Several
readers have been in touch to question the wisdom of my repeating historical
posts on Google Plus. I had the idea
after readers said they would like to read some of my poems again but did not
have time to browse the blogs. Feedback suggests that my contribution to Google
Plus is quite popular so I will continue, especially as I am not too well these
days so not often up to writing new poems. (Even so, I hope to post some new poems from time to time.)
Meanwhile, I hope readers will enjoy at least some of the poems I put on Google Plus, perhaps even take an interest
in the historical nature of various preambles. Most post will remain on Google
+ for five days and return again every few months in the hope of catching new
readers and keeping the attention of regulars.
Now, if life
is a manic roller-coaster ride, love has to be its saving grace, for all its
ups and downs. Since we have no choice but get used to the idea that we come
into the world to live and die , we can
at least make the best of what falls in-between, and if that involves entering into a contract
of mutual responsibility with Earth Mother as well as the rest of humankind, so
be it…
Easier
said than done, of course, in a world where only too often nature is perceived
as a slave to what humankind so likes to justify as ‘progress’…
PROMISES,
PROMISES...
Among
angry hills,
where I
was promised to worms,
a storm
burst
and I stumbled
on slopes
of grassy
mud
to which
I promised every last drop
of my
blood
if they
would see me safely home,
and then
the sun
came out
again, opening my eyes
to birds’
wings
and other
miracles of nature;
I got headily
drunk
on a
misty rain, bare feet stalling
where ragged
stone
and
thistles bent on re-aligning
my personal
integrity, demanding
I do…
what, exactly?
Something,
someone,
purpose,
reason, sense of resurrection
once mist
and rain
finally
done, restoring the sun
to its
crowning glory
though
bits of sky haunted still
by clouds
emulating
rocks,
thorns, unicorns in scattered shapes
and
various personae
yelling
in the ears to keep running,
running,
running…or miss
the last
train, promising to get me
to the
station on time,
deserves (surely?)
promising
in return
to see these feet
safely
home, tucked up in bed
by
nightfall, eyes closing, peace
(of
sorts) descending
In
dreams, weeping hills touch gently
upon
mutual responsibility
Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014
[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the original
version as it appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of
Time by R. N. Taber,
Assembly Books, 2005.
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