Oh, Christmas Tree...

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

December, and a new poem. Over the next few weeks I will be publishing archival posts (on and from both blogs) leading up to Christmas. No, I do not celebrate Christmas, but like many if not most religions and religious festivals, it brings out both the best and the worst in people, challenge enough for anyone, not least a pantheist poet.

I asked a friend whose family, like me, do not subscribe to any religion, why they celebrate Christmas, a Christian festival? "Apart from the religious aspect," he replied, "it is all about peace and goodwill to all humankind, isn't it? That has to be worth celebrating, surely?"  I could not agree more, but peace and goodwill to all humankind is not (or should not) be a seasonal aspiration; both belong to the evergreen family.

Well, hope springs eternal...

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE...

Oh, Christmas tree,
all tinsel, pretty baubles
and presents
for everyone on hand,
lead character
in a play for all the family,
meant to convey
a message of home comforts
and eternal love

Oh, Christmas tree,
tell me what it is you see
from the window
you face, curtains drawn
so rough sleepers
may yet dare to dream
of kinder days,
children playing in the sun,
laughing off the rain

Oh, Christmas tree,
do you even remember me,
one who dressed you
in between a mince pie here,
a sneaky sip
of homemade wine there,
and writing cards
meant to spread love and cheer
at least till New Year?

Oh, Christmas tree,
so soon abandoned, forgotten,
caste off as waste,
not even up for recycling,
your artistry
as artificial as the needles
messing the carpet
and pricking the eyes of all those
Santa Claus forgot

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Carnage in Nice, (More) Slaughter of the Innocents

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

There are really no words to express any decent person’s horror - whatever their colour, creed, sex or sexuality - at the senseless carnage in Nice On July 14 2016. Hopefully, though, someone somewhere who is perhaps harbouring thoughts along the lines of radical Islam, for whatever reason, may find this poem offers food for thought ... and think again. 

At least 84 people were reported dead in Nice and many others injured, many of them children; their crime, having the temerity to enjoy themselves on Bastille Day, a national event celebrating the storming of the Bastille during the French Revolution, July 14 1879.

In ‘The Age of Reason’ Thomas Paine (1737 - 1809) makes the point that ‘…the belief of a cruel God makes a cruel man.’ What would Paine have to say, I wonder, about of the image of the prophet Muhammad every radical Islamist wears on his or her sleeve?

CARNAGE IN NICE, (MORE) SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS 

[Nice, Bastille Day 2016]

World, head bowed, but only for tears

where terrorism has its way,

nations, left victims of its worst fears

Though its nemeses breeding for years,

to love and peace, the final say,

world, head bowed, but only for tears

Freedom, a crown of thorns, it wears

for any who get in terror’s way,

nations left victims of its worst fears

Wherever fundamental dogma rears

its head, the mad dog has its day;

world, head bowed, but only for tears

Humanity, for all its flaws, endures

if inhumanity briefly holding sway,

nations left victims of its worst fears

In radical Islam, true faith disappears,

so testify efforts to keep it at bay;

world, head bowed, but only for tears,

nations left victims of its worst fears

[London, July 15 2016]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Remembering a Woman of Substance

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

[Update: 26.9.19: I share the view of many that it was in poor taste - to say the least -on the part of Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, to refer to the death of Jo Cox in the way that he did in the House of Commons last night; I suspect it was offensive to many, especially the dead woman's husband. Having watched the debate, I was appalled by some of the the language and rowdiness of many - on both sides of the House - who were constantly interrupting speakers. Do they not appreciate what bad example they are setting to those watching, especially impressionable young people?]

Every death comes as a shock, even when it is expected. But when it is a wholly innocent person and not only unexpected but also violent, it sends shock waves around a whole nation, even the world. The shock waves fade in time, but memory is a living organism and that never fades so long as there are family, friends, and other decent people out there who will not only cherish it but pass it on from generation to generation. 

On Thursday, June 16th 2016, Jo Cox MP, 41, wife and mother of two young children, was murdered in broad daylight by one of her own constituents in Birstall, West Yorkshire. 

