Yes, What ...?

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I once remarked to a friend that people can be are such a puzzle, to which he promptly replied that it probably was because we are such a puzzle to ourselves.

Ah, probably...

Sometimes we find it hard to express ourselves in words; if we are fortunate enough to be painters or musicians, we can often express ourselves better through those genres, certainly our deeper feelings.

At other times, we may express ourselves perfectly yet still be misunderstood because those with whom we wish to communicate choose to put their own interpretation on what we say rather than try and understand what we mean.

But what do we mean and do we ever mean quite what we say? Oh, but how often do we wish we had expressed ourselves differently!

Our use of weeds, paint, music, whatever...these all open up pathways to meaning that all parties concerned are free to follow; sometimes we are fortunate enough to follow the same path, and meaning is established. Yet, even where meaning is not fully established, the chances are our relationship with the other party will have entered a new dimension; one we are likely to explore whether consciously or subconsciously, and in so doing discover more about each other than before the dialogue began...even if we are not quite sure what, exactly.

YES, WHAT ...?

If I’d said this, or that,

said - what?

If I’d done this, or that,

done - what?

Tortured souls crying out

their guilt, left

hanging in some limbo

to - rot?

What good purpose, that?

None.

We cannot (ever) change

what’s done,

bring back loved ones

long - gone?

No, but here in the heart,

forever

willing us to live again,

move on;

Nothing, said or done then

would - what?

Have eased whose pain,

whose guilt?

Choices, rarely plain, but

ours alone

will take us here, there,

where?

No one to blame having

chosen - wrong?

Who’s to say, play judge

and jury?

Enough, surely, to be …

what, exactly?

[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Frost On The Glass

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I well remember how, as a child, I would wake some mornings, sun shining on my window where Jack Frost had painted all manner of shapes and scenario; these would fill me with such a sense of wonder and delight that I was sure to be thinking positively by the time I jumped out of bed, game to take on a new day, whatever...

Nothing has changed. but for the wintry realisation that I'm more years older than I either feel or care to count.

FROST ON THE GLASS

Snow leopard 
pacing its territory;
Eagle circling
its prey, wolf howling 
to its kin

Avalanches 
stirring, poised 
to destroy
even as we watch, 
listen, wait 

Abating now,
dark winter's cruelty;
humankind
left hugging pillows,
half an eye
on window panes
writing up the poetry 
of winter

Consciences
stirring, poised
to wake up
if much preferring
to sleep on

Yet, not too late 
for Apollo
to light up
our darkness, see us
through it


Copyright R, N. Taber 2009

The Snowflake

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

A BIG thank you also goes to those of you who have expressed pleasure at the videos my friend Graham and I have uploaded to YouTube; we probably would not have continued without so much encouragement. Oh, the hits are relatively small compared to videos uploaded by others, but, yet again, surprising for poetry videos. I only hope you have enjoyed the poems as much as Graham’s photography: We only have time to publish a few each year but be sure there are more in the pipeline.
http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

To those of you who are enjoying the fiction blog , I hope you will continue to enjoy the story lines I plan to serialise during the years ahead; there will be a mixture of gay-interest and general titles since, as with poetry, I don’t see them as separate genres within a genre. [It is always particularly rewarding when heterosexual readers get in touch to say they have enjoyed a gay-interest story like Dog Roses or a poem like Three Little Words]:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

Meanwhile ...

Truly, a thing of beauty is a joy forever. Now, ever looked closely at a snowflake? It is beautiful, only for a moment in time, yet saved to our personal space forever ...

[Image from the Internet]

Here's wishing you all, dear readers, a greater share of happiness, peace and love... whoever and wherever you are, and whatever the season of your life.

THE SNOWFLAKE

I spotted a snowflake on a leaf,

watched it settle for seconds there,

and in those precious seconds saw the face

of my love appear

Eyes that glittered like the snow

smiled back at me as you used to do,

and in that smile I relived the happy times

we’ve  shared, sad times too

By the light of a solstice moon,

snowflake and leaf began to dance,

and their togetherness recalled how we met,

not quite by chance

Lips as red as a robin’s breast

kissed mine, like a breath of spring

gently insisting that you to me and me to you

are its life, love, everything

You were my snowflake on a leaf

seconds before a feisty white flurry

interrupted our waltz, Earth Mother insisting

we home in on eternity

I spotted a snowflake on a leaf,

watched it settle for seconds there,

and in those precious seconds saw the face

of my Christmas appear

[London; December 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

The Dancing Snowmen

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

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

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

Oh, yes? And what do ‘they’ know...?

(Image from the Internet)

THE DANCING SNOWMEN

I was rudely awakened 

one Christmas Eve by the rapid beating

of my heart and a tugging

at one frayed, striped pyjama sleeve,

but there was no one there,

no one at all, and then I heard someone

calling my name, ran to the window

and looked up into the sky

where snow was falling, moon blinking

between cotton wool clouds,

but no sign of Santa

so it couldn’t have been him getting

up to his old tricks

I looked down on the garden,

could not believe my eyes, the snowmen

dancing there, carrot noses

like the glow of old coal fires, chestnuts

where eyes should be,

lips reminding me of scarlet ribbons

I first heard tell of in a song

played on the radio only yesterday,

while on their heads

the snowmen wore hats of all shapes

and sizes, the sort

found in an attic. Me, I was already

lost in the magic

I shinned down a drainpipe,

didn’t feel cold at all, soon jigging away

at the Snowmen’s Ball,

a passing owl hooting its approval,

Man in the Moon

showing his face now and then, torchlight

in a steady, sleety rain,

looking for Santa, last seen heading...

