A Poet's Blog: Roger N.Taber shares his thoughts & poems...

Thoughts and observations by English poet Roger N. Taber, a retired librarian and poet-novelist.- "Ethnicity, Religion, Gender, Sexuality ... these are but parts of a whole. It is the whole that counts." RNT [NB While I have no wish to create a social network, I will always reply to critical emails about my poetry. Contact: rogertab@aol.com].

Name:
Location: London, United Kingdom

Sadly, a bad fall in 2012 has left me with a mobility problem, and being diagnosed with prostate cancer the same year hasn't helped, but I get out and about with my trusty walking stick as much as I can, take each day as it comes and try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. Many of my poems reflect the need to nurture a positive-thinking mindset whatever life throws at us.

Monday 19 September 2022

Rising Above White Noise OR Peace-and-Quiet, Life Force

“Silence is a source of great strength.” Lao Tzu

“Silence is of different kinds and breathes different meanings.” – Charlotte Bronte

“We all should rise, above the clouds of ignorance, narrowness and selfishness.” Booker T. Washington

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” – James Baldwin

“What I am looking for is not out there, it is in me.” Helen Keller

“I daresay some would never get their eyes opened if it were not for a violent shock from the consequences of their own actions.” - George Eliot 

We all live in worrying times. Here in the UK it's not only not only the rising cost of living, but also as to whether or not an already under-staffed and over-stretched NHS can cope should the Covid-19 pandemic return to previous devastating levels. We also have a new prime minister. whose plans are far from clear as to what she has in mind to help steer us through it all.

Whatever lies in store for any of  us as we pass through autumn into winter, the average man and woman in the street has little control over any of it. This, alone, can cause high levels of frustration, even anger, sufficient even to make some people violent.

It is no coincidence, surely, that levels of domestic and street violence have risen in recent times?

As if this wasn’t enough, it would appear that climate change, too, is closing in on us faster than anyone anticipated.

We can but do our best to make a positive contribution, however great or small, and try to keep the peace within ourselves and between each other; a positive thinking mindset has to be as good a start as any, yes?

YES! 

RISING ABOVE WHITE NOISE or PEACE-AND-QUIET, LIFE FORCE

A frantic drumming in the head,
blood pressure rising,
mixed emotions driving a mist
all but blinding me
to all that’s threatening me,
but putting me on guard
against an unknown enemy I must defeat
though I stumble at every drumbeat

Sick at heart, weary of a world
whose burdens all but
crushing me, mind-body-spirit
left in so many pieces,
small chance of reconstruction,
such commotion in me
leaving me cloth-eared to a voice
growing fainter, yet screaming all the while
from a terror-struck heart-and-soul

Suddenly, all drumming ceases
the strangest silence 
inviting me to embrace it, ask of it
all questions, listen out
to a heart-and-soul inscribing words
of love, peace, kindness
and other secrets of survival on walls 
of an inner sanctum beyond even imagination,
commanding all my attention

Such is the spiritual nature of silence to enlighten,
if we but stop, look, listen and… learn

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2022


Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sunday 12 July 2020

The Anniversary

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2015.

As the UK - along with the rest of the world - continues to cope with the Covid-19 coronavirus and the subsequent stresses and strains it imposes on our everyday lives (as if there aren't enough of those in modern times anyway) crime continues to flourish, not least on our streets where tensions boil over and express themselves in a terrible violence. 

There are no excuses; reasons, yes, but no excuses for allowing the kind of pressure most if not all of us are under to get the better of common sense, not to mention common decency and respect for human life. Killers ultimately destroy their own lives as well as their victim's. As for pleading 'justice'; it is not for any of us to play judge and jury to the extent of taking the law into our own hands, much as we may well be tempted.

[Update: January, 2020]: Official figures released in April 2019 reveal that knife crime has surged to the highest levels since records began in England and Wales; worse, it continues to rise.] RNT

Memories are precious and love never dies. But let’s face it; it can never compensate for not having our loved ones with us and watching them get on with their lives.

