A Leaf out of Time

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

Another old poem, this, recently unearthed under layers of dust in a cupboard; it reveals a love affair with rhyme that has lasted the best part of a lifetime although I seem to have rekindled  another on-off affair with blank verse recently.

At school, more years ago than I care to remember, we were sometimes given homework by our English teacher, ‘Jock’ Rankin the title of which would comprise just a few words. We were expected to  comment at any length (or brevity) on these words and what they meant to us; subsequently, the best comments would be shared with and debated in class another time.  One such title was Beginnings and Endings. After much head scratching, I asked my mother what on earth there was to say about beginning and endings other than they…well, begin and end?

My mother merely shrugged over the ironing, “It depends how you choose to see either, I suppose. I mean, some of us see endings as no more or less than beginnings that have run their course and are up for something new…”

Jock was impressed and asked me where I had found the quote. When I said, my mother, he asked me to thank her for making his day.

Oh, but I love autumn, so beautiful if tinged with sadness; memories of spring and summer held in safe-keeping by Earth Mother to be rummaged and enjoyed over and over through even the worst winters...

A LEAF OUT OF TIME

I've floated free, like a leaf
in a world still half-asleep,
kept company with sparrows,
watched its willows weep

I've watched the hands of time
sign warnings to passers-by
concerning the fall of Icarus,
(the eternal How-and-Why)

I've seen foxes stalk their kill,
heard the victim’s last cry,
protesting an ages-old truth,
(a time to live, a time to die)

I've heard the lonely singing
love songs loud and clear;
lasting memories of a summer,
though its close drawing near

Breeze dropping, the leaf too
that once had pride of place,
but gently, evergreen epiphany
through all time and space

I'm left lying on a bed of moss,
an everyday lesson learned,
that each new day, my being gay,
is but a leaf in Nature’s hand

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2017

Redbreast OR Mentor for Winter

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

There’s a wintry chill in the air. A neighbour remarked how she dreads winter, not least for its contagious sense of despair. True, in a sense, of course.  Even so the natural world never quite gives up on spring - however it may seem it has sometimes - and neither should we on ours even though, of all the human heart's seasons, its winters, too, are always the worst.

(Photo taken from the Internet)

REDBREAST or MENTOR FOR WINTER

A wintry frost,

but nature not (quite) done yet

with downpours

of splendid reds and gold,

so easy on the eye

A wintry smell

but nature not (quite) done yet

with the scents

of kinder seasons lulling humanity

into false hopes

A wintry song,

its message never (quite) finding

redbreast

preparing to make an heroic stand

against an ill wind

Redbreast, candles to help us see

through the dark

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Extracts from a Migrant's Diary

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

This may well be the last (new) poem I will blog before I go into hospital next week (Monday) for an operation on my infected elbow. As it is my right elbow and I am right-handed, keyboarding will almost certainly take longer for some time. Even so, I will link to posts/poems via my Google Plus site as and when I can. Meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy browsing the blogs as I may be unable to link to poems vis my Google + site as I try to do on a daily basis since being asked by regular readers to make accessing poems easier than random browsing:

https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606

This poem was inspired by a conversation with a migrant from war-torn Syria some months ago.

EXTRACTS FROM A MIGRANT’S DIARY

Dreaming of distant lands,

sapphire seas, golden sands, treasures

of mind-body-spirit

equal to none, prize worthy of a poem,

can’t be measured out in coin  

Dreaming of distant shores,

where birds sing a welcome in the ear,

reflected in the shy smile

of a passer-by, equal to none for peace

and love, cue for a better life

Dreams of landing on the moon,

peering back through time and space,

seeing how Here-and-Now

offers so much more than once a place

to call home before crisis-hit

Waking to street sounds roaring

like a pride of hungry lions hunting prey

in a concrete jungle,

no sapphire sea, golden sand, birdsong

a warning, wishing them gone

Waking to damp stains on walls,

courtesy of landlords whose first language

a rhetoric counted out in coin,

invested in one-upmanship, measure

of a common nouveau status 

Wide awake, fierce stirrings within 
a body-mind-spirit so weary of battling time
and tide, yet forever inspired
by a rage to live, no matter the odds 
against winning the peace

Copyright R. N. Taber2017

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.] 

