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

A Life in the Day of a Tree

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“Human nature is not a machine to be built after a model, and set to do exactly he work prescribed for it, but a tree, which requires to grow and develop itself on all sides, according to the tendency of the inward forces that make it a living thing.” John Stuart Mill

 “The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness.” - John Muir

“It takes time for an acorn to turn into an oak, but he oak is already implied in the acorn.”- Alan Watts

“Storms make the oak grow deeper roots.” - George Herbert

“The axe always forgets. The tree remembers.” - Paulo Coelho

Predictably, I've had a few emails complaining, about a couple of recent poems. Reader, A G asks, “Who wants to read gay stuff on a general poetry blog?” Well, any lover of poetry will know that a poem has many layers, just like people. Does A G really believe that only LGBT folks are driven to live compartmental lives, to which not even kith and kin have access to all...?

Now, regular readers will know how I love trees…

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF A TREE

Once, we children would play 
in an old oak tree, stifling laughter
at the antics of passers-by…
now lovers, now friends, now strangers,
couples, singles, all sorts
from all walks of life taking the air,
unaware of our observing
every mind-body-spirit’s words and silences
likely to sharpen and shape us 

Oak leaves, anxiously whispering 
such facts and fictions as generations 
would make sport with us,
call it history, encourage scholars
to argue over, the rest of us
meant to take sides without losing tempers,
while simmering with rage
at page after page of political persuasiveness
further sharpening and shaping us 

Birds hover, only to fly away, fearful
of our presence, unaware we mean them
no harm, but, on the contrary
welcoming their cheeriness and beauty
into our consciousness
as trees worldwide have done, passing on
dreams of love and peace,
invoking the natural world since its first run-ins
with the cutting edges of humans

All grown old now, us kids, oak tree
older still, continuing to lend peeping eyes
and tongues mixed feelings,
yet to find a true voice or path to follow,
once starting to make sense
of such thoughts as cares ti share with us
before the world gets to impose
its own, providing powers that be time and space
to home in, sharpen and shape us

Yet, like a tree, the mind-body-spirit grows as it will,
no axe a match for heart-and soul

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

Friends of the Earth

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“Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being.” – Victor Hugo

“He who plants a tree, plants a hope.” – Lucy Larcom

“Ancient trees are precious. There is little else on earth that plays host to such a rich community of life within a living organism.” – Sir David Attenborough

“Our destiny often looks like a fruit tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs. Could next spring again be green, bloom and even bear fruit. Yet we hope it, we know it.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Now, email feedback for yesterdays poem was particularly encouraging as most if it had nothing but praise and admiration for Jake Daniels; A.G, “a straight reader” says he hopes the young footballer will inspire other sportsmen and women to come out and effectively become “role models for closet gay people everywhere.” 

Sadly, certain world cultures and religions will never condone same sex relationships, but human nature is not only resilient, it is inventive, the human spirit, too, so… where there’s a will to love, I suspect it will always find a way to live and let live…

FRIENDS OF THE EARTH

I have loved to walk among trees
I can now but enjoy, find love and peace
in such memories of you-me-us
as inspire every beat of this heart we’ll share
while a tree still stands, somewhere

There is a tree I see from a window
that grows in a garden that I cannot access
from my studio flat in London,
where magpies nest, bring us year after year
such songs of life as bind us together 

Soon, fledglings among its leaves
lend the tree a new lease of life in providing
sanctuary for young birds yet to learn
to fly, explore the skies, make ready to escape
the hostilities of a wintry landscape 

Less, lonely here, this sad heart lifted
by a wintry sun breaking through, promising
the return of my magpie friends
to the tree whose life forces gifted it by the earth,
gifting you-me-us, also, with rebirth

I have but to close my eyes to embrace you,
anytime, anywhere, let the warmth and beauty
of our love lend me a sense of eternity;
you-me-us, birds in a tree growing in a garden
in all weathers, lifeblood of inspiration

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Growing Wise to Ways of the World

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A reader writes that “My partner and I love your tree poems, and always find them a comfort and inspiration. Can we have another please? Well, many thanks for that, and it’s my pleasure to oblige.

