Love, Getting the Better of its Nemeses

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

Who cannot, in one way or another, relate to a love poem? 

Personal though they may be for the poet, love poems are (like love) for everyone whatever their ethnicity, creed, sex or sexuality ...

Love is not only timeless in the sense that it exists within the human psyche forever in the form of remembrance, it has the capacity for rising above any prejudice or whatever thrown at it for reasons best known to the its nemeses. 

  

LOVE, GETTING THE BETTER OF ITS NEMESES

Spring showers, ever overtaking us 

like hours in a day,

recalling a Once-Upon-A-Time 

we let love have its way

Summer storms, ever overtaking us

like months, years,

since first we dared kiss as lovers 

through bitter-sweet tears

Autumn leaves, pausing as they pass

to write songl lyrics

about lovers the whole world over

disproving cynics and clerics

Dead leaves, drifting past my window,

trees (for now) bare…

signs that even cock robin’s bravado

cannot deny winter is here

Nature, a mirror to our every season;

love, even by time, never overtaken

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Anatomy of a Smile

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

I have always been an avid reader. Once, when I was very unhappy, my mother tried to coax a smile from me. ‘What is there to smile about?” I snapped irritably.

“Every smile has a happy ending,” she said, and then added with a knowing smile of her own, “but you have to read the whole book to appreciate it.”

It was years before I really understood what she meant.

When someone dies, remembering them can hurt ... until you start turning the pages of the book you wrote together and happy memories leap out at you like the best photos in an album to cherish always.

ANATOMY OF A SMILE

There’s a face

at a window I always see

whenever I pass by;

it’s always there,

smiling at me, and I know

the reason why

There’s a face

at a window I always see

if rain makes it blur;

it’s always there,

laughing at me, a rare joy

to remember

There’s a face

at a window I always see,

day and night;

it’s always there,

telling me, for each wrong

there’s a right

There’s a face

at a window I always see

whenever I’m down;

it’s always there,

to lift me, make damn sure

I move on

There’s a window

I always see in smiley faces

passing by;

it’s always there,

reassuring me that our love

will never die

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Sometimes Dawn Is A Long Time Coming

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

In 2010, a set of unforeseen and unexpected circumstances once forced a close friend of mine to walk the streets of London all night. In my younger days, fate dealt me a similar hand. 

More than once, I have forgotten or lost my keys and been unable to contact friends who either kept my spare keys or would have gladly helped out in such an emergency. At first, I’d panic. In no time, however, I would become philosophical and resolve to make the best of a bad situation. Eventually, though, I confess I’d be past caring.

My friend said he’d felt much the same way. Even so, we agreed that the experience was a learning curve. Moreover, neither of us will ever observe people sleeping rough on park benches (or wherever) during the day, probably having walked the streets all night, in quite the same light again.

Every town and city has its share of homeless people. For my friend and me, it was really no big deal, but for homeless people it is a way of life. What kind of indictment is that on this 21st century of ours? These people need help, encouragement, and incentive to be integrated back into mainstream society albeit, it has to be said, the same society that let them down in the first place...Is it any wonder then that, vulnerable as they are, many are driven to alcoholism and other forms of drug addiction?

This poem is a villanelle.

SOMETIMES DAWN IS A LONG TIME COMING

No wanderer more alone than I,

heartbeat fading fast;

weary streets, indifferent sky

Tears cornered by the inner eye,

defiant to the last;

no wanderer more alone than I

Old Man smiles, asks not why

I look to the past;

weary streets, indifferent sky

Ghosts, anxious to probe and pry,

midsummer night’s die cast;

no wanderer more alone than I

Nature stirs, world reborn, a cry

and dark ghosts dispersed;

weary streets, indifferent sky

Lost and found, the will to try

my best nor fear the worst;

no wanderer more alone than I,

weary streets, indifferent sky

[London: August  2010]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

(Other) Casualties of War..

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

A number of blog readers have expressed a wish to read some of my poems again, but don’t have access to my collections or time to browse my blogs. I have therefore started up a Google Plus site linking to new and historical posts/poems on booth bogs. The preamble to some posts may well be out of date, of course, but recent feedback suggests it doesn't bother anyone. Besides, readers can always skip the preamble and go straight to the poem.:

https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606/posts

Now, much of human nature is about love and hate, finding peace and making war with ourselves as well as if not more so than with others. 

Among many wounds we inflict upon ourselves - and far too often leave to fester - I suspect that by far the greater are words spoken in anger that can never (quite) be retracted and words of love never spoken at all. More often than not, blame lies with a failure to communicate properly between the parties concerned; ironic, in a twenty-first century where communication has never been easier if also (perhaps for that very reason?) more vulnerable to misunderstandings and/ or misleading assumptions invariably down to expressing ourselves poorly or not at all..

When was the last time you told someone just how much you love and/or forgive them?

This poem is (yes, another) villanelle.

