Hey, it's Snowing!

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

"If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" - Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face". - Victor Hugo

"Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day." - Elizabeth Bowen 

"Advice is like snow - the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind."- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Now, winter can be a cold, miserable season, especially as we grow old, comfort and joy over festivities relatively short-lived. Yet, the simple sound of children having fun building a snowman can warm the cockles of even the most sceptical heart among us…if we but make time to let it.

As much of the UK experiences its first winter snowfall, even many a disgruntled commuter and shopper is also  discovering that it is better to take snow in their stride and wear an infectious smile than be a miserable so-and-so, adamantly refusing to look on the bright(er) side of life...😉

HEY, IT’S SNOWING…!

Gardens covered in snow
trees all-a-glitter in the morning sun,

Everyone moved by the view
from a cosy indoors
until they need to venture outside
to go to work, school, 
whatever the reason, now having 
to do battle with a freezing winter’s day,
come what may

Motorists menaced by fog
obscuring even the sharpest vision;
icy surfaces demanding
extra care, pedestrians under no less
threat of injury from falls,
especially the old and frail, welcoming
a steadying hand now and then
as sudden, bursts of the white stuff strike 
young and old alike 

A thin spread of ice on ponds,
and lakes inviting, but best avoided
for safety’s sake,
better to build a snowman, sounds
of fun and laughter
warming the cockles of hearts worldwide
seeking respite from the cold,
looking to engage with sunnier memories
to relax, find peace

Inner eye, following footprints in the snow
where spring flowers are preparing to grow

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

A Winter Canvas

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

Winter can be as incredibly harsh as it can be incredibly beautiful. Such is life, and human nature. Art may well do its very best to interpret and record, but it can only ever be one interpretation of one particular moment in time…

 Claude Monet - Snow at Argenteuil (1875)

A WINTER CANVAS

Straggly trees against a snowy sky,
robin redbreast in low key,
snowflakes like angels drifting by,
no more idea of what they’re doing,
where they’re going (or why)
than those of us down here, eagerly
lapping up the weather forecast
though for no particular reason other
than everyone else will be doing
much the same thing so there’s sense
of sorts in a camaraderie, missing
in our everyday lives, though friends,
and family do their best to assuage
our loneliness and poor self-esteem
where we can’t help comparing
ourselves with neighbours who seem
to be doing very nicely, thank you,
while we’re but getting nowhere fast
like the poor weather forecaster
always trying to convince us better
days are just ahead.

Robins singing, angel voices asking
why we’re all running around
in God’s backyard like headless chickens,
world chasing its own tail after Peace
(its Holy Grail), politicians rallying
worn phrases tried and tested
(if only for election clout) while the rest
of us rest on laurels as sure as winter
while glossing over its threatening skies
with talk of spring, change, everything
turning out better (if not best) when all's
said, done, leaving the astute artist
to gloss over any doubts with canvases
celebrating the bright and beautiful,
inspiring generations, in turn, to look,
listen, maybe even learn a thing or two
about life, love, nature and how art
copies more, far more, than what it sees
if only because beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, discern subtler differences
for better, for worse

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

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

Epiphany On Hampstead Heath

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

Hampstead Heath has not seen any snow (yet) this winter, but I went for a stroll there only yesterday afternoon in brilliant sunshine, and ...it felt GOOD to be alive.

Photo: Hampstead heath in Winter

EPIPHANY ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH

I stood on Parliament Hill

watching children playing in the snow,

wondering where, oh, where

did my childhood go? And the rosy faces

became those I used to know

I walked on Parliament Hill

though a shrill wintry wind sure to blow,

sounds of laughter in my ears

of long, long ago but faded soon enough

among tears I’d come to know

I paused on Parliament Hill

admiring London’s heady New Year show,

wondering where, oh, where

did Santa go? But in a vast maze of streets

that in time I came to know

I descended Parliament Hill,

among sledge marks churning up the snow,

to a coming of age… where

the carefree days and ways of my childhood

may haunt but dare not follow

At the foot of Parliament Hill

I made my way home, thoughtful and slow,

mindful of an epiphany…when

I embraced the cheers and fears of adulthood

on the Heath, one January snow

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

The Dancing Snowmen

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

Today’s post appears on both blogs. After all, weren’t we all children once, we adults who should be pulling together to make the world a kinder, safer, better place for children everywhere?

Now, they say we discard the whimsy and magic of childhood once we grow up and start making our way in the real world.

Oh, yes? And what do ‘they’ know...?

(Image from the Internet)

THE DANCING SNOWMEN

I was rudely awakened 

one Christmas Eve by the rapid beating

of my heart and a tugging

at one frayed, striped pyjama sleeve,

but there was no one there,

no one at all, and then I heard someone

calling my name, ran to the window

and looked up into the sky

where snow was falling, moon blinking

between cotton wool clouds,

but no sign of Santa

so it couldn’t have been him getting

up to his old tricks

I looked down on the garden,

could not believe my eyes, the snowmen

dancing there, carrot noses

like the glow of old coal fires, chestnuts

where eyes should be,

lips reminding me of scarlet ribbons

I first heard tell of in a song

played on the radio only yesterday,

while on their heads

the snowmen wore hats of all shapes

and sizes, the sort

found in an attic. Me, I was already

lost in the magic

I shinned down a drainpipe,

didn’t feel cold at all, soon jigging away

at the Snowmen’s Ball,

a passing owl hooting its approval,

Man in the Moon

showing his face now and then, torchlight

in a steady, sleety rain,

looking for Santa, last seen heading...

(could be for my room)

so I’m saying goodbye to my new friends

returning, oh, so quickly

to where everyone’s favourite story ends

and its magic begins

Where childhood innocence dead and gone,

the dancing snowmen live on...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011