I can only hope they - and many if not most of you, will enjoy this new poem that  has taken me down the sunny side of Memory Lane and helped restore flagging spirits; I can always rely on nature to engage with and rally the latter, even when I cannot get out and about to enjoy it  for real. Yet, no less real is the presence of nature in any of us if we will but let it in; no way does the creator-performer in any art form have a monopoly on nature unless in so far as it is their raison d'être to provide food for thought.

GROWING WISE TO WAYS OF WORLD 

Once, I had a friend
that would always listen
to my worst concerns,
ease the troubled mind
of a child who didn’t yet understand
the ways of the world

Once, I had a friend
that always knew just how
to cheer a sad heart,
bring light to any darkness,
company to ease a growing loneliness
for ways of the world 

As the child took on
the seasons of life, it learned
to take each as it came,
the good, the bad, the ugly,
let the heart sing even as it would weep
for ways of the world 

Now and then, the child
would return to bond yet again
with its old friend
in dreams if not reality
save a mind-body-spirit close to free fall
for ways of the world 

Though a time must come
when death us do part, old friend,
your spirit lives on
in all who care to engage
with an ages-old wisdom being passed on,
generation to generation 

Whenever ways of the world would defeat us,
find new life forces to be had in its trees

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Take care, folks, and be sure to nurture a positive thinking mindset,

Hugs,

Roger 

 

An Autumn Reverie

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Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2017.

As a student of English and American literature (early 50 years ago … oo-err!) at the University of Kent in Canterbury in the 1970’s, I enjoyed reading the works of Nathaniel Hawthorne. I dipped into his Notebooks and could as easily relate to this entry then as now notwithstanding a mobility problem and my coming up to 75 years-old.

“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house."  - Nathaniel Hawthorne [Notebook, Oct. 10, 1842]

 AN AUTUMN REVERIE

Autumn leaves on a lake
caught like flies in a spidery web
of glittering sunlight

Breaking free in a breeze,
skimming feisty ripples, courtesy
of a north-westerly wind

Some taking off, low fly past
over sad trees standing at attention
for once-time companions

Others, caught in a sudden lull,
returned to the lake or as prodigals
to the earth’s safe-keeping

Somewhere, woodlands sounding
its Last Post by way of acknowledging
all its seasoned veterans

Glittering sunlight on a lake,
dead leaves like flies in a spidery web,
observers lost in thought

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017; 2020

Sunlight, Harnessing Imagination

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Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2016 when I also uploaded the video/poem to my You Tube Channel;the video, as always, was shot by my best friend, Graham Collett. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utcO8cKlA3o 

Like Graham’s video, the poem, too, invites the reader to focus the inner eye on whatever comes to mind and simply enjoy the experience of sheer imagination as inspired by sunlight among leaves. 

Imagination is a great gift, one that we all have if we only choose to use it, and better still, share it. 

As a means of sheer escapism, imagination can whisk us away from a world of terror and tragedy, and work the kind of magic on us that sees dark clouds make way for bright sunlight. Yes, there is an air of whimsy about the poem, but isn't that what imagination is all about?   

Never be deceived by whimsy; in a world of darkness and light, it has the power to bring light to even the darkest of darkness. Forget simile and metaphor. Whatever our reality, light will always be the greater life force even in death, whatever out colour, creed or sexuality, if only because the light of love is the greatest life force of all.

We take so much of nature for granted. Take sun nymphs among leaves on a tree tripping their very own light fantastic, for example, now there's a magic all its own...so we thought the video - leftover footage from material uploaded to You Tube on another occasion - deserved to be used in its own right. If you are interested in seeing what else we have uploaded, feel free to visit the channel any time: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

This poem is a villanelle.

SUNLIGHT, HARNESSING IMAGINATION 

Where poetry chasing Time away

in leaves of red, green and gold,

the children of Apollo love to play

Let myth and legend have their say,

the very spirit of nature take hold,

where poetry is chasing Time away

Where tears for fears would stay,

passing years see us grow old,

the children of Apollo love to play

Upon tides of life turning us grey,

return us bedtime stories told

where poetry chasing Time away

For halcyon hours of making hay,

rebel hearts breaking the mould,

the children of Apollo love to play

Come velvet night, allow the day 

its dream-time out of the cold;

where poetry chasing Time away,

the children of Apollo love to play

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

One of Us

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An English teacher at my secondary school, way back in the 1950's, once commented that ‘It is not the size of a tree but its perfect beauty that makes us feel small and aware of our imperfections, as nature intended.’ I remember that comment some 50+ years on while I have forgotten most if not all the curriculum he ever taught.

