Another poem today from the archives of my general poetry blog
All my poetry collections are out of print and it is unlikely there will be any revised editions; they sold well (for poetry) but I had to self-publish them because no poetry publishers were willing to combine general and gay-interest poetry. I am in the process of preparing revised editions in e-format for Google Play but this is likely to take some time as I am in my 70's now and am kept busy overcoming various health problems.]RT
All my poetry collections are out of print and it is unlikely there will be any revised editions; they sold well (for poetry) but I had to self-publish them because no poetry publishers were willing to combine general and gay-interest poetry. I am in the process of preparing revised editions in e-format for Google Play but this is likely to take some time as I am in my 70's now and am kept busy overcoming various health problems.]RT
I read the poem over a video shot by my friend Graham Collett for my You Tube channel some time ago: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvoS6PLKqSA ]
Some readers have said the previous link does not work so I have copied and reinstated it; if it still does not work, go to my channel and search under title. As feedback suggests some of you cannot always access You Tube for one reason or another, I have also posted the video below.]
The sum total of my collections is a diary of journeys short and long, delightful and grim, that comprise my life. Anyone who cares to read them may or may not discern which poems have their roots in autobiography and which do not, but even imagination has to be nurtured by a creative mind, and the mind of poet has to be worth exploring. (Well, doesn’t it...?) I hope to be around for a few more years yet. Even so, I had always been aware that when my time is up, the blogs will vanish into cyberspace and all that will remain of my poems (and me) will be in my collections. However, it appears the British Library are continuing to archive them so they will remain available to any researcher who may be interested.
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Now, regular readers will know how much I love trees. I am fortunate to live near Hampstead Heath and have written several poems about it that express, if only in part, the immense satisfaction I used to take from strolling among its grassy slopes and ponds, but especially admiring its splendid trees of all varieties. Sadly, mobility problems mean I can rarely visit the Heath now, but my memories of those strolls continue to inspire me. Needless to say, I am a passionate about Green issues, and support cries for action against climate change; we are all at risk, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious differences.
How ironic that it should take a threat to the whole planet to break down divisions and unite people where common human nature so often fails, I ask you!
How ironic that it should take a threat to the whole planet to break down divisions and unite people where common human nature so often fails, I ask you!
MY HERO IS A TREE
Leaves on my hero are budding,
the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;
swallows returning bring life
to field and valley, filling the lonely heart
with thoughts of love;
leaves on my hero are singing
songs of summer as feisty as passion;
young folks laughing bring life
to field and valley, filling hearts growing old
with memories of love;
leaves on my hero are turning
red and gold in the company of dreams,
swallows leaving, sure to return
to field and valley while hearts young and old
fly the colours of love;
leaves on my hero are drifting
across time and space, world without end;
tears of pain, joy and hope
flying field and valley like bright eyed children
running with kites;
leaves on my hero are budding.
the music of spring as sweet as ever heard;
swallows returning bring life
to field and valley, and new takes on old stories
we tell on love;
leaves on my hero are singing
songs of summer as feisty as passion;
young folks laughing bring life
to field and valley, teasing hearts growing old
they know nothing of love;
leaves on my hero are turning
red and gold in the company of dreams;
swallows leaving, sure to return
to field and valley while hearts young and old
fly the colours of love;
leaves on my hero are drifting
across time and space, world without end;
tears of pain, joy and hope
flying field and valley, the children we were,
running with kites
Copyright R. N. Taber 2012
[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]
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