The Leaf

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“In every change, in every falling leaf there is some pain, some beauty. And that's the way new leaves grow. - Amit Ray

“Storms make the oak grow deeper roots” – George Herbert

“Birth, life, and death - each took place on the hidden side of a leaf.” - Toni Morrison

Not a day passes when I am left wondering if I have another poem in me.  Yet, only a few days ago, I found myself observing a an oak tree leaf, left discoloured by a sustained heatwave, resisting a sudden breeze until finally in full flight from its host tree, dancing freely above my head. Moments later, a heavy shower brought it down and left it fluttering on a bed of dry grass but a few feet away. 

"A metaphor for us all there?" I wondered, as my thought processes began the task of assembling a poem...

THE LEAF

Sad leaf, shades of green,
yellow and brown,
grown weary of resisting
a fun, lively breeze,
employing summer’s wiles
to have it break free 
of host tree and season,
birdsong, a plea  to Earth Mother
to see it true to its nature

Oak, hungry for nurture,
no less thirsting
for rainfall than generations
of kith and kin,
budding flowers and fauna, 
keeping it company
in (far) better times and worse,
trusting Earth Mother to listen well,
as deserves heart-and-soul

Sad leaf, making its bid
for freedom,
persuaded by the breeze
to explore its time
and space within minutes
of welcome shower's
waking flowers and fauna
to a finer well-being, a light rainfall 
reworking heart-and-soul

Leaf’s delight in sailing
on the breeze
sadly, but only short-lived,
wind easing, raindrops 
forcing it to face home truths,
all kith and kin 
left weeping as it lay dying, 
regretting its having finally caved in
to the thrill of temptation?

Dead leaf, oft recalled by kith and kin
to any who care to listen...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: If you enjoy dipping into the blog from time to time, do tell  any others whom you think may also  enjoy some of my poems.  Thanks for dropping by today, much appreciated.] RT

Spinning Yarns

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As a child, I loved reading myths, legends and fairy stories. As an adult, I began to realise that many are an entertaining metaphor for real life. Even so, not all magic is wishful thinking. Yet, the same imagination that fed on those stories so long ago continues to see me through the same need for escapism some 50+ years on.

The trick, of course, lies in learning to separate fact from fiction, wishful thinking from reality, naked truth from bare-faced lies....

SPINNING YARNS

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was magic in the world,

a time when we all sang songs

of peace and love till a twilight fell

that had us playing hide-and-seek

among ruins of halcyon days confined

to make-believe

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was chivalry in the world,

a time when men opened doors

for ladies without their being accused

of sexism, nor would a lady mind,

but take pleasure in being noticed so,

by way, too, of common courtesy  

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was the stoicism of Penelope

who contrived to remain faithful

to the love of her life without being accused

of pandering to her man,

rather of ingenuity for putting a unique

spin on love

Storytellers would have us believe

that the old gods were jealous of each other,

interfering in the ways of humankind

that played them at their own games and won,

tore down their temples,

created a copycat Olympus

on Capitol Hill 

Storytellers would have us believe

that once there was magic in the world,

a time when we all sang songs

of peace and love till a twilight fell

that had us playing hide-and-seek

among ruins of an innocence confined

to childhood

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: While I never made it as a successful novelist, I confess have really enjoyed trying my hand at fiction from time to time; if interested, go to: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html on my fiction blog where most of my novels (published and unpublished) are serialised.]

S-word in the Sheath

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

As I grow old(er) I find myself thinking about death more and more often; not morbidly, and I don’t find the prospect too distressing. I guess I am more curious than anything else.

A non-religious person, I don’t believe in any form of life after death in the sense that many people like to imagine it. A lifelong relationship with nature gives me hope that after this winter of my life, spring will come again. 

While I have to confess I remain fearful of pain and try not to think about it, death itself holds no fear for me at all. Yes, I will miss the people, places and things I love most in this life, of course. Poets, no more or less than many if not most of us, are always up for a challenge, and what greater challenge can there be than death? At the same time, I strongly believe in the existence of a posthumous consciousness in the world (yes, ghosts if you like) continuing to make our presence felt wherever and in whomsoever it has made its presence felt during our lifetime.

Incidentally - and unrelated - I would like to thank all those readers who have been in touch to ask about my prostate cancer. Physically, I have a few problems, but the positive thinker in me remains...well, yes, positive as hormone therapy continues to keep my prostate cancer from becoming aggressive.

This poem is a villanelle.