Deforestation and the removal of trees for property development worldwide is a sacrilege against nature, but not untypical of human shortsightedness, its being a hugely significant factor in saving us from climate change ...  and ourselves?  A rowing world population mean more affordable housing and this, in turn, requires the land on which to build them. Even so, we must never forget that we need trees for our protection and our mental health in the sense that they are inspiring features of any landscape; their natural beauty can help us stay on top of everyday life at times when we can barely summon the strength and willpower to get through it. 

Regular readers will know that I suffered a bad nervous breakdown way back in the 1970's; it was walking among trees in a local park that played a significant part in my recovery. Since then, I have feared a relapse and sought inspiration from various aspects of nature every single day, simply as a human being who also happens to be a poet.; it has worked, and I cope with stress better than I have ever done.

“All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”
- J. R. R. Tolkien (Lord of the Rings)

'When the axe came into the forest, the trees said “The handle is one of us.' Turkish proverb.

Yes, oh, yes, the human mind-body-spirit need our trees ... and not just for axe handles.

ONE OF US or BURY THE LEAVES, SAVE THE TREES 

Splendid tree, shades

of green caught up in combat

with a rising insurgency;

patched-up leaves, shades

of red under relentless attack

from native forces

Branches, groaning

for knowing limitations placed

on input and outcome;

canny leaves, anticipating 

Big Combo, taking advantage

of cloud cover

Falling leaves, piling

at the feet of a parent tree

left to watch and weep;

dying leaves, with more

to offer than a half blind Earth

living with heart failure

Dead leaves, poultices

for wounds News editors

will use for headlines;

splendid tree, hopes pinned

on its surgeon, anticipating spring,

and home birds returning

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, 2020

[Note: An earlier version of today’s poem under the title 'Bury the Leaves, Save the Trees' was first  published in Poetry Rivals: A New Dawn Breaks, Forward Press, 2010 an subsequently in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.] 

Engaging with Veterans OR Questions left Hanging on (Family) Trees

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“We admit that we are like apes, but we seldom realise that we are apes.”

- Richard Dawkins, A Devil's Chaplain:Reflections on Hope, Lies, Science and Love

“To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.”
- Thomas Hardy, Under the Greenwood Tree

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."

- William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida

From my window, I can easily make out two trees, facing each other across a road; no imagination can fail to respond to nature, and mine is no exception. Among their leaves and branches, heads emerge closely resembling apes.

During the UK lock-down, I have engaged with these head shapes; as the wind blows, I is as if they are engaging in conversation and my muse frequently enjoyed listening-in. Could this be   because I live alone and missing social interaction with friends, I ask myself, or am I losing more than my share of marbles? We only have to read history books to discover that so many questions are left hanging … or listen in to tree apes.

ENGAGING WITH VETERANS or NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE, QUESTIONS LEFT HANGING ON (FAMILY) TREES

Something about certain shapes in our trees

against a lively backcloth of sky

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Life forces everywhere, aping personalities

not unfamiliar to the human eye;

something about certain shapes in our trees

Eyes, noses, mouths, courtesy of arty leaves

lends imagination a reality by and by,

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Earth Mother, mulling on human ingenuities

(among them, the bare faced lie);

something about certain shapes in our trees

Humankind, all but bringing nature to its knees,

whisperings in the wind’s weepy sigh,

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Enter, humanity obsessed with potential enemies

(more power to the elbow than any sky);

something about certain shapes in our trees

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Note: Composed May 1^st  during the UK  lockdown]

An Affinity with the Spiritual Nature of Ancient Woodlands

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Where Earth Mother has held a mirror to human nature for centuries, it is small wonder that even great artists struggle to capture glimpses of its reflection, relying on the inner eye to explore its similes and metaphors just as a space probe might home in on moon craters…

