Browsing Roger’s blog postings offers interesting snapshots through time. A shop of curiosities decked with gems formed in deep poetic musings, tattered postcards of conflicts and whimsical ephemera. Playthings of the imagination, broken artifacts of childhood and sketches of zeitgeists vanished. Garlands of dried flowers from summers past and evocations of smiling snowmen long melted. His inner eye ever seeking out that glimmer of fascination in grey streets and overcast skies. His beautiful soul always aspiring for a kinder, gentler world united by love and not divided by oceans of tears.

I must admit that I’ve never met anyone like him before or since. Such friendship is a treasure beyond riches. With the pressures and distractions of life it’s easily to lose sight of that. Certainly it comes as an overwhelming realization with the wound of loss. Healed by time, true enough, but some injuries feel deep-rooted with a dull ache resonating through months and years. I’m sad that I’m not able to call Roger today to compare notes on life’s ups and downs, make each other laugh and take off into wild flights of fancy. Just here, earthbound; trying to motivate myself…

It’s raining lightly here in Essex on a Sunday morning. Quiet with just the patter of rain and faint drone of distant traffic. A gaussian grey veil masks the sun. Smudges of blue tease with notions of fairer weather. The wide bow of the Thames estuary that I overlook reflects the sky like a dusty mirror. Sluggish and lazy. Even the raucous black-headed gulls seem muted, pensive.

I’m fortunate that I don’t have to work on Sundays. I’ll feed the birds shortly. (You’re never truly alone among avian friends.) And then a riverside jog to restore flagging spirits and vitality. I’ll prepare a vegan roast dinner, laze for a bit, and dive into the raging torrent of work emails! (This mitigates the horror of my inbox at the start of a working week.) Finally, some indulgent escapism with a movie and some un-milked chocolate.

I’ll leave you with a poem which I hope captures Roger’s enduring rallying cry to ‘rise above!’. Thanks so much for reading. Please feel free to dip in to Roger’s blog and trust to serendipity whenever curiosity overtakes you…

* * *

‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.’ Charles Dickens (Great Expectations)

‘The most important thing in life is to stop saying, ‘I wish’ and start saying, ‘I will’. Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.’ Charles Dickens (David Copperfield)

* * *

SLUMP or (ALMOST) IN FREEFALL…

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the people I’ve known,
wondering where have they gone?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the things I have done,
wondering where I went wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and choices made from the heart,
wondering where fear played a part?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and lovers who promised to stay
but left within hours of a night or day

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and all the years wasted on regret
where I should have stood up to fate

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and every epiphany I’ve known,
wondering where did I go so wrong?

Slump in a chair, thinking about life
and growing older, weaker,
for knowing I could have done better

Slump in a chair, thinking about death,
and all the people I’ve known,
wondering if there’s a hell or heaven?

Slump in a chair, watching television,
soaking up soap opera friends,
lost the plot, left wondering how it ends

Slump in a chair, fret about being alone?
Not this time (slam on the brakes);
will get my life back, whatever it takes

Copyright R N. Taber 2008

Spring, Lockdown and the Joy of Birds

2024-03-15T12:57:00.001+00:00

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

2024-03-11T11:11:00.003+00:00

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.]

Freedom, Beacon of Hope in a Darkening World

2024-03-04T00:00:00.014+00:00

From Graham – a close friend to Roger

Today marks a year since Roger passed away. It seems almost surreal how quickly this anniversary has arrived. A mutual friend, Richard, suggested we celebrate his memory at a friendly bar; recounting those joyous, life-affirming times when Roger lit up the room with his sparkling insight, his bawdy humour, or his fiery polemic. But I opted to explore remembrance through contemplation and sharing a few thoughts. Reflecting upon someone who remains close to the heart is a personal journey with many pathways...

Rog often commented on global events, particularly conflict and oppression. His poems frequently speak of a ‘common humanity’ transcending the gulf of socio-cultural-religious division. They aspire to those sublime qualities of being human; compassion, empathy and agape. A universal-spiritual connection too often lost in clamour of partisan media, sacrificed by religious fundamentalism, or obscured by sectarian hate. Yet this interconnection endures in anyone who dares question the dogma of division. It’s not through naive idealism that Roger wrote of peace and common humanity. But rather, to inspire hope in himself and others.

