Ode To A Homophobe

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

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2010. Regular readers will know that I read it among poems on various themes on the 4^th plinth in Trafalgar Square in July 2009 which was transmitted across the world via the Internet. It was my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘live sculpture’ project requiring 2400 people to ‘do their own thing’ on the plinth for one hour 24/7 over 100 days.

I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity like that to address the world’s homophobes:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T

Subsequent feedback at the time was very mixed, but mostly encouraging.

ODE TO A HOMOPHOBE

You parade your macho like a trophy

and frequently abuse gay men

but if so confident in your sexuality

why this crass overreaction?

You say gay people are sad, sick cases,

at the very least immoral,

yet you go to church, sing His praises

(and expect Him to be grateful?)

You say being gay is a mortal sin,

love to take the moral high…

yet what less right gay men and women

to love and be loved till they die?

Gay people need to give truth a name

and learn to give it substance;

Homophobes would never dare the same

for fear of exposing their ignorance

We are all God’s children, the churches cry,

each worthy of His love and our own;

Yet time after time their holy leaders lie,

leave gay people to pray alone

The century is changing it has to be said,

a War on Terror all around

and while one homophobe wishes us dead,

it is a war without end

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

Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

Massacre At Houla

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

Regular readers will know that (among many other themes) I try to record significant events across the world in my poetry; the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Perhaps it is wishful thinking, but I have this image in my mind of someone coming across my poetry collections years ahead and finding a personal snapshot of this sorry world of ours in the early years of the 21st century.

Horror tales continue to come out of Syria about an appalling massacre by Government forces in the town of Houla in Syria’s Homs province on Friday, May 25th; it is one of the worst recorded killings in the country’s 14-month long uprising; many of the 100+ civilian victims were women and children.  

Whatever our cultural-political-religious persuasion, our thoughts should be with the ordinary people of Syria during these troubled times; they cannot be blamed (any more than ordinary people anywhere) for the sins of their Government. As for Governments around the world, they may well express their revulsion and expel senior Syrian diplomats, but one can’t help wondering whether it isn’t, at heart, little more than a vote catching exercise.  Kofi Annan deserves more real support in his efforts to broker a peace of sorts in Syria. 

Given that Iran is a close ally of Syria, Russia and China too, military action of any kind appears to be out of the question. Fair enough, but it hasn’t been out of the question on other occasions in other parts of the world where the stakes were high yet favoured intervention, so what does that say about this sorry world of ours and its powers that be?

This poem is a villanelle.

MASSACRE AT HOULA

Massacre at Houla,

another failure for diplomacy;

poor, bloodied Syria

UN a toothless tiger

growling at Earth’s inhumanity;

massacre at Houla

Country in a civil war,

a second spring for democracy;

poor, bloodied Syria

Killings door to door,

the parental home no sanctuary;

massacre at Houla

Children of Endeavour,

siblings despatched to eternity;

poor, bloodied Syria

Consensus of Horror,

(enter, the Politics of Hypocrisy);

Massacre at Houla;

poor, bloodied Syria

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

The Music Makers

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

Some people cringe when they ask what kind of music I like and I invariably reply that if it’s good of its kind, the chances are I will enjoy it.

‘If music be the food of love, play on,’ cries a character in one of Shakespeare’s plays. Ah, but not only...

Like all creative arts, music not only entertains, but also encourages self-awareness in so far as we are asked to consider how and why we should relate to particular pieces in particular ways at particular moments in time.

This poem is a kenning.

THE MUSIC MAKERS

I am the lovesick composer at the keys

of a Stradivarius, the man or woman

swimming against the tide in a splendid

sea of laughter, wondering if maybe

he or she who taught them how to play

will come after them today, tomorrow

or another time, sing a love song as old

as the sea in the ear of one who longs

for even more

I am the lark soaring to welcome the sun,

bringing hope to sleepyheads stirring

on tearstained pillows, man or woman

daring to trust in another, demanding

answers to questions haunting the mind

like ghosts striving to clear a pathway

to love for the living, lift the last obstacles

remaining, sing among larks and rise

into clear skies

I am the nocturne sent to lure us along

the Milky Way, leaving trails

few astronomers will rush to identify

for fear of exposing such secrets

as men and women have found in stars

reading like notes of a love song

since Creation, inspiring generation

on generation, signatures of nature

to love’s endeavour

I bring to the spirit of music and dance

an expertise called endurance

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

Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

Bonding With History

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber

Those bigots who condemn gay people simply for our sexuality would do well to remember that many gay men and women have risked and given their lives - and continue to do so - to preserve the freedom all humankind would cherish and enjoy ( if only!)  

