Suggestions

 

From Graham – a close friend to Roger

It’s only from space the full extent of Earth’s environmental damage can be observed. Deforestation, receding glaciers, coastal inundation and the advance of deserts. From the flattened horizon of a human perspective, few witness the blanching of a coral reef or a river choked with plastic. The devastation remains somehow abstract… deniable.

It’s difficult to deny global weather patterns are becoming more anomalous and extreme. Or refute data that tells of rising average temperatures and collapsing biodiversity.

Venus, our nearest planet, suffered the fate of runaway atmospheric heating about 1 billion years ago when she still had surface temperatures akin to earth. This calamitous build-up of greenhouse gasses created a roiling inferno. A tormented celestial augur perhaps, foreshadowing the fate of her sister planet?

Just as our Earth’s marring is only framed in the bigger picture, the solution too, must be holistic. Political elites must be pressured to think pro-action over procrastination. Corporations must prioritise preservation over profit. And even wealthy religious organisations might be encouraged to save the planet rather than souls? They could even get real and recognise that their impending Judgment Day-cum-Apocalypse will likely be man-made rather than deity-designed. Surely this is the true existential crisis and moral imperative for all to confront…?

The onus is also on individuals to be the change through the choices they make. Small personal sacrifices for the greater good of our, and future generations. The cumulative benefits of driving a vehicle less, eating less (or no) meat and dairy, and conscientious consumerism should not be underestimated. The individual is not powerless to affect change by boycotting businesses that despoil natural habitat or cruelly exploit our fellow animals. Or to see beyond that acquisitional mindset fuelled by sly advertising.

Oh, but of course, there’ll always be climate change deniers - last seen at a Flat Earth Society meeting alongside creationist preachers and conversion therapists…

Roger loved this sun-kissed cradle of life we call Earth, Gaia, Terre... ‘Earth Mother’ features widely in his nature poems and was his foremost muse. He was captivated by her kaleidoscopic raiment in the ebb and flow of seasons. He took practical steps to conserve our precious planet too. He was ostensibly vegan and passionate about recycling – to the extent of policing rubbish bins where he lived. He’d leave curt notes in communal areas for offending parties who dumped non-recylcables in the green bin. And, believe me, Roger knew how to lambast even the most shameless slattern or slob!

When Rog was more mobile we enjoyed many a stroll on Hampstead Heath; communing with mother nature, imbibing ambrosial scents of wild, iridescent flora and savouring heavenly birdsong. Sometimes (pre-vegan days) we’d enjoy an ice cream and trace meandering lakeside tracks among coruscating sunbeams. We’d invariably climb Parliament Hill and gaze down on London’s sprawling cityscape then dive into a cosy pub. The Heath was Roger’s sanctuary and connection to his beloved Earth Mother.

This next poem of Roger’s appears in Accomplices To Illusion, 2007. I find it provocative.

‘The fact is that no species has ever had such wholesale control over everything on earth, living or dead, as we now have. That lays upon us, whether we like it or not, an awesome responsibility. In our hands now lies not only our own future, but that of all other living creatures with whom we share the earth.’ David Attenborough

‘Anyone who believes in indefinite growth on a physically finite planet is either mad or an economist’ David Attenborough

 

*  *  *

 

SUGGESTIONS

 

They suggest we try and save garden creatures
and ocean whales before it’s too late

They suggest our luxury choices are sure to leave
the generation of 3000 with none

They suggest parents are scared of their children
and raising monsters

They suggest religious leaders pay more attention
to compassion than division

They suggest politicians aren’t listening to those
who put them there

They suggest our multicultural societies are failing
themselves and each other

They suggest we start learning the lessons wars
should have taught us

They suggest we’re but living will and testament
of a dying planet

So who are they, daring to suggest humankind look
to its shortcomings?

Among leafy choirs, anxious waves, nature rehearses
this world’s passing

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008
[Note: Revised (2008) from the original poem as it appears in Accomplices To Illusion, 2007.]

