Catcher in the Eye OR The Insider

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“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” – Confucius

“Beauty awakens the soul to act.” – Dante Alighieri

“Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye.” - William Shakespeare

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson  

Now, Reader. L J takes issue with my argument – with which regular readers will be only too familiar - that love comes in all shapes and forms. 

L J suggests that “… true love can only exist between a man and a woman and consummated as such.  Anything else is just passion for its own sake.”  Everyone to their point of view, of course, although, as a gay man, I would dispute the latter. 

Moreover, what is “true” love?   One dictionary definition of 'true' is "In accordance with fact or reality. "Take the love we feel for a pet, a work of art., a favourite place, the platonic love between close friends…are these not a reality for those concerned, an honest, sincere measure of love?  

As for the love expressed and shared between partners of the same sex who choose to spend their lives together, that has to be more than “just passion for its own sake" surely?

Today’s poem, could well be seen as companion to A Walk on the Dark Side that I published on both poetry blogs earlier this week.

CATCHER IN THE EYE or THE INSIDER

Not always in plain sight
for the world to enjoy at will,
but always there
for those to find who care
to nurture relations
with a mind-body-spirit set on
satisfying native desires
by pursuing its finer, ultimate goal,
within heart-and-soul 

I catch the eye that looks
beyond what attracts attention,
taking imagination
on a journey into sensibility,
catching the first light
of dawn where birds in trees
are waking, flexing wings,
preparing to fly clear or cloudy skies,
dry humanity’s tears

I nest in shy glances, take each
day as it comes, vaulting spectacles,
tugging nervously at hair
shining like a splendid dawn
you may well have missed,
preferring to keep your eyes shut 
for trying to hang on to hopes
of engaging with love in such a place
as called You-Me-Us

I am Beauty; in the eye of my perceiver,
a joy forever…

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: this post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

Keeper of the Light

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“There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong.” – Hindu Proverb 

“… where Beauty was, nothing ever ran quite straight which, no doubt, which was why so many people looked on it as immoral.” – John Galsworthy

“Re-examine all you have been told. Dismiss what insults your soul.” – Walt Whitman 

 “Beauty awakens the soul to act.” Dante Alighieri

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” – John Keats

Now, we all have good and bad memories, but the reason why happier times will always get the better of and rise above the worst is invariably due to an active inner eye and ear focusing on the kinder aspects of heart-and-soul which, by its very nature, will always home in on the positive rather than the negative; the key is, of course to keep focusing on the former, no matter how tough the going may get. 

Yes, sometimes we fail, but where there is life, there always  really is hope… in our hands, be it, no one else’s; any help along the way is always much appreciated, if not always acknowledged at the time....

KEEPER OF THE LIGHT

I see only what I can feel;
though my eyes may well argue
the truth of this,
they cannot win, for the inner eye
sees all that matters
to keep such true faith with me
as exists way beyond
any worldly processes of part or whole
that come to hunt us all

To know me is to love me 
or prove my enemy and yours,
a united front
comprising secret jealousies,
frustrations and rage
that can neither  possess me
nor find an equal
to compare with such mixed a passion
as the poetry of imagination

Hunted, haunted, good-bad
lost and found again, it is I inspires
a greater humanity
to endure, urging all its kind
keep faith with me; 
though Memory’s whim may take us 
here, there, everywhere,
it is for love of me that it can but prevail
for messaging heart-and-soul

I am called Beauty, humanity’s inner eye
on the kinder face of eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

A Sunset...

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Photo by Graham J. Collett (See Note below)

“Just because the sun is setting in your world, do not think that it sets everywhere; just because the sun is rising in your world, do not think that it rises everywhere!” - Mehmet Murat Ildan

 “Don’t forget: Beautiful sunsets need cloudy skies.” -  Paul Coelho

“Every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.” - William Shakespeare

Now, like many if not most people, I love sunsets. They make me think about the world and how I can better relate to it; especially at such times as that relationship leaves much to be desired, they provide food for thought as can offer any positive-thinking mindset with a kinder insightfulness... should it care to partake of at least a fair portion.

