Dreamers, Awake

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

It is only human nature to go for gold in life...whether it’s passing an exam, winning a sports event, or some one’s heart. Sadly, it is also human nature to beat ourselves up if we don't find it.

Whatever...win some, lose some. The important thing is, never feel a failure (or let anyone else make you feel that way) if things don't work out quite as you'd hoped; each and every one of us deserves a pat on the back, at the very least, just for giving it our best shot. No one can do more.

As for finding whatever gold it is we seek at the end of whatever rainbow, well, that's just the start; holding on and living up to it...that's something else altogether.

This poem is a villanelle.

DREAMERS, AWAKE

As every dreamer (waking) knows
it's agony and ecstasy
in this life’s weepy highs and lows

Love, a going for gold that shows
real true grit humanity
as every dreamer (waking) knows

Out of dreams, inspiration follows 
a bitter-sweet reality
in this life’s weepy highs and lows

Missing out on home goals throws
us but temporarily...
as every dreamer (waking) knows

Watch time lends all its tomorrows
to shades of immortality;
in this life’s weepy highs and lows

By nature, the human spirit grows
to bear the fruits of its maturity
as every dreamer (waking) kmows
in this life’s weepy highs and lows

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Riders of the Watch

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

Today's poem has not appeared on the blog since 2007, and I have since revised it; the original version also appeared in a Drifting Thoughts, Poetry Today (Forward Press), 2000.

I recall once walking along the water’s edge in the moonlight. I was very unhappy. I saw no point in continuing the battle of wits between head and heart. Yet, the feisty beauty of a summer night touched whatever it is in us we like to call ‘soul’ and instead of lamenting an ending, I began to anticipate a new beginning...

(Photo taken from the Internet)

RIDERS OF THE WATCH

Moon shadows,

riding white horses across a vast rippling plain

of dark despair;

a dashing of hooves,

indelible imprint on what passes

for the soul

Ghost riders, all deceit and lies,

shivering, shimmering, desperately willing us

to run...

Oh, but where?

Stripped bare, a lifetime's audacity;

time to cast off the trappings and pretty wrappings

of integrity;

Waves, a crashing ovation

for giving reason its marching orders, joining

the heart’s accomplices

Ghost riders, all deceit and lies,

shivering, shimmering, desperately willing us

to run...

Regeneration

Moon shadows, a force for salvation

among the flotsam and jetsam of human frailty

left for us beachcombers

to spot and salvage

what dreams we can (if at nature’s caprice)

without losing face

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

You-Me-Us, Ring of Bells

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

Every day is an anniversary for those who have lost loved ones in times of war or peace. 

Let us also remember (again, not just today) those who are fighting and/ or campaigning to help make our world a safer, kinder place.

Ironically, many of our political and religious leaders (not to mention the arms dealers)  continue to make world peace a vain hope, the discrepancy between what they say and what they do growing wider each day, creating a bottomless pit for we ordinary men, women and children in the streets of just about any place in the world to drop into even as we go about our everyday lives. Ah, but we need to do just that, whatever else is going on in the world, or terrorism and its threat - in all its various shapes and clever socio-cultural-political-religious disguises - will surely win.

Nothing can beat being with a loved one, and losing them is painful beyond imagination. Yet, love never really dies. Regular readers of the blog will know that I am a passionate believer in a posthumous consciousness wherein love remains first among equals all our lives; in our death, who knows ... ? 

Whatever, love does not only embrace its lovers, but sends out ripples among all those  with whom we have contact in life - whether it be close or in passing - touching even complete strangers to us, with whom we may have engaged in brief conversation and (knowingly or unknowingly) made some reference to love that (to their conscious knowledge or not) may have some bearing on how they live their lives  thereafter ... such is its incredible momentum and continuum.

YOU-ME-US, RING OF BELLS

There is a wood
where we played as children
and bluebells grow

When you came home
after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe
we picked bluebells

When you came home
from the killing fields of Iraq
we picked bluebells

When you came home
from the poppy fields of Afghanistan
we picked bluebells

When you came home
telling of monks beaten in Tibet
we picked bluebells

When you came home
from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip
it was in a coffin

There is a wood
where time always keeps us safe
and bluebells grow

Copyright R N Taber 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears under the title 'Where No Bells Toll' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]