BONDING WITH HISTORY

They fought so we might live

(to fight another day?)

and among them, some

who were gay

World wars over, although

the world still at war,

for such is humankind’s way,

(the politics of power)

Middle East a battleground,

Africa tearing itself apart;

Iraq, Afghanistan, ripping out

poor humanity’s heart

Gay men and women, too, risk

their lives daily, yet

we hear their praises sung

but, oh, so rarely

Yet what has sexuality to do

with that fierce courage

writing up history and daring

to sign each page?

What, too, of Earth Mother

and peace with one another?

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

Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

  

Aspects of Illusion

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber

Regular readers will know of my passion for clouds. Readers ‘Melissa and Charlie’ have asked me to post another cloud poem for Melissa’s birthday today. This one has not appeared on the blog since 2002 so ...here’s wishing Melissa a very Happy Birthday!

Now, when I was a child, I loved to watch magic tricks. As I grew older, I realised that nature provides the greatest magic that ever was; I could watch it for hours, and often do.

This poem is a kenning.

ASPECTS OF ILLUSION

Over sea and sky, meadows green,

lands run dry with drought, famine,

where waters still rising high, only trees
to live in, can but make my way,

take my place where wild geese fly
or thrushes sing, antelope roam,
lion after prey pricking up its ears, 

ready to run at the first sign of threat,

a rising heat

Across sandy dunes, valleys green,

raising hopes, dashing them again,

keeping watch over sailors in a storm,

soldiers uncertain whether playing

war games or rehearsing the real thing,

pilots armed with missiles, bombs,

wondering if making a hit can really

matter in the overall scheme of things 

or just more point-scoring

Faces of a chameleon, more tricks

up my sleeve than any magician,

can disappear in a puff of smoke,

clear life’s stage of players all
or bring us together (a wake-up call)

running for cover or simply glad
to see gone, reminding each other
how the show must go on, no matter

an audience of one

In milling, spilling, parting crowd,

a passing cloud

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that first appeared in an anthology, Poetry Avenue, Anchor Books (Forward Press) and subsequently in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]

Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

Curtain Rising

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

Sometimes we wake up and wonder why we bother. Time to force ourselves, throw open curtains and windows and breathe in deeply, imbibe the smells of life and let them inspire us...in spite of everything that seems t be working against us.

Nature may be as fickle as humankind, but we only have to open our minds to acknowledging its capacity for life, love, and peace to feel invited to share it...

CURTAIN RISING

Heart feeling top-heavy,

an ache in the soul,

and no one here to listen,

everyone on vacation

or an answering machine?
Time to try again - say

life’s worthwhile,

see sunshine through rain

making flowers grow...

Trust a heaven in the know,

to wipe tears, put smiles

on each face lined with pain

for going that last mile

with friends who let us down,

loved ones dead and gone

Listen! The trees are singing

in country, city and town

Look! Children playing, lovers

wishing on stars, a watchful earth

enduring, for all its tears...

Troubled mind, a summer mist;

in its curtain rising, let us trust

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since its last appearance on the blog in 2010 and in 1^st eds. of Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; 2^nd ed. in preparation.]

 Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

Footnote To A Treatise On Abuse

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

Someone had been in touch to protest that my poetry reading on the 4^th plinth in Trafalgar Square (July, 2009) only touches on the failures of multiculturalism from a gay perspective. I refute that while admitting a gay bias, but...

Judge for yourselves: 

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T

Incidentally, many readers asked me to include this poem (not a plinth poem) in my new collection, and I was happy to oblige.

The failure of multiculturalism, in the UK at least, is partly down to successive governments (invariably out of step with the electorate) but also those immigrants who see this country as a better deal than their country of origin has to offer, yet remain entrenched in various historical socio-cultural-religious prejudices; they are very welcome here, but need to adapt to our ways not insist we adapt to theirs.

Multiculturalism threatens to destroy British society, not least because a significant number of immigrants from various backgrounds see coming to live here as making something of a long-term take-over bid.  

Moreover, if this sorry state of affairs has anything at all to do with racism, it is on the part of many (by no means all) immigrants themselves who refuse to put old hostilities behind them and wholeheartedly embrace the democratic way of life they have chosen (no one put a gun to their heads to come here).

It is young people from immigrant families who are expected to walk a tightrope between two cultures that I feel so sorry for.

I am so glad I am not a young person. (I will be 67 later this year.) Unless things change radically, and sooner rather than later, I fear the UK is digging an early grave for itself that, thankfully, I will not be around to see.

