Death of a Princess

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

On August 31^st 1997, Diana, Princess of Wales was tragically killed when a car carrying herself and Dodi Fayed crashed in Paris. 

Many readers who appear to have difficulty accessing You Tube directly for one reason or another have asked me to repeat the link to a my friend Graham's video of the memorial in Hyde Park along with two  poems I read over it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_iX3LzGK4k

Meanwhile, here is a new poem written in memory of a remarkable woman; a devoted mother whose beauty, charm, and capacity for compassion won hearts and minds wherever she went; traits she has clearly passed on to her children.

She wasn’t without flaws, you might say, so tell me then...who isn't?

DEATH OF A PRINCESS 

Brought to its knees

the day she died, the world

asked questions,

demanded answers,  cried

itself to sleep

Media loved to play

the blame game, but no one

(quite) convinced

by speculation compromising

its integrity

Crowds played out

the performance of a lifetime

at the palace gates

while its key players left

them to it

Hysteria over a flag

left flying high and crying out

for half-mast

lent tunnel vision an air

of plausibility

Elsewhere, a family

resolved to protect its own

devising new ways

of doing the walk and talking

the talk

Diana, on an island

of dreams, inviting royalty

and ordinary people

to rise above tears like petals

between showers

Brought to its knees

the day she died, the world

still asks questions,

demands answers,  cries

itself to sleep

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Who Speaks Up for the Trees?

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

A reader has been in touch to say she would never travel on the London Underground again following the tragic events of July 7th 2005 in which she lost a close friend. Similarly, she would never visit the USA because ‘... it has to be a high profile target for terrorists.’

While I can understand and sympathise with how she feels, terrorists can strike anywhere at any time. We can but remain hopeful that we will leave our homes for work or whatever and return safely. Besides, if we give in to our fear of terrorists and their misguided belief that they are entitled, for whatever reason, to force their views on others by means that confirm the existence of evil in the world… they have won.

Dare I suggest that Earth Mother, too, should be on her guard against those set n destroying the environment? There is an eco terrorism that I suspect is as great a threat to us all as its human counterpart, if not more so in the longer term. (I have always had the mind-body-spirit of an eco-warrior if not the bare-faced nerve to put my eco-convictions to the test - yet.)

WHO SPEAKS UP FOR THE TREES?

We are two so-splendid trees
standing tall at the edge
of a wood, conspiring with song
and laughter, symphony
and poetry made to run the gamut
of a blessed serendipity

All loves, hates, jealousies,
in shades of evergreen
on the finest canvas ever seen 

only to be redefined
by all humankind along along lines
of well-meaning insanity

Would-be giants, sentinels
of a civilization
protective of its own, pawns
in a civilization feeding
on ages of rewriting human history
and its blood stained pages

Inciting song and laughter,
music and poetry,
humanity acknowledging a duty 

to save our woodlands
for generations while selling off trees

to property developers

Who looks down at twin logs
and sees us as we were
or hears leafy winds whispering
names of any cut down

in their prime here, there, everywhere,

no matter the time of year?

Oh, but the world may yet rue
its short sightedness
in scarring nature's face (or worse)
forgetting we were here first,
and how who laughs last so often laughs
the louder and longest

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Love's Take On Multiculturalism

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

I received the oddest email yesterday. A reader had some kind words for my poems but asks, ‘What is the point unless you can be counted among the great poets?’

This reader has answered his or her own question.  There is every point in writing poems if even just one person enjoys reading them.

So I am not a ‘great’ poet.  Do I care?  It is more than enough for me that both poetry blogs are read daily worldwide. Whenever and wherever I give poetry readings, they are always well received, and that's more than good enough for me.

Some cultures still persist with a taboo on mixed-culture relationships. This is especially hard on those people, especially young people, living in a modern multicultural society.  Love has no time for such taboos, and only asks that we respect its global identity.

It is no betrayal of culture, family or whatever to fall in love. Love brings shame on no one, and I include gay relationships. Those who see it as some kind of shameful betrayal are not only out of step with love, but out of step with their culture for interpreting it by book rather than by heart; parents and other family members need to remind themselves that, where any cultural responsibilities appear to override their love for children and siblings, any potential for shame lies not within that culture but within themselves. 

LOVE’S TAKE ON MULTICULTURALISM 

As I put my lips to yours
they part to let my flame enter you,
its heat moulding us
into a live love-sculpture portraying
the true meaning of life

As the flame goes to work
on firing a peace offering to all those
who reject our love,
the raw scars of suffering peel away
like layers of an onion

As we dive and swim freely
where waters of the womb have risen
to offer us sanctuary
from wildfires threatening extinction,
we head for infinity

We reach a sandy shore,
our healing selves embraced by palms
whose leaves caress
where cruel hands would not long since 
have denied us a hearth

Oh, heaven, this splendid place;
if a dream, as real and far more likely 
to inspire angel choirs
than conflict among opposite numbers
in temporal divisions

Sadly, we must rise and leave
to make our way in this 'modern' world,
still a slave to its past
for all its fine rhetoric about fair play
in a free society ...

Yet, we have found a place

where no socio-cultural-religious spite

can keep us apart,

though it pounce on, and spit us out

for breaking its 'rules'

Find us among arts and streets,
recreating love’s custom made models,
nor a finer take on life
than sex, sexuality, race, age or creed
reworking its humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012