Spring, Lockdown and the Joy of Birds

  

From Graham – Roger’s close friend (and tipsy cameraman)

With the burgeoning of spring comes a renewed joie de vivre. As nature’s pulse quickens, sunlight streams into my small flat, warming the skin like Apollo’s sensual kiss. Outside an ensemble of sparrows sing their odes to joy as grey squirrels frolic in the sway of radiant daffodils.

I descend three flights of stairs clutching a selection of nuts and grains. Awaiting me, in lofty foliage, an array beady eyes ogling me expectantly. An excited twitter erupts. Magpies cawing, pigeons cooing and the trills of sparrows. At the shrubbery I set out a bird-buffet. A squirrel scampers up to me and I throw him a husked peanut which he grasps like a trophy. He’s joined by a magpie, then a flurry of feeding to a stirring chorale of birdsong.

I return to my apartment happier, elevated somehow... My daily ritual feels sacred and imbued with symbolism. Some traditions believe birds to be messengers of the divine. All I know is that the illusion of separation falls away and I’m at one with nature, the universe... Offline, but connected.

Roger and I discovered the sublime joys of bird-feeding during the Covid pandemic lockdown in 2020. He’d festoon his kitchen window ledge with breadcrumbs and be amused by the argy-bargy of gobbling pigeons. (London pigeons aren’t known for their social graces.)

We explored other avenues to alleviate those gloomy lockdown blues. Our daily ‘whinge-therapy’ phone sessions played a major role in maintaining both morale and sanity. (How I miss them.) I suspect Roger had a checklist of gripes which unerringly ended with a whodunnit. A gripping saga featuring Detective Inspector Taber - hot on the heels of a dastardly dumpster desperado abusing a recycling bin.

Then of course we were utterly enthralled by the enduring mystery of toilet roll shortages here in the UK. Panic buying - with toilet paper tumbling off supermarket shelves like roly-poly lemmings. Who was stockpiling and why - a conspiracy? Did coronavirus cause one to sprout an extra pair of buttocks? Or were there hordes of marauding bog-roll bandits wiping out supplies? Or was it being commandeered to mop-up the rising deluge of bullsh*t from a familiar Downing Street residence? A stream of consciousness is one thing - but this…!?

Rog and I certainly let our wildest imaginings run riot.

Sorry, my preamble turned into a pre-ramble. I meant to offer an upbeat commentary on renewal and springtime but rather went off at a tangent! I enclose two of poems on a spring theme.

 

*  *  *

NEVER GIVE UP ON SPRING

 

Once there was a time
it seemed like winter every day,
only a watery sunshine
streaking a sky that’s leaden grey 
life barely worth living,
past and present unforgiving,
catching me out
in what I took to be a loneliness
of old age as I’d read about
in novels, rarely taking notice,
forgetting the roots
of fiction lie in such harsh reality
as now had me in its grip,
leaving me to fret that only much
the same lay ahead, cruel
twist of fate by any other name,
delivering me into a spiral
of a leaden, grey depression wherein
I could see no hope of rescue
till into that shadowy place you came,
bringing light, warmth, and joy,
sending a long winter of the heart
into a feisty, overdue spring,
lending even its shadows a touch
of wry humour so alleviating
the burden of my distress that I could
make space for a happiness
of which neither age, sex, culture,
creed or sexuality may justly
claim a monopoly since everyone
has a right (fate?) to be as you
make me, finally (blissfully) content
to let unfriendly ghosts lie,
cease berating a rose for either its thorns
or the nurture of spring rain,
but dry my tears, and live, love, laugh,
feel young at heart again…

Though society find a reason to mark
its gay lovers, be sure our season will long,
outlive theirs, and even when life
is a burden that’s grey and unforgiving,
never give up on spring

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

*  *  *

SPRING, RITES OF PASSAGE

 

As a new leaf on a sad oak,
find a mind-body-spirit regenerating
greener centuries

As new buds on a rose bush
find all animal senses coming on heat
after a wintry frost

As new petals on a daffodil,
find emotions rising above their flaws
on a robin’s wings

As driftwood on home shores,
find young potential needing to be put
to better use than this

As seeds on a southern wind,
find life forces placing time and space
on a learning curve

As pilgrims to raison d’être,
find ghosts dead set on helping us live.
let live, have a voice

As fairy tales to a child’s mind,
find ancient legends wringing metaphors
from contemporaneity

As singing wires to cloth ears,
find rebel green campaigners messaging
the Earth’s naysayers

As ashes to ashes, dust to dust
find art and science reading the last rites
over tablets of stone

 

Copyright R N. Taber 2019. From an upcoming collection; Addressing the Art of Being Human.