Today’s poem is for families and friends left behind when a loved one dies. It is especially for parents who have lost sons and daughter; no parent should have to bury their child. Whatever the circumstances, death is always a tragedy for those left behind, but what can be worse than to be left with the image of a loved one meeting a violent end or never even knowing what really happened or having no body to bury…?

All knife and gun crime, but especially hate crime, and particularly among young people must stop.

While many parents, teachers, social and youth workers take every opportunity to lead intelligent, sensitive, debate so these killers realise they are not just killing a person but amputating the limb of a vital, living network of family and friends that will never be quite the same again.

There is nothing ‘cool’ about street crime. Young people who think it takes carrying a weapon to achieve street cred or even as a means of self-defence should bear in mind that someone could get so easily killed or suffer serious injury…and it could well be them.

Nor is time spent in prison anything to boast about. I once spoke with a young man who had spent time in prison but chose to turn his life around. I asked how it was in prison. He said unhesitatingly, ‘There wasn’t a day I didn’t wish I was dead.’ Thankfully, he is alive and getting on with his life in a very positive way. 

Every killer has a choice. Tragically, victims killed in the course of violent crime on our streets have no choices left. (I read somewhere that most killers regret their actions, but as my mother used to say, regrets are cold comfort in any language...) Meanwhile. family and friends are left struggling with what-might-have-been...

THE ANNIVERSARY 

No grave to tend, but a street corner
to leave flowers, recall
how here it was where last we'd 
laugh off our being so much in love
as if it were child's play

Leaves, scattered over paving stones
where once we children
loved to play, I-n-n-o-c-e-n-c-e
like the tail of a kite in a feisty breeze
all but free to go its own way

Come twilight, more haunting shadows
marking time before darkness
effects its cover-up for humanity,
half the world sleeping, the other dying
for a chance to have its say

No grave to tend, but a street corner
where anniversary flowers
can but hope to message passers-by 
how sick minds think it could well be fun 
to stick a knife in someone...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2018     

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title, 'The Kite' in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2002]

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday 6 March 2019

Street Crime, a Coward's Agenda OR Society, Sick at Heart?

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

The rise in knife crime and street crime generally in recent years - especially among young people - is a tragic (and scary) indictment of UK society in a still relatively young 21st century. While there is no single cause, cuts in policing levels has meant there is little if any visible police presence on our streets while cuts in funding for youth services has almost certainly contributed to a growing drugs culture in many areas which, in turn, can be directly related to rising crime rates there.

It is all very well for politicians to point out that statistics (who trusts those?) point to the overall rate of violent crime having take a downward turn, but that is small comfort to the families and friends of people (all ages) losing their lives every day; for parents, especially, the loss of a child is a life sentence, but to know that a son or daughter died needlessly, in violent circumstances must cause unimaginable pain.

I have been beaten up in the distant past for being gay, but live to tell the tale at 73 years-old. A nervous breakdown at 30 led to a suicide attempt which, thankfully, failed or I would have missed the best years of my life; among its ups and downs, enough of the former to put the latter in the shade.

All violent crimes denying victims the basic human right to follow their chosen paths in life are tragedies for which no words can do justice; the younger the victim, though, so much worse the tragedy in the sense that these are being deprived of the opportunity to enjoy life, explore and make something of their natural potential, become the person they were meant to be by virtue of nature and nurture. It is a sick mind-body-spirit, indeed, that commits any violent crime, the cure (and cause) for which can often be found to lie at the heart of the very society that has fallen foul of it.

Given that the perpetrators as well as victims of the current wave of violent, especially knife crime here in the UK are young people, society is clearly failing them, and society is the perennial you-me-us; that’s parents, teachers, politicians, religious leaders, police, social workers and anyone with a social conscience. We need to identify and tackle its root causes, each in our own way, and share any findings if only to discover how to prevent a worsening crisis getting even worse.