FOOTNOTE TO A TREATISE ON ABUSE

I am relatively new

to the world’s societies

bent on testing me

to the limits of tolerance

towards a diversity

keen to embrace everyone,

regardless of sex, colour

or creed if on its divisions

determined to feed

I dare have my say

in public places, Holy Books,

political manifestos,

though adults (as a rule)

less likely to grasp

what it is I’m getting at

than a child at school

asked what he or she thinks

life is all about

I underline the words

as you read my every page,

emphasising discontent,

even rage, with the unfairness

imposed upon me

by this culture and that religion

vying for advantage

with precious little respect

for a common humanity

Abused by the politics of separatism,

I pass, ill-used, for multiculturalism

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

At The End Of The Day

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

We should make the most of each day to its very end  if only because tomorrow is another story altogether...

Carpe Diem.

AT THE END OF THE DAY

Sleepy sun like a yellow tee shirt

after a summer shower,

logo proclaiming peace and love;

songbirds on cue, soul of summer

bursting with pride and joy,

wishing us kind dreams and sleep

A pink glow infiltrating grey clouds,

tips of angels’ wings

spying out the lie of borrowed time;

jet lag moon among laid back stars

telling tales on our humanity

to fill a wide-awake media’s pockets

A grey squirrel turning over garbage

is quick to turn up its nose

at an envelope marked ‘Top Secret’;

kids trespassing on a new building site

unearth skulls, go-betweens

for this developer, that archaeologist

Night falls, harbinger of sleep waiting

in the wings, time’s hopeful

understudy groomed for second best;

world’s top rated spotted flogging

dead horses with Apollo’s customised

tee shirt, come Armageddon

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Please note: All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of my poetry titles except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. Second editions will not be available until after publication of a final print collection in 2015; these will contain revisions of some poems and only be available as e-books. 

Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

A Tree Speaks

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

I posted today’s (new) poem on my gay-interest blog the other day and reader ‘Marc’ has asked if I would post it here ‘because my mother suffers with depression and reads your general blog, but would never dream of reading a gay blog. My brother is gay and she wants nothing to do with him.’

Oh, but how sad for the whole family!

Given that I often post Gay Awareness poems on both blogs, I feel very disappointed that this man’s mother has not felt able to be more understanding of her gay son. Feedback suggests that a growing number of readers have started dipping into both blogs during the past year or so and several parents of gay men and women have said my gay-interest poems have helped them come to terms with their sexuality. I can only hope this reader’s mother may eventually join them, and feel able to be no less openly loving and understanding towards her gay son than towards her other children.

Now, I have been feeling very low lately and struggling to keep a deeper depression at bay. As regular readers will know, creative writing always helps. If I can just begin to write a poem, working on it over a period of hours, days even, gives me a sense of achievement.

It doesn’t matter if the poem or novel turns out to be good or poor; what matters is that sense of achievement keeping my head above water in a hostile sea.  

Any creative work can help keep the pitch black depression at bay; there are many shades of grey to pass through first and a sense of creating something can restore colour to a seemingly colourless life. 

It doesn’t matter what we try; it can be writing, composing, gardening, catching up with the decorating or making a paper aeroplane...Nor does it matter if we don’t finish whatever creative task we’ve set ourselves, so long as we find the motivation to try; if things don’t work out for one reason or another, we just have to dig deeper, rediscover some motivation and try something else.

Never contemplate the notion of failure. Failure is losing the will to have a go at this or that through no fault of our own but an inability to cope. Failure is not even being able to feel that we want to try, which usually means we have put ourselves through all those murky shades of grey and are well stuck in that pitch black pit we call depression; the only way out of it is to heave any sense of failure as far away as we can, give ourselves a well-deserved pat on the back for that, and then look long and hard within ourselves for the will to try something, anything that will help put our lives back on an even keel.

We shouldn’t be afraid or ashamed to ask for help either; being able to find the words to ask for help means we are half-way towards making a full recovery already.

Sadly some people don’t begin to understand depression and think we can be jollied out of it. In the end, though, it is down to us whether we sink or swim.

Did I say it was easy?

It has rained a lot lately. A tree outside my front window is a vivid leafy green and daily plays host to songbirds of all kinds. One day, it reached out to me with a life-line, and a GOOD feeling I had been looking for but hadn’t experienced for a while made me grab it with both hands...

Consequently...today’s poem.

