Kingdom Come, an Eco-Artist's Impression

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2010

While  the coronavirus is not on the wane everywhere just yet, and second waves of it are all but inevitable, climate change is unlikely to go away at all; we only have to look at what is happening in Iceland to see how real is the threat that has been looming across the world for years, and underestimated - if not conveniently put to one side - by successive world leaders. A reader asks, do I think Covid-19 could be linked to climate change? Well, I have no idea, any more than I suspect has anyone else, but I wouldn't be surprised ...

What are we doing to the planet? How many more trees must be felled, wildlife lose their habitats (and lives) on land and in the seas before humankind realizes how short sighted it is being? (The old adage is so true, that we rarely - if ever - appreciate what we have until we lose it.)

Will future generations forgive us? (I suspect with great difficulty, if at all.)

It is all very well to acknowledge global warming, but how much longer can we shrug off any blame for it? it? The time to make reparation is by positive action NOW, surely? How many more world conferences and all but meaningless gestures before our politicians risk upsetting this lobby or that and get to grips with the longer-term consequences of playing ostrich?

Too lightly, many people continue to brush such questions and issues aside. After all, they argue, there is plenty of time to save the planet.

Ah, but is there…? It is an old but significant truism that time waits for no one.

Yes, our politicians claim to empathise with Green campaigners, but could they perhaps do (far) more to back up their word with actions…or could it be they are but paying lip service to increasing electorate (and business) concerns?

At school, I once overheard my Religious Education teacher refer to Armageddon as 'the death of  common sense' to which my art teacher commented that it would be an appropriate theme for graffiti art among the corridors of power just about anywhere in the world. 70+ years on, I am inclined to agree with both.

How dare our so-called 'betters' be complacent, close their eyes to unpalatable home truths for fear of losing out in the short term. Too many politicians are hot on rhetoric, at election times in particular, but - as always - the devil is in the detail, and invariably less convincing for anyone who has the time or patience to shovel away  at the rhetoric and see what lies beneath..

Another reader wrote in recently to ask, "We are a common humanity on a common Earth so where is any sense of common responsibility regarding Green issues?"

KINGDOM COME, AN ECO-ARTIST'S IMPRESSION

The sky is red

where once it was blue;

trees turning yellow;

streams, trickles of blood

on a baby's cot...

Time, caught taking a nap

in Earth Mother’s bed

The forest is dead

where once trees grew tall,

birds would nest,

one beast best another

as required…

by nature’s rule of thumb,

its kingdom come

The world, gone quiet

where once people played,

would laugh and sing,

yet sure to best one another

as required …

by nature’s rule of thumb,

our kingdom come

The sky is red

where once it was blue;

trees, turning yellow;

Earth Mother last heard of

treading mud,

weeping the world’s playing

Truth or Dare...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Engaging with Disillusionment

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

Not infrequently, readers (among others) people confide how they feel helpless against a tide of socio-cultural-religious forces manipulated by various leaders to their own advantage and/or agenda to the detriment of anyone who chooses not to wear a mask. ‘Why are we all so divided?’ someone only recently wailed in my ear, ‘Why must it take a tragedy like a terrorist atrocity to bring people together …until innate differences start to drive them apart again?

On the grounds that repeating the obvious is sometimes necessary if only to prevent its being lost in a sea of trite, I often make the point in my blogs that our differences do not make us different, simply human; we can and should learn from them, not gang up against them. Far too many if not most socio-cultural-religious leaders are invariably quick to agree in principle, but less willing to practise what they preach.

So… what can we do?

It is (surely?) down to each and every one of us to live our lives as best we can and try not to be judgemental, the very trap our leaders and so-called ‘betters’ would have us fall into by appearing to refute it, thereby planting the very seeds of division in our minds that suit their individual purposes while cleverly avoiding either blame or responsibility.

A socio-cultural-religious metaphor may well be a chess master’s political strategy where the likes of you and I are taken to be vulnerable pawns; it is, however, a game that two can play...

Being our own person (no pressure or aspiration to be someone else) and living our lives as  best we can, refusing to be put down by unfair or irrelevant comparisons...now, that is what's known as being on a winning side.

Who wants to go through life being made to feel a loser by so-called 'betters' who are often only any better than the rest of us by virtue of their being in a position  to make us feel worse,various  if only by pulling invisible strings attached to various socio-cultural-political and/or religious trappings lending them a sense of authority?