There will be no justice as long as man will stand with a knife or with a gun and destroy those who are weaker than he is.” - Isaac Bashevis Singer

“The knife is more dangerous than the hand and the knife can be in either hand.” 
Frank Herbert, Dune

STREET CRIME, A COWARD'S AGENDA or SOCIETY, SICK AT HEART?

Hanging out in the park
with friends, enjoying music
on a new iPad,
putting the world to rights,
planting seeds
of love and peace along the way,
and nurturing them

Aware of others in the park,
but only for their long shadows
in spring sunshine
like benign ghosts looking on,
needing to feel alive
if only for sharing someone else’s
precious moments

In a bubble of personal space;
past-present-future,
a glorious panorama embracing
all mind-body-spirit
seeks to inspire once its flowers
come into season, each to their own
as nature intended

Only a fool uses a knife to burst
a bubble just to see
sunshine being swallowed whole
by a predatory darkness,
mind-body-spirit engaging
with time and space to book its place
among the immortals

Looking on from a passing cloud
at the funeral below
of a young person cruelly cut down
in their prime, victim
of someone’s desire to make a point
if only to earn him (or her) a sick sense
of self-importance

At a graveside, no hot tears shed
can heal a broken heart
that may well mend (in part, at least)
since love never dies,
its presence in Gardens of Memory
the world over, inspiring us to keep faith
with it, now and always

As for any who play at being a god
by taking a life meant
to run its natural course, be sure
(regrets or none …)
their remains will grow but as weeds,
mind-body-spirit the poorer soil for want
of either nutrients or nurture

Copyright R N Taber 2019











Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Friday 4 August 2017

Blood on the Bread OR No Street Cred, Only Shame

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

[Update 1/1/2018): Here in London during New Years Eve and early on New Years Day, four young people have died in unrelated knife attacks! More wasted lives, more families left grieving...]

[Update 21/2/2018: Two more young men, victims of knife crime, died yesterday near where I live in Kentish Town, London NW5. So tragic, and senseless!] Two more families and their friends left to grieve.

The villanelle below was written on June 29th 2008. On the previous day, another young person had been fatally stabbed on London’s streets. Tragically, the poem is even more relevant now than it was then.

Official figures released by the Office of National Statistics (ONS)  in April 2017 showed a very significant increase in violent crime across the UK, much of it gang-related. Knife crime alone had increased by 14 per cent year on year by 2016 to levels not seen since 2011; a leap from 28,427 knife offences to 32,448.

The greater tragedy is that gang-related violent crime remains prevalent on the streets of many countries worldwide; such a waste of human lives where, more often than not, contemporary society fails to provide constructive alternatives offering potential solutions.

Whatever, these people commit violent acts by choice and the buck stops with them. If they have a conscience at all, they need to come to terms it, start steering a kinder course through life before they, too, become just another fatality statistic... and what kind of footprint is that to leave behind?

Society as a whole needs to be less complacent, more judgemental and remember hat actions speak louder than words; it is no time to be treading on eggshells for fear of offending the many high profile socio-cultural-religious bigots among us.

‘His [Jack's] mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.’ - William Golding [Lord of the Flies, 1954]

  
BLOOD ON THE BREAD or NO STREET CRED, ONLY SHAME

Don’t carry a gun or knife,
a young friend said;
show more respect for life

I want a career and a wife
(and a four-poster bed)
don’t carry a gun or knife

Let years of pain and strife
stand peace on its head?
Show more respect for life

Though gang rats run rife,
and blood on the bread,
don’t carry a gun or knife

Let me look, dress how I like
if it makes me feel good;
show more respect for life

Streets of fear, tears of grief,
saw him shot him dead;
Don’t carry a gun or knife;
show more respect for life

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2017

[Note: This poem first appeared under the title 'Blood on the Bread'' in Poetic Expressions, Poetry Now, 2009 and subsequently in my own collection, 'On the Battlefields of Love' - Assembly Books, 2008.] 

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sunday 22 February 2015

New Kids on the Block


A slightly different version of today’s poem was published in various anthologies and poetry magazines (1997-2001) before appearing in my first major collection.