Soundings

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

“Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart."  Victor Hugo 

"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” ― Pablo Neruda

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” - Albert Camus

As the war in Ukraine rages on and our hearts go out to the suffering of its people the same heart reminds us, too, that suffering comes in all shapes, sizes and colours within ourselves as well as across the world; were we all better motivated to rise above the latter, peace would, indeed, stand a chance…? 

Spring is here, hopes pinned on winter's passing eventually fulfilled - for now at least. It is, of course, the nature of seasons to move on. Both global consciousness and personal space will need to engage with other winters, hot summers and splendid autumns too...

Thankfully, the human heart knows better than to let any winter get the better of any spring.

SOUNDINGS

Apollo, in no rush to smile
on a world unable to gather up
its pieces, unite and restore
them to much the same as before,
notwithstanding cracks glossed over
for appearance’s sake

Sun casts a sleepy eye on us,
we who rely on the natural world
more then we care to say,
to wipe our tears, make our fears
seem less, have Apollo hear us laugh
again, and again

There’s no hiding the wounds
of war across global consciousness
or personal space…
What we can do, though, all of us,
is bring positive life forces into play;
no small victory

Once defeats looked in the eye
and reminded that none are final
until the last bell tolls
to mark the demise of all that’s fair
and just in the world, mind-body-spirit
will yet find peace

Though calm seas may turn rough,
hillsides become rivers, few survivors,
we can blame climate change
or attend a collective consciousness
hell bent on showing how action speaks
louder than words

Looking up, at clouds making way
for spring sunshine, urging birds sing
along with a joyful clamour
below, nature and human nature
united in an ethos of growth most likely
to bear fruit

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peace

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

We may or may not face a difficult winter with Covid-19 continuing to spread among our neighbours in the European Union, not to mention the risk of illegal immigrants passing through and crossing the channel from other parts of the world.

Myself and most of my friends here in England think it was madness to relax basic safety precautions such as wearing face masks in busy areas, shops and on public transport, especially when N.I., Scotland and Wales have had the good sense not to do so. I, for one, will continue to do so as I do not share our Prime Minister’s optimistic approach.

Yes, the vaccination program is a huge success and the booster jab will provide greater protection; science appears to confirm that effects of the first two vaccinations are likely to significantly diminish without it.

Meanwhile, I try to keep an image of the first Peace rose of spring in my head and let it inspire me to find and nurture peace of mind, whatever the coming winter may hold for any of us during these trying times.

PEACE

It’s a hybrid rose called Peace
come to carry spring into summer,
letting its petals fall in autumn,
like memories to shield human hearts
from the worst of winter

Coloured yellow, the Peace rose
is for reminds us of good times past;
where love, like a rose, endures,
so Earth Mother nurtures, promising
kinder times just ahead

At any time of year, whenever
we yearn to inhale love’s perfume,
the Peace rose feeds us images
to delight the eye, lifting other senses,
lightening other burdens

Sometimes, loved ones are called
to serve in wars, maybe never return;
if they do, never quite the same
person we knew before, human nature
left to endure to survive

If the awful reality and casualties
of wars across centuries their ghosts
try to warn us, and only fools ignore;
the Politics of Power is such that it cares
little for Peace roses

At such times, we must be strong,
take well-worn paths the heart knows
and loves, for where here’s love
there is always hope for a kinder spring,
and a new Peace rose

Copyright R. N. Taber c2010; rev.2021

[Note: An earlier version of this poem – written in 2009 - appears in my collection On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

Starting Over

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

A reader asks how on earth I can encourage our nurturing a positive thinking mindset in the face of so life-threatening a coronavirus emergency as much of the world continues to endure.