ENGAGING WITH DISILLUSIONMENT

What is it really all about,

I’d ask myself as a child, this growing up

among restless giants…?

Why do giants have a mask

for every occasion, always seem so wary

of letting any slip…?

(Why must I tread so warily

for fear of offending by just being honest,

speaking my mind…?)

Diplomacy is all very well,

but no substitute (surely?) for keeping faith

with basic principles…

Oh, and what of love’s light,

come to guide us through a darkening world,

but frequently cutting out?

Yes, we need rules to live by

or sheer chaos likely to get the better of us all,

but who rules what, for whom?

It’s a discerning inner eye

that perceives the flaws in any moral authority

over anxious to flex its muscles

So where does that leave us,

who can but trust basic instincts albeit thwarted

at every turn of phrase and policy?

It leaves us strong, stoic, free

to speak up, make ourselves seen, felt and heard,

risk being ignored, mocked, bullied…

Or... what has it all been for,

I ask myself each new day as time rushes on past

and I grow old…?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appeared on the blog several years ago under the title 'Living with Giants'.]

Mysterious Ways

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

I often refer to ghosts in my poems. Do I believe in ghosts? Oh, yes, I certainly do.  Here, though, the ghost is simply a metaphor in the manner of many poets, writers, and artists before me and I dare say many more to come…

A metaphor, for what, did you say? Ah, therein lies the secret of the kenning form of poetry; you usually have to read it to discover the narrator’s true identity.

MYSTERIOUS WAYS

I am the ghosts

of seasons taking their cue

from all around me,

busy recreating roles to play

that I dare step back into

once choice comes into its own

while (still) denying access 
to any 'live' past-present-future

offering to make peace

I am the ghosts

of seasons taking their cue

from a restless heart,

invading the enquiring mind,

seeking to be reconciled

with whatever moral order

loath to acknowledge

no (conscious) harm ever done 
in agreeing to differ

I am the ghosts
of every season's fretting

about fulfilling

its potential, whether physical,

psychological, emotional

or, yes, sexual, since you ask 

(and well you might)

given that we're both working out
a full life sentence

I am Conscience, human nature's diary,
the sum total of its eternal mystery

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

One plus One makes The-Two-of-Us

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

Many if not most of us quite often think we could be doing this or should be doing that as if we were unhappy with our lot. Some of us are, of course, and need to following up our words with some real action. For many of us, though, it’s just talk, and we are okay with the way we are and the life we lead...

Could it be because we feel guilty about being happy that we are so wary of admitting it?

Life could always be better, of course. We all have our share of problems. On the whole, though, is life really as bad as some of us seem to be always complaining?  Well, yes, in some cases. Maybe, though, if we complained less and were more positive about life generally, things might improve for all of us and there would be less to complain about? A more positive rather than negative take on each other’s socio-cultural-religious differences would be a good start.

In my experience, the great thing about letting ourselves feel happy is that we find ourselves being more positive about everything and everyone; if we can develop our interpersonal skills along the way and achieve a greater sense of personal as well as social identity, so much the better. Moreover, while it doesn’t necessarily take two to be happy, it helps…a LOT

So let's try and look out for each other more, yeah? We all need friends, someone to care about us, especially if we happen to be living on our own for whatever reason.

 ONE PLUS ONE MAKES THE-TWO-OF-US

Yesterday,

we talked about doing this ‘n’ that

while we played with the cat

as the budgie looked on and the dog

snored away in his basket

Yesterday,

we discussed going here or there

while you vacuumed the floor

as I loaded up the washing machine

before we went shopping

Tomorrow,

we’ll talk about doing this ‘n’ that,

clean out the budgie’s cage,

probably ask the neighbours round

to try out the new Bar-B-Q

Tomorrow,

we’ll discuss going here ‘n’ there,

then take the dog for a walk

where we’ll be welcome at the pub

and catch up on the gossip

Today,

will be very much like yesterday;

shades of self-consciousness

for having far less than some if more

than many…and being happy

As for our arguing points of view,

it’s how one plus one makes two

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

This Frantic Earth

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

Readers (gay, straight, male, female, all ages) sometimes get in touch when they are visiting London and we meet up for a few drinks and/or a meal and generally put the world to rights. I always enjoy these meet-ups so never hesitate to email me if you want to get together for a friendly chat about… whatever. Email me anyway, if you happen to be in the mood.  I always reply to emails, but don’t allow comments because they take up too much space.