I have made numerous revisions to various poems over the years, some minor others major. While most revisions appear on the blogs, I hope (eventually) to publish revised editions of each collection in e-format.

Now, at first glance, nothing seems to have changed much in 20+ years, especially in the sense that a significant proportion of children and young people seem to be having as raw a deal as ever. (Oh, but haven't I said that before once, twice, maybe even a thousand times?) We must encourage our young people to believe in themselves and trust their own judgement a learning curve some young people miss out on altogether ... and whose fault is that ... partly their own, yes, but society needs must accept its fair share of the blame also, and society is you-me-us.

Could it be perhaps that if we all try harder to keep our own little piece of the world clean, safe, and a good place to be, all the other pieces may yet come together in a more bearable, worthwhile  whole…for everyone? 

So many people, rather than act on what their inner self is telling them, prefer to take their cue from the Scarlett O'Hara character in Margaret Mitchell's epic novel, Gone With the Wind. The heroine is always telling herself, 'I'll think about that tomorrow.' It is a common human tragedy that, for some of us tomorrow, never comes...

NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK 

Gone shopping,
kids left running wild,
trolley rage mums
all smiles (dad’s at the pub);
dog mess everywhere,
kids busy shooting pool
at late-night venues
when not hanging out
on street corners

On the pavement,
collide with some kid
on a bike (my fault
of course, forgot to look);
knives out
in the playground,
acid in the park,
kids chasing death
for a lark

Cops in their stride
(‘Come on, let’s get even.’);
kids on a joyride
to Heaven, street siren
screaming, ‘Amen’;
Mum’s off her trolley,
Dad’s on the booze,
angel on the sideboard,
yesterday’s news …

Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sunday 28 September 2014

Disaffected Youth, Wasted Lives


The majority of young people are decent, honest, and hardworking, but there is also high unemployment among young people and that leaves some disaffected with society so they join gangs or become targets for radicalization; violence and/ or drug abuse and / or criminal behaviour becomes a way of life until something (or someone) happens that helps them back into mainstream life and a more positive, fulfilling sense of personal identity.

While there is no excuse for violence, it is high time politicians, religious and community leaders among others (parents, too) looked more closely at its roots and took responsibility where society is failing so many of its young people. Some do, but rhetoric is not enough; actions really do speak louder than words. 

This poem is a villanelle, written in 2014 so its content is nothing new; what is new are successive cutbacks in spending (here in the UK at least, since the financial crisis of 2008)) on such related national and local Government budgets as make provision for policing, extra curricular activities in schools, youth centres, apprenticeships, grants for professional and vocational training places etc. I rest my case ...

DISAFFECTED YOUTH, WASTED LIVES

Got my hands on a knife, a gun,
spread the word,
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,
no one heard;
got my hands on a knife, a gun

Needed to prove I was someone,
earn street cred;
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

At first it gave me a buzz, was fun,
but all that disappeared;
got my hands on a knife, a gun

A gangster movie set let me down,
(mustn't show I'm scared)
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Macho mates weep to see my crown
dripping blood ...
Got my hands on a knife, a gun,
didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This poem is a villanelle, written in 2010 so its content is nothing new; what is new are successive cutbacks in spending (here in the UK at least since the financial crisis of 2008) on such related national and local Government budgets as make provision for policing, extra curricular activities in schools, youth centres, apprenticeships, grants for professional and vocational training places etc.]







Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Saturday 23 June 2012

Macho, Losing the Plot

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

I have written about street crime in a number of poems. Tragically, it persists. At the same time, I feel very encouraged by feedback from readers of all ages and socio-cultural-religious backgrounds. Hopefully, some (especially young people) may read this post and think on...

Overheard on a bus:

1st YOUTH (boasts): Any fool can get hold of a gun or a knife if they really want. It’s easy.

2nd YOUTH (grins): I carry a knife. Anyone crosses me, and I’ll do ’em. It’s just so easy, yeah? (Laughs)

GIRL: (unimpressed): Yeah, yeah, easy come, easy go. Here today, dead tomorrow, you mean. So what’s that all about then?