A SUNSET

A beautiful sunset,
settling on an unquiet mind,
promising sweet dreams
on pinkie clouds like doves’ wings,
metaphors for peace
and goodwill to all humankind,
less scary eruptions
of fretful silences into politic pieces,
custom boundaries

A gentle twilight,
settling on an unquiet mind,
lulling the better part
of humanity into a sense of security;
but a passing moment,
one for heart-and-soul to imbibe,
taste a natural beauty
on the tongue, instead of raw cynicism
passing for sophism

Come nightfall,
such starry silences winking
and blinking at us,
for giving the nod to kinder times,
such as glorious sunsets
allow passers-by inclined to place
the pace of life on pause,
time to look up and around, breathe it in,
prepare to pass on...

Daybreak, sunlight
rushing to wake dreamy eyes,
yesterday’s sunset
keeping its promise? We can but trust
nature and human nature
to enlighten mind-body-spirit 
as heart-and-soul advises,
should we care to listen, make what we can
of the art of being human

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: Graham, a close friend also shot the videos on my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber ]

The Bee

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 “In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they’re still beautiful.”” –Alice Walker 

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” – Helen Keller

“We are all broken. That’s how the light gets in.” – Ernest Hemingway

Many years ago, a boy, about 10 years-old, I asked a disabled man in a wheel chair if he missed walking. “You bet I do!”, he said with a wry grin, “… so, thank heavens for imagination, eh?”

It struck me at the time that imagination was poor compensation for being unable to walk. 

Now, years on and in my 77th year, often frustrated by having to deal with an increasing mobility problem, needing compression stockings and a walking stick to get out even locally, I count my blessings that I can walk at all…  and know exactly what he meant.

THE BEE

There is a trellis fence sprawling with roses
whose gate I often pass through, into a garden
tendered with loving care
by the thoughtful heart, anxious that any who
enter there should open their senses 
o such sights, smells and sounds urging we
bond with the bee homing in on a favourite rose,
attend to late forget-me-nots

Always open, the gate, garden as welcoming
to strangers as old friends, whomsoever drawn,
whether by accident or design,
conscience or circumstances beyond reasoning
or control, body-mind-spirit
leading us into a panorama of peace and quiet,
taking its cue from mixed feelings, 
overflowing hearts posing questions, left struggling
to make sense of mixed feelings

No easy answers or solutions, bee disappearing
out of sight, out of mind, as we try to feel our way
to at least a leading clue
as to how to get through another day, fighting
off fears with a heart-and-soul,
taking us places we love to see, letting Earth Mother
show us how much beauty survives,
however badly the world treats us, whether in real time
or ‘live’ seasons of imagination

Oh, but to stay in the garden, breathe clean air, 
engage with such beauty as nature and human nature
have it in them to invoke,
given tender, loving care, left unprovoked by elements
seemingly all but indifferent
to such kinder life forces as call on us to follow a bee
into a trellis rose, be inspired
by how a beautiful garden landscapes grows on the heart,
wannabe world in miniature

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

The (Human) Spirit Within

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Despite the computer hackers, conspiracy theorists, common criminals, those ignoring Covid-19 safety regulations and anyone else hell bent on targeting the human spirit, its resilience to such destructive forces remains an inspiration. Yes, it can feel pain and immeasurable hurt, but in most of us, it is blessed with powers or recuperation, survival and renewal second to none. 

Not long ago, I saw an elderly man slip and fall on a plastic coffee cup carelessly thrown on to the pavement. Fortunately, although badly shaken, he was able to raise a smile and reassure me that no bones appeared to be broken, only bruised, and adamantly refused to let me play safe by calling an ambulance. “I can walk, so can’t be too much the worse for wear,” was his lively response, “NHS staff have too much on their plates at the moment with the coronavirus, I can’t go adding a few bruises when there are people’s lives to save…” I gave him my phone number and he promised to call if he needed any help later. As I watched him go, at first a little shakily then with growing confidence, I had to admire the man for an indomitable human spirit not untypical of his generation; it struck me as something quite beautiful, and I felt inspired for witnessing it. 

Having felt very unwell recently, that simple act of defying odds and self-resolve to overcome them continues to encourage and inspire me to view the rising threat of a new mutation of Covid-19 with a positive-thinking mindset. 

There are, after all, things in life that may well defeat us in part, but never as a whole, given a whole that includes a human spirit that, as likely as not, will leave its mark not only on the Here-and Now, but for generations to come.

