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

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

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Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Monday, 25 May 2020

Epiphany on the Doorstep



Social distancing continues to place a huge strain on even the closest relationships, I am reminded of a French couple I got chatting to some years ago in a café I had only popped into for a cuppa to get out of the rain.

Sometimes, when human relationships fall apart at the seams - for whatever reason - I think we give up on them too quickly. If any relationship is worth having, it is always worth at least trying to save. 

Hopefully, the other person will have the same idea.

As for waiting for the other person to make the first move, that’s rarely a good idea if only because the chances are that he or she will be thinking along much the same lines.  

We don’t lose face (and far more) by coming forward, only by holding back.

The couple? Well, strangers we were and strangers we remain. They told me they were on a second honeymoon after almost divorcing.

The poem? Mind-body-spirit, already working on it even as we were chatting, the rain easing, sunshine determined to get the better of dark clouds …

EPIPHANY ON THE DOORSTEP

We lived a House of Broken Dreams,
where many like us gone before
to salvage what wreckage they can,
among leftovers strewn on the floor

You would hover on the front doorstep,
anticipating the Collector's killing
of once dear (if piecemeal) aspirations, 
swept away, ostensibly for recycling

Wearing a knowing smile, the Collector
(as always) when he makes a call,
would rummage, and then take his pick
of cast-offs, once tagged 'sentimental'

I joined you there, confessed secret fears
(for the future, loneliness beckoning);
you confided yours, we shared hot tears
for a lifetime of deaf-blind reckoning

All but strangers if still the best of friends
(together, yet apart, all our lives);
suddenly, at our House of Broken Dreams,
we glimpsed hope in each other’s eyes

Shared epiphany, as the Collector came by
(once, invited to take what he will);
both agreeing to look home truths in the eye,
cease pretending a penchant for free fall


Never again would the Collector come calling;
no leftovers of love here, only the real thing

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2020


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