I must thank all those readers who emailed me when I was housebound for nearly six months after my accident last year. Our exchanges were a welcome relief from pain and boredom.

Now, men and women of all socio-cultural-religious backgrounds have fought for peace, and are still fighting towards the same end. Yet, I sometimes look around at the alcoholics, drug addicts, mentally ill and homeless people on our streets, not to mention those with a glazed look in their eyes as if they are not sure where they are going or why…and wonder, whatever happened to peace and is Armageddon perhaps closer to us here on the Home Front than any of us realize …?

We can do more for the less fortunate in our societies, surely, or could it be the case that the well-heeled among us, including many world leaders to be found in various echelons of various societies (not excluding political or religious) believe peace is little more than a public relations issue, well worth exploiting but as a distraction from self-interest rather than a permanent end in view?

And what is peace? It is not simply a matter of feeling secure. We may feel secure in our homes, jobs etc. if far less so in this Age of Austerity and the ever-present threat of so-called Islamic State and other terrorist groups, but how far are we ever at peace within ourselves? If we don't watch out, we may well meet our own Armageddon. (Regular readers will know that I believe positive thinking is the key to winning even those battles we may appear to have lost...in love, war, and all our other - less obvious perhaps, but no less significant - dealings with human nature, especially in relation to self-esteem.)

No easy answers, for sure. But maybe we should start asking the right questions?  No one wants to look in a mirror and see the enemy. If world peace is an elusive ideal, we CAN make peace with ourselves and each other, trusting its ripples to spread... or global warming alone is likely to get the better of us all.

This poem is a villanelle. 

THIS FRANTIC EARTH

Earth, a frantic heartbeat
its star-crossed lovers dying too soon,
body bags in every street

Short straws, open secret.
birds crying, fat cats calling the tune;
Earth, a frantic heartbeat

Apollo turning up the heat,
tears for fears on the face of the moon,
body bags in every street

H-E-L-P, can't ever compete 
with denials of acid rain any time soon;
Earth, a frantic heartbeat

So what's it all about?
(weather pundits tracking High Noon?)
body bags in every street

No-hopers on a rout,
(blaming God for bringing them down);
Earth, a frantic heartbeat

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'Towards Armageddon' first appeared in an anthology Caught in Time, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2003 and in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Witness for the Prosecution

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This is a poem about the darker side of London. Tragically, it could equally apply to just about any major city or large town in the world where we pause and look around sometimes, despair, and demand not only answers but also action.

Glossy tourist brochures may like to pretend otherwise, but most places, like most people, have a dark side. Perhaps we should open our eyes to it more often?  Yes, we should enjoy exploring these places. London and other great cities across the world have much to offer the discerning visitor. At the same time, is not forewarned, forearmed...?

WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION

I’ve seen all ages on a city's streets
beg coins for bus fares or worse,
even steal a blind woman’s purse,
mock a one-legged man’s affliction
then yell “Persecution!” at passing
coppers for trying to do their duty
by some council estate community
suffering daily from the traumas
of kids without conscience, let alone
good manners (fat chance!) bent
on leading the locals a rare dance,
skipping school, drinking, smoking
this ‘n’ that, setting themselves up
as victims of society once caught out,
 all the more pitiable for having slipped
through Propriety’s safety net

No matter ethnicity, gender or creed,
this new breed of street urchin
whose familiarity with Human Rights
racism and other discrimination
would be admirable but for their using it
(more often than not) to turn tables
on any decent citizen resolved to support
law, order, and everyday commonsense,
though as likely to receive rough justice
from the law courts as back streets…
Knives - and guns - not unfamiliar sights
so no wonder fewer of us willing to say
what we may well have  heard or seen out
of fear for family and friends being made
to pay, no hold barred where any criminality
pitted against social responsibility

Oh, and what do the mayors and PM make
of all this? Oh, plenty to say, a limitless
supply of token gestures as we city dwellers
grow ever more anxious for answers

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[This poem has been slightly revised from the original version as it appears under the title 'Witness for the Prosecution' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

In Cherry Blossom Time

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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.]