S-WORD IN THE SHEATH

Death, it's just a word,

a poet’s metaphor,

but sheath for a sword

Still, small, voice heard

keeping our score,

death, it's just a word

Mistaken for a prey-bird
at heaven's door,

but sheath for a sword

Life' s worst fears stirred,

all love forswore,

death, it's just a word 

Any great victory averred
(denying love's lore)

but sheath for a sword

Love, immortality assured

(it's love rates our score)
death, it's just a word,

but sheath for a sword

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared in a Poetry Now (Forward Press) anthology, Worldly Words (2004) and subsequently in  A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Fairy Tales Are An Endangered Species

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

Many thanks to those readers who have been in touch to say they are enjoying some of the storylines serialised on my fiction blog. I hope to upload them as e-books later this year or early next:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

I have even had positive feedback from several straight readers who are enjoying the gay storylines. Wow, that’s nice!

Meanwhile...

Whatever happened to the fairy tale?  On the one hand, an endangered species, while on the other hand ...

Could it be that the metaphor of fairy tale has finally shrugged off its magic cloak for an even darker reality? Oh, for a return to the world of fairy tale and happy-ever-after endings...! [Whatever happened to those?]

Fairy tales are very readable, easy to read and easy on the ear when someone is reading aloud to a child who may need encouragement to read and develop necessary language skills. In addition there is a certain morality about some tales, those of Hans Christian Andersen for example, that can be also read and appreciated as metaphor for the real world by the more discerning adult; The Little Match Girl, The Ugly Duckling ... et al.

FAIRY TALES ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES

Forests, a kaleidoscope

of colour, patterns ever changing

even as we look, like pages

in a child’s book bringing fairytales

to life for us

Six swans, six brothers,

winging spring skies, seeking an end

to enchantment but must wait

until their sister, like us, finds a way

to make the change

Knights in armour, wielding

swords that spark a summer sunshine;

rose petals dripping the blood

of rivals challenged and taken to task

for the sake of winning

Snow White in a glass coffin,

no hope of resurrection, the wicked

witch has won? Our turn to woo

the mirror now, autumn skies exposing

a festering of wounds

Dragons, breathing fire

that would kill off the trees to please

property developers who

have no time for fairy tales - or

the likes of us

Latter-day knights, wielding

words that spark a wintry sunshine,

robins dripping the blood

of rivals arguing over the last prize left

to us (a glacier coffin?)

Copyright R. N. Taber  2007

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised/updated from the original as it appears in  Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Going To The Movies

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My thanks go to several readers have said how much they enjoy the videos and poems that my friend Graham and I upload to my You Tube channel from time to time.

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Hopefully, as well as enjoyment, both videos and accompanying poems might arouse sleeping senses in some viewers and get them asking questions if only to themselves about life and nature.

Today’s poem consider the subject at a deeper level than Graham and I aspire to on You Tube, but it is not irrelevant all the same.

I watched a film on TV recently about the Vietnam War; it was a fictional but very realistic take on the war and pulled no punches. The next day I overheard a group of local young people in their early teens talking about it and getting very excited about some of its more graphic action shots. A girl felt it was ‘a bit over the top’ while one of the boys pointed out that such things are only to be expected in a war. The other boy asked,’ ‘What’s all the fuss about anyway? It’s only a story. I mean, it’s not real is it? It’s not as if that sort of thing actually happens in real life...’ At this, all three shrugged their shoulders as if in agreement and started talking about football instead.

Don’t happen in real life? Do they imagine the horrors of any war are little more than the products of a vivid imagination?

Hopefully those young people will get around to thinking and asking questions about wars past and present, and what they come up with will give their dozy senses a nasty jolt... for real.

Fictional or documentary, the ability of the camera’s moving eye to draw us into its complex web of genuine sentiment and positive argument can never be underestimated.  All credit to the person behind and directing the camera, of course. 

GOING TO THE MOVIES or 

The moving picture speaks,
and having spoken moves on
to haunt the creative mind,
play with words on the tongue
that may (or may not) paint
pictures of thought others may
(or may not) be invited to see,
interpret as we (or they) intend,
only to subtly, discreetly, let it drop
in a history bin

The moving picture captures
and having captured demands
its captives consider if we’re
but slaves to its fictions or privy
to what goes on in those murky
corners of reality we are all free
to access any time but prefer
someone else take a closer look,
and clean it up without too much ado
about nothing

The moving picture speaks
and having spoken moves in
on the senses if only to see
what (if any) effect on emotions
kept under wraps for fear
we betray aspects of selfhood
that may be misconstrued
as weaknesses where we’d rather
wear our strengths on sleeves frayed
at the edges

Compelled to join forces once
a moving picture has said its piece
and moved on, inner sight 
asking of the inner ear what it has seen,
agreeing they feel uneasy 
for having been given a taste 
of untouchables cast out 
by croc tears and canned laughter...
Oh, but let's just call it entertainment
and forget all about it?
  
Copyright R. N. Taber 2012