(could be for my room)

so I’m saying goodbye to my new friends

returning, oh, so quickly

to where everyone’s favourite story ends

and its magic begins

Where childhood innocence dead and gone,

the dancing snowmen live on...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

A Robin's Take On Winter

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Now, regular readers will know that I love the villanelle poetic form almost as much as I love robins...

Once, when I woke one Christmas Day and was feeling sorry for myself as I’d be spending the first Christmas on my own since my partner died, I heard the sweetest sound. When I pulled back the curtains, it was to find a fat robin singing its heart out on my windowsill, its red breast bursting with a pride and joy that touched me as no other birdsong has before or since. Unperturbed by my presence behind the glass, the bird I still think of as ‘my’ robin did not instantly fly off, but stayed as if to treat me to the performance of a lifetime.

We had little together, my partner and I, but I can look back on them with pride and joy rather than despair for never having found anyone with whom I wanted to share my life ever again; we were evergreen kindred spirits, and he will always be a part of me. It could have been so different, that Christmas, but for ‘my’ robin not only reminding me that life goes on even during wintry days, but also there is beauty to be had there, and not to be missed.

This poem is a villanelle.

A ROBIN’S TAKE ON WINTER

Among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping,

singing in answer to a snowman’s call;

world weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

Hungry winter days, a fine harvest reaping

of summer’s illusions autumn let pile;

among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping

If Heaven. its duty watch, faithfully keeping,

why do its tears freeze even as they fall?

World weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

Bleak though the landscape, albinos leaping

like children grabbing time to be playful;

among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping,

Where a silvery twilight stealthily creeping,

interlopers quick to grab its treasure haul,

world weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

As sand in a hourglass relentlessly seeping

via cracks in some amateur’s crystal ball,

among stoic evergreen, a robin’s peeping;

world weeping, Earth Mother but sleeping

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

The Usual Suspects

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Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008. Given the results of the latest European summit during which President Sarkozy of France and Chancellor Merkel of Germany appear to have succeeded in marginalising Britain from the rest of Europe, at least in the short term, its title may seem appropriate.

It is important that Britain should not be sidelined while fiscal discussions on the survival of the Eurozone take place. It is all very well for Sarkozy, Merkel and other countries to argue that Britain cannot have its cake and eat it, but they are glad enough of our huge monetary as well as political contribution to the EEC which, as I understand it, will continue anyway.

The Eurozone is a mess, and that isn’t Britain’s fault. David Cameron’s demands to protect the City of London from those who are to blame were not unreasonable. If ever the Politics of Cain was given its head, it appears to be now.

I love Europe, but cannot say the same for its various Governments. Mind you, I am not a political animal, and that often goes for my own Government too. My support for David Cameron in this instance is not an endorsement for British politics as a whole.

As far as I can see, there is not one giant on the British political scene to whom the electorate can point and say, ‘Yes! That person has my vote (regardless of their Party) because I feel I can trust him or her and they know what they are doing,’

The Germans are fortunate to have Chancellor Merkel at the helm; I may not agree with her, but she has a strong sense of political direction and integrity, and sticks to her guns. It is also clear that she is one of the few European leaders who has not only her country's best interests at heart in resolving the present crisis in Europe, but Europe's too. The rest rely (far) too much on rhetoric.

I admire Angela Merkel, while I cannot say the same for the leaders of France and Italy. As for the rest, especially Greece, well...Enough said.

And is the rest of the world in any position to judge?

THE USUAL SUSPECTS

Chains dragging on hands and feet,

shabby grey vines under a three-line whip

demanding satisfaction in the best

interests of the nation, a well-paid-for

education

Casualties of demonstrations against

the best intentions of well-heeled maestros

better schooled (indeed) to take a lead

ostensibly for a common good, knocking

on wood

Let the punishment fit the crime

else a whiff of success rushing to the head,

wins a prime TV slot, makes capital

out of it (if but a reprieve) while shooting

up the stock market

Gold stars for a job well done and liberties

taken, whistle blowers exposed, co-operation

(the key, surely?) sparing us anarchy

and mass destruction while not forgetting

indigenous reparation

Call out the dogs, round up any strays,

keep a weather eye on rebels for ‘los’t causes

lest they get it right, turn one-to-one

into three times three as well as re-inventing

our ABC

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.]

Winter Sunshine

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However cold it gets, it is always GOOD to see a smile, if only a flicker of one, on the faces of even the most dour among us.

This poem has been requested by ‘Bradley’ for his mother, Helen ‘...for no other reason than I like it and it makes me think of spring.’ Bradley adds that he only discovered the blog recently after a friend gave him On the Battlefields of Love for a birthday present, and ‘...I now read a poem or two most days.’ Welcome to the blog, Bradley! Oh, and here’s wishing you a belated Happy Birthday too.

Bradley adds, ‘I never thought of myself as a poetry person and used to think it was an elitist genre, but am beginning to see what I have missed.’ Now, that made my day. Bringing just one person to poetry for the first time has to be every poet’s dream. I only hope Bradley stays with us when he discovers what my critics insist is an anachronistic passion for rhyme.

Winter Sun, Lavacourt by Claude Monet

WINTER SUNSHINE

Could be forgiven for thinking
it’s already spring

Blue skies, a kindly sun smiling
on huddled streets

Children playing, their laughter
tugging at the heart

A funeral procession demanding
we show respect

Glossy carbuncles confounding
their critics

Second thoughts setting us up
for more mind games

Could be forgiven for thinking
it’s already spring

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[From: On the Battlefields Of Love, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]