I know Roger would have been saddened by the recent anti-LGBT+ bill passed in Ghana. He was an outspoken advocate for equality in all societies. In his eulogy, I commented:

‘…beyond friends gathered here, Roger touched untold lives through his poetry. It was telling that his gay-interest blog was widely read in countries where the freedom to choose who we love can mean imprisonment. His poetry kindled hope in the world’s unenlightened places.’

Over the years we chatted extensively about my sabbatical in Ghana, back in 2006. At the time, I remember optimism among my gay brothers and sisters for attaining equal rights. There was hope that the egalitarian republic envisioned by Kwame Nkrumah would finally be realised for all citizens. But forward to 2022 and New Patriotic Party lawmakers are consulting with pastors, priests and imams to decide policy (?!). UN condemnation aside, it sets a dangerous precedent, and one where parliamentarians appear hellbent on a downward spiral into theocracy.

I wonder how Roger might have commented about this on his blog? Speculatively, I’d say he might draw comparisons with his own experience of anti-LGBT laws here in the UK. An era when he lived in constant fear of persecution, blackmail and violence. Recounting, perhaps, his clandestine intimacies before the law’s repeal in 1967. He once described society back then as an ‘ogre’. He might have also cited the life of mathematical visionary and national hero, Alan Turing. A man driven to suicide following prosecution and public exposure for a same-sex encounter. I think he’d question how such laws serve any national interest - or greater good?

Our sense of nationhood is often forged in the crucible of resisting oppression. Whether it’s overcoming colonial rule, women’s suffrage or the struggle for gay equality. Liberty itself flows from faith in a common humanity. Solidarity, over the politics of division and demonisation.

‘The forces that unite us are intrinsic and greater than the superimposed influences that keep us apart.’ Kwame Nkrumah

* * *

FREEDOM, BEACON OF HOPE IN A DARKENING WORLD

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) blocked
by power-hungry rulers
living in the lap of luxury where others
go hungry, and can but dream
of running fresh, clean, water from a tap
that’s close to hand

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted
by fighters who lost battles,
but inspired others to continue the war
against the sickest corruption
in the highest places, best feet forward
to global markets

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom (still) ringing out
loud and clear with howls
of protest punctuated with the shrapnel,
gunfire, and tear gas
that, oh, so often accompanies integrity
even in a 21st century

In some parts of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) littered
with human bones,
occasionally with name tags attached,
others are identified only
by such natural categories as ethnicity
and, yes, sexuality

In some part of the world,
all paths to Freedom are (still) haunted
by voices of the dead,
inspiring men, women, and children
to take greater pride
than many so-called ‘betters’ in rallying
round a flag with pride

In some parts of the world,
heterosexuality is promoted true enough
to hot-blooded stereotype,
some falling for the honeyed-up hype
of tongues, sly and zealous,
while others continue to call for a culture
of Freedom for all of us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

A Farewell

2023-12-31T19:02:00.013+00:00

Roger Noel Taber
21 December 1945 - 2 March 2023

Foreword from Graham Collett (a close friend)

I’m very sorry to let you all know that, tragically, Roger passed away earlier this year after battling a long period of acute illness. Despite the excellent care he received at the Whittington, and latterly, Barnet Hospital ICU’s, his lifeforce finally took flight into that great beyond…

Many of Roger’s close friends kindly visited him over those preceding weeks in intensive care. Despite his heavy sedation, we took turns to read poetry and short stories at his bedside, and hold his hand. I believe we all nurtured hope in his recovery.

I feel privileged to have shared a close friendship with Roger over 22 years. Through triumph and disaster he’s been there for me. Across this odyssey of time-space we call ‘life’ he’s been a guiding light. I’m still reconciling myself to a new, bleaker reality and feeling rather adrift. Though it’s a voyage illuminated by the glimmer of treasured memories. Such is bereavement for many of us I imagine…

To say that we only recognise the true value of something after it’s lost… well, it seems so trite; a truism even…? But it’s also an inexorable aspect to existence which tests us all in the end. All the more reason to ‘rise above’ as Roger encouraged us; carpe diem.