Travelling Hopefully

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

Are the freedoms we enjoy being gradually eroded by invisible (and visible) Mandarins or Kingpins of Power?

Wealth is power, yes, but so is  influence and many who put themselves forward as our so-called ‘betters’ have plenty of that across the entire  socio-cultural-religious and political arenas  in which we live.

Free speech, yes, so long as it is not considered politically incorrect and that seems to be decided these days by which side of a particular divide one happens to be.

I am no racist. Neither, though, will I hesitate to speak out against bad attitude or behaviour no matter what colour, creed, sex or sexuality a person may be. Yet, the chances are – as has happened more than once – that I will be called a racist, feminist, bigot (for not subscribing to a religion) etc. etc. I am none of these things, and it goes against the grain not to speak out against someone whose behaviour I find offensive simply whatever their colour, creed, sex sexuality or political persuasion and, yes, even age. (My own generation can be a real pain in the proverbial at times.). Even so, I have to confess to having kept my feelings to myself more often than not in recent years simply to avoid the inevitable hassle. Is that common sense, I wonder, or simply cowardice?

Feedback over years of writing poetry and publishing much of it on the Internet suggests that many people from diverse backgrounds feel much the same way, that there are times when we are made to feel like puppets, poised to speak our minds until a jerk on invisible strings by some kingpin puppeteer advises if not demands our silence or, at best, extreme (diplomatic) caution…or there will be a price to pay.

I will be 72 this year, and I am becoming less and less enamoured with the world as it is now with each passing day. At the same time, I retain a basic faith in human nature, convinced that if we all try and do our best in our own little corner of the world, the ripples will spread to the extent that  it may yet become a better, kinder place no matter what goes on in its  socio-cultural-religious and political arenas.

There are more good people in the world than bad, people for whom peace and love are more, far more, than just rhetoric; it has always been that way, and always will be. Sadly, it has always been the more malevolent Kingpins of Power that, in getting away far too often with pulling our strings, continue to make their presence felt and voices heard.

So will tomorrow be a better day, give brave new worlds an opportunity to flourish? Hope springs eternal... (Yes, sometimes it may be well better to travel hopefully than arrive, and be disappointed, but can anything come even close to comparing with the joy of arrival when he/she/it means the fulfillment of our sweetest dreams...?)

TRAVELLING HOPEFULLY 

Yesterday, a dark mood

descending into a recent grave

created by fall-out

from crises (local and worldwide);

even near comprehension,

of mind- body-spirit all but broken

by political forces alien

to free thinkers everywhere left

ploughing moral high ground,

slaves to this or that philosophy,

whatever cap fits…

Slaves, yes, bound to rebel

against those siding with kingpins

of wealth and power jockeying

(discreetly) for a prime position

in the greater  influence stakes,

claiming to have the best interests

of common humanity at heart

(local and worldwide) while nursing

such personal ambitions as likely

to go down as well with the media

as raising taxes

Today, no lighter mood,

rising among the ghosts of leaders

past and present to remind

those of us (local and worldwide)

why we helped put them there

(if only by default, considering

the alternatives on offer)

no matter gossip buzzing like flies

in corridors of power

about which  kingpins  plotting

whose downfall…

Kingpins of power, yes!

Always ready to load our excuses

on their backs under a cloak

of invisibility to avoid pricking

consciences of crusaders

(local and worldwide) for a way

of life less complicated

by a sense of kingpins composing

the poetry and prose

of destiny on our behalf, and we

having little say

Tomorrow, we will nurture

a more positive mood, rise above

rise above dark thoughts

about any Kingpins of Power

undermining us

at every step we take as we journey

through life…

reassert a native self-confidence,

an enduring spirituality

taken from natures, religion, either

of both (free to choose)

Free to choose, yes,

whether to have faith in ourselves,

(conceding any flaws)

and keep to a learning curve of love,

personal aspiration,

private ambition, social responsibility,

discerning wood and trees,

drawing in the best of whatsoever

and whomsoever

we may find, as we seek completeness,

journeying hopefully

Hopefully, yes, humankind

and nature working together to play

any Kingpins of Power

at their own game, introducing  mind,.