'Beauty is power; its smile is a sword.' - John Ray

THE (HUMAN) SPIRIT WITHIN

World, grown dark,
its peoples sick at heart
for the fears
insinuating mind-body-spirit,
threatening
its positive life forces, giving
negatives
all the excuses they need, and more
to assume control 

Powers of darkness,
the likes of prejudice and hate.
attempting
to win over such powers of light
as empathy,
humility, modesty, such love
for humanity
as would always see its natural affinity
with beauty kept safe 

Beauty, a feeling for all
that’s right, good and fair, giving
the Spirit of Light
an advantage from the start
over any negatives
that may well find ways to send
humankind
into free fall, have us answer to mortality
even before our time 

Beauty, though masking
its finer qualities from time to time
to keep them safe
from such hackers as connive
to turn enough tables
likely to wreak chaos, destruction,
even worse,
engages with the Spirit of Love to mentor all
those who live to learn 

Such is the spirit within, empowering humanity
to turn any (apparent) defeat into a victory 

 Copyright R.N. Taber 2020

 

 

All our Tomorrows OR A Coat of many Colours

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As the world waits with bated breath to see who will win the US presidential election, it continues turn - for better, for worse - on the ups and downs of everyday life.

Me, I just try to keep looking on the bright-(er) side of life and make the most of any ups while I still can.  The downs? Well, most of those involve age-related health issues. Along with the rest of the world’s ageing population, I can only do my best to rise above them, kid myself I am in control, and try to imagine as many good things waiting for me as far forward as I find myself regularly looking back.

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, · Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, · To the last syllable of recorded time; · And all our yesterdays have lighted fools." - Macbeth

ALL OUR TOMORROWS or A COAT OF MANY COLOURS

Shadows,
so gracing some gently flowing river,
like iconic dancers
treating us all to the music and poetry
of life

Sunlight,
now peeping through autumn leaves
like a child at a letterbox
watching grandma struggling to reach
to the door

Rainbows,
reminding the human race of its own
promises to communities
worldwide to engage with and be proud
of its diversity

Sunsets,
dressing clouds in patches of yellow
and red over misty greys, 
reminding us it’s a coat of many colours
civilisation wears 

Darkness,
striving to take possession of dreams
called upon by those among us
left trusting that mind-body-sprit may yet
keep its promises

Shrill cries 
of a cockerel echoing our frustrations
with all humanity’s wrestling 
with a hurt for its finer, greater part's missing
the boat …

Copyright R N Taber 2020

(Note: This post-poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today. Although feedback suggests more readers are dipping into both blogs than when I started them up ten years ago, it also confirms that many gay readers still don't.  A poem of course, is for everyone.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Engaging with the Inner Eye

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'The best part of beauty is that which no picture can express.' - Francis Bacon

'A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.' - John Keats (Endymion)

It is the inner eye that sees most. I used to know couple who, to all outward appearances, might well have been described as ugly, yet they entertained a lot and friends always enjoyed visiting them  because they were such warm, friendly people who not only took a genuine interest in others, but would always lend a helping hand and ear to anyone in need. Their physical appearance was irrelevant; after a few minutes chatting with either of them. one forgot it as an inner beauty shone through.

Beauty is, indeed, in the eye of the beholder.

ENGAGING WITH THE INNER EYE

There is a beauty in ugliness

only they can see

who can warm their hands at hell’s hearth

and still feel an affinity

with nature

In the ugliest of creatures

there beats a heart

and will to live more splendid than anything

thought up by the art

of egocentricity

In the foul-smelling swamp

of human desire

left to its own devices for want of any insight,

find a lotus flower

shaming us

Yes, an ugly side to beauty,

often seen as worldly,

invariably posing for the press at hell’s hearth

and claiming an affinity

with nature

There is a beauty, too, in beauty

that’s a rare poetry,

braving the daily cat-walk of green-eyed gods,

yet can still feel empathy

with beggars

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Where the Password is Peace

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A reader has emailed to ask if I will post some poems that are included in my collections,  but not on the blog. Apparently, he likes to copy the poems and email them to 'an elderly relative who loves poetry but is 'only ok'ish with very basic IT, sufficiently to be able to open emails anyway.'

Meanwhile...