Ode to the Fallen OR Engaging with a Dead Tree Trunk

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

This poem has appeared on the blog before, some years ago. As regular readers will know, I have a You Tube channel that is as much about my friend Graham’s videos as my poetry. Many a time, I have felt inspired to write a poem to try and do the video justice and vice versa. We hope you will enjoy what has been a team effort from the start:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

I read today's poem over one of the videos there. Graham shot the video while visiting family in Wiltshire, and I love it. I played it back several times, and then just had to sit down and write a nature-cum philosophical poem to accompany it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W37DVIo3pJM

Many years ago, I confided in my mother that I was afraid of dying. Later that day we went for a walk in the countryside and she pointed to a dead tree trunk; we watched a variety of insects, birds, mosses growing and a colony of ants all building their lives around this 'dead' thing. You see," said my mother, "there is no death without life so there is really nothing to be afraid of...whether you believe in God or not," she added, knowing full well that I did not share her religious beliefs. (I had chosen to take a growing sense of spirituality from nature even at the young age of eleven). "Life and death," she said before changing the subject, "are simply different sides of the same coin."

My mother died of cancer 40+ years ago, and I still take great comfort in recalling the day we paused to observe a dead tree trunk and nature's living memorial to it...

ODE TO THE FALLEN or ENGAGING WITH A DEAD TREE TRUNK

Fallen, but not forgotten,

by its own kind,

sure to keep a vigil of sorts

the whole year round

Fallen, but never alone

among its kind

proudly waiting for their turn

to come around

Fallen, by whose hand

no one knows;

some say an axe man, others

blame the wind

Fallen into glorious decay,

like autumn leaves;

nurturing, inspiring greener

memories

If dead, not left without a care

by an Earth Mother   

demanding nothing of Time

but its signature

Once, a living icon for a world

of love and peace;

a cue for ants to keep running

rings around us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2020

At the End of the Day

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

We should always try and make the most of each day to its very end  if only because tomorrow is another story altogether; rarely more so than now as the C-19 coronavirus continues to spread across the world.

We need to make the most of the natural world, too, before humankind destroys even more swathes of it for its own convenience. While it is true that more people are waking up to their responsibilities regarding its protection, I still see people casually dropping their rubbish in the street (recyclable and otherwise) and/or leaving picnic sites strewn with the same and/or tossing plastic bottles into the sea without a thought for its marine inhabitants ...

Carpe Diem, yes, but with due care for the environment as well as ourselves and others; there is no room for complacency, assuming all will be well since there will always be someone else to make it right; that 'someone else' is no more or less than You-Me-Us, the definitive collective consciousness.

AT THE END OF THE DAY

Jaded sunshine like an amber glow

after a summer shower,

logo proclaiming peace and love;

songbirds on cue;

summer, bursting with pride and joy,

wishing us kind dreams

A pink glow infiltrating grey clouds,

tips of angels’ wings

spying out the lie of borrowed time;

jet lag moon

among laid back stars fodder enough

for a wide-awake media

A grey squirrel turning over garbage

is quick to turn up its nose

at an envelope marked ‘Top Secret’;

kids trespassing a building site

find ancient skulls, bane of developers

gift to archaeology

Night falls, harbinger of sleep waiting

in the wings, time’s hopeful

understudies groomed for second best;

world’s "betters"

last seen flogging half dead horses 
with  Apollo’s  tee shirt

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

Stumbling Blocks

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

While I continue to replace originals in my print collections with any later revised poems in preparation for publishing online at a later date, I have also decided that, once having completed the task, I will first publish a collection of the most  popular poems on the blogs; this way,  readers will be able to dip into them should Google delete my blogs once I have gone walkies with the Grim Reaper.

I have to confess that I am finding even  my early 70's heavy going on a daily basis. I am 74 now, live alone, and seem to deal with just about everything so much worse than I used to. Inclined to get everyday crises out of proportion, to say I am less than happy with my quality of life these days is an understatement. 

I used to be happy enough living on my own, but now I often feel isolated, probably because I have so much less of a social life these days. Even so, I have much to be thankful for, especially a best friend without whom my life would be unbearable. 
  
Life could be better, for sure, but it could also be much worse so...as good a reason as any to continue taking my cue from Monty Python, and always look on the bright side of life; well, nearly always... (My cue for visiting nearby Hampstead Heath, where the  peace and beauty of nature can always be relied upon to clear even the most dissatisfied mind-body-spirit.)
.
I guess growing old(er) was never meant to be an easy journey. Writing poetry helps; in my head, I can hear Ella Fitzgerald singing 'A Satisfied Mind', and do my best to achieve just that...