2nd YOUTH: We’re talking self-defence here, girl. No one’s saying anybody needs to get killed, for crying out loud.

GIRL: (shrugs) No one ever does until it happens. A bit late then, don’t you think?

1st YOUTH: (aggressively) You don’t understand.  Being a neet ain’t street cred enough any more. You have to show you mean business. You gotta get real or go down.

2nd YOUTH: Give her a break, bro. She’s a girl. Girls haven’t a clue. They don’t understand what we guys are up against.
.
GIRL: Too right, I don’t understand...

At which point the bus arrived at my destination and I had to leave them to it.

Like many of us, I worry a lot about street crime, especially the naïve attitude of some young people towards it. Thankfully, most young people have the good sense to steer clear of guns and knives. Tragically, a significant minority (especially among a growing number of so-called NEETS) continue to see either or both as trendy as designer gear; a very sad, sick, and dangerous trend. Let's be clear, ... there is nothing macho about street crime, especially when it involves acts of acts of violence, even murder.

Every society needs to believe in all its young people - and reach out to them in every way it can  - or it cannot expect all those young people to believe in that society.

[Note: NEET is an acronym (a derogatory and inflammatory one in my opinion) bandied about by politicians here in the UK and in some other countries that refers to young people not in education, employment or training.]

This poem is a villanelle.

MACHO, LOSING THE PLOT

Swapped my knife for a loaded gun,
spread the word...
Never asked who'll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,
no one heard...
Swapped my knife for a loaded gun

Felt the need to prove I'm 'someone'
(must have been mad)
Never asked who'll carry my coffin

Life was a buzz, a big bundle of fun,
but all that disappeared...
Swapped my knife for a loaded gun

Peers were always putting me down,
suggesting I was scared,
never asked who'll carry my coffin

First mistake, second chance blown
(among worms interred);
swapped my knife for a loaded gun,
never asked who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Tuesday 20 March 2012

Extracts From A Prison Diary

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

Listening to a group of youths chatting amongst themselves on a bus, I was appalled to hear how they all but revered one of their friends who had recently been jailed for a knife attack on someone. 

I bet they wouldn’t think prison was so good for street cred if they were there, locked up for much if not most of the time and deprived of their freedom all the time...

The majority of young people are decent, hard working, good people. The tragic irony is that the relatively few bad apples in the proverbial barrel have the same potential if only they would acknowledge the common sense in getting their priorities right, the courage to resist peer pressure from the wrong parties and make the most of that potential instead of whining about how the better opportunities never come their way.

Prevention is better than cure. True, luck can play a part in whether or not opportunity knocks at our door, but mostly we have to take a good look around, see what there is to be had that we want and is worth wanting, and ... 

GO FOR IT.

Did I say it was easy ...?

EXTRACTS FROM A PRISON DIARY

A neighbour slipped out to buy bread
and…was shot dead;
Hoodies cheered, one waving a gun;
(Who’s next? Could be anyone...)

I thought I knew that hood inside-out
till I heard a devil yell, “Shoot!”
A face in shadow, but I knew the voice;
what happened next, my choice

Mates say guns are a must (gang culture),
a necessary feel-good factor;
suddenly, blood on my designer shoes;
heads cops win, tails I lose

Emergency sirens blasting at my head,
(Like it was me shot someone dead?)
I knelt by the body and called out a name;
the only answer, howls of shame

I was told to wear a white shirt, black tie
for the funeral, but it was a lie;
what difference if I’m dressed up smart?
Better jeans, hood, a caring heart

Later (crying in cuffs) taken back to prison,
old mates, some hoodies, looking on;
Drugs, booze, skipping school, what matter?
It was my finger on the trigger

The idea of prison hadn’t bothered me
(I’d seen cool shows on TV);
the reality? I am as meat in a lion’s den
only…torn to pieces by men

Oh, to be a schoolkid again, a wiser one,
who would never carry a gun…
nor would I mistake everyday life for dull,
but get an education, enjoy to the full

Like bile on the tongue, every word written
for tears and fears I keep well hidden
or drown in each lonely day’s angry swell
crashing down on this, my life, my cell

[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday 29 February 2012

Profile of a Hotshot

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

For a minority of young people, being in a gang is exciting, even glamorous; a life of crime, even violence, brings them local street cred. For some, too, it provides a sense of belonging that, for various reasons, may be lacking at home; invariably, they discover soon enough how seriously flawed this simplistic perspective can be, paying for their mistakes with prison or worse...