 

Well yes, life can be cruel and no writer can ignore that. At the same time is it not kinder and healthier (mentally and physically) to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life and staying cheerful than mulling over the worst and being sad, even scared?

 

A great fan of his Catcher in the Rye, I am reminded of J. D. Salinger’s words from Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction (A single volume featuring the two novellas.): “I don't suppose a writing man ever really gets rid of his old crocus-yellow neckties. Sooner or later, I think, they show up in his prose, and there isn't a hell of a lot he can do about it.” I would suggest much the same applies to poetry.

In the language of flowers, the white crocus symbolises purity, innocence and truth; the purple suggests, dignity, pride and success; the yellow, joy and cheerfulness.

 

STARTING OVER 

I wandered woodlands
in the throes of greeting spring,
reached a sunny glade
surrounded by budding trees
in feisty song,
urging I roll back wintry days
and heed clusters 
of colourful crocuses suggesting
I re-engage with you-me-us 

We had first met here,
two strangers with the same idea,
to embrace nature,
enjoy, the first chorus of spring
for an audience
of crocuses in white, purple, gold,
imaging such joys
as humans take in the pride and truth
of love in its first flush of youth 

My heart, as if awakened
from far too long and deep a sleep,
saw the error
of its ways, forgetting we’re two
as well as one,
togetherness no remit for sameness
in every way,
but the occasional agreeing-to-differ,
leaving space for manoeuvre 

As if on cue, you emerged
from behind a tree after watching me
for a good while....
a knowing smile calling a truce,
and we kissed,
the wood expressing its empathy
with our reunion, 
the eternal Spirit of Spring blessing us
in the light of a new beginning 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Swan in the Morning OR Pairing Up for Life

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

Feedback suggests that some readers appear to have problem with my being gay. Well, that’s their  problem. Whatever our sexuality, though, and whoever and wherever we are, there are families who only want the best for us, but cannot see that has to be our decision, no one else’s.

A blog reader has emailed to say that her husband of some 30+ years has died after contracting the coronavirus. I am sure we all be thinking of rooting for her and the whole family.  Sadly, it appears that she has been estranged all that time from her parents and siblings who were unhappy about her marrying a black man.

Another reader contacted me a year or so ago to say that he had been a widower for some years but recently remarried and was very happy but for “… my family adored my first wife and won’t accept either her or that I could possibly love anyone else.”

As a gay man, I know all about prejudice and how it can affect even ruin people’s lives. In latter years, attitudes have changed very much for the better, but prejudice in some people and communities is so deeply rooted that it may well be several generations yet before it disappears altogether.

I regret not coming out to my immediate family for years. I suspect it would have made little if any difference to our becoming estranged, although political correctness may well dissuade them from saying so now. Whatever, I told very few people when I fell in love with another man in my early 20’s. Ironically, we had decided to tell our families only days before he was killed in a road accident.

Subsequently, I grieved alone and would remain in the proverbial closet for some years yet. As regular readers know, I have never met anyone else with whom a such a love-relationship was ever in our mutual interest. on the cards. Oh, I have loved, yes, enjoyed occasional sex as well, but would never rediscover the kind of love that life-partnerships are founded upon.

Now, February is LGBT History month and this poem is my contribution to it; not an explicitly gay poem, but a love poem no less. We cannot help with whom we fall in love. Thankfully, love does not discriminate the way some people do, and whoever or wherever we may be, losing someone with whom we have been in a love-relationship, no matter how long or short-lived, hurts, terribly. 

Whether or not we find such love again, any love lost will always hurt, but love has a generosity of mind-body-spirit that not only lives on in us, but actively encourages us to reach for the stars, even if many of us have to settle for wishing on them. Hurt will heal, if we let it, but healing does not mean forgetting; happy memories shared will last forever and are meant to be treasured for that, never to make us feel guilty for getting on with our lives.