Earth Rage

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

As a poet whose poetry is archived by the British Library and elsewhere, I try to record major events - including natural disasters - around the world for future reference. Sadly, I have to be selective, but try to write about the worst, especially those that have affected me deeply and cried out for a poem.  I often revert to the villanelle form - as I do here - and can but hope readers will find it effective.

Although these poems are archival now, they serve as reminders all that climate change is no new phenomenon; nature has been sending out warning signals for years. More we should never forget the impact natural disasters have on families and communities around the world; it is not enough to blame nature, humankind needs to accept its own share of blame and take appropriate action before it is too late for any of us 

On March 11^th 2011 an earthquake measuring 9.0 on the Richter scale struck the north-eastern coast of Japan. Although Tokyo is some 200+ miles from the epicentre, it some suffered some damage if incomparable with the utter devastation a Tsunami that quickly followed left in its wake further along the coast. Shocking, live TV coverage inspired the poem.

EARTH RAGE

Nature raging, run amok,
tsunami taking its toll;
Tokyo's reeling in shock

Japan having to take stock
of losses stark and cruel;
nature raging, run amok

Ground rolling, hear it crack,
folks wrestling self-control;
Tokyo's reeling in shock

Across islands of the Pacific,
find fear draping its pall,
nature raging, run amok

As its stunned surrounds rock,
the good earth making a kill,
Tokyo's reeling in shock

Humanity taken a cruel knock,
nor all its wounds soon heal;
nature raging, run amok,
Tokyo's reeling in shock

[London; March 11th 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber

Ghost Writer

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

Someone asked me recently what I think of modern society. My answer is in the poem. 

I suspect many if not most of us are hypocrites up to a point; we often say one thing, but think and/or do the opposite. What bothers me most, though, is it feels like we are on a conveyor belt, hypocrites being moulded by our so-called betters who are no better than us at all, worse in fact, but untouchable for reasons best known to themselves for having contrived to be placed among society's 'betters'.  

Money talks, power talks, but nothing and no one talks louder than hypocrisy, the more so because it is is a silent, invisible enemy, and if we do succeed in exposing it, the chances are not only that the damage it is intended to inflict has already done its worst, but not even by whomsoever seems the likely author. We are left chasing shadows...

Such is life,I guess. All we can do is stay as alert to hypocrisy as possible, resist the temptation to give as good as we get, and encourage mind-body-spirit to keep looking on the bright side of life. 


GHOST WRITER

You’ll find me among shadows

insinuating nooks and crannies of a mind

co-writing fictions of the heart,

creating ‘No Go’ areas for such truths

as would make themselves known,

walk tall in sunlight, crusade with pride

against bigotry, shred it into pieces

and toss away, cocksure, no loose ends left

for tapers to mischief

I have no time for huts and hovels,

but churches, cathedrals, mosques, temples,

places where authority courts respect,

and if anyone suspect any double dealing

or duplicity, few will care to grasp

the nettle for fear its sting prove fatal

or, worse, provide propaganda

likely to earn a prime time slot on TV,

even win me converts

I always side with Law and Order,

ready to monitor and ratify any small print,

often left unread, I have to agree,

but who can blame me for a human foible

comprising aspects people prefer

to toss away, cocksure, no loose ends left

for tapers to mischief, never dreaming

their best intentions may well provide fuel

for its burning?

I prey on the goodwill of a gullible humanity,

feeding on its conscience, who am Hypocrisy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

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

The Yellow Balloon

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Children across the world are expected to take its worst tantrums in their stride, but for how long…?

For the many caught up in its conflicts, the world must often seem a bleak place, any worthwhile future, for them at least, an all but impossible dream.

Of course, it is not all doom and gloom, but children should not have to snatch at happiness as and when they can; it should be the greater part of growing up. Yes, even playtime has its ups and downs, good times and bad, but that’s life, a learning curve for all of us at any age. 

True, the world today is a dangerous place, but children need to be reasonably prepared for, not scared of it. Besides, is not having to deal with parental and peer pressures enough without having to contend with being made to feel they are a disappointment for not fully participating in someone else’s second hand life or, far worse, struggling to survive a war zone? 

Whatever, indeed, happened to playtime?

THE YELLOW BALLOON 

Children
playing with a yellow balloon,
mothers calling   
back home, as a mocking wind 
snatches it from tiny fingers,
dispatching it to drift mottled skies
weepy with satire?