AN AFFINITY WITH THE SPIRITUAL NATURE OF ANCIENT WOODLANDS

Leafy dome, a spread of crystal prisms;

like a familiar cheek deflecting its tears

Stained glassiness, images of a sunset;

pink flesh betraying shades of ageing

Moon, shining through, beacon of hope;

human spirit anxious for inspiration

Stars, drawing on mythology and religion

to engage the human mind’s potential

Clouds, siding with the world’s sceptics

shaping like endings to like beginnings

Dome, engaging with our metamorphoses,

inciting we creative dreamers to waken

Glassiness, flushed with dawn’s promises;

pink flesh, responding to nature’s kisses

Birdsong, like distant bells ringing changes;

humanity, left trailing old gods and new

Between earth and sky, our time and space;

to each of us, a prism (some call it Heaven)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Marking time, Sapling, Waiting On Its Seasons

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Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008 so I guess now is as good a time as any to give it a airing albeit a slightly revised version. 

I am in my late 60s now. Now and then I consider the discrepancy between what I have achieved and what I’d once hoped to achieve, and my heart sinks...until I consider various off-shoots of that ‘unfulfilled potential’ and then the tree doesn’t look half so bad after all.

MARKING TIME, SAPLING, WAITING ON ITS SEASONS

Youth, with dreamy eyes

and wind in the hair,

soaking up heaven’s store

of tears for cares

like leaves untimely fallen

on slim shoulders

Like a sapling in a breeze,

see it bend, never break;

watch leaves bud and grow;

now green, now red,

now gold for each mortal

breath it takes

Nor shall its season cease,

grown older, stronger,

a bold heart harbouring 

the finer seeds

of Creation for nature’s  

nurturing

Spirited tree, proud and free,

a living part of earth’s

finer tapestry, sheltering all

(no one’s enemy)

though they carve initials

on your body

Forever, tall and beautiful

in the mind’s eye;

where lashed to dark skies,

a freedom won

by egg cries sure to archive

its leafy passions

Potential in its prime, marking

time

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem  appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2004; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.] 

My Friends, The Trees

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Sometimes it can feel as if our world has come to an end or is closing down on us like the curtain on a Shakespearean tragedy.  

I have often felt that way, even as a child (when no one took depression in children very seriously if at all) and have spent the best part of a lifetime finding ways of restoring a view of life and self that gives rise to optimism rather than pessimism.

Creative therapy (writing) and reading have played a vital part in my battle to beat depression, but it is nature that has proved my salvation.  While not even the finest arts can copy it, a troubled mind, body, and spirit can do far, far, worse than try. So it has been with mine since my partner died even though we were together but a few years and it was a long time ago. My mother’s death, too, affected me deeply. 

Yet, the trees remain, the same trees we walked among, talked among, and rested among to enjoy leafy kaleidoscopes and create our own; trees now bursting with life, now all but dying only to thrive again according to time and season. Such is the stoicism of nature from which the human body-mind-spirit can take heart if it will but pause long enough to look and see, listen and learn…

MY FRIENDS, THE TREES

I never felt so alone

as once you were gone,

drab days stretching

on and on like dirt tracks

leading nowhere

but deeper into woodlands

where no sun shining,

birds singing or rabbits

teasing the eye

Then a day came, 

long after you were gone,

I chanced to spot

a chick sparrow fly the nest,

hover uncertainly,

fledgling wings in a flap,

but only briefly

before soaring up, up,

and away 

I followed its flight,

spotted a trickle of sunlight

bursting through trees

whose spring leaves

dripped rainbows on the eye,

restoring colour 

to a world left colourless 

since you painted me

out of it

Suddenly, the inner ear 

hears once more, inner eye

can see again,

empty heart starting to fill

(if slowly) with joys 

of spring, reawakening

happier times, 

trying out heart strings

and retuning 

Oh, but less lonely now,

befriended by trees, lifted

by ages-old tales

of love and peace, songs

celebrating life,

poems reflecting that death

must wait its turn

while we relish the thrill

of first flight

Sparrow flies into tree,

possibly same bird, same tree,

but not the same me, 

loath to leave my friends,

the trees, yet anxious

as they to remind the world 

it’s spring, 

body, mind, and spirit 

overflowing

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Spring Magic

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Whenever we are feeling down, there is always something in the magic of nature to lift us; summer holidays, colourful autumn leaves, winter sunshine, the magic of spring...