As an advocate for pantheist principles and nature, I hope readers will draw comfort from the notion of Roger returning to the bosom of Earth Mother... Death is but a part of that universal cycle of creation, dissolution and then, rebirth. I also hope that his beautiful poetry will continue to inspire and resonate with you all.

I aim to post Roger’s unpublished poetry on the blogs occasionally - mainly to maintain their presence online. Please bear with me on this as I have a high pressure job and little free time! Further along, I also hope to publish (either in print or eBook) Addressing the Art of Being Human, a collection spanning 2020.

I will leave you with a poem I chanced upon from Roger’s extensive archive.

Best wishes to all for 2024.
Peace, Graham x

FAREWELL

Think not that I am gone,
but please think this of me;
that once was a man
who so wanted to be good,
but sadly was not always
one who never, ever, meant
to be bad if sometimes
blindness took him this way;
who rose above bigotry
to embrace a born sexuality
in poetry driven, inspired
by sheer spirituality, nurtured
not by word or world,
only Earth Mother to whom
I was born, and now return
much like last autumn’s kiss,
promising this to all whom
I have loved, will surely miss,
and bequeath to birdsong

Oh, but watch and listen
for spring, that any winters
of our parting may seem
less harsh nor so long if only
for robins celebrating us,
and though this sorry world
weep as it surely will
for an elusive love and peace,
I feel privileged to rest
where doves can but create
metaphor

There, where you are...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

A Walk in the Park

2023-01-21T10:01:00.000+00:00

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...

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay poetry blog today.] RT

Hello, folks, from London UK

2023-01-18T19:17:00.000+00:00

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

“Art hurts. Art urges voyages – and it is easier to stay at home.” ~Gwendolyn Brooks

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

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.” - Robert Frost

“How do poems grow? They grow out of your life. “– Robert Penn Warren

Hello, Everyone, from London UK,

Reader G H has emailed to ask if the personal pronoun ‘I’ in my poems is yours truly. Well, the answer is both yes and no. The ‘I’ is multiple voices, including mine.

Over the years, I have met many inspiring people, had inspirational tales related to me by probably as many strangers I’ve met in passing as family and friends. Much of what I have learned, I try to pass on to readers, hence a multi-vocal ‘I’.I daresay much the same can be said for the authors of all art forms.

Feedback suggests that readers are happy with this, and can see how it fits in with the multidimensional nature of what I am trying to say in many poems. Hopefully, I succeed more often than I fail; in either case, it often depends as much upon whether or not the reader can relate to a poem at the time as the poet’s ability to draw the reader into a poem and let him or her work through and arrive at their own take on it. Needless to say, how they finally relate to it, if at all, the poet will probably never know…

The natural world is a constant inspiration to us all, of course, especially to the gardener who has a special relationship with nature I have always admired, even envied. More than one gardener has told me how they so look forward to spring, seeing leaves return to the trees and listening to what they have to say as they rustle in a breeze or survive a storm. Oh, yes, there is a poet in everyone...

Do feel free to email me – rogertab@aol.com - any time. I try to reply or at least acknowledge as many as possible, but only read those with ‘POETRY’ in the subject field. Sometimes, I am feeling unwell and manage to hit a wrong key, whereupon emails disappear, so apologies to anyone expecting a reply, but has not received one.

As regular readers well know, years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer has played merry hell with my thought processes and general memory, so I am not as comfortable with new technology as I once was, not to mention that I can't always see the letters on a my p c keyboard too well these days either. 😉

Can you wonder that I sometimes struggle to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life?😉 Ah, but the struggle always brings its own reward...😁

Take care, folks, keep safe and stay positive,

Many thanks for dropping by and I hope to be back with a new poem soon,

Hugs,

Roger

“

Self-Belief OR Destination, Otherworld

2023-01-17T17:13:00.000+00:00

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

“The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.” - Mark Twain

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” - ― Michel de Montaigne

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.”- Marilyn Monroe

“One of the greatest regrets in life is being what others would want you to be, rather than being yourself.” - Shannon L. Alder

“Until you value yourself, you won't value your time. Until you value your time, you will not do anything with it.” - M. Scott Peck

“Be faithful to that which exists within yourself.” - Andre Gide

“People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.” - Elizabeth Gaskell

Foe a variety of reasons, many of us suffer with low self-esteem, sometimes all our lives. I have to admit to being one of the, although I have made real progress over the years in rising above such feelings. Born and raised during the bigoted 1950’s, I was made to feel an inferior person from the time I realised I am gay, at the age of 14. Regular readers will know that I spent years in a lonely closet, rarely confiding in anyone that I was gay until ‘coming out’ to the world in my late 30’s.