Children
chasing after a yellow balloon,
father calling
back home, but they play deaf
among innocent cries
inciting adventures, welcome respite
from secrets and lies

Children
trying to catch a yellow balloon
beyond either reach or ken,
no sense of direction, quickly
consumed by angry skies,
menaced by cloud figures waving
smoking guns

Children
observed in tears over a balloon
burst by a phoenix
rising from its everyday ashes
to heavens where sunlight
last seen glancing off shrapnel
slowly killing them

Children, in near and faraway places
picking up the pieces…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Catcher in the Eye done Good

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

Years ago, I saw a painting in an art gallery that has made me reflect on the beauty of memory, capturing and preserving a precious moment in time. Yes, a photograph can do much the same, but a painting is so much more than a photograph; it reads aloud to the inner ear, thus inviting the inner eye to appreciate its every deliberate brush stroke in much the same sense and sensibility as one might appreciate iambic meter in a poem. As with all creative endeavour, the art lies in its artlessness, artist rewarding observer with an insight to a process that requires we tap into reserves of feeling of which the chances are we are not consciously aware.

Memory may fade, but the art-poem remains a part of us and will be sure to manifest itself in our approach to life, love, nature and human nature…; indeed, to  just about everything.

‘Oh,’ I hear some people say, ‘but that’s only if you have the imagination…’ Bollocks, to that! Imagination can and does work on our consciousness, yes, but it also works on the subconscious, possibly to even greater effect. So never let anyone lead you to believe you have no imagination; the human condition is better than that even where, sometimes, human nature fails us. 

Imagination is that Catcher in the Eye of which we may or may not be well aware but which, in any case, remains one of the sweeter mysteries of the human condition. 

CATCHER IN THE EYE DONE GOOD

Young girl with daisies
in the hair darts across a greeny field;
though brooding sheep
keep a sidelong watch on playful lambs,
the merry scene
attracts a frisky foal, prancing
at a boundary fence

Innocence

Young girl with daisies
in the hair glimpses a pretty butterfly,
gives laughing chase;
one tangent wing at a finger's tip,
angel face glowing
hope’s pink blushes, elusive happiness
caught on canvas

Copyright R. N. Taber 1974; 2001

[Note: An earlier version of this poem - under the title 'Brush Strokes' - first appears in Love and Human Remains: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Where's Robin?

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

Gay or straight, people without a partner or close loved ones, for whatever reason, can feel very lonely; it can so easily seem as if everyone else has someone, and we feel shut out. Yet, love comes in many shapes and forms. We don't have to be in a relationship or even a family to be comforted and inspired by love wherever it makes itself felt.

Simply going for a walk and soaking up the landscape can bring us into contact with other people and help us find words to go further than that first 'hello'. Then, of course, there is always the power of imagination; reading has taken me to some wonderful places and introduced me to a range of wonderful characters. I used to love reading and miss it now that my eyes get too tired to read as often as I would like. Earth Mother, too, is a great comforter, inviting us to share and be inspired by the beauty of the natural world for all its unpredictability.

There is only one cure for loneliness; think positive and do something about it. Oh, and never for one second believe you are the only lonely person in your locality. The trick is to home in on a feeling for love, nurture it, and leave the rest to nature and human nature…

WHERE’S ROBIN? 

Two people meet and fall in love,

live happy-ever-after,

though tears of grief and pain

among sounds of joy

and laughter like drops of acid rain

in leafy evergreen

Some never fall in love,

stay single ever after,

conceal tears of grief and pain,

among sounds of joy

and laughter like drops of acid rain 

in leafy evergreen

Oh, how love confounds us,

many its shapes

and sounds joining with nature

to bring happiness,

like the song of redbreast rarely seen

in leafy evergreen

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2015

[A slightly different version of this poem appeared in Hands of Time, Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2001 and subsequently in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

V-A-N-I-T-Y, Conversations with a Mirror

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

How many of us, I wonder, and how often, dare look to our shortcomings and confront home truths...?

How many more of us, I wonder, act upon what we discover?

This poem is a villanelle.

