A Virtuous Irony

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Now, every religion has its own Belief while some of us cannot believe in (any) religion.

Who’s to say who’s right or wrong?

Should we not give everyone the benefit of the doubt, each going his or her own way while taking care to share the better, kinder, principles of a common humanity? Some religions treat any diversion from its dogma as a cardinal sin. Whatever happened to that freedom of the human spirit to express itself in its own way, and who has the right to condemn someone for acting in good faith if not within dogma's stricter parameters?

Religion is meant to be about love and peace...and mutual respect for another person's spiritual identity, whether or not it relates to the same religion or any religion at all if only because religion (as I discovered for myself even as a child) has no monopoly on spirituality.

A sense of spirituality is common to us all, just as it is down to each and every one of us to tap into it
if and how we choose. Yet, what is a cause for celebration is so often marked by those who should know better as a cause for division.

A VIRTUOUS IRONY

Religious festivals are times
people come together,
are good to one another, braving
dark and stormy weather

Religious festivals make merry
come rain, snow, winter mist,
find sunny smiles not on any list
left by old Jack Frost

But you can’t always believe
all they so love to feed us,
like comfort and joy at Christmas
(just ask the homeless)

No, you cannot always believe
everything they tell you,
be the preacher Christian, Muslim,
Sikh, Jew or Hindu…

Religion (not God) is the listener
ever turning a deaf ear
come Ramadan, Diwali, Passover
and Easter once a year

In truth, we should learn to respect
Faiths across the world,
ironically divided by a single word,
a comfort zone called ‘God’

Who and what should we believe
when so many use religion
for their own ends, as ammunition,
back-up for a safe h(e)aven?

All religions encourage suspicion,
led by Masters of Ceremony
tasked with making a virtue of irony
behind a mask of spirituality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2016

In Cherry Blossom Time

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

Throughout our winters, most if not all of us look forward to spring, and yet it is not only climate change that the world has to fear, nor does change always mean progress in any context.

IN CHERRY BLOSSOM TIME

Cherry blossom and empty crisp packets

drifting by on a breeze

Empty crisp packets, like lonely people

drifting by on a street

Streets, like lines on the faces of martyrs

drifting by on clouds

Clouds, trying hard not to cry for a world

getting by on crutches

Crutches, supporting old guard politicians

getting by on half lies

Half lies, camouflage for good intentions

getting by for centuries

Centuries, a colourful history of cleaning

other people’s windows

Windows on religions swearing to their fruit

like cherry blossom

Cherry blossom and empty crisp packets

drifting by on a breeze...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: First published in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books,  2012.]

Behind Every Coffin, Another Question

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Here's another poem from one of my collections as I begin to compile editions that will include revised poems (already on the blogs) for posting as e-books; revised versions of my poems are already on the blogs, but not all my poems so, as requested by some readers, I am adding them now.

The the courage of armed forces around the world cannot be disputed nor their loyalty to the country they serve, but what of those responsible for deploying them wherever its politics dictates or rather, the politics of whatever party dominates its corridors of power...? Do men and women in the world's armed forces die for their country or to satisfy some hidden, even personal agenda creating a nasty draught in those same corridors.?

Political leaders often have a hidden agenda, that much emerges from their choice of words when called upon to explain or justify their actions, although proving it is invariably another matter...

Oh,  and what of all the innocent men, women and children caught up in conflicts over which they have precious little (if any) say or control? The media may well speculate and those directly affected by the consequences of conflicts around the world will debate in huddles on street corners or - more likely - behind closed doors, and so it goes on,...behind every coffin and injury, questions rarely answered to anyone's complete satisfaction.

BEHIND EVERY COFFIN, ANOTHER QUESTION

We salute the fine men and women

redeployed to fight in the safer interests

of their country, those not returning 

kept safer still in the vaults of memory

We salute the fine men and women

redeployed to fight in the safer interests

of their country, acts of friendly fire

but tragic accidents waiting to happen

We salute the fine men and women

redeployed to fight in the safer interests

of their country, trust any returning

shall feel no insult added to injuries

Who leads in the corridors of power,

redeploying troops in the safer interests

of their country, and by what criteria

does its politics prefer to define ‘safer'?

Who leads in the corridors of power,

redeploying troops in the safer interests

of their country to fight shadows

not into killing by any natural rules?

Who leads in the corridors of power,

redeploying troops in the safer interests

of their country, pledging solidarity

in its newspapers, on radio, and TV? 

What say we to the men and women

redeployed to hell in the safer interests

of their country since no politician

can tell anyone what is really going on?

Behind every question, another coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

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

[Note: Revised (2013) from the original as it appears in print  eds., 2012]

Nights Before and Mornings After

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This poem has been significantly revised from the original as it appears in my collection. Why do I make revisions at all, especially where poems have already appeared in poetry publications elsewhere in their original form? To be honest, I am not really sure. Some poems I don’t revise in the least; others, as I read them from a distance of several years or more, seem to cry out, to a greater or lesser extent, for change.

As a poem is being read and interrelates with the reader, it takes on a life of its own. How much of a life and what shape it takes will depend, of course, as much on the reader as the poet. Could it be perhaps that even poems - like many of us as we grow old(er) - would welcome a makeover of sorts?