Noe was my lack of self-esteem due solely to a rampant homophobia. I am not a very practical person, but found myself in a Technical High School which specialised in practical subjects like woodwork, metalwork, and technical drawing, at all of which I was next to useless and would make the kind of errors that inevitably caught a teacher’s eye; they would, in turn, bring it to the attention of the whole class. Oh, I would laugh it off, but inwardly feel positively sick.

As regular readers will also know, I had a poo relationship with my father, constantly having a go at me for “having my head in a book’ and making me feel a lesser person for that, especially as compared with my older brother who was practical, sporty and all the things my father expected of a son. Rightly or wrongly, I felt psychologically bullied and hadn’t yet learned to effectively stand up for myself without provoking an almighty row.

We are who we are and should not feel a need to justify how we identify ourselves to anyone. Being made - intentionally or otherwise - to feel less of a person by anyone, especially during our formative years or in the workplace, wherever … it can take years, if ever, to shake off a sense of inferiority.

I feel a greater sense of freedom these days, having learned mu lessons the hard way but cannot help wishing I had especially come across the Elizabeth Gaskell quote (above) during my younger years as a bookworm.

SELF-BELIEF or DESTINATION, OTHERWORLD

Being told this, told that,
and failing to achieve a good result,
gave mind-body-spirit
a sense of falling apart, being unequal
to perspectives on me
I couldn’t work through or begin to share
however hard I’d try,
until I started listening to that voice within
reminding me I'm my own person

All but persuaded to find
my own way in a world confusing me
every step I’d take,
urging I do this or maybe rather do that
to get anywhere,
be the Someone those expecting far more
of me may rest assured
that, if only I’d listened to all they had to say,
I’d have chosen to go a ‘better’ way

Time and again I’d feel lost,
unsuited and confused by worldly ways
others fell into with ease,
until I stumbled on home truths no-one
had led me to believe,
till mind-body-spirit made time and space
to replace the 'me'
I'd see through other eyes with my very own,
no less from without as from within

I saw a world judging me neither sinner nor fool,
made my peace with heart-and-soul

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

Hi, Everyone, from London UK

2023-01-15T12:47:00.000+00:00

Hi, Everyone, from London UK,

Sorry, no poem today as I am trying to load as many of my poems to a memory stick as I can, just in case the blog ever disappears.

In the past, UK poetry publishers have shown no interest in me because I make it clear that any published collection must include a gay section. My self-published collections proved popular, but the last one appeared in 2021' since then, I have been diagnosed with prostate cancer, had a bad fall that has left me with mobility problems and have been having to cope while living on my own. I cope OK(ish), so no worries, but nothing gets easier as we grow older and I'm in my late 70's now.

As I have said on the blog before, in latter years, writing poetry has been as much by way of creative therapy than for pleasure; it helps me manage thought processes and memory problems as a direct result of years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer. So, I feel a need to write what I can, while I can and keep my poems in a safe place in case any publishers eventually show any real interest once I have passed away.

No one has ever appreciated just how much my poetry means to me and, yet again, a BIG thank you to you all, dear readers, for encouraging me by viewing my poems and sending emails from time to time.

Reader H H asks how many views this blog has had in total since I started writing it up about ten years ago. Currently, blogger statistics show 213,149 views; for a poetry blog, this is VERY encouraging, so you can understand why continuing it is so important to an oldie like me, from both a psychological and health point of view. The gay poetry blog statistics show a total of 160, 987 views, again, very encouraging.