A TREE SPEAKS

An old tree outside my window

assures me all year round

Earth Mother’s looking out for me

because in me she’s found

someone who cares, always hears,

is always there for her

as she’s always here for me

(so speaks the tree)

An old tree outside my window

assures me every day

Earth Mother’s always here for me

and doesn’t give a damn

about sex, sexuality, creed, colour

or what age we are

if we’ll be here for her always

(as she for us)

An old tree outside my window

has many tales to tell

how Earth Mother has shed tears

for the likes of me

who sought refuge in religion

but found no sanctuary

only a self-centred expectation

(no salvation)

An old tree outside my window

took me to its heart;

Earth Mother would not have me

thrash at life in pain,

but as sun and rain nurturing

the natural world,

seeks to inspire the likes of me

(so speaks the tree)

An old tree outside my window

has wiped my tears,

falling much like autumn leaves,

leaving my branches bare

through a bleak winter of despair

until love songs, like spring rain,

would have us rework our history...

(so speaks the tree)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

The Ballad of Neighbour Joe

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

Today’s post is duplicated on both blogs. The poem has not appeared since 2010, but if Google’s statistics are anything to go by, it is one of the most popular poems I have posted since I started the blogs in 2007/8. Reader ‘Wyre’ (that’s a Welsh name, surely?) has asked me to repeat it for a gay friend who is apparently working all hours and never has time to browse the blog archives, but ‘likes to look in on the latest post before he goes to bed.’

Thanks for that, and here’s a BIG hug to you both from yours truly.

Many people, even these days, don’t even begin to understand the gay ethic while their knee-jerk reaction is to dislike or at least be suspicious of anything they don’t understand.

We can but try show by example that G-A-Y is O-K.

THE BALLAD OF NEIGHBOUR JOE

I hate queers, neighbour Joe

once said to me, they’re perverts,

don’t you agree?

Not really, I had to say, especially

as I’m gay

He stared, glared, eyes wide

as saucers, lost for words although

his expression said it all;

at last, he managed to get a grip

and curled his lip

Queers deserve to be shot,

he snarled at me, and decent folks

would agree;

I took you for decent, I have to say

but you’re…gay?

I nodded, said conversationally,

so you’ll be getting a gun to shoot me?

He shook his head.

You’re a nice enough person, he said,

I don’t wish you dead

Tell me, he wanted to know,

what it’s all about, this being gay?

Sounds sick to me…

I was taught to loath and despise

(he whispered) ‘sodomy’ 

You have a bad attitude,

I felt inclined to tell him straight,

I’m a top man, me…

but it’s my job pays the mortgage,

not my sexuality

Why should what my partner

and I choose to get up to in bed

matter to you so?

He shook his head, rubbed his jaw,

finally admitted…

I’ll be damned if I know.

You’re right, said neighbour Joe,

it’s none of my business;

blame it on that old song and dance

called ignorance

We shook hands, went on our way,

good neighbours to this day

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

All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of 1st eds. except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. 2nd eds. will not be available until after publication of a final collection in 2015 and will only be available as e-books; these will contain revisions of some poems. Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

  

The White Horse

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

Yesterday evening, I posted a video and a new (voice-over) poem to accompany it on my You Tube channel:


http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber


Previous feedback suggests that some of you cannot access You Tube so I am posting them here today (see below).


The Westbury or Bratton White Horse is a hill figure on the escarpment of Salisbury Plain (where Stone Henge stands). Approximately 2.5 k, (1.6 miles) from the village of Westbury, it is located on the edge of Bratton Downs and lies just below and Iron Age hill fort. Its origin obscure, it is the oldest of several white horses carved in Wiltshire; it was restored in 1778.


THE WHITE HORSE

A white horse lay on a hill,

watching the world go by;

bold and brave, it waits there still,

and no one knows quite why

This horse will never make a fuss

as we try for a closer look,

though it’s sure to put teasers to us    

like pictures in a history book

In sun, wind and pouring rain

it doesn’t make a sound

as the world turns and turns again

on Time’s merry-go-round

At night, it rides the Milky Way

as wild and free as it can be,

till the first cold light of a new day

wakes all we slaves to reality

In days of war and uneasy peace

the Westbury horse waits on

druids, their like, and the rest of us

making our play for salvation

A chalk horse carved on a hill,

watching the world go by,

begs the question, dare, how, will

we ever know quite why...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Covenant With Love

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

This villanelle has not appeared on the blogs since 2010 and a number of readers have asked me to repeat it during the past six months or so. For this reason, this post is duplicated on both blogs today.

I have to say I am delighted that a good many readers of both blogs appear to share my passion for villanelles. [For some of you who hate them, I will be posting a new poem tomorrow that isn’t a villanelle.]