STUMBLING BLOCKS

Stumbling so, my years
across a shifting sea of sand;

the poetry of unshed tears

In a haze that never clears

though blind faith withstand,

stumbling so, my years

A sad heart’s secret fears

expected to make a last stand; 
the poetry of unshed tears

Deafened by global cheers

at some false god’s command,

stumbling so, my years

World, too, nursing its fears,

(failing to stay a logger’s hand);
the poetry of unshed tears

Peace, it all but disappears,
under layers of dissatisfied mind;

stumbling so, my years,

the poetry of unshed tears

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 'On the Battlefields of Love' by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

Lines on last-ditch Damage Limitation

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

Better late than never, humankind appears to be finally waking up to its responsibility to preserve as much of the natural world as it can, given the damage already inflicted upon it in the name of progress.

Let us not kid ourselves, though. Time, always determined to go its own way regardless, is not on our side. If we want to save the planet and all manner of species that have known no other habitat, we all need to pull together now;   each and every one of us doing our bit to save energy, lower carbon emissions drastically if not entirely, think Green instead of relying on others to do so, thereby easing conscience and any sense of responsibility (providing we concede either) … and, yes, we might just save a world worth living in for future generations.

Our young people and their descendants deserve better than the kind of apathy so many people in the Here-and-Now continue to exhibit towards such issues as conservation, regeneration, improving air quality and cleaning up our rivers, seas and oceans - to name just a few. As I see it, quality of life is more important than life for its own sake, and if we don’t all start showing the natural world greater respect now, future generations will be seeing red, not green, and blaming twenty-first century apathy, greed, and an egocentricity beyond belief.

I had a conversation along these lines with someone in a shop recently while queuing to be served. This person took the view that “at least old people like yourself have no cause to worry about what might happen. Even if the worst comes to the worst, you’ll be long gone.”

But I do worry, and so should we all, regardless of who we are or where in the world we live or there may well come a time when it will be too late to worry about what might happen because it already has …

LINES ON LAST-DITCH DAMAGE LIMITATION

In a world top-heavy with pain and grief,

it takes but a butterfly caught in a ray

of sunshine to remind us that Earth Mother

is on our side, each and every minute

of each and every day, ready to give us

a hug when we need it most, remind us life

may be but a fleeting thing yet beautiful

and all the more precious and worth savouring

every moment for that

In a world top-heavy with pain and grief,

it takes but the laughter of a child

running to its mother across home ruins

war, terror or an angry Earth Mother

may well have tried to get across a message

invariably ignored by forces intent only

on making themselves heard above any calls

for peace, love, reconciliation, agreeing to differ

in a so-divided world

In a world top-heavy with pain and grief,

it is good to wake to a dawn chorus,

provided by its birds among trees acting

as Guardians of the Earth since birth

if poorly served in return by we saboteurs

of the natural world so accustomed

to putting our needs first that we forgot

humankind needs see to co-existing responsibly

with nature or pay dearly

Listen. Hear (all) species of land, sea, and sky

demanding we live and let live … or (all) die

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Pleading for the Planet

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

[Update : July 30th 2019: We are still reeling from a week of very hot temperatures here in the UK, worse in other parts of Europe. Naturally, people have rushed to the seaside. However, there is no excuse for the appalling state of some  beaches - litter strewed as far as the eye can see - where those responsible simply could not be bothered to take it home and dispose of it there or at least wait until they could find a litter bin. Whatever happened to social conscience? We are polluting our seas, killing off and causing pain to sea creatures who, sadly, have no say in the matter. Until we all start acting more responsibly, it is not only climate change that will damage civilization as we know it, possibly if not probably beyond repair.]

Many if not most of us take nature for granted and use it to our own advantage at every opportunity as if we have every right to do so.

Meanwhile, I suspect Earth Mother whispers much the same in many an inner ear. Ah, but, hey, anyone listening…? Whose conscience pricking them for taking social responsibility so lightly, if at all?

Who is the guardian of whom, I wonder? We of nature or nature of us? Better, surely, that we work with rather than against each other...?