Photo from the Internet

A SWAN IN THE MORNING

Winter, a gloomy affair,
not least for a conspicuously empty chair
causing mind-body-spirit
to sink for its being moved to recall
a shared history, ours
for keeps, no place as would ever (surely?)
see either of us left alone
to mull over such what-might-have-been days
as would steal our tomorrows 

Spring ,the wistful heart
showing no sign of even attempting to get
the better of its passion
for dwelling on a future never to be,
as we’d once dared dream
of making ours, any tears but for such joys
as only their memories
can build a home on such shared love and trust
as our every kiss had promised 

Promises, come to nothing.
the more so for having meant everything
to we lovers, risen
from a place that’s darker and colder
than any wintry day
or night, if only for a loneliness overwhelming
the mind-body-spirit
that would brave the world, but for its prejudices
threatening the likes of you-me-us 

Together, we could have risen
above any politics of derision as will feed on
whatever scraps thrown,
its penchant for seizing on any stereotypes
likely to spread such divisions
as they can invite to take sides against creatures
great and small,
any half-lies become such half-truths as let humanity
duck any accusations of hypocrisy 

Chancing to look up as I walked on,
eyes brightening for their focusing on a swan
descending from above,
clearly heading for a lake just ahead of me
making noises as if calling
to another, spotted sailing among leafy shadows
silently, with dignity,
feathers stirring in a breeze as if already imagining
imminent courtship and coupling

My swan, it made a perfect landing
on the lake, wasted little time approaching
its chosen companion;
face to face, as if taking sure measure
of each other,
now nodding, as if come to an understanding;
a flurry of wings,
and mating begins, as glorious a spectacle as any other
in the eyes of Earth Mother 

I slowly walked away a lovemaking
in my ears reuniting you-me-us, reassuring
mind-body-spirit
not only that true love never dies
but has needs
it cannot nurture alone, any moving on meaning
neither disloyalty
nor disrespect, no less sure of a welcome than any other
in the eyes of Earth Mother 

Yet another wintry, human heart taking its cue from spring
for engaging with a swan one morning

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

 

An Affinity with Spring

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

 “It is typical of spring to tease us with wintry days among hints of warmer, kinder times ahead; likewise, life, as the human heart emerges from wintry climes, and gets to grips with hope …” I wrote that brief introduction to this post/ poem when it first appeared on the blog in 2015. Let’s all hope it will be as true for the spring of 2021 as well. I suspect the Covid-19 coronavirus will still be with us, but plenty of hope too; hope for a vaccine becoming available sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, we are learning to live with Covid-19 as our bodies adapt to it, developing more immunity as we have, eventually, to influenza and other viruses before a vaccine finally became available.

Now, I’ve always dreaded the winter months, never more so than now, but I recall my mother’s approach to it and try to follow her example. “Forget winter,” she would say, “Focus on spring. For its sunshine, flowers, and swallows returning to nest. Do that, and spring will not only arrive the sooner, but you’ll feel so much better for it that even winter at its worst won’t get you down.” Young Roger was sceptical, but … it worked then just as it works for me now, some 70 years on.

Oh, I have a fondness for autumn although it is a sad month; even now, though, I am looking ahead to spring and Hope is already getting the better of Despair. As for any moments of doubt and fear, not uncommon in winters of the heart as so many are enduring right now in this Covid-19 pandemic, there is always the likes of a cock robin on hand to cheer any flagging spirits, our cue to keep looking on the brighter side of life, especially during its bleaker times...

AN AFFINITY WITH SPRING

New leaves
sailing into imagination;
peace of mind
for refusing to cave in
to fears of a kind
defying all description,
assailing senses,
holding the mind, body
and spirit
captive to anticipation
of the worst that can happen
to any of us

New leaves
drifting through our time
and space,
as if seeking a place
to freefall,
while our finer senses
serving mind,
body and spirit to kinder ends 
can only imagine it
as the worst scenario,
resolving it shall not happen
to any of us 

New leaves
like voices without sound
on the ear,
killing off all human fear
of life and death
by returning to the planet
such past promises
of another spring as not lost,
only sleeping,
Earth Mother sending
dead leaves to nurture Her seeds
in all of us

Buds opening
on an old tree, so delightful
to the eye,
restoring a flagging faith
in all things
bright and beautiful,
inviting us
to reconnect, make time
and personal space
for that immortal poetry
of 'live' nature and human love
in all of us 

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2015, 2020

Cascade

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

Today's post-poem is another from the blog archives (since removed) and first appeared here in 2013. Do explore the archives for yourselves as I will only be repeating a selection; they can be accessed on the right hand side of any blog page.

