Where the Password is Peace

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

A reader has emailed to ask if I will post some poems that are included in my collections,  but not on the blog. Apparently, he likes to copy the poems and email them to 'an elderly relative who loves poetry but is 'only ok'ish with very basic IT, sufficiently to be able to open emails anyway.'

Meanwhile...

I included this poems in my collection with a place in mind that always fills me with a sense of peace. Before I hit 70+ and developed mobility problems, I'd often walk to nearby Hampstead Heath, at any time of year; once there, I would , enjoy a panoramic view of London from the top of Parliament Hill before wandering back down to sit by the ponds, or roam the woodlands, listen to incredible birdsong and, yes, find peace in the beauty of it all. Oh, but it is sheer poetry, believe me; of the kind no poet can do justice.


 Any readers who enjoy this poem might also enjoy 'On Hampstead Heath' which is also on the blog.

Hampstead Pond

Highgate Pond is a Nature Reserve on the Heath

WHERE THE PASSWORD IS PEACE

I am the rose dripping pearls

on a chamomile lawn stretching

across fields and woodlands

where trees tell tales wiser men

and women than you or I

have passed on since Creation

to the world’s poets, painters

and its music makers to re-create

in a spirit of celebration

I am the lame dove haunting

frantic urban streets reaching out

for a peace of mind as told

by the world’s poets, painters

and its music makers…

to still the restless heart, restore

a flagging faith in humanity

much like the rose dripping pearls

on a chamomile lawn

I am not whom you took me for

when first you tried to read my face,

unused as you are to seeing clear,

mistaking an iconic tablet of stone 

for a chamomile lawn stretching

beyond parameters of time and space

where the password is peace,

trees are heard telling tales and roses

seen dripping pearls

Look around and within all you see

to find me, who am called Beauty

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: This poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

An Affinity with the Spiritual Nature of Ancient Woodlands

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

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

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.]