I included this poems in my collection with a place in mind that always fills me with a sense of peace. Before I hit 70+ and developed mobility problems, I'd often walk to nearby Hampstead Heath, at any time of year; once there, I would , enjoy a panoramic view of London from the top of Parliament Hill before wandering back down to sit by the ponds, or roam the woodlands, listen to incredible birdsong and, yes, find peace in the beauty of it all. Oh, but it is sheer poetry, believe me; of the kind no poet can do justice.


 Any readers who enjoy this poem might also enjoy 'On Hampstead Heath' which is also on the blog.

Hampstead Pond

Highgate Pond is a Nature Reserve on the Heath

WHERE THE PASSWORD IS PEACE

I am the rose dripping pearls

on a chamomile lawn stretching

across fields and woodlands

where trees tell tales wiser men

and women than you or I

have passed on since Creation

to the world’s poets, painters

and its music makers to re-create

in a spirit of celebration

I am the lame dove haunting

frantic urban streets reaching out

for a peace of mind as told

by the world’s poets, painters

and its music makers…

to still the restless heart, restore

a flagging faith in humanity

much like the rose dripping pearls

on a chamomile lawn

I am not whom you took me for

when first you tried to read my face,

unused as you are to seeing clear,

mistaking an iconic tablet of stone 

for a chamomile lawn stretching

beyond parameters of time and space

where the password is peace,

trees are heard telling tales and roses

seen dripping pearls

Look around and within all you see

to find me, who am called Beauty

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: This poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Catcher in the Eye done Good

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Years ago, I saw a painting in an art gallery that has made me reflect on the beauty of memory, capturing and preserving a precious moment in time. Yes, a photograph can do much the same, but a painting is so much more than a photograph; it reads aloud to the inner ear, thus inviting the inner eye to appreciate its every deliberate brush stroke in much the same sense and sensibility as one might appreciate iambic meter in a poem. As with all creative endeavour, the art lies in its artlessness, artist rewarding observer with an insight to a process that requires we tap into reserves of feeling of which the chances are we are not consciously aware.

Memory may fade, but the art-poem remains a part of us and will be sure to manifest itself in our approach to life, love, nature and human nature…; indeed, to  just about everything.

‘Oh,’ I hear some people say, ‘but that’s only if you have the imagination…’ Bollocks, to that! Imagination can and does work on our consciousness, yes, but it also works on the subconscious, possibly to even greater effect. So never let anyone lead you to believe you have no imagination; the human condition is better than that even where, sometimes, human nature fails us. 

Imagination is that Catcher in the Eye of which we may or may not be well aware but which, in any case, remains one of the sweeter mysteries of the human condition. 

CATCHER IN THE EYE DONE GOOD

Young girl with daisies
in the hair darts across a greeny field;
though brooding sheep
keep a sidelong watch on playful lambs,
the merry scene
attracts a frisky foal, prancing
at a boundary fence

Innocence

Young girl with daisies
in the hair glimpses a pretty butterfly,
gives laughing chase;
one tangent wing at a finger's tip,
angel face glowing
hope’s pink blushes, elusive happiness
caught on canvas

Copyright R. N. Taber 1974; 2001

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'Brush Strokes' - first appears in Love and Human Remains: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Autumn Sonata

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(Photo taken from the Internet)

For me, September is the start of autumn…whatever the weather people or the almanacs say.

Here’s my favourite autumn villanelle. It was first published in an anthology, Seasons of Change, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in my collection.

Villanelles are not as easy to write as they look. Regular readers will know I have a passion for them and won’t be surprised to learn that I have written 200+. I try to vary style and content in my poetry and am always experimenting with voices. Even so, the villanelle remains a firm favourite of mine if only because its simplicity is far from simplistic and I get a sense of achievement from keeping to the discipline it imposes on a poet. Feedback suggests that some readers love them and others hate them, which is as it should be.

Left entirely to my own devices, I am inclined to waffle and have even been known to mix my metaphors. Oh, dear! Now, villanelles clear my head. They keep the inner eye focused on the straight and narrow if multidimensional paths along which a poet loves travel across uncharted territories of the mind, hopefully with his or her readers for company at various stages of the journey.