Some readers who link to my YouTube channel think 'too much' background noise detracts from the poems I read. While I take their point, it is unavoidable when filming outdoors with my (cheap) camcorder. There is no way to subdue all background noise without killing the reading. For me, reading outdoors brings the poem to life. Moreover, the location often relates to the poem. For example, I wanted to read Autobiography of a Beach where I began to write it, on Bournemouth beach.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKzi9VRjuq0&t=132s

Latterly, anyone who has ever dipped into my You Tube channel will have seen that I have started reading poems over the video, thereby reducing background distractions since I record the poem in the relative peace and quiet of my London flat. This appears to work quite well and I will probably do this in future.  I suspect it would have been better to start off this way, but my best friend (and cameraman) Graham and I are only amateurs and did not hit on the idea until we discovered that we had a growing audience. We intend to record more videos/poem later this year as and when time allows:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile …

Someone close to me was a keen gardener and loved the seasons. When she lay in hospital dying, she told me not to be afraid. “There’s really nothing to be afraid of. Nervous, perhaps, but who isn’t nervous of change?  As for being afraid, though, no one with a passion for spring need ever be afraid of winter.”

CASCADE

Many a scary night, I'd stumble along

the lonely, winding passages of birth,

let moon, stars and love’s sweeter song

lure me into the killing fields of Earth

By history’s first light, I’d dried my tears

(said to make all who nurture us proud);

by noon, I’d joined a stream of refugees

fallen foul of some scapegoat of a God

In the twilight of my years, I found peace,

(yes, even in a world living with terror)

for letting a cascade of spring’s finer joys

absorb tears long shed for a bad winter

Come Death's free falling us back to nature,

a cascade of life forces minding us forever

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

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

Rites of Spring

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Since the onset of the Covid-19 coronavirus, many people around the world - both sexes, all ages, especially those living alone  - are now experiencing loneliness for the first time in the lives; the need to self-isolate, social distancing, the loss of loved ones to the virus … all are impacting on our lives to some degree or another. Some of us feel supported by friends, family and neighbours while others are made to feel they do not even have that reassurance and comfort to draw upon. Whatever, we are all having to get used to living in a changed world … and change, itself, can be a tough nut to crack, even for the most resilient among us.

Loneliness is not only a sad condition but can also make a person bitter if he or she is not careful to keep a balanced perspective. We poets write about it, but it’s every lonely person’s private hell and there’s nothing poetic about it all; the poetry comes with hindsight after finding that someone special, often when and where we least expect it.

Thankfully there are many ‘special’ people in this world; those who care enough to lend a helping hand (without being asked) or even just make contact by letter, email or much appreciated phone call where they sense it may well be needed. Far too many people either wait to be approached or take offence because someone hasn’t approached them; invariably, there are reasons behind human behaviour, about which many of us don’t think to ask or even consider before taking offence … and not the least of these reasons can be loneliness, a feeling that too few of us are willing to admit.

How long two lonely people having found each other will stay together may be anyone’s guess, but it’s a sure bet they will enjoy a taste of their own private heaven. Needless to say, the heart, too, has its seasons, of which the most joyful (at any age) has to be spring.

Ah, yes, I remember it well ...

RITES OF SPRING

It was a winter of the heart,

craving spring, hungry for summer,

wondering where they’ve gone,

those sounds of laughter haunting

the ear? Why a pillow by mine

and no one there? I’m walking down

a street and all I see is feet,

protesting about being on their own

too long, falling in with others,

insisting it is where they belong

Seasons passed, cycle of pain

turning me, clockwork clown, going

through the same old motions

of getting by (fixed smile, dry eye);

till one night during Happy Hour,

there you were. For a while we took

comfort in drowning together,

letting our glasses relate the way

life's meant to be, you and me

against the world till... (maybe?)