PLEADING FOR THE PLANET

Listen to the rain

telling tales on people

killing each other

Listen to the trees

telling tales on people
disrespecting them

Listen to the birds

telling tales on people

shooting them down

Listen to the fishes

telling tales on people

poisoning the seas

Listen to the worms

telling tales on people

doctoring the soil

Listen to the wind

telling tales of people

on borrowed time

Listen to the people

pleading for the planet

before it’s too late

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Rites of Silence, Fingers of Blame OR Survival, a Collective Responsibility

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

Time and again, we feel inclined to silently lament how there is nothing we can do about this or that, while expecting someone to do something.

There is always something we can do, even if it is only to lend someone a helping hand or shoulder to cry on or (better still, more often than not) speak up for them.

Arguments rage worldwide while fingers of blame point to the damage humankind is inflicting on the planet. Indeed, there seems to be a majority conscience on the streets that something needs to be done…before it is too late for future generations.

So just whose ear does Earth Mother have, and how effective can we expect it to be, the voice of this majority conscience demanding our leaders listen to and respect our greater hopes and worst fears…and whose silence is deafening?

'Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.' - Haile Selassie

This poem is a villanelle.

RITES OF SILENCE, FINGERS OF BLAME or SURVIVAL, A COLLECTIVE RESPONSIBILITY

We've heard Earth Mother crying

dutifully considered speaking up often
but chose to say...what, nothing? 

Wherever our senses reaching,

(restless dreams, at work or play even)

we've heard Earth Mother crying

Finally placed on a war footing,
in all conscience asking we be forgiven,

but chose to say...what, nothing?

A welcome peace celebrating

an end to all battles hard lost, hard won;

we've heard Earth Mother crying

The politics of blame resuming,

pointing out certain voices that complain,

but chose to say...what, nothing?

Her weary vigil forever keeping,

world putting its interests second to none,

we've heard Earth Mother crying,

but chose to say...what, nothing?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised (2015) from a version that first appeared under the title Who’s Sorry Now in an anthology - The Bread of Life, Triumph House (Forward Press) 2004 - and subsequently in  The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]

A Job Half Done OR Planet of the Apes

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

Have you ever began working on something you don’t really believe in, but felt you had no choice... so  puting any finishing touches to the task in hand was never really on the cards?  You may well have fought against it, given that many if not most of us are inclined to do whatever for a quiet life especially if it means being nagged to get on with it. Yet, at the end of the day, it is not certain people who persist in nagging at us but the lack of those very finishing touches itself; it leaves us feeling not only dissatisfied with our work, but also questioning our resistance to properly completing the job in the first place...so much so sometimes that we find ourselves, if not coming round to that to same point of view with which we found ourselves at loggerheads, at least able to enter into it, grasp something of where it was coming from - to the extent, more often than not, that we cannot leave the job unfinished if only because our hearts tell us it's the right thing to do, even if we are never quite sure why.

Oh, we may choose to put it all down to pride in a job well done, but at heart we may well suspect it is more than that; whether or not we choose to look any further, though, that is down to a sense of conscience we may or may not prefer to own; it is in the latter wherein lies a job but half done, and likely to nag us for the best part of a lifetime...although if it means we never stop asking questions - of ourselves and humanity in general - it may not be such a bad thing after all...

‘What an ugly beast the ape, and how like us.’ – Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)

A JOB HALF DONE or PLANET OF THE APES

Builder, pondering

a job half done, frowning

under a baseball cap...

(So , what he’s looking at?)

Eco-warriors, armed

with principles in defence 
of treasured open spaces
being eroded by developers
reaping the rewards
of feeding bricks and mortar
to human apes homing in

on concrete jungles, parodies
of natural worlds

Builder, pondering

a job half done, distant grin

under a baseball cap…

(So what's he’s looking at?)

Not scaffolding  

for brand new offices meant

to keep fat cats happy

once staff won over to the view

that a bird in the hand

is worth two in any hedgerow,

and he should know

with a wife, three kids, behind

with the mortgage

Builder at work

on a job half done, furrows

under a baseball cap…

(Now what’s he looking at?)

Towers, like trees, in skies

where birds fly like toy airplanes
and drop like skydivers

on the backs of eco-warriors

guarding nature’s own

from fat cats on the make

that don’t care, can walk away.

a job well done. time to move on 
to the next land grab

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2014

[Note: revised (2014) from an earlier version that appears under the title A Job Half Done in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Lines on the Extraordinary Nature of Ordinariness

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

‘I’d love to write poetry, but…how do I find something to write about?’ people often ask.