Now, I never met Jo Cox, knew her only by reputation and from hearing her speak in Parliament on TV. However, the outpouring of genuine grief and shock - even across customary political and socio-cultural-religious divides - further highlights the fact that she was, indeed, an exceptional young woman of substance.

More about Jo Cox on wikipedia at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jo_Cox

Every death is a tragedy,  but the murder of a wife and mother in her prime as well as (already) a force to be reckoned with on a generally egocentric-driven political scene, that defies description. As for the killer’s motives, even his mental state at the time, these are barely relevant since nothing can change what has happened; all a poet can do is try to capture a little at least of the spirit of something in someone far better, and always well worth remembering.

This poem is a villanelle. (Why a villanelle…? By the very nature of its form, a villanelle requires a direct no-waffle, approach; by all accounts, Jo Cox was that kind of woman.)

Jo Cox [Photo taken from the Internet]

REMEMBERING A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE

One loving wife and mother, 
rare breed of politician,
touching hearts, world over

Bringing opposites together,
her work, a passion;
one loving wife and mother

Anxious to make life better, 
a caring people person,
touching hearts, world over]

Crossing this and that barrier
set by culture or religion,
one loving wife and mother

No comfy chair commentator,
but getting things done,
touching hearts, the world over

Icon for life, senseless murder,
role model for a generation;
one loving wife and mother
touching hearts, world over

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

(London, June 17, 2016)

Eyeless in Gaza (Revisited)

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

Today’s poem as written five years ago; tragically, little or nothing has changed unless for the worse.

Surely, it is high time leaders on both sides looked to their consciences instead of their politics and worked together for a peaceful solution to this sick war?

Playing the blame game will only cost more lives. 

This poem is a villanelle.  

EYELESS IN GAZA (REVISITED) 

Blind carnage in Gaza

(world calling for a ceasefire)

a crime against nature

Child calls for its mother

(dead before she can get there)

blind carnage in Gaza

Each side blaming the other

(but who pays the dogs of war?)

a crime against nature

Dispute dragging on forever

Its roots in geography and culture;

blind carnage in Gaza

Ordinary people fear

the rest of the world doesn’t care;

a crime against nature

Diplomacy holds the answer

(were politics but see its way clear);

blind carnage in Gaza,

a crime against nature

[London, January 8^th 2009]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; rev. ed. 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

Bitter Harvest

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

In reality, there is no such thing as easy money. Even a huge lottery win is rarely roses all the way and more often than not leaves a trail of heartbreak. Someone recently mentioned that betting is easy money (he had just won £50 on a horse.) Ah, but how many bets had he lost over years, I wondered? Even so, I resisted the temptation to ask and risk throwing cold water on an old man’s elation.

Many years ago, during a period of mental illness, I became addicted to fruit machines and probably wasted thousands of pounds over a period of several years. Fortunately, I am cured now and have a life. Gambling is no less addictive than drugs, smoking or alcohol. It can destroy people and their families. At the time, I was caught up in the protracted aftermath of a nervous breakdown. That’s when addiction strikes, when we’re at our most vulnerable. It can happen to anyone. So never give up on an addict, yeah? The challenge is trying to prevent addicts giving up on themselves.

It is an appalling indictment on contemporary society, especially given the stresses and strains of modern living, that there are relatively few rehabilitation centres or other avenues of help for addicts or those less obviously in the grip of mental illness. They may be the last to admit, it but they need friends and family to stand by them and be willing to go that last mile.

If you know an addict (drugs, gambling, whatever) please, please, be there for them. You won’t get much if anything by way of thanks, but no one can beat addiction without support from someone who cares that they should. Sometimes, yes, it’s a losing battle for everyone concerned, but we have to try…for all our sakes.

Did I say it was easy?

Every day, I hear someone say in the street, media, library, bus or train...words to the effect that there’s ‘easy’ money for the taking if we only play our cards right.  No, I don’t think so, not unless those 'cards' happen to be in sync with the kinder or at least more responsible elements of mind-body-spirit.