True to say, in each other’s arms

we agreed to stay a while, no weeds

deceiving passers-by but flowers

bright as daffodils after April showers,

tail of a comet on the Milky Way,

favourite songs played over and over

by a late DJ till everyone’s running

for cover but us, left savouring dreams

to share, richer for richer, no poorer

for chancing our luck then and there

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020

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

Mind-Body-Spirit, Opening Up to Spring

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

Spring is in the air, but sadly, the COVID-19 coronavirus is taking its toll just abut everywhere across the world. Not since World War 2 have we all needed to trust love - in all its shape and forms - to distract us and help us rediscover peace of mind ...

"Daffodils that come before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty." - William Shakespeare (The Winter's Tale)

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, OPENING UP TO SPRING

Come wintry seasons,

no peace for the unquiet mind

as it mulls its choices;

none so obvious as yelling “Me!”

and let the rest go free,

leaving mind-body-spirit to focus

on such kinder aspects

of human nature as any disinclined

to be a slave to its worst flaws

Winter, preferring gloom

to sunlight more often than not,

sending mixed feelings

all but mad with mixed messages,

now reassuring us,

now threatening us with the worst

it can throw our way,

now suggesting we do this, now that,

at each new day’s dragging out

Come, a hint of spring,

daffodils making their presence felt

in buds no quite ready

to open their hearts to the world,

let us see inside,

be inspired by Earth Mother’s need

to take a lead,

defy inhibitions hell bent on throwing

even the best of us off the scent

To mind-body-spirit, all the more peace 
and love for spring’s embrace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Spring, Blueprint for Life OR Never, but Never say Die

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

Spring may well be some way off yet here in the UK,but yesterday I spotted my first daffodils of 2020, and experienced a deep sense of relief that winter is all but done with us... for now, at least, although a winter of the heart is something else entirely.

Oh, my, how time flies! Scary, yes, but (as regular readers will know) I for one take reassurance in the fact that spring always follows winter…

Renewal, of course, includes reconciliation, not least with ourselves and consequently (hopefully) with each other and Earth Mother, both having a nasty habit of seeming to turn against us as winter proceeds, often harshly and uncaring, spreading discontent at every turn.

The genesis of this poem appeared in my secondary school magazine. I was aged 11 years at the time. (Are we really in 2020 already, and will I really be 75 later this year?) Oh, well, time waits of no one and we must make the best of what time we have, each in our own way, whatever our circumstances. 

Spring, too, may well rescue a human spirit in free fall; nor does religion  have a monopoly on spirituality since the human spirit may well choose a different path which we should attempt to understand before rushing to any judgement, especially given that our differences do not make us different, only human. (As good a reason as any for this poem appearing on both poetry blogs today.)

So, what am I saying? Well, I'm sure you will have worked it out, but in case you are left in any doubt ... whatever life forces are getting you down, never, but never say die. 

Yes, we do die, all of us, but, like nature all around us, we live on ... and will return in the hearts and minds of others, a posthumous consciousness that may not be equal to the real thing, yet is just that in many ways; whenever we need a comfort zone or are mulling things though, we are most likely to turn to those whose opinions we value the most, whether they be alive or dead.

We all have wintry days, and the need to seek inspiration, beauty and hope in the multiple life forces ever-present in a springtime... only ever a heartbeat away.

SPRING, BLUEPRINT FOR LIFE or NEVER, BUT NEVER SAY DIE

In the air, a sense 

of renewal, everywhere,

bluebells ringing out 

their message of peace, 

love and rebirth,

imaging a passage of seasons,

(shortcut to Eternity)

where every human heart

dares share its secrets

with Earth Mother for all

Time will (as likely as not)

cajole us to forget

Oh, but listen, listen

to a global consciousness

forever intoning rites

in the wind, summoning

all ghosts of love

and peace to haunt our dreams,

revisit their seasons, feed us 

hopes laid low by winters

come and gone, restored to life

by the Spirit of Spring

urging us to enjoy its scents,

and follow, follow...