Now, it has been a long, dull,wet  winter here in the UK so I thought I’d write something cheerful. The poem is a little whimsical perhaps, but regular readers will know that I ‘do’ whimsy quite often.

If early March is hardly spring, at least we can remind ourselves it’s just around the corner. Besides, we have only to let the inner eye stray to some once-upon-a-springtime, and it’s here again already.

Thank goodness for the power of imagination, memory, positive thinking, and the spiritual quality of humankind’s more discerning affinity with nature.

SPRING MAGIC

As I paused by a tree,
I saw it weeping for me;
bad times, hard times,
ever-haunting back roads
of my memory

As I paused by a tree
I heard it laughing at me,
for ever dwelling
on darker, wintry, aspects
of my history

As I paused by a tree,
I heard it singing for me
while opening up
a gift-wrapped box of delights
we call memory

As I paused by a tree,
it covered me with kisses
of faery blossom,
working spring magic, life-force
of all history

As I paused by a tree,
leafy skies swooped on me
and spring cleaned
the darker, wintry, corners
of my memory

As I passed by a tree,
I heard it gaily cheering me
for moving on,
a new spring in every step
making history


Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

A Passion for Trees

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Today's poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008 and has been  especially requested by ‘Jack and Louise’ for ‘[our] son Michael and his partner Jonathan.’

So the  poem talks of gay love…so what? Love is love is love just as a poem is a poem is a poem and - most importantly of all - a person is a person is a person. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.

Oh, but the tales a tree can tell...if we but care to listen!

The famous opening lines of ‘Trees’ by American writer, Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918) s may well spring to mind:

‘I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree...’

Photo: An ash tree.

A PASSION FOR TREES

There’s a tree in a field

that sings me a love song

every time I’m sitting

where it rises from the ground;

listen, and you’ll hear

the lyric of a love song hanging

on a dream lost and found

By a tree in a field

we wrote our first love song,

bodies entwining

as we lay there on the ground,

sharing with the birds

such joy, such passion, hanging

on a dream lost and found

There’s a tree in a field

that watched us kiss and part,

not daring to believe

as we lay there on the ground

how gay love might

survive a world left but hanging

on dreams lost and found

To a tree in a field

we returned to write a love song,

bodies entwining

as we lay there on the ground,

sharing with the birds

such joy, such passion, a waking

dream lost and found

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

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

Who Speaks Up for the Trees?

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A reader has been in touch to say she would never travel on the London Underground again following the tragic events of July 7th 2005 in which she lost a close friend. Similarly, she would never visit the USA because ‘... it has to be a high profile target for terrorists.’

While I can understand and sympathise with how she feels, terrorists can strike anywhere at any time. We can but remain hopeful that we will leave our homes for work or whatever and return safely. Besides, if we give in to our fear of terrorists and their misguided belief that they are entitled, for whatever reason, to force their views on others by means that confirm the existence of evil in the world… they have won.

Dare I suggest that Earth Mother, too, should be on her guard against those set n destroying the environment? There is an eco terrorism that I suspect is as great a threat to us all as its human counterpart, if not more so in the longer term. (I have always had the mind-body-spirit of an eco-warrior if not the bare-faced nerve to put my eco-convictions to the test - yet.)

WHO SPEAKS UP FOR THE TREES?

We are two so-splendid trees
standing tall at the edge
of a wood, conspiring with song
and laughter, symphony
and poetry made to run the gamut
of a blessed serendipity

All loves, hates, jealousies,
in shades of evergreen
on the finest canvas ever seen 

only to be redefined
by all humankind along along lines
of well-meaning insanity

Would-be giants, sentinels
of a civilization
protective of its own, pawns
in a civilization feeding
on ages of rewriting human history
and its blood stained pages

Inciting song and laughter,
music and poetry,
humanity acknowledging a duty 

to save our woodlands
for generations while selling off trees

to property developers

Who looks down at twin logs
and sees us as we were
or hears leafy winds whispering
names of any cut down

in their prime here, there, everywhere,

no matter the time of year?