Feedback suggests that more LGBT viewers dip into both blogs these days and I like to think it is because they are coming round to the point of view that poetry is for everyone, has something to say to everyone, intent on voicing a perspective on which the reader is invited to consider his or her own take. Whatever, food for thought is important; sadly, the pace of life these days means fewer people can make time enough for even that.

When I stared blogging, I had been warned that a gay poetry blog would be unlikely to attract many readers and I was unable to find anything similar online, so...G-AY in the Subject Field took to pc screens worldwide. My having been sexually inactive for some years now, it may have lost its initial momentum, but feedback suggests LGBT readers appreciate the encouragement my poems try to offer. (I spent too many years in a lonely closet to want the same for anyone who is led to believe there is something shameful, even sinful about sexual/ gender identity; neither is a choice, but who we are.

It is a tragedy of our times that some family members, friends and religious communities continue to be guided by many misleading stereotypes propagated by the less enlightened.

Nor is the sense of spirituality I have always felt any the less for my being gay. Encouragingly, most young people are more prepared to take others as they find them, without prejudging them for what they may have heard on this or that grapevine. (I suspect political correctness means well, but has proven far less effective than intended;. You cannot effectively legislate for a person's perspectives on life and people; it simply creates closets for any that need to be aired, challenged and modified.

As for poetry, whether people like a poem or not is less important than they should consider how and why they feel about what it it has to say to the voice in which the poem speaks. (As regular readers well know, I have always championed the right to agree to differ...] RT 😉

We are barely into 2023, yet violent criminal acts on the streets and behind closed doors are hitting the headlines already .Let us hope that Peace, Love and Understanding will eventually prevail worldwide, the darker side of human nature notwithstanding....!

Oh, and on the subject if headlines, I have been asked what I think of Prince Harry's revelations in his book, Spare. Well, I have no interest in reading it, not least because it is unlikely that other members of the Royal Family will respond and there are always two sides to every story. So, to coin a popular phrase, "No comment." 😉

I am working on a new poem, but slowly as I am not too well and old age is catching up with me. No point in crying over spilt milk, though so, yes, I continue to do my best to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life... even though a fog sometimes.😉

Take care, folks, keep safe and stay positive,

Hopefully, back soon with a new poem,

Hugs,

Roger

Partners for Life

2023-01-10T10:47:00.003+00:00

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

“The great thing about getting older is that you become much more mellow. Things aren’t as much black and white and you become much more tolerant. You can see the good things much more easily… “ - Maeve Binchy

“Aging is not uncomplicated. Creativity is an extraordinary help against destructive demons.” - Ingmar Bergman

“The ordinary experiences of aging alter and clarify your view of past, present, and future.” - Edith Pearlman

Now, many if not most of us have to cope with various health issues as we grow old(er). Never easy. The trick is not to let it obscure our perspective on the bright(er) side of life, especially as it is reflected in the kinder side of human nature

PARTNERS FOR LIFE

Growing old,
quality of life much the poorer
just for that, barely
in touch with a mind-body-spirit
often losing its way
among mixed feelings forever open
to misinterpretation,
of positive thoughts persistently overtaken
by naggings of disillusion?

Looking back
over some shadowy shoulder
at inspiring dreams
left unfulfilled like litter on the streets
where I have lived,
expecting more of a Here-and-Now
than it was able to give,
left wondering what Time may yet yield me
other than... a lonely eternity?

Alternative voices,
familiar enough to any heart-and-soul
having had to rise above
such negative thoughts as sure to haunt
even a positive thinker
whenever life take a turn for the worse,
(as often as not)
tasking us with the greater art of being human,
in starting over, yes, yet again

Oh, mind-and body!
unable to win through, but for letting in
and partnering a native spirit
defying description, invariably taking its cue
from a natural world
no less under threat than a heart-and-soul
continuing to be inspired,
forever working through stages of regeneration;
come mind-body-spirit, in unison.

