Friday, 18 September 2009


An inquisitive child, I would often wonder how and why day shifts into evening and evening into night.  As a teenager, I simply took it for granted. At university, I discovered its poetry. Now, just before drifting off to sleep, I often wonder what other people make of it all and what, if anything, it means to them...then morning arrives, time to get up and get on with life, all why's and wherefore's put aside or I suspect little else would ever get said or done.


Shadows, heading
towards the edge of a day
that’s closing down,
monitor going to sleep
but not quite yet

Time to savour the fruits
of far kinder words selected
from friendly clouds
than spiteful mouths electing
to cause us hurt

Leafy hues above us
singing songs, balm to sores
of broken promises,
resurrecting hopes meant
save us...from?

Sunset's last throes
like ripples on a village pond
once a stone flung
to smash the circles,
kill the magic

Ghosts, a felt-presence
far beyond the edge of a day
that’s closed down,
monitor gone to sleep,
cue for re-start

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009