(OTHER) CASUALTIES OF WAR

So many words unsaid

on this life’s battleground,

comrades left for dead

False hopes seeing red,

warned not to make a sound;

so many words unsaid

Misgivings hastily shed

where love’s tears confound;

comrades left for dead

Truth but to history fed,

as better sought than found;

so many words unsaid

Honest mistakes misled

for hurt pride to compound;

comrades left for dead

Nature, by nurture misled

costs peace the upper hand;

so many words unsaid,

comrades left for dead

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

An Affinity (of sorts) with Winter OR World, Half Asleep

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

Some readers will recognize this poem as I once posted it over the Christmas period as one of my Poems for Christmas. However, I have decided to make several significant changes which I think makes the poem more perennial…like the Heath itself.

The editors of a delightful Hampstead Heath site that includes the original among other poems will be editing accordingly. ('Culture' button.)

http://www.hampsteadheath.net/heath-poetry-introduction.html

I am so fortunate to live within easy walking distance of Hampstead Heath. I love to stroll there in all weathers.  Conscious of walking in the footsteps of giants - Keats, Turner, Dickens…to name but a few - I feel similarly inspired. I cannot compare myself with their talents, but suspect I am filled with much the same sense of love and peace as they for communing with nature in all its shapes and forms. 

Photo: Hampstead Heath in winter

AN AFFINITY (OF SORTS) WITH WINTER or WORLD, HALF ASLEEP

One wintry day,

I strolled on Hampstead Heath,

snow almost ankle deep

in a world whose very life-force

fallen half asleep

A deafening silence

hurt my ears as I made my way

among trees like chandeliers,

ran a gamut of moon shadows

and winter’s tears

Apollo’s footprints

buried among kinder memories,

yet every now and then

I would chance to catch the eye

of a custom snowman

I had started out alone,

but not for long, friendly ghosts

of seasons past anxious

to keep me company, lend hope,

transcend worst fears

Redbreast, too, began

conjuring up images of a lasting

love, comfort, and peace;

songs composed by Earth Mother,

plagiarised by clerics

Mind and spirit so inspired,

every host body welcome to share

(no matter whose or where)

that holds this life’s finer dreams

close and dear

One wintry day

I strolled on Hampstead Heath,

snow almost calf deep

in a world posturing life balance

while half asleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Broker for Peace of Mind OR Whatever it Takes

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

Let the flame of love die, and civilisation will surely perish. Precious little chance of that (he says with fingers tightly crossed) but should the human heart ever let it die, there are many (me included) that would say its host body, too, is dead. Yet, there are other hosts to human life; mind and spirit host and help form the very nature of who we are, and who's to say they are not as seeds in the wind  once the body rejects them likely to settle elsewhere, even take root and grow into a new Self...?

Fanciful perhaps, to the sceptic, (and believe me, I am one) but we see it in nature all the time, death and rebirth  so why not in human nature also? While I do not subscribe to any religion - of of the chief sources of division in the world - I have to say I have never been able to dismiss altogether the prospect of a natural, posthumous consciousness. 

Now, when people speak of love, romance springs to mind and lovemaking. Yet, love comes in all shapes and forms, to each a unique signature of its own; close friends; pets, favourite places; music to make us feel we love everyone (while it lasts); stories that inspire and remind us that, for all its ups and down, we are in love with life ... and if we’re not, we need to do something about it.

This poem is a kenning

BROKER FOR PEACE OF MIND or WHATEVER IT TAKES

I feed the fire that keeps

the light in your eyes burning brightly,

inspires the Sandman

who revisits you nightly till dawn breaks

and it’s Apollo’s turn

to take over the reins of inspiration

seeing us through everyday

frustration and confusion, politics

of disillusion

I am your guide, who needs

no telling which path you should take

through life though

you make one mistake after another,

even lose your true self

among its twists and turns, misleading

signs pointing this way

and that, each promising the fruits

of fulfilment

I am the ghost of lives past

calling from some distant other-world

of its own making

anxious to be heard, reassure us

that life is for living,

each to our own, following feelings

we can’t always explain,

trust the spirit of nature in whose womb

we were born

I am Love, the heart's broker for peace
whatever it takes, nothing less...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, 2017

[Note: Both title and last stanza have been revised since this poem first appeared under the title 'The Keeper' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

The Heart Expects

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

I wish you all peace and love for this and each New Year as they come along. In the absence of peace, may love comfort you, and see you through to better times.

Oh, and in the (apparent) absence of love…?

Think again, for love isn’t just for lovers; it comes in all shapes and forms so look harder, and perhaps closer to home …

THE HEART EXPECTS

Old year done and dusted,

a new one begins;

troubles, regrets, even sins

like blades of grass

beneath a layer of snow,

kept by nature from

growing before their time

till spring again...

its bitter-sweet harvest

of expectation, sown

and nurtured with loving care,

only to be found wanting,

an uncertain future left to face,

caught fast between rock

and hard place, confronted

with love v life under

threat of this or that heaven’s

well-honed knife

Laughter lines exposed

for half lies…

a whitening of the hair

as snowflakes

falling on a looking glass,

one for each trouble,

regret, even sin, conspiring

with Earth Mother

to let the grass grow again,

inspired to sing

about love, peace, joy,

and harmony

of sorts among nature’s own,

while confronting

yet another year of irony

heaped upon irony

by an inclusive humanity

deserving better

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008