 V-A-N-I-T-Y, CONVERSATIONS WITH A MIRROR

Mirror, mirror on the wall
all you see I'd share;

talk me true, walk me tall

Mind-Body-Spirit in freefall,

racing heart laid bare;

mirror, mirror on the wall

Pride, answering Ego's call

to pose with flair,

talk me true, walk me tall

Inclined to pose as the Jekyll

in Hyde’s lair;

mirror, mirror on the wall

To the toll of any warning bell,

I'll turn a deaf ear;

talk me true, walk me tall

Home truths haunting me still,

(lies, lies, I swear...);

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

talk me true, walk me tall

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]

A Short History of the Human Race

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

2014 marks the 100^th anniversary of the outbreak of World War 1. While it is only right that we should remember all those who fought and died for world peace along with millions of unsung others caught up in the conflict one way or another, we should perhaps reflect upon how various socio-cultural-religious divides have caused conflicts through the ages, and continue to do so.

If wars are all about winning the peace, remembering that has to be making sure peace prevails, surely? Or what has it all been for, apart from killing innocent people, greasing the palms of arms dealers, promoting political rhetoric and profiling humankind’s inhumanity towards its own? [World leaders of all socio-cultural-religious persuasions, please note.]

When will they every learn? When we ever learn...?

This poem is a villanelle.

A SHORT HISTORY OF THE HUMAN RACE

Coursing centuries,

blood of angry ancestors

cancerous war cries

Wherever they rise,

venom of our adversaries

coursing centuries

Kingdoms, dynasties,

playgrounds for predators’

cancerous war cries

A pot-pourri of lies

camouflaged in scriptures

coursing centuries

Socio-political policies

(sovereign ears and eyes)

cancerous war cries

Drawing on prejudice’s

bottomless well of tears;

coursing centuries,

cancerous war cries

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

New Year, New Hope, Old Story

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

Today’s poem first appeared in Poetry Monthly International (sadly, since discontinued) in 2008 prior to its inclusion in my collection. It seems an appropriate enough poem for today since this evening will be New Year’s Eve.

Let’s just hope the celebrations will not be premature and that the 2014 brings more than just hope for world peace and a genuine sense of reconciliation between its divided socio-cultural-religious groups; a recognition, too, of basic human rights for everyone regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality, especially in those areas of the world and its societies that encourage if not legislate a policy of persecution.

NEW YEAR, NEW HOPE, OLD STORY

Bursting into the New Year

with a sing-song and a prayer

for peace across the world

Toasting our tomorrows

by way of drowning sorrows

for not letting go of pain

Putting on a smile, laughing

at sick jokes, better than crying

for the price of our mistakes

Brave New Year resolutions

little more than poor solutions

to centuries-old problems

Humankind’s record so poor,

less likely to make peace than war

if good at saying prayers…

Higher and farther they fly,

fine words across a New Year sky,

only to repeating history...

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Civilian Casualties Sidelined OR Whose War Is It...?

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

We read and hear much on this or that political platform about Global Warming and the global economic downturn etc.

Considering various conflicts across the world, whatever happened to the Global Conscience?

CIVILIAN CASUALTIES SIDELINED or WHOSE WAR IS IT...?

People left homeless,
losing limbs,
civilian death toll rising,
NATO focusing
on its troop numbers

Children left orphans,
losing limbs,
dying before their time,
NATO playing
the usual blame game

Families left weeping,
losing heart,
making ends meet
as best they can,
fighting a losing battle

Media left observing
lost limbs,
civilian death toll rising,
NATO focusing
on its troop numbers

World left wondering,
why?

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. NH. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Stormy Weather

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

[Update: 26.9.2019: Only six years have passed since I published this post/poem on the blog, but during that time bullying has raised its ugly head time and again on social media. Boys, especially, are inclined to suffer in silence, probably having been raised to think it isn't macho to tell tales out of school, but no small number of girls as well. Bullies are sick; reporting them is actually helping them to focus on what and who really matters in this life. So never suffer in silence. Tell a parent, teacher, best friend...someone you can trust to help you find the moral courage to do whatever needs to be done to expose the bully for the cowardly scum he or she is, and put a stop to it if only to prevent them putting someone else through the hell they are putting you through.] RNT

The main reason I am on the blog today is to recommend tyDi's great song/ video on You Tube  about some of the worst aspects of modern life that continue to plague many of us, especially young people, homophobic bullying among them. In case you haven’t found it yet, I urge you to go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CseffFUSAkg

I am 67 years old, and yet it wasn’t so different when I was young. What does that say about the world we live in, eh?  Even so, change is happening and people are becoming more aware of bullying and how it can drive people over the Edge of Reason into the Abyss. More importantly, come what may, love and the better, kinder, side of human nature continue to assert themselves over bigotry and ignorance.