Oh, but the world may yet rue
its short sightedness
in scarring nature's face (or worse)
forgetting we were here first,
and how who laughs last so often laughs
the louder and longest

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

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

My Hero Is A Tree

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[Update 5/1/17: All my poetry collections are out of print and it is unlikely there will be any print (revised) editions; they sold well (for poetry) but I had to self-publish them because no poetry publishers were willing to combine general and gay-interest poetry. I am in the process of preparing revised editions in e-format for Google Play but this is likely to take some time as I am in my 70's now and am kept busy overcoming various health problems.]RT

[Update April 2016: I read this poem over a video shot by my friend Graham Collett for my You Tube channel some time ago: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvoS6PLKqSA   Some readers have said the previous link does not work so I have copied and reinstated it; if it still does not work, go to my channel and search under title. As feedback suggests some of you cannot always access YouTube for one reason or another, I have also posted the video below.]

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog before, I included it among some 100+ others in my new collection, divided into seven themed sections for easy reading. Let’s face it. No one sits down and reads a poetry book so I have made it easy for readers to (hopefully) makes the most of all my collections; he or she can dip into one section of about 20-25 poems now and then before dipping into another at his or her leisure. 

 I hope to be around for a few more years yet. Even so, I am always aware that when my time is up, the blogs will vanish into cyberspace and all that will remain of my poems (and me) will be in my collections. The sum total of my collections is  a diary of journeys short and long, delightful and grim, that comprise my life. Anyone who cares to read them may or may not discern which poems have their roots in autobiography and which do not, but even imagination has to be nurtured by a creative mind, and the mind of poet has to be worth exploring. Well, doesn’t it...?

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Now, regular readers will know how much I love trees. I am fortunate to live near Hampstead Heath and have written several poems about it that express, if only in part, the immense satisfaction I take from strolling among its grassy slopes and ponds, but especially admiring its splendid trees of all varieties. Needless to say, I am a passionate about Green issues.

My HERO IS A TREE

(for Val Berry)

Leaves on my hero are budding,

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life

to field and valley, filling the lonely heart

with thoughts of love;

Leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, filling hearts growing old

with memories of love;

Leaves on my hero are turning

read and gold in the company of dreams,

swallows departing, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old

fly the colours of love;

Leaves on my hero are drifting

across time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley like bright-eyed children

running with kites;

Leaves on my hero are budding;

the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;

swallows returning bring life 

to field and valley, as well as new takes on old tales

we tell on love;

Leaves on my hero are singing

songs of summer as feisty as passion;

young folks laughing bring life

to field and valley, teasing hearts growing old

for knowing nothing of love;

Leaves on my hero are turning

red and gold in the company of dreams;

swallows departing, sure to return

to field and valley while hearts young and old,

fly the colours of love;

Leaves on my hero are drifting

time and space, world without end;

tears of pain, joy and hope

flying field and valley, the children we were,

running with kites

Copyright R. N. Taber,  2012, 2021

(Note: this poem has been only slightly revised since it first appeared in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012 and also read it on my YouTube channel.) RNT

Woodlanders

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in August 2008. It reflects a passion for nature that I trust will never leave me, not least because I associate it with everyone and everything I have ever loved.

Maybe it's the poet in me but I have always felt that, whatever our sex or sexuality, there is a timeless quality about love that cannot help but bring and keep us ever closer to nature. Moreover, although I subscribe to no religion, nor do I believe that relationship ends with death if only because spring always follows winter ...

While I recognise the need to create space to satisfy the housing needs of an ever growing population, deforestation is not only an attack on, it fails to take into account that we need our trees or one day there may well be no need to house any of us; global warming will take care of that.  Trees are one of our greatest allies in our battle against climate change, a battle for which humankind has only itself to blame.

WOODLANDERS

Memories, dancing

on the skin, like a gypsy

tambourine;

the two of us making love

on a battered

trench coat;

swallows nesting above

with concerns

of their own

though, unlike ours,

answerable

to none;

Earth’s music, a glorious

symphony, dying notes

no tragedy,

though we can

but snatch

at time

with child hands delighting

in the picking

of bluebells,

applauding the first

flight of baby

swallows,

sharing nature’s rapture

that will forever

endure

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2016

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]