BITTER HARVEST

Public faces reaping

more respect than many

have earned the right

to expect in modern times;

paper tigers wandering

corridors of power, seeking

an easy prey, a nose

for more; bits and pieces,

(when put together)

likely to create an incomplete

jigsaw 

People come and go,

all history in the making,

fortunes for the taking;

winners, losers,

gamblers paying respects

to palaces of pleasure,

Stock Exchanges,

After Hours bars ringing

with a cacophony

of celebration, despair,

whatever...

Worldwide, trails

like snails’ slime tracking

the best and worst

of us, no discrimination;

looking to the future,

(things sure to get better)

Family of Man living

up to old myths, bearing

fruits to feed a world 
last observed harvesting 
lemon trees

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Death of a Princess

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

On August 31^st 1997, Diana, Princess of Wales was tragically killed when a car carrying herself and Dodi Fayed crashed in Paris. 

Many readers who appear to have difficulty accessing You Tube directly for one reason or another have asked me to repeat the link to a my friend Graham's video of the memorial in Hyde Park along with two  poems I read over it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_iX3LzGK4k

Meanwhile, here is a new poem written in memory of a remarkable woman; a devoted mother whose beauty, charm, and capacity for compassion won hearts and minds wherever she went; traits she has clearly passed on to her children.

She wasn’t without flaws, you might say, so tell me then...who isn't?

DEATH OF A PRINCESS 

Brought to its knees

the day she died, the world

asked questions,

demanded answers,  cried

itself to sleep

Media loved to play

the blame game, but no one

(quite) convinced

by speculation compromising

its integrity

Crowds played out

the performance of a lifetime

at the palace gates

while its key players left

them to it

Hysteria over a flag

left flying high and crying out

for half-mast

lent tunnel vision an air

of plausibility

Elsewhere, a family

resolved to protect its own

devising new ways

of doing the walk and talking

the talk

Diana, on an island

of dreams, inviting royalty

and ordinary people

to rise above tears like petals

between showers

Brought to its knees

the day she died, the world

still asks questions,

demands answers,  cries

itself to sleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Home Grown

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

[Update 20/4/17: Yet again our hearts go out to the people of France after a police officer was killed and colleagues wounded in a terrorist attack on the Champs Elysees in Paris; our thoughts are with their families and friends as well as other colleagues who, of course, risk their lives every day during these dark times. On Sunday the French people will elect a new president. He or she will face a tough task ahead, not least - along with security forces worldwide - in thwarting the growth of home grown terrorism. Open borders are a wonderful sentiment, but impractical given the times in which we live; border checks are a necessary evil and anyone who cannot see that is well and truly blinkered. It would appear that prisons, too, are a breeding ground for home grown terrorism so security forces worldwide need to monitor anyone released who may be suspected of being radicalised; this is not an infringement of civil liberties, but plain common sense.]

Terrorism remains a global threat from fundamentalists and fanatics who think they are right so everyone else must be wrong. Tragically, their message is one of warped idealism, but idealism all the same to which young people especially are vulnerable; few have sufficient experience of life to appreciate that there are more subtle (f no less effective) ways to help initiate change for the better in what, after all, is a much flawed world for all its focus on progress.

Most if not all of us, too, have our own private terrors within our own personal space; many of these are spirited away into the rose coloured mists of time by kinder forces to which we become more sensitive we grow up, but ... rarely if ever completely.

Before we can hope to defeat global terrorists perhaps we (and they) need to address and rise above our own private terrors?

HOME GROWN

A cry in the night, could be

human or beast,

sneaking past the Old Man

like a snake

A stalking star, fallen upon

its victim?

Feet dead, thought paralysed

by indecision...

Someone badly needs help,

but in what direction?

Probably a cat, trapped in that 

dark alley’s jaws

Quiet. Blood rediscovering its

everyday route...

Mind functioning sufficiently

to agree inaction

Body heading for home, as if

never disturbed

A cry in the night, marking us

for human or beast;

heart beating madly, madness

everywhere

Of global terrors, none greater

than home grown

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Note: The original cover design for this collection is by my dear friend Graham Collett who has designed  covers for (many) other books besides mine in the course of his full-time job as a graphic designer. He also finds time to shoot the videos for my You Tube channel:  

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber. 

I am fortunate indeed to call him my best friend.