Rites of Spring

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Since the onset of the Covid-19 coronavirus, many people around the world - both sexes, all ages, especially those living alone  - are now experiencing loneliness for the first time in the lives; the need to self-isolate, social distancing, the loss of loved ones to the virus … all are impacting on our lives to some degree or another. Some of us feel supported by friends, family and neighbours while others are made to feel they do not even have that reassurance and comfort to draw upon. Whatever, we are all having to get used to living in a changed world … and change, itself, can be a tough nut to crack, even for the most resilient among us.

Loneliness is not only a sad condition but can also make a person bitter if he or she is not careful to keep a balanced perspective. We poets write about it, but it’s every lonely person’s private hell and there’s nothing poetic about it all; the poetry comes with hindsight after finding that someone special, often when and where we least expect it.

Thankfully there are many ‘special’ people in this world; those who care enough to lend a helping hand (without being asked) or even just make contact by letter, email or much appreciated phone call where they sense it may well be needed. Far too many people either wait to be approached or take offence because someone hasn’t approached them; invariably, there are reasons behind human behaviour, about which many of us don’t think to ask or even consider before taking offence … and not the least of these reasons can be loneliness, a feeling that too few of us are willing to admit.

How long two lonely people having found each other will stay together may be anyone’s guess, but it’s a sure bet they will enjoy a taste of their own private heaven. Needless to say, the heart, too, has its seasons, of which the most joyful (at any age) has to be spring.

Ah, yes, I remember it well ...

RITES OF SPRING

It was a winter of the heart,

craving spring, hungry for summer,

wondering where they’ve gone,

those sounds of laughter haunting

the ear? Why a pillow by mine

and no one there? I’m walking down

a street and all I see is feet,

protesting about being on their own

too long, falling in with others,

insisting it is where they belong

Seasons passed, cycle of pain

turning me, clockwork clown, going

through the same old motions

of getting by (fixed smile, dry eye);

till one night during Happy Hour,

there you were. For a while we took

comfort in drowning together,

letting our glasses relate the way

life's meant to be, you and me

against the world till... (maybe?)

True to say, in each other’s arms

we agreed to stay a while, no weeds

deceiving passers-by but flowers

bright as daffodils after April showers,

tail of a comet on the Milky Way,

favourite songs played over and over

by a late DJ till everyone’s running

for cover but us, left savouring dreams

to share, richer for richer, no poorer

for chancing our luck then and there

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]