AUTUMN SONATA

Silvery grey skies,

leaves drifting,

summer closing its eyes

Lighting home fires,

hopes flaring

silvery grey skies

Holiday goodbyes,

wishful thinking,

summer closing its eyes

Words to the wise,

softly treading

silvery grey skies

With long, wistful sighs

and daydreaming,

summer closing its eyes

Time quickly passing,

our hopes surprising

silvery grey skies,

summer closing its eyes

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

Sea Change

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Summer is fast ebbing away and a potpourri of autumn scents are in the air already, assailing the senses and changing the inner eye’s kaleidoscopic view of self, nature and the world…yet again.

Autumn is a beautiful season with its turning leaves of red and gold, yet sad also as we bid farewell to the swallows and prepare - along with much of nature - for the winter months ahead. At the same time, there is something beautiful, too, in sadness as if human spirit and spirit of nature are always conspiring to somehow soften the sharper edge of grief, loneliness, apprehension,…whatever, and never more so than in autumn.

This poem is a villanelle; it first appeared s in a Poetry Now [Forward Press] anthology A Summer’s Breeze (2003) and subsequently in my collection.

SEA CHANGE

Sea of muddy leaves,

our summer gone

as autumn grieves

Heaps, like ragged graves

with flowers strewn,

sea of muddy leaves

A dying sparrow heaves

its last, alone

as autumn grieves

North wind brings waves,

our seasons blown;

sea of muddy leaves

No kinder soul than braves

an acid rain

as autumn grieves

Each heart, in time, gives

up its own…

sea of muddy leaves

as autumn grieves

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004: new (e-edition) in preparation.]

Free Spirit, Beautiful Mind

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We hear speak of a common humanity for which a common denominator has to be love. [Well, doesn’t it?] so whatever happened to either in the global scale of things?

There is much love in the world so how about we start sharing it out more fairly and cease discriminating against those of whose social, sexual, political, religious or cultural identity happens to be quite different from our own. 

As I have said so many times on the blogs, one person’s take on another person’s differences, works both ways. Being different, though, does not make us right or wrong, only human.

Religious fundamentalists need to keep in mind that the God of their religion created all humankind in His (or Her) image not theirs. Similarly, we all need to bear in mind that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder; the inner eye, that is, discerning beauty where, to all outward appearances, there is only ugliness.

FREE SPIRIT, BEAUTIFUL MIND 

Love embraces all that is beautiful,

(doves of peace winging freely);

London, New York, Baghdad, Kabul,

anxious not to be seen its enemy

Love stands for all that is beautiful

(doves of peace drinking its tears);

London, New York, Baghdad, Kabul

prey to a world feasting on its fears

In love we are beautiful, made whole

(doves of peace never discriminate);

London, New York, Baghdad, Kabul,

making a show of demonizing hate

Love, a fair measure of the shortfall

in life cultures, religions, politics;

London, New York, Baghdad, Kabul,

(adrenalin junkies looking for a fix)

Love, bitter-sweeter fruit of Creation,

a freedom of heavens, earth and sea,

laughter and tears, hell and salvation,

defining (and redefining) humanity

Wherever life persuasions under fire,

love may lose battles, but not the war

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2009

A Winter Canvas

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Winter can be as incredibly harsh as it can be incredibly beautiful. Such is life, and human nature. Art may well do its very best to interpret and record, but it can only ever be one interpretation of one particular moment in time…

 Claude Monet - Snow at Argenteuil (1875)

A WINTER CANVAS

Straggly trees against a snowy sky,
robin redbreast in low key,
snowflakes like angels drifting by,
no more idea of what they’re doing,
where they’re going (or why)
than those of us down here, eagerly
lapping up the weather forecast
though for no particular reason other
than everyone else will be doing
much the same thing so there’s sense
of sorts in a camaraderie, missing
in our everyday lives, though friends,
and family do their best to assuage
our loneliness and poor self-esteem
where we can’t help comparing
ourselves with neighbours who seem
to be doing very nicely, thank you,
while we’re but getting nowhere fast
like the poor weather forecaster
always trying to convince us better
days are just ahead.