I can live with living alone, not least because I am a fairly self-contained person. At the same time, I wake sometimes to a bleak feeling of emptiness that I would never experience upon opening my eyes  to love-lines on the ceiling while listening to the gentle breathing of someone next to me. Moreover, it is a feeling to which  I suspect no single person, whatever their sex or sexuality, would ever claim a monopoly,

NIGHTS BEFORE AND MORNINGS AFTER

The touch of your cheek
like damask on mine;
playful fingers, eagerly
entwining

Watching a crescent moon
play hide-and-seek.
an occasional star venturing
to peek…

Clouds drift down, cover
the world’s lovers
with a handkerchief stained
shades of blue
for all the lights, darks
and in-betweens
of human loves, joy, grief...
marking pearly brows

Distant hum of an aeroplane
waking the senses
to a rare  reality hinting
at immortality

Your lips homing in
on mine,
eager tongues breaking free
of all bondage

Heaven-sent embraces
gathering pace, spinning us
on the Earth’s axis,
spilling us like drops of dew
from spreading petals
come break of day, exuding
incredible scents of  a lifetime's
lovemaking,

Pink triangle of dawn,
risen to a chorus
of nature’s lasting blessing
on our finer triumphs

At peace in your arms,
no sweeter rest
for having no dread of waking
from it alone

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem  appears under the title 'Heaven's Handkerchief' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Living with Hans Christian Andersen

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Everyone loves a Christmas tree, but (let’s face it) Christmas does a fir tree no favours.

Now, both as a child and adult, I have loved the fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen...at any time of year. As Christmas draws near, I cannot help but recall The Fir Tree.  

The fir tree is in such a hurry to grow that it fails to enjoy the beauty around it. All it thinks about is how much it wants to become a tall fir tree and see the wide world and experience new things. It finds no joy in the moment, but is always longing for the future. Finally, the fir tree realizes it has wasted its life by living for the future instead of for the present.  As a story about failing to appreciate what we have going for us until it is too late, I dare say many if not most of us can relate to it in one way or another?

Hans Christian Andersen, 1805-1875

As well as loving Andersen’s fairy tales, I carried much of their sense of morality and spirituality with me into adult life, which is possibly why I still enjoy reading them from time to time. It can do no harm (can it?) to recall that naïve, free, faery, spirit upon whose back I would frequently ride off into magical other-worlds and find respite from childhood’s darker side. (However much we may like to think of childhood as all innocence and light, it is no more immune to the harsher realities of human nature and everyday existence than adulthood; the latter, even at its worst, at least offers experience and choices rarely if ever available to us as children.)

This poem is a villanelle.

LIVING WITH HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

A certain Danish weaver

became a tailor, turned to acting, 

found fame as a storyteller

His tales told world over,

(inspiring many an ugly duckling)

a certain Danish weaver

Denmark’s heart breaker,

(the little mermaid lost everything)

found fame as a storyteller

Shrewd political observer,

(even of an emperor’s new clothing)

a certain Danish weaver

Steadfast, like a tin soldier,

(firm favourite at bed-time reading)

found fame as a storyteller

Where childhood rides forever

on the back of its wishful thinking,

a certain Danish weaver

found fame as a storyteller

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Deconstructing Cyberia

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[Update (August 15, 2016): It has been recently reported in the national press that Times Square in New York, Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and Disneyland Park in France are among tourist attractions where mobile phones are most likely to be hacked. Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, Ocean Park in Hong Kong and Las Vegas's strip are the next three mostly likely places, according to research by mobile threat defence company Skycure. Among the best suggestion to prevent hacking is always to use passwords, never share them, change them from time to time, and never program them into a mobile phone. It is also available never to keep any particularly sensitive personal data on a mobile phone for long. I imagine much the same applies to laptops and tablets.]

Regular readers will know that I try to record important if necessarily selective events in my poems and subsequent collections.

Yesterday, I listened to news breaking all afternoon about Rupert Murdoch's British newspapers [not only the News of the World] allegedly resorting to the most horrific tactics in the name of investigative journalism. Blagging, hacking into the phones of a murdered teenager and armed forces personnel killed on active duty...we are being told that these are allegedly among the usual suspects targeting just about anyone in the public eye hell bent on obtaining any information that might pass for ‘news’ considered to be ‘in the public interest.’  This is not (surely?) what investigative journalism is all about.

I have never cared for people like Rupert Murdoch. Even so, like many a business magnate through the centuries, he’s probably not the only Chief who may well have paid his Indians (and other Chiefs) to do any dirty work for him.

Mind you, we should never forget that questionable practices are in a minority even in journalism. Moreover, while we may not agree with whatever News any better practices may come up with, neither should we be quick to write anything or anyone off as either offensive or immoral, especially after consenting to show an interest either by pressing a button or turning a page. Even so, we cannot help but wonder just who may be listening in to our calls and/or monitoring our emails these days.

Perhaps the title of the poem should be Reconstructing Cyberia (for whatever purpose whomsoever may have in mind...?!) Whatever, one suspects it is happening on a very underestimated scale around the world, and this is the tip of a huge iceberg.

At school, 50+ years ago, we had a great English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin, who once spent several lessons illustrating and leading class discussions on how and why we should not accept any one version of what we read in newspapers or hear on the radio or see on television as necessarily objective, but to take account of various versions and form our own opinions. I not only count this amongst the most valuable advice I’ve ever been given, but also the most worthwhile lesson (if not the only one) that I took from my schooldays and have put into practice ever since.

This poem is a villanelle and will appear in my next major collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, next spring.

DECONSTRUCTING CYBERIA

Who (now) has the faintest idea
what’s right, wrong, true, false, hearsay,
regarding goings-on in the media?

Is no one safe from the blagger,
and whose phone was hacked into today?
Who (now) has the faintest idea?

Seedy types are exploiting Cyberia,
its millions of everyday tourists led astray
regarding goings-on in the media

Can intrusion into any private arena
be justified by pushing it Joe Public's way?
Who (now) has the faintest idea?

If one malpractice leads to another,
what's the right take on what is or isn't okay
regarding goings-on in the media?

Though no person or enterprise bigger
than a Free Press left to have an honest say,
who (now) has the faintest idea
regarding goings-on in the media?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011