In Harm's Way

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

Some readers have commented on my profile photo that was taken by a friend, Christopher King who is also a professional photographer. He also took the b/w photo it replaces. I was delighted with both, especially as I am not very photogenic. You can find more about Chris at:

http://www.christopherking.org/

Meanwhile...

We all have a force for love on the inside looking out for us. Whether or not we pay it much attention, it records everything we do, good or bad, for better or worse. Moreover, it is a permanent archive, available for reference by anyone who may be interested in searching for more than just proof that we ever existed…among the lower as well as higher profiles in history’s much doctored pages.

This poem is a kenning.

IN HARMS WAY

I fly where eagles dare,

tread where hungry lions feed;

among all my enemies,

it’s of short sightedness I most

have cause to be afraid,

that legacy living histories

designed to weaken

if not the bring down the pillars

of its communities

I swim with dolphins

to lead humankind to safe shores,

away from sharks

sniffing for blood in deceptively

still waters,

befriending those beguiled

by a killing tide’s moon

or having taken on high noon

without back-up

I run with hares from foxes,

if less likely to mistake the fortitude

of tortoises for folly

than the less perceptive human being

is inclined to perceive poverty

for weakness or taking pleasure

in those simpler pursuits

cash can’t buy (nor ever will)

as throwing the race

I am that vulnerable mind-body-spirit

shaped by life, seduced by art

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Whatever Happened to (Good) Neighbours?

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

This poem has not appeared on the blog since 2008. I feel the sentiment if not the poem deserves an airing. I am so lucky, living alone as I do, to have a small, but reliable network of friends who would soon realise if anything was seriously wrong.

Now, we may like to think we are looking out for family, friends and neighbours, but it is so easy to be caught up in other events, issues, whatever...and forget to look. New technology and modern medicines mean that many areas of the world have an elderly population that is growing all the time. We need to look out for our older neighbours, and never assume someone else will. Yes, there is a risk we'll be sent away with a flea in the ear although most people would welcome  anyone taking the time to care. Besides, what's a flea in the ear compared to a guilty conscience...?

I have to say, I don't expect a 'good turnout' at my own funeral when the time comes, but the poem is not about me... 😀

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO (GOOD) NEIGHBOURS?

There are muddy hand prints on a gate

that groans as it swings in the wind;

footprints on a path lead to broken steps

rising to a weepy front door pleading

to be opened, local kids making mischief
by hitting its push button bell, run away
down back a maze of back alleyways sure
to ring with their hoots of laughter for years, 

and bring tears to old eyes

The old house is haunted, neighbours say

since the gruesome discovery made

of an old woman who lay dead in her bed

for more than a year, no one to shed

a tear or so much as notice her gone from

the daily round of laundry, shopping, 

weeding the garden, trimming the hedge

minding her own business like a ghost,
less inclined to socialise than most perhaps 

nor exactly ostracised for this, though hardly

a neighbourly thing to do

Oh, but the neighbours having a field day,

gossiping about the grimy windows,
not to mention the net curtains, and a garden
that's a disgrace to the whole community,
weeds grown tall and spreading, everybody
asking whatever's got into the old girl?
High time (surely?) somebody looked into
what's what there, but no one (heaven forbid)

wanting to appear a busybody

Problem solved when a relative chanced to call,

and a good turnout at the funeral

Copyright R N Taber 2007, rev.2019 

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Crying Shame' in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Birdsong

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

One of my poems begins with the line, ‘I care not for the world as it is now…’.I never said or wrote a truer word. But living in the world is one thing, how we get on with our lives is something else.

We can but try and make our private world a better, kinder, happier place, while hoping some of it will rub off on at least some of those with far more say in world affairs than us so that the world, too, may become a better, kinder, happier place.

Yes, well, wishful thinking perhaps ...

BIRDSONG

Once a bird flew to my window sill

and sung its song for me,

spreading peace, love, and goodwill

as far as the inner eye can see;

over hills, forests, deserts, far away

to lands where little can grow,

and people going hungry every day

while others prefer not to know

As I listened to the bird on my sill,

its song touched my heart

with such peace, love and goodwill

(it saw through me from the start.)

What can we do for the world as it is?

(little enough, it’s true)

but if a bird can prick our consciences,

there has to be more we can do

I watched the bird fly up and away

on wings of that song I’ll hear

as I take in the world News every day

in the comfort of my armchair…

What can I do for the world as it is?

(little enough, it’s true)

but if a bird can prick its conscience,

there’s hope yet for me and you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Making sense of Numbers

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

Before I retired, I was a librarian working in public libraries here in the UK. It has been a source of great concern to me in recent years that a growing of children and young people asking for help in finding material for homework projects had such poor literacy and numeracy skills. For some adults too, of course, that may not have had the benefit of much formal education, these skills same remain underdeveloped.