Humanity, unequalled

in the art of shadowing nature,

ever anxious to pass on

its secrets and discoveries

in theories, treatises, 

stories and poems generations

will tell, retell and embellish 

(as likely as not) in its archives, 

revealing a hint (at least) 

how taking advantage of nature

still saw a forgiving Earth Mother

mindful of its future

Spring, all things bright and beautiful,

blueprint for human potential

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, rev. 2020

[Note: Subsequent to its appearance in my school magazine at the age of eleven, the genesis of this poem also appeared under the title 'A Hymn to Spring' in an anthology, The Joy of Spring, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2001 and later in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

In Cherry Blossom Time

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

Throughout our winters, most if not all of us look forward to spring, and yet it is not only climate change that the world has to fear, nor does change always mean progress in any context.

IN CHERRY BLOSSOM TIME

Cherry blossom and empty crisp packets

drifting by on a breeze

Empty crisp packets, like lonely people

drifting by on a street

Streets, like lines on the faces of martyrs

drifting by on clouds

Clouds, trying hard not to cry for a world

getting by on crutches

Crutches, supporting old guard politicians

getting by on half lies

Half lies, camouflage for good intentions

getting by for centuries

Centuries, a colourful history of cleaning

other people’s windows

Windows on religions swearing to their fruit

like cherry blossom

Cherry blossom and empty crisp packets

drifting by on a breeze...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: First published in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books,  2012.]

Agenda for a Cull OR Witnesses for the Prosecution

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

 “Each spring, the Canadian government authorizes fishermen to club or shoot to death hundreds of thousands of baby seals for their fur,” writes the Humane Society of the United States. This is a reference to the fact that the vast majority of harp seals killed are between one and 3.5 months old. However, some context might be in order. "Those rotisserie chickens at the grocery store were likely alive for only 40 days. The average pack of bacon comes from a pig that was only on earth for four months." - National Post, April 2018

I’m so glad I have been a pescatarian or some years now, almost vegan since being diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2014. (Why 'almost'? I haven't yet been able to give up fish completely.)

This poem is a villanelle.

AGENDA FOR A CULL  or  WITNESSES FOR THE PROSECUTION

Seal pups dying,

a culling to complete;

ice caps crying

Bargains wing

around the tourist beat;

seal pups dying

Come spring

craving summer’s heat,

ice caps crying

The done thing

to hit alt-control-delete;

seal pups dying

Words but piling

coals on the global heat;

ice caps crying

G8 (still) trying

to make ends meet;

Seal pups dying,

ice caps crying...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007. 2018

[Note: An earlier version this poem first appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Waking up to Life

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

Spring is in the air, season of new life and hope although this sorry world continues to turn as oblivious to positives as to negatives. We human beings, on the other hand, while we, too,  continue our daily lives, we can but look to the former for the inspiration  to carry on just as we must shoulder the latter in order to survive the worst of global conditions and human nature.  

Being positive when the immediate outlook appears bleak is possibly the greatest challenge we face in life. For my part, I always tell myself that spring follows winter, and - trite as it may sound - it has seen me through some BAD times.

May the joyful spirit of spring be with you all regardless of race, creed, sex or sexuality. (Oh, and none of us have to wait till springtime, either, but may well anticipate it by nurturing our own eternal springtime of the heart, arguably the more splendid of all its seasons, bursting with the joy of renewal and the sweet smell of hope.)

WAKING UP TO LIFE 

Showers
in clouds above, promises
of springtime,
tears for a lifetime
of such love 
and loss, joy and sorrow 
haunting us...
thereby remaining a part 
of us forever,
never (quite) leaving us
on our own to run
(oh, so self-consciously)
the eternal gamut
of socio-cultural-religious
trappings coercing
nature and human nature
for selfish gain
if only to get the upper hand
over any secular ethos
promoting self-awareness,
exposing its flaws

Showers
in darkening skies, closing in
on daily lives
trying to make the best of things,
put the worst behind,
bearing in mind a long winter
passed, asking only
of human hearts to open (at last?)
to a side of human nature
that’s less judgemental,
seeking even to be instrumental
in brokering peace
among enemies, encouraging
(mutual) respect)
for multiple differences
of opinion, faith, lifestyle choices,
in a world that rejoices
a civilized society's championing
Human Rights 
for its majorities, minorities too,
no cronyism.

