https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
Regular readers will know that I do not
subscribe to any religion but choose instead to put my faith in nature. Time and
again, nature has lifted me from a pit of despair, restoring any flagging faith in that joie de vivre that has inspired my poetry (and me) since early childhood.
(My first poem - ‘Spring’ - appeared in my secondary school’s magazine at the
end of my first year when I was still only 11 years-old.)
Whimsical, yes. Poetic, yes. An
abstract grasping at proverbial straws unfit for human purpose? Well, it has
been called that by some, but who cares so long as it works? I have to say, it has always worked for me, possibly accounting for a lifetime passion for poetry and nature, especially as it
relates to human nature,
warts ‘n’ all. (Any shutters on reality always open to letting in more than less light on
the world.)
True, we are but mortal and some day we will leave the world, but there is, I passionately believe, a posthumous consciousness that will pass on to others whose lives we have touched either in passing or more fully; either way, something of us lives on in them and, hopefully, will inspire that same predilection for positive thinking that has seen the likes of yours truly from cradle to ... wherever.
Once I saw a blackbird
land on the branch of a tree,
and it saw me there,
but showed no fear, simply burst
into song as if it knew
only too well why I had come,
seeking peace of mind
everywhere, finding it nowhere,
losing my way...
It looked me in the eye,
the blackbird I had chanced upon,
as if defying me to leave
before its song of spring had time
to touch senses dulled
by loss and grief in a dark winter
of the heart where light
stubbornly refused entry by pain's
closing all shutters
The more it sang, the more
I loathed the tiny bird for lending
its joie de vivre
to Gardens of the Dead, its gates
closed to me,
my time not yet come to find you,
no matter the last drops
of adrenaline leading me (if blindly)
to this place still warm
A tearful sun took pity on me
through clouds making me shiver
for their blocking its heat,
while the blackbird held my gaze,
as if to keep me
from looking their grey faces
in the eye and despairing
as it called on buds of flower and tree
to make a splash of colour
As if on cue, clouds parting,
wise, old Apollo closing my eyes,
giving all his attention
to persuading this poor body, frozen
in time as it was,
to empathise with flowers and trees
honouring a covenant
with nature along lines of regeneration
embracing all life forms
I opened my eyes, loved all I saw,
adrenaline flowing again for listening
to your voice in my ear
as clear as birdsong and leaves rustling
in a balmy breeze;
moved to tears, yet not of distress
but as spring rain
brings the dead to life after a semblance
of absence and unfeeling
Blackbird took its leave of me
if not entirely, bidding me enter its song
of spring, and I did;
where it may take me, no idea nor care
just for being at peace
and heading somewhere (with you)
far from that dark place
where the human spirit misled and colour
but shades of spring mist
Copyright
R N Taber 2019
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home