Well, try looking all around and letting your senses loose on sight and/or hearing and/or smell and/or touch and/or taste...

[e.g. See also: 'Puddles' ]

The chances are the inner self will respond, and that response is called inspiration.

As for a choice of genre into which to channel inspiration, whether it is writing, music, art...just go for what appeals to you most and never be afraid of someone trying to put you down for a poor result (there will always be someone) because there is no such thing as a poor result where someone has put their inner self on the line by creating something. Success is relative, and a bonus; it is finding inspiration and learning to use it as a creative tool that counts. 

My personal experience, as someone who has suffered serious bouts of depression since early childhood, is that making this particular journey is also very therapeutic.

LINES ON THE EXTRAORDINARY NATURE OF ORDINARINESS

Clouds, magic carpet rides

away from it all…

Birdsong, calling to mind

bathtime rituals

for potential divas to woo

an audience, willing captives

of imagination  

Grass, littered with daisies,

sunspots of memory…

Trees, leafy arms signing,

telling us off for things

we’ve done, forgotten, never

meant to happen

A broken fence, urging us to

repair old friendships…

An empty chair, in memory

of someone who’ll never

sit there any more, words in

the air left unsaid

Crisp, clean pillowcases, all

to ourselves…

Watching a damp patch on

the ceiling spread,

fill the eye like a weepy sky

passing judgement

Ordinariness, the extraordinary
nature of poetry...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014

[Note: This poem has been revised (2014) since its first appearance in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Marking time, Sapling, Waiting On Its Seasons

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

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008 so I guess now is as good a time as any to give it a airing albeit a slightly revised version. 

I am in my late 60s now. Now and then I consider the discrepancy between what I have achieved and what I’d once hoped to achieve, and my heart sinks...until I consider various off-shoots of that ‘unfulfilled potential’ and then the tree doesn’t look half so bad after all.

MARKING TIME, SAPLING, WAITING ON ITS SEASONS

Youth, with dreamy eyes

and wind in the hair,

soaking up heaven’s store

of tears for cares

like leaves untimely fallen

on slim shoulders

Like a sapling in a breeze,

see it bend, never break;

watch leaves bud and grow;

now green, now red,

now gold for each mortal

breath it takes

Nor shall its season cease,

grown older, stronger,

a bold heart harbouring 

the finer seeds

of Creation for nature’s  

nurturing

Spirited tree, proud and free,

a living part of earth’s

finer tapestry, sheltering all

(no one’s enemy)

though they carve initials

on your body

Forever, tall and beautiful

in the mind’s eye;

where lashed to dark skies,

a freedom won

by egg cries sure to archive

its leafy passions

Potential in its prime, marking

time

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem  appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2004; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.] 

Where Did all the Baby Otters Go ?

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

We take nature too much for granted. If we are not careful, by the time we wake up to the beauty of a natural world on our doorsteps, its beauty may well be but a distant memory for any survivors of a dying planet.

Although hunted less than in the past because their fur isn’t the money maker it used to be, pollution and global warming remain huge threats to otters... as it does to all of us.

WHERE DID ALL THE BABY OTTERS GO?

Once, a stream that ran down a mountain,

through this gutted forest, that daisy field,

joined sewage spilling without correction

over banks where once baby otters played

Humankind, it challenged the mountain,

would feed also at Earth Mother's breast,

but the life-giving milk turned to poison

till only the mountain survived all the rest

The snows of the mountain slowly melted,

flooding forests, fields, humankind. beast;

Everyman, eventually, compelled to admit

its share of the blame, neither all nor least

Copyright R N Taber 2005, 2019

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

Requiem For A Skylark/ Nature Trail (Two short poems)

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

Enjoying nature has to be one of life’s greatest pleasures. Here in the UK, as elsewhere in the world, it is down to each and every one of us to save as many of its green and pleasant places and wildlife habitats as possible for future generations...or they will not easily forgive us, if ever.