Robins singing, angel voices asking
why we’re all running around
in God’s backyard like headless chickens,
world chasing its own tail after Peace
(its Holy Grail), politicians rallying
worn phrases tried and tested
(if only for election clout) while the rest
of us rest on laurels as sure as winter
while glossing over its threatening skies
with talk of spring, change, everything
turning out better (if not best) when all's
said, done, leaving the astute artist
to gloss over any doubts with canvases
celebrating the bright and beautiful,
inspiring generations, in turn, to look,
listen, maybe even learn a thing or two
about life, love, nature and how art
copies more, far more, than what it sees
if only because beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, discern subtler differences
for better, for worse

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: an earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Twilight on a Lake OR Nature, an Everyman's Guide to Infinity

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As I grow old, some memories dim while others take on a whole new perspective, probably because we don''t always realize at the time just how much certain occasions mean to us or those with whom we get to share them. 

I have made some changes to this villanelle that I wrote during a wonderful weekend in the Lake District some years ago.

 Twilight at Ashness Bridge (Lake District)

TWILIGHT ON A LAKE or NATURE, AN EVERYMAN'S GUIDE TO INFINITY

Though pain a part
in our lives surely take,
play on, glad heart

There is a beauty art
strives its copies to make
though pain a part

When life falls apart,
and fragile promises break,
play on, glad heart

Cherish from the start
each dip in passion’s lake
though pain a part

Where the stars chart
our every move, mistake,
play on, glad heart

May love’s winged dart
find its mark for our sake;
though pain a part,
play on, glad heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2016

[Note An earlier version of this poem was first published in an anthology, 'Chasing Shadows', Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised ed. in e-format in preparation. The poem was slightly revised in 2013, and an alternative title, added 2016.]

Masterpiece

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Say what you like, even art at its greatest will only ever be a poor copy of the original  masterpiece that is nature.

Ah, but it is what the artist puts into his or her creation that matters, and what we get out of it. Put the inner eye to work and you may well be surprised at the results; that goes for nature and art of course. Some people look at clouds and all they see is...clouds. Others may admire Van Gogh’s sunflowers and all they see is...sunflowers. It takes the inner eye to encourage us to turn what we see into a felt experience that, in turn, brings any creation into a whole new focus.

MASTERPIECE

Streaks of gold on a sheet
of charcoal grey;
patches of green glistening
like wet paint

Bear-like figures emerging
from hibernation;
birds calling our landscape
into question

Children unafraid of giants
resembling trees;
reflections in an artist’s eye
on post-storminess

A joy, seeing Earth Mother
at work and play;
a privilege, feeling her brush
stroking us in

Masterpiece, left unfinished
to challenge critics
on imagination, watch them
arguing the signature

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R, N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Enjoy!

Love Is...

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Today's poem last appeared on the blog in the autumn of 2010. It is repeated here today for no other reason that I am in the mood for love...

Not romantically linked to anyone? Feeling low because it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow?

Never mind, love comes in all shapes and forms. Most of us have family and/or friends and /or pets. If you have none of these, all the more reason for those of us who live alone, and often feel alone, to stop feeling sorry for ourselves, look at ways to get a life and GO for it. I live alone so this is my cue to say "Thank you for your company." to my many blog readers around the world. I have a few good friends, yes, but even the best of friends are not available 24/7, yet I can go into my blogs and be among friends any time.

LOVE IS...

Love is, oh, so beautiful,

no matter who, where, how or why,

nor always reciprocal but lets us laugh,

lets us cry, like champagne bringing

a tear to an eye long since made dry

by seasons much like a child’s first toys,

treasures once, now barely worth a sigh.

Oh, we get by, our reasons for living

worthy enough and true, yet going through

the motions of existence without existing;

getting up, going to bed, getting up again

without kissing sunshine, embracing rain,

warming ourselves at the hot coals

of humanity when struck by the cold

of everyday insanity. We are who we are,

no matter how or why, nor always free

(or able) to sing, laugh, cry, with those

around us - to whom we mean everything.

So let us hear skylarks sing, if not always

the same song, see love work a miracle,

no matter whether reciprocal in every

shape or form. Love alone keeps us safe,

keeps us warm. Let the world do its worst;

love will shelter us, nor will its spirit fail

to lead the way though it shine differently,

at the end of this or that tunnel,

a light, oh, so beautiful

[From: A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

The Snowflake

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

A BIG thank you also goes to those of you who have expressed pleasure at the videos my friend Graham and I have uploaded to YouTube; we probably would not have continued without so much encouragement. Oh, the hits are relatively small compared to videos uploaded by others, but, yet again, surprising for poetry videos. I only hope you have enjoyed the poems as much as Graham’s photography: We only have time to publish a few each year but be sure there are more in the pipeline.
http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

To those of you who are enjoying the fiction blog , I hope you will continue to enjoy the story lines I plan to serialise during the years ahead; there will be a mixture of gay-interest and general titles since, as with poetry, I don’t see them as separate genres within a genre. [It is always particularly rewarding when heterosexual readers get in touch to say they have enjoyed a gay-interest story like Dog Roses or a poem like Three Little Words]:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

Meanwhile ...