[Note: I have been very unwell, but working on another post-poem has contributed, in no small measure, to my starting to feel a lot better and more positive about looking on the bright(er) side of life...😉 Oh, and I hope some of you will have enjoyed browsing the post-poems in the blog archives during my absence, and will continue to do so.] RT

Spelling it Out

2023-01-03T09:48:00.001+00:00

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

“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” Albert Einstein

“The world helps you to keep evolving and hope it's for better. You have to rise above all the tragedies in life. You have to grow, and if you stop growing, you are old.” - Hrithik Roshan“

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”- Helen Keller

“Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.” - Paul Theroux

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” ― Maya Angelou

Now, after all the fun and fireworks, the early days of any new year can become daunting as we place our hopes in what lies ahead, no idea whether or not we will see them fulfilled, fail in the attempt or be outwitted by forces beyond our control…? A scary prospect. The more we contemplate a whole new year ahead, so excitement and enthusiasm may well give way to a mind-body-spirit likely to leave us less able to think straight than the worst hangover ever.

So…? We may well need help. We may well need a sounding board. We may well need a good friend (who knows us well) to confide in and help our more positive thoughts to find a voice, give us feedback, help us through the hangover into whatever it takes to help us confront, make sense of and (eventually) rise above whatever is gnawing away at us…

SPELLING IT OUT

Old year done and dusted,
another to get through, for better
or worse, as we can but try
to keep looking on the bright(er) side
of life, whatever challenges
invading our personal space demand
we meet them head-on,
resolve to tackle each as best we can,
bring out the best of being human

We can wish our cares away
to no avail, side-step, put on hold
our worst fears in vain,
inevitably have them catch us out
when we are least prepared
for not having thought them through,
shared our feelings with a friend,
sought more than a shoulder to cry on,
called on the best of being human

Every worry, every sadness
needs to find a voice, similarly
every voice needs someone
to listen to what it has to say, hear
what lies beyond the words,
help us to understand our world,
(even make it a kinder place?)
bring such inspiration to personal space
as lets heart-and-soul set the pace

Another year of spelling out You-Me-Us;
keywords: patience, peace, happiness

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my gay poetry blog today, given that feedback continues to suggest that many LGBT readers remain inclined to give this one a miss.] RT

Shades of Grey

2022-12-30T11:08:00.001+00:00

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

“Modern man talks of a battle with nature, forgetting that, if he won the battle, he would find himself on the losing side.” - E. F. Schumacher

“One of the first conditions of happiness is that the link between Man and Nature shall not be broken.” - Leo Tolstoy

“The best friend on earth of man is the tree: When we use the tree respectfully and economically, we have one of the greatest resources of the earth.”- Frank Lloyd Wright

“Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.” - Mary Webb

Now, tomorrow will see us mark the end of 2022, each in our own way. Across the world, people will be coming together to celebrate New Year’s Eve; a veritable feast of music, dance, relief at having survived another year and hope that the next will, indeed, be a happy one.

We can, each and every one of us, only do our best to see our hopes fulfilled, subject though all of us are to circumstances beyond our control. All the more reason though, surely, to enjoy the Here-and Now, let it fill our lives with bright colours and inspiring sounds which, though they fade, even die, they, and the person they encouraged us to be, live on in every mind-body-spirit, heart-and-soul, they ever touched.

Oh, and again, many thanks for dropping by, much appreciated, and I hope you will join me again soon for my first post-poem of 2023… assuming that I can continue to rise above - if not quite get the better of - the mess in which ten years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer have left my thought processes.😉

SHADES OF GREY

The world around me,
various shades of grey, a sad,
often lonely place…
Apollo having all but taken
his leave of us, trusting
we’ll manage gloomy days
as best we can,
let mind-body-spirit aid and abet us
in making wiser choices

Weary, a natural world
sick of human nature abusing it
in the name of ‘progress’
without taking bold steps enough
to ensure its past-present
may yet anticipate a kinder future
than marks its pages,
colours its history, common humanity
but a chancer’s reality

Shades of green and gold
courtesy of Apollo’s rays of hope,
a brave one-upmanship
taking its cue from any You-Me-Us
that haunts the history
of a humankind trying to find its way
through multiple shades
of blue-green-gold urging we'll get wise
to its potential demise

Though we suffer its every shade of grey,
trust heart-and-soul to save the day

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

Starting Over

2022-12-27T12:11:00.001+00:00

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

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

Hello Everyone, from London UK

2022-12-24T20:39:00.003+00:00

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

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

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.