REQUIEM FOR A SKYLARK

On tuneful wing, our seasons

scanning, circles and dips

anxiously a covenant

with Earth's poetry, where

once a nesting tree

grew tall

Now, a shopping

mall

 NATURE TRAIL

Follow leafy trails

into red and orange,

silver, green;

let the dew of life

wash clean our

dirty hands;

be still, antic winds

till nothing's heard

but an egg-bird;

a tear in the eye,

all our yesterdays

on standby

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

Who Speaks Up for the Trees?

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

A reader has been in touch to say she would never travel on the London Underground again following the tragic events of July 7th 2005 in which she lost a close friend. Similarly, she would never visit the USA because ‘... it has to be a high profile target for terrorists.’

While I can understand and sympathise with how she feels, terrorists can strike anywhere at any time. We can but remain hopeful that we will leave our homes for work or whatever and return safely. Besides, if we give in to our fear of terrorists and their misguided belief that they are entitled, for whatever reason, to force their views on others by means that confirm the existence of evil in the world… they have won.

Dare I suggest that Earth Mother, too, should be on her guard against those set n destroying the environment? There is an eco terrorism that I suspect is as great a threat to us all as its human counterpart, if not more so in the longer term. (I have always had the mind-body-spirit of an eco-warrior if not the bare-faced nerve to put my eco-convictions to the test - yet.)

WHO SPEAKS UP FOR THE TREES?

We are two so-splendid trees
standing tall at the edge
of a wood, conspiring with song
and laughter, symphony
and poetry made to run the gamut
of a blessed serendipity

All loves, hates, jealousies,
in shades of evergreen
on the finest canvas ever seen 

only to be redefined
by all humankind along along lines
of well-meaning insanity

Would-be giants, sentinels
of a civilization
protective of its own, pawns
in a civilization feeding
on ages of rewriting human history
and its blood stained pages

Inciting song and laughter,
music and poetry,
humanity acknowledging a duty 

to save our woodlands
for generations while selling off trees

to property developers

Who looks down at twin logs
and sees us as we were
or hears leafy winds whispering
names of any cut down

in their prime here, there, everywhere,

no matter the time of year?

Oh, but the world may yet rue
its short sightedness
in scarring nature's face (or worse)
forgetting we were here first,
and how who laughs last so often laughs
the louder and longest

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

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

The Last Donkey Ride

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

Nature may be fickle, but so is human nature; the chances are whoever takes the last donkey ride will look around and see a coastline that’s nowhere near as sound or green as we see now or may have done centuries ago; even the sea is losing its wildlife to a polluted modernity. 

Humankind may we rail against nature where it wreaks havoc and tragedy, the greater irony being that, in our desperation to harness and make it serve our own ends, there is really little to choose between the two.

Most if not all we human beings are vain enough to think we deserve priority over the natural world. Could it be, though, that Earth Mother has other ideas?

THE LAST DONKEY RIDE

Time and again you have passed me by,

turned a cloth ear to cries from a heart

begging its release or at least some relief

from such pain as only they know
who roam  the shores of life asking Why?"

In spite of those willing to lend a hand

where the need is greatest, you  deny

ignore, the rhetoric of discretion being

much the better part of valour

So weary am I of being taken for a ride,

on wings of a prayer or bored donkeys

at the seaside reassuring children

how sand shells tell tales of a golden age

not yet spent … where the sea is as safe

as the sky is blue, grass is green and corn

grows high, hopes for world peace
alive and well if but sailing on driftwood 

among time’s uneasy swell

How long can it last, me doing my best

for kith and kin, you abandoning us

to empty words, promises of better days,

world left railing against humankind’s

inhumanity, sure to get the better of me

without even a native dignity to cover

my blushes as they strip me bare, caring

little more in their naivety for my decline

than our mutual salvation?

Hear me, your Earth Mother in distress,

ye who engineer the Politics of Progress 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

This collection is still in print, but only on sale in the UK.  All readers, including any outside the UK, can obtain (signed) copies direct from me at a generous blogger discount on [retail price + shipping]. Enquiries to: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Poetry collection’ or ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.

Suggestions

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

There is much wrong with the world, and the planet itself is screaming a warning.

So what are we going to do about it?

Dare I suggest that we need a least one leader with real vision and a commitment to it that others might follow? Whatever, we all have a responsibility to future generations to act NOW before it is too late.