Truly, a thing of beauty is a joy forever. Now, ever looked closely at a snowflake? It is beautiful, only for a moment in time, yet saved to our personal space forever ...

[Image from the Internet]

Here's wishing you all, dear readers, a greater share of happiness, peace and love... whoever and wherever you are, and whatever the season of your life.

THE SNOWFLAKE

I spotted a snowflake on a leaf,

watched it settle for seconds there,

and in those precious seconds saw the face

of my love appear

Eyes that glittered like the snow

smiled back at me as you used to do,

and in that smile I relived the happy times

we’ve  shared, sad times too

By the light of a solstice moon,

snowflake and leaf began to dance,

and their togetherness recalled how we met,

not quite by chance

Lips as red as a robin’s breast

kissed mine, like a breath of spring

gently insisting that you to me and me to you

are its life, love, everything

You were my snowflake on a leaf

seconds before a feisty white flurry

interrupted our waltz, Earth Mother insisting

we home in on eternity

I spotted a snowflake on a leaf,

watched it settle for seconds there,

and in those precious seconds saw the face

of my Christmas appear

[London; December 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

A Robin's Take On Winter

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

Now, regular readers will know that I love the villanelle poetic form almost as much as I love robins...

Once, when I woke one Christmas Day and was feeling sorry for myself as I’d be spending the first Christmas on my own since my partner died, I heard the sweetest sound. When I pulled back the curtains, it was to find a fat robin singing its heart out on my windowsill, its red breast bursting with a pride and joy that touched me as no other birdsong has before or since. Unperturbed by my presence behind the glass, the bird I still think of as ‘my’ robin did not instantly fly off, but stayed as if to treat me to the performance of a lifetime.

We had little together, my partner and I, but I can look back on them with pride and joy rather than despair for never having found anyone with whom I wanted to share my life ever again; we were evergreen kindred spirits, and he will always be a part of me. It could have been so different, that Christmas, but for ‘my’ robin not only reminding me that life goes on even during wintry days, but also there is beauty to be had there, and not to be missed.

This poem is a villanelle.

A ROBIN’S TAKE ON WINTER

Among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping,

singing in answer to a snowman’s call;

world weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

Hungry winter days, a fine harvest reaping

of summer’s illusions autumn let pile;

among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping

If Heaven. its duty watch, faithfully keeping,

why do its tears freeze even as they fall?

World weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

Bleak though the landscape, albinos leaping

like children grabbing time to be playful;

among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping,

Where a silvery twilight stealthily creeping,

interlopers quick to grab its treasure haul,

world weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

As sand in a hourglass relentlessly seeping

via cracks in some amateur’s crystal ball,

among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping;

world weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Footprints In A Field Of Dreams

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

Today’s post is duplicated on both my general and gay-interest blogs.

Many thanks to those readers who have been in touch with kind words about my latest YouTube video filmed in the Memorial Garden in London’s Grosvenor Square created in memory of the British victims of the 9/11 attacks. One lady has asked me to repeat the direct link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bF9KHwjC6zg

And if it doesn’t work, just go to my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile...

How many times, I wonder, do we ask ourselves why, oh, why do we bother and just what is it all for?

FOOTPRINTS IN A FIELD OF DREAMS

The world, it’s so big;
we, we’re so small,
and, oh, what’s the point
of it all?

The flowers, they grow
only to rise and fall,
and, oh, what’s the point
of it all?

Some people succeed
where others fail
though they try so hard
at it all;
others, they struggle on
at hardship’s call,
the most deserving among
us all

I look from my window
and feel so small
but, oh, that’s the point
of it all;
expanding its parameters,
walking tall,
and where doesn’t matter
at all

I’ve watched flowers die
where their petals fall
but, oh, that’s the point
of it all

It’s love peace and beauty,
though they be fragile
will see us win our wars
after all

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011