Hope Is A Woman

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

Every so often readers ask me for a CD recording of my informal poetry reading on the 4^th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in July 2009 as my contribution to Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘live sculpture’ project.  Sky Arts typically refused to oblige those of us who participated with a CD so I can only repeat the link for anyone interested. [The entire web stream - all 2400 hours of it - is now archived in the British Library.]

Be warned, though. The entire clip lasts an hour:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that he video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

Meanwhile…

The vanity of human beings is such that we like to think we are in control of our lives and nature has to play second fiddle to our intentions as well as in our affections.

I wonder about that sometimes…

Some people look to God as the ultimate male ego. The Ancient Greeks cherished Elpis, Spirit of Hope. Me, I prefer to look to Earth Mother for an inner strength of a quality that can only be female; therein lies the key to our survival. On our terms, as Masters of the Universe? Don't bet on it.

(Photo: Elpis, Spirit of Hope (copied from the web)

HOPE IS A WOMAN

To Mother Nature
we bared all as we were born;

since then, for good or ill,

(mostly) in good faith her colours
openly worn

Green, the grass,
defying threats of acid rain; 

Blue, clear skies turning

a blind eye to the human obsession

with temporal gain

Red, streaks of blood
across a sky, the throat of a fox

as the first hound’s claw 

finds its mark, and darkness shuts us
at random in its box

Yellow, the sun’s wounds

weeping through drought, famine,

and an outing of inhumanity,

in platitudes among record audiences
for prime television

Stumps, where we'd stood,

listening to a pretty wood, if deaf 

to every plea it made
and warning it gave, now all but dead
but for its grief

Grey, tear-stained profiles
among remains of a next generation
running scared in the face

of apathy from elders shooting selfies

before they were born

To Earth Mother dare we fall
on our knees, if only to beg Her stay
this enemy's execution,

given that any 'tomorrow is another day'
well past its use-by date

Copyright R N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears in  Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]