As life-giving showers come and go,
so we, ourselves, aspire to know


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

[Note: This poem appears has been revised since appearing under the title 'A Feeling for Spring' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007[

Spring Fields, the Poetry of Anticipation

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

We are constantly reminded of the resilience of nature and human nature to rise above even the worst winter may throw at it. So, too, we see evidence of that enduring penchant of human mind, body and spirit for the kind of creative therapy that lifts us out of despair and carries us into spring. What happens then, of course, is no secret where nature is concerned; new life, indeed. As for mind, body, and spirit, these can but reunite and do their best to rise above the worst and wing us along with the skylark, perennial metaphor for hope renewed and dreams reworked…that never (quite) went away.

SPRING FIELDS, THE POETRY OF ANTICIPATION

When winter comes,

its days so long, cold, and dark

where do dreams fly

that once rose with the lark,

kept us company

in spring fields bringing new life

to each flower, each tree?

When winter comes,

dimming even the brightest spirit,

what happens to hopes

that once nested in the heart,

kept the mind company

in spring fields bringing new life

to each flower, each tree?

When winter comes,

poverty sure to leave its mark,

to whom do they turn,

faced with life choices as stark

as keeping the heating on,

putting food on the table, buying

clothes for the children?

When winter comes,

snowflakes like failing heartbeats,

how do they survive,

forced to beg on busy streets

for the right to be free

of winter’s worst, a helping hand

from everyday humanity

When winter comes,

its days so long, cold and dark,

drive mind, body and spirit

to image wings of the same skylark

that kept us company

in spring fields bringing new life

to each flower, each tree

Where winter comes,

companion north wind blowing,

sparing no one,

find hopes and dreams creating

a bold new tapestry

of spring fields bringing new life

and hope to ailing humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2016

Sweet Mystery of Life (and Death)

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

We all have dreams, and some come true. Many dreams, though, remain just that...dreams. Even so, life goes on. Yet, getting real, being positive, and moving forward does not mean having to live a single dream behind. On the contrary, the likelihood is that  every dream that finds a place in mind, body and spirit will continue, each in its own way, to inspire us to be a better person. 

I recall having a nightmare as a child. My mother reassured me that it was only a bad dream. 'There's good and there's bad. You have good dreams, too, right?' she said. I nodded. 'So trust the good ones to get the better of the bad, and you won't go far wrong,' I can still hear her whispering in my ear although she died nearly 40 years ago. 

Gay or straight, no one can take our dreams away from us and any who criticize, even condemn us for going along with a dream come true, especially in the shape of someone to love, quite simply hasn't a clue...

This poem is kenning.

SWEET MYSTERY OF LIFE (AND DEATH)

I cherish hopes of spring,

nurture them like misty showers

encouraging flowers to grow,

buds on trees to come to blossom,

fruit or leaf, as they will

though some fall foul of a sudden

gust of wind or children

come to make sport with nature’s

finer talent for creation

I sing a song of summer

though autumn leaves consigned

to compost heaps

where swallows desert the places

that gave life to their young

and the likes of me poems to pass on

though winter sure to teach

us lessons in survival even a robin

can but do its best to learn

Winter come and gone,

hopes winging on a swallow’s return,

lifeless branches budding

nature returning me, also, to a life

badly bruised by winter’s

show of not even caring if we last

or fade, you or I, especially

given unlooked for intervention

by forces natural or human

But let me, the dream inspiring you,

in my own way, like spring, run true

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem  first appeared in an anthology From Coast to Coast: a Forward Press Regional Collection in 2010, and subsequently in my collection Tracking the Torchbearer (2012) under the title A Question of Trust.]