There is no excuse for gang crime. A prevailing irony and tragedy lies in the fact that, given an opportunity, most gang members have a positive contribution to make in the very society that condemns them.

There are two sides to every divide and both need to find a way to be reconciled. Society needs to ask itself where it is failing some young people to drive them into a gang culture; what does a gang offer them that it cannot, and why can’t it?

For their part, gang members need to ask themselves what they really want from life and make a bigger effort to find it; they certainly won’t find it by using weapons, shooting drugs or compensating for their own fears by terrorising others. The chances are the false security of being part of a gang, and the price they must pay for exercising their contempt for society's better values, will come back to haunt them in its prisons, those universities of crime that major in the art of self-delusion.

Meanwhile, the majority of decent young people remain under threat of being stereotyped by a mindless minority.
  
PROFILE OF A HOTSHOT

We called ourselves the Hotshots,
my gang and me

Upholding the right to use a gun,
in our constitution

We’d pick fights on street corners
and raid stores

If some little old lady or a war vet
in the way…too bad

We were the Hotshots, graduated
from school to streets

No one could touch us because we
had youth on our side

Looks, girls, designer gear and guns
made us invincible

We even hit prime time News once
(fame at last)

Then a hotshot turned good citizen
and grassed us up

Disbanded now, gone to this prison
or that graveyard

Me, once Mr Fox, now chickenfeed
among old lags

We were the Hotshots, thought guns
were cool

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

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Saturday 12 February 2011

Hitting Home OR Dead to Rights

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

Our emotions may not always play fair, but cannot and should not be tolerated once they it starts cutting up rough. Love is no excuse, and has no place in domestic violence.

Indeed, there is no excuse for domestic violence in any shape or form, physical or psychological, and no matter who the perpetrator ;nor is there any shame in facing up to a situation and asking for help.

Victims need to confide in a close relative or friend. Perpetrators need to seek professional advice.

Whatever, no one should suffer in silence out of fear or a sense of misguided loyalty, even love. Get support (various sources available on the Internet) and summon the willpower to walk away from it. Let the abusive partner stew in his or her own juice. Forget the dream and face up to reality.

The only answer to domestic violence and physical/psychological bullying is zero tolerance. My father was a psychological bully, less so than many, I dare say, but it's not always a matter of degree; what matters are scars left on the victim, no less unsightly for being invisible to the naked eye.

Sadly, few family members can bring themselves to discuss such issues, even between themselves, thereby risking any damage being done spilling over into a tragedy worthy of media headlines.

Whatever, people need to speak out before the local coroner gets in on the act.

HITTING HOME or DEAD TO RIGHTS

Flung open the door, smile on the face;
fist at the jaw, fallen to the floor, waiting
for more...

Eyes closed, mind shut tight to it all,
homing in on a single happy time, before
things fell apart

Breaking heart in pieces on the mat,
angry tongue making the lips bleed if only
for a bad day at work

Blows lessen, cease, but not the terror;
left sick with humiliation for this wannabe
love relationship

You go upstairs, slam the bedroom door,
down later for supper, expecting to make up
for temper tantrums

Tomorrow, a rose and any tear but yours
on these so-bruised cheeks, after forgiveness,
compassion or passion?

When I pray, even God asks why I stay,
and if I confess no idea, a dear familiar voice
calls me a liar

Wherever I once found it in me to love you,
I must find much the same to leave you, or be
like your rose...

Left dying, in a smashed vase

Copyright R. N. Taber ,2003; rev.2011


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

Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,