body, and spirit,

working in harmony, all the better

to see light triumph

over darkness, good over evils no one

can deny exist,

a legacy of enduring peace and love,

no end-game in sight

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Nature's Way

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

I started school in 1950 and never did well academically. Yet, as if not more importantly, I learned a lot from a hard hit generation of post-war teachers. Upon his retirement, I asked one (as children do) if being old was scary ‘what with death and all that’. He shrugged and gave it little thought before replying, ‘You reap what you sow in life, Taber. Sow well, and enjoy doing it, whatever and wherever it may be. Enjoy might not always be the first word that comes to mind, but satisfaction is much the same thing. Whatever, the chances are you’ll find Death isn’t such a grim reaper after all.’

That was more than half a century ago. Out of the blue, I found myself  thinking about him and those words of wisdom; both inspired this poem, written to help lift myself out of an inexcusably negative awareness of growing old and the cancer nagging at my prostate.

NATURE'S WAY

Sometimes, hearts lie heavy

on spirits young and fancy free,

in a world, oh, but less kind

than in its past it ever looked to be

in selective archives

No mornings up with the lark,

flying high among patches of blue,

negotiating storm clouds

like a seasoned performer in the art

of positive thinking

Some may suppose little left

but sweet dreams to soften the blow

of time passing ever faster...

heart, mind and body left to babysit

a restless spirit

Ah, but nature has other ideas,

nurturing life forces to the very end

of any span only visible

to the applauding eye, ever mindful

of its seasons

On Earth Mother’s watch, keeper

of all living things, human and other,

no heartless discrimination

along narrow lines of good, bad, ugly, 

or judgement passed

If a sad mind likely to lead us on

into a world of tears at losing its shine,

it’s a sadder spirit still

sees us taken in by the sweet-smelling

poetry of self-pity

Where a body less able to follow

first instincts to leave clear footprints

worth following in, 

let it take its cue from sun-moon-stars

cruising centuries

So I grow old, so what? C’est la vie;

the mind-spirit-body self can but dream

of rewriting its history…

while its spirit makes of us what we will,

no end-game

Though death would shut us out

of the world (however we perceive it)

find rest and peace

in any heart continuing to reach out to us  

for joie de vivre

Copyright R. N. Taber (2017)

Through the Looking Glass

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

As a young man, I once had the privilege of meeting a famous actor in a cafe one rainy evening in Soho. He caught me staring at him and grunted that he was in no mood to give autographs. I confessed I did not collect them anyway, but was thrilled to see him in real life. He thawed, and we chatted. I commented how wonderful it must be to live a life for which he would not only be remembered for all time but which had also been recorded on the big screen. “Oh, wow, what a legacy!” I enthused. He shrugged and muttered that the big screen was all about his acting, not his life, and how the only life and legacy really worth having is recorded for all time anyway…among the fonder memories of those who matter most to us.

At the time, I thought it was a trite thing to say. Now I know better.  I even found myself saying much the same thing to an elderly friend who was recently lamenting the fact that he had done nothing with his life to deserve leave any mention in the history books. I reminded him that the he has wonderful children who, in turn, have given him grandchildren. What better legacy or record of anyone’s life and history…?

Me…? No partner now, nor children or even family to speak of…but, hopefully my friends will think well of me when I’m gone and my poetry will at least have found a place in the hearts and minds of some readers. Do I think of my poetry as a legacy? I would not presume to predict. I have enjoyed every moment of writing ever poem, though, so hopefully some of that pleasure will have rubbed off on readers sufficiently for them to pass on the pleasure if not the poem.

Ripples …

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS 

Once, I looked in a glass,
and glimpsed a child waving
at me, a cheeky smile,
face smudged with playtime,
eyes shining

Later, I looked in the glass,
glimpsed a cheeky grin, youth
full of hope and promise,
face unlined, past and present
shining through

Once, I looked in a glass,
for a long, weary, weepy while, 
years taken toll enough
to obliterate even the shadow
of a half-smile

Later, I peered in the glass,
misty with quickening breath,
face-in-a-mist conveying
a wry smile for given up crying
over spilt milk

Now, I put an ear to the glass,
listening to words calling me 
back to life, love, nature ...
an oral poetry returning me
a cheeky smile

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017