SUGGESTIONS

They suggest we try and save garden creatures

and ocean whales before it’s too late

They suggest our luxury choices are sure to leave

the generation of 3000 with none

They suggest parents are scared of their children

and raising monsters

They suggest religious leaders pay more attention

to compassion than division

They suggest politicians aren’t listening to those

who put them there

They suggest our multicultural societies are failing

themselves and each other

They suggest we start learning the lessons wars

should have taught us

They suggest we’re but living will and testament

of a dying planet

So who are they, daring to suggest humankind look

to its shortcomings?

Among leafy choirs, anxious waves, nature’s children

rehearse this world’s passing

  

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Book 2007]

Every Street has Something to Say

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Now, a street is far more than a place where people live, more even than those people themselves.

A street is part of history, stretching back through time and forward into the future.

For now and always, we are a part of all that...

It used to be a GOOD feeling if perhaps less so in recent years. (Well, that's the nature of change for you, rarely for the better when it comes to the local environment.) Even so, the street where I live now and streets where I once lived hold happy memories as well as sad ones so... thank you streets for those.

EVERY STREET HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

I’ve walked along a busy street
as the sun rises, shedding its rays like tears
for all I am not

I’ve walked along a busy street
come noon, Apollo’s heat on me like a lover
offering comfort

I’ve walked along a busy street
in a gentle twilight, its lampposts like trees
bidding me sleep tight

I’ve walked along a busy street
as the sun begins to set, felt like a movie star
on a red carpet

I’ve walked along a busy street
to my own front door, proudly acknowledging
I am a part of it

[London: Kentish Town, Oct 2010]
  
Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

My Hero Is A Tree

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

[Update 5/1/17: All my poetry collections are out of print and it is unlikely there will be any print (revised) editions; they sold well (for poetry) but I had to self-publish them because no poetry publishers were willing to combine general and gay-interest poetry. I am in the process of preparing revised editions in e-format for Google Play but this is likely to take some time as I am in my 70's now and am kept busy overcoming various health problems.]RT

[Update April 2016: I read this poem over a video shot by my friend Graham Collett for my You Tube channel some time ago: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvoS6PLKqSA   Some readers have said the previous link does not work so I have copied and reinstated it; if it still does not work, go to my channel and search under title. As feedback suggests some of you cannot always access YouTube for one reason or another, I have also posted the video below.]

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog before, I included it among some 100+ others in my new collection, divided into seven themed sections for easy reading. Let’s face it. No one sits down and reads a poetry book so I have made it easy for readers to (hopefully) makes the most of all my collections; he or she can dip into one section of about 20-25 poems now and then before dipping into another at his or her leisure. 

 I hope to be around for a few more years yet. Even so, I am always aware that when my time is up, the blogs will vanish into cyberspace and all that will remain of my poems (and me) will be in my collections. The sum total of my collections is  a diary of journeys short and long, delightful and grim, that comprise my life. Anyone who cares to read them may or may not discern which poems have their roots in autobiography and which do not, but even imagination has to be nurtured by a creative mind, and the mind of poet has to be worth exploring. Well, doesn’t it...?

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Now, regular readers will know how much I love trees. I am fortunate to live near Hampstead Heath and have written several poems about it that express, if only in part, the immense satisfaction I take from strolling among its grassy slopes and ponds, but especially admiring its splendid trees of all varieties. Needless to say, I am a passionate about Green issues.

My HERO IS A TREE

(for Val Berry)

Leaves on my hero are budding,

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life

to field and valley, filling the lonely heart

with thoughts of love;

Leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, filling hearts growing old

with memories of love;

Leaves on my hero are turning

read and gold in the company of dreams,

swallows departing, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old

fly the colours of love;

Leaves on my hero are drifting

across time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley like bright-eyed children

running with kites;

Leaves on my hero are budding;

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life 

to field and valley, as well as new takes on old tales

we tell on love;

Leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, teasing hearts growing old

for knowing nothing of love;

Leaves on my hero are turning

red and gold in the company of dreams;

swallows departing, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old,

fly the colours of love;

Leaves on my hero are drifting

time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley, the children we were,

running with kites

Copyright R. N. Taber,  2012, 2021

(Note: this poem has been only slightly revised since it first appeared in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012 and also read it on my YouTube channel.) RNT