It has always seemed to me that numeracy is somehow seen as the poor relation to literacy even though a grasp of number is every bit as important as a grasp of letters.

 ‘Karl’ and ‘Brett’ once wrote in to tell me how getting help to improve their numeracy skills ‘by leaps and bounds’ had considerably boosted their self-confidence. Karl says ‘Numbers were like a foreign language. I could not make any sense of them.  I was made to feel I was in a minority and was too ashamed to ask for help. I got paranoid and it felt like there was some sort of conspiracy against people like me. I didn’t realise so many people have the same problem. Now I can even work out rail and bus timetables. Before finding a really good (home) teacher I was clueless about the 2400 hours clock.’

Believe me Karl, 2400 hours timetables confuse a LOT of people.

This poem is a villanelle.

MAKING SENSE OF NUMBERS

It can feel like a conspiracy,

(the world an enemy)

this nightmare, innumeracy

Out shopping, and invariably

spending too much money;

it can feel like a conspiracy

Debts spiraling relentlessly

(affront to integrity)

this nightmare, innumeracy

I look at my friends and envy

their budgeting effortlessly;

it can feel like a conspiracy

I once confessed ashamedly

to life turning sour on me,

this nightmare, innumeracy

I found support and sympathy

and help for others like me;

it can feel like a conspiracy,

this nightmare, innumeracy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

The Last Long Hauler Out Of E-Bay

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

Some people like to hedge their bets regarding what if anything they might face once they have ‘shuffled off this mortal coil’. (That’s straight out of Hamlet, of course. Good ole Shakespeare. Sounds so much better better than just being dead, doesn’t it?)

Me? Well, I was never much of a gambler so I guess I’ll just have to take my chances with nature…

THE LAST LONG HAULER OUT OF E-BAY

Bid for a ticket,

now halfway to (Heaven?)

angels rushing by - no

less anxious than I to see

the end of the line

Looking down, I see

people on hands and knees

in poverty and pain - far

more anxious than I to see

if God’s at home

Looking out, I feel

a devil’s breath on my face,

smell incense burning

like a pot-pourri of roses

and grow anxious

Bid for a ticket,

now halfway to (Heaven?);

angels rushing past - no

less anxious than I to make up

for lost time

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

Past-Present-Future, Rescue Strategy OR Living With Ghosts

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

Time itself heals nothing. Gradually, though, happy memories become even more precious, help sustain us in our loss, encourage and inspire us to get on with our lives.

There is no feeling more inspiring than love, in all its forms. Sadly, for every human spirit emanating love, there is a global consciousness that has missed out on some if not all of it.

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, RESCUE STRATEGY or LIVING WITH GHOSTS 

I glimpsed a ghost

in spring leaves,

a fragile thing, flickering

with loss and pain

till joy, its brighter light.

bursts through - winter, woods
 alive again

I glimpsed a ghost

in summer leaves

a bold thing, enjoying

no finer freedom

than hope, a brighter light

bursting through - greenwoods
strong again

I glimpsed a ghost

in autumn leaves,

such a pretty thing, high

on colourful passions

like home fires acting out

lmuch like the mummers of old 

in a play

I glimpsed a ghost

in winter snow,

a sad thing, its sorrow

shining through…

Yet love, a brighter light,

acting the Guardian, watching
over our graves

Copyright R N Taber 2007, 2019

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

Fail-Safe For Mortality

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

What is life all about? How should I know? But a passion for nature reassures me it’s part of a bigger picture than even the inner eye can see…

Whatever our culture, religion, sex or sexuality, who can embrace nature and not sense its lending us a feeling for life that is part of its patchwork of history that includes all humankind? An undeserving inclusion, I often think, seeing how we are inclined to treat the natural world as if we own it, and are entitled to rape and pillage landscapes to which no written poem can do justice because they are poems in their own right,

FAIL-SAFE FOR MORTALITY

Where the sun clips the wing of a blackbird,
there I’m heading;
where a spring breeze sings in swan’s down,
there I’m coming from

Where summer rainbows kiss autumn leaves,
there I’m heading;
where April showers give birth to its daffodils,
there I’m coming from

Where autumn leaves make music to die for,
there I’m heading;
where laughter and love take their holidays,
there I’m coming from

Where the snowmen dance to a robin’s tune,
there I’m heading;
where old gods pass new myths off as history,
there I’m coming from

Where a spring breeze sings in swan’s down,
there I’m heading;
Where the sun clips the wing of a blackbird,
there I’m coming from


Copyright R. N. Taber 2013