COVENANT WITH LOVE

Though saddened hearts would break

and HIV-AIDS a rising toll,

love, with loss, its peace shall make

Watch ripples spread on heaven’s lake,

sun and moon, fair heart and soul,

though saddened hearts would break

Come disease, fate, or God lives take,

anger, grief, like burning coal,

love, with loss, its peace shall make

See a light from dark, its prison break,

let better times roll…

though saddened hearts would break

Though we live for living’s own sake,

no matter affairs of the soul,

love, with loss, its peace shall make

Let the world’s worst its own forsake

and healing be our goal;

though saddened hearts would break,

love, with loss, its peace shall make

[First published in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

All my poetry titles are still in print, but only on sale in the UK.

There will be no further print runs of 1st eds.except for the latest, Tracking the Torchbearer; I hope to upload e-editions to amazon later this year. 2nd eds. will not be available until after publication of a final collection in 2015 and will only be available as e-books; these will contain revisions of some poems. Meanwhile, signed copies if 1st eds. can be obtained from me at a generous blogger discount; this applies to overseas as well as UK readers. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or Poetry Collection' in the subject field (or the email will not be opened). 

The Last Donkey Ride

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

Nature may be fickle, but so is human nature; the chances are whoever takes the last donkey ride will look around and see a coastline that’s nowhere near as sound or green as we see now or may have done centuries ago; even the sea is losing its wildlife to a polluted modernity. 

Humankind may we rail against nature where it wreaks havoc and tragedy, the greater irony being that, in our desperation to harness and make it serve our own ends, there is really little to choose between the two.

Most if not all we human beings are vain enough to think we deserve priority over the natural world. Could it be, though, that Earth Mother has other ideas?

THE LAST DONKEY RIDE

Time and again you have passed me by,

turned a cloth ear to cries from a heart

begging release or at least some relief

from such pain as only they know who

wander the shores of life asking why,

in spite of those willing to lend a hand

where the need is greatest, you prefer

to deny, ignore, a rhetoric of discretion

the better part of valour

So weary am I of being taken for a ride,

on wings of a prayer or bored donkeys

at the seaside reassuring children

how sand shells tell tales of a golden age

not yet spent… where the sea is as safe

as the sky is blue, grass is green and corn

grows high, hopes for world peace alive

and well if but as driftwood on time’s

uneasy swell

How long can it last, me doing my best

for nature’s finest, you abandoning us

to empty words and promises of better

days, left railing against humankind’s

inhumanity, sure to get the better of me

without even a native dignity to cover

my blushes as they strip me bare, caring

no more in their naivety for my decline

than our salvation?

Hear me, your Earth Mother in distress,

you who see past the politics of progress

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

This collection is still in print, but only on sale in the UK.  All readers, including any outside the UK, can obtain (signed) copies direct from me at a generous blogger discount on [retail price + shipping]. Enquiries to: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Poetry collection’ or ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field.

Watership Down Revisited

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

Regular readers will know I suffer regular bouts of depression. Creative writing is the life line that empowers me to drag myself out of it. Okay, so some of it may not satisfy my critics, but it helps to keep me on an even(ish) keel and feedback suggests that it helps other readers to do the same.

The poem takes its title, of course, from that wonderful fantasy novel by Richard Adams.  [I often use titles from novels; it doesn’t matter whether readers have read the novel or not, but should he or she have done so, it may well give them a deeper insight to both.]

WATERSHIP DOWN REVISITED

I ran like a frightened rabbit,

a once-friendly darkness all but

choking my lungs;

every exit blocked, no escape,

sentenced to death in the pages

of a novel

Panic-stricken now, desperate

to feast my eyes on one glimpse

of freedom;

finally, surrendering to despair,

I paused, all but ready to see how

my story ends

Suddenly, the faintest memory

of some long-ago spring charged

my ailing heart;

calling upon a half buried will,

I somehow managed to chase it

down the last tunnel

In fresh air and warm sunshine

I found the peace that closes eyes

and lets dreams pass

where, oh, but we would follow,

give reality the slip and be a hero

in someone else’s novel

Yet, the story is mine alone to tell,

second chance at living, promising

a kinder ending;

as for those readers burrowing

dusty bookshelves, may they too

re-invent themselves

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

NB The cover image for this new collection reflects the fact that 2012 is the year the Olympic Games come to London; the collection aspires overall to capture something of the spirit of the Games. Copies are only on sale in the UK but UK and overseas readers can obtain signed copies directly from me. 

Contact: rogertab@aol.com with 'Blog Reader' or 'Poetry Collection' in the subject field.