Now, while I’m here…

I find writing increasingly stressful at the moment as my cataracts are getting worse. This poem is an early piece that appeared in several poetry magazines, 1996-1998, before I included it in my first major collection. Regular readers may be surprised to see that I made more (conventional) use of upper case letters at the start of lines in those days. I wrote it one stormy day while sheltering from the rain in a bus shelter.

I suspect the ‘rush of images had as much to do with seeing Derek Jarman’s amazing film 'The Garden' (1990) a few days earlier as a sense of nature ‘rushing’ me into…what? Writing a poem, maybe…

STORMY WEATHER

Cloud faces grimace;
lifelines leafing
through pouring rain;
fantastic canvas
leaping at the eye;
rooftops dripping
(sweat of heavens);
rhythm of children
braving a temporary
freedom

A rush of images
as ever seen;
Van Gogh, Jarman
each to their own
spirited inspiration;
distant thunder
rumbling our fears
while (reprieved)
we try to pass it off
as living

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2017

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised from the original version as it appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

The Rhetoric Of Separatism

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T

It is LGBT History Month here in the UK.

Years ago when gay relationships were illegal in the UK I used to feel a strong sense of separatism, not to mention alienation. Not any more and never again.

Me, I am an integrationist. I hate to see society so fragmented and divided in so many respects.

We are all different, but that’s only human. Making people feel different, though, for whatever reason, that is inexcusable and indefensible.  Yes, life is easier for gay people in some parts of the world but even here in the West we still have a long way to go before all gay men and women feel they can be open about their sexuality without fear of retribution. Nor does the latter need to be physcal to hurt; there are far more subtle ways that can undermine a person's self-esteem  and make their lives a misery. I know people, including many former work colleagues (I am retired now) who would never openly admit they are homophobic but take every subtle opportunity to make their feelings felt. Some may not even realise they are doing it; others are nore calculating.

The worst people are those who manage to convince themselves that their religion and/or cultural tradition justifies their homophobia when none of the Holy Books need to be interpreted in that way. Oh, a good many Christains love to throw a few lines from Leviticus at us but that just goes tro show how little they know about their own religion, the significance of the New Testament and the common humanity Jesus stood for and preached.

THE RHETORIC OF SEPARATISM

Some declare us sick
who are gay, only sure cure
by way of this religion
or that, obeying laws written
in Holy Books, reserving
our own customised prayer
mat in Heaven

I decline the way
of bigots and zealots, reply
that I am happy as I am
nor do I feel any shame
in the way Mother Nature
writes my name

Some place us beyond
the pale who are gay, only
salvation by capitalizing
on society’s preferred option
and if sexuality still
won’t conform, it can
at least be discreet

I decline the way
of bigots and zealots, reply
that I am happy as I am
nor do I feel any shame
in the way Mother Nature
writes my name

Our poetry and prose empty
that fails a common humanity

[Note: The closing couplet of this poem has been slightly revised from the original that appears in 1st eds. of Accomplices To Illusion, Assembly Books, 2007; 2nd ed. in preparation from 2015.]

Crocodiles In The Water

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

I wrote this poem some years ago after a conversation with a young student whose family in his home country have to walk miles every day to fetch clean water. He was genuinely shocked that we, here in the West, take the simple, everyday act of turning on a tap so much or granted.

After the poem appeared in various print and online publications, readers wrote in whose various countries of origin were mostly in Africa (but also, latterly, Iraq) to say much the same thing.

We are living in the 21st century, for goodness sake! The West should be ashamed that we do not do more to provide basic amenities for poorer people world-wide.

We must do more: http://www.megree.com/e/3

Thhis poem is a villanelle.

CROCODILES IN THE WATER

A common slaughter,
Third World dying
for want of clean water

Children’s laughter
turns to crying,
a common slaughter

Each young-old grafter
grown sick of trying
for want of clean water

At some capital altar,
disciples denying
a common slaughter

A 21st century arena
found sadly lacking…
for want of clean water

Through gold teeth, eager
summit tipplers belying
a common slaughter
for want of clean water

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]