The Rose Garden OR Missing, the 'I' in a Jigsaw

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

Not infrequently, older folks like yours truly express regrets that life hasn’t panned out quite how they wanted or even expected. Oh, how well I know that feeling! 

A reader recently emailed to say he enjoyed my fantasy novel ‘Mamelon’ on my fiction blog and thinks I should have tried harder to find a publisher. Many thanks for that, it made my day. Even so, one of many home truths I’ve had to face up to over the years is that I don’t have what it takes to be a good novelist, and wasn’t prepared to be a second rate one. 

I have no illusions about my poetry, either, but it has always been a favourite art form of mine and I not only wanted, but needed to try my hand at it, not least because it is one part of my jigsaw that more than compensates for my never quite getting to bring the picture on its cover to life. Not having a partner or children, I wanted to leave something of myself behind, if only a portion of healthy food for thought. (Yes, well, hmmm... ) 

Writing poems encourages my innermost thoughts to find a voice; hopefully, they may encourage others to do the same; too often we become frustrated, angry, tearful... whatever... because we cannot put a finger on what is persistently nagging away at us. A good counsellor can help, but a bad experience with a psychotherapist to whom I was referred years ago convinced me to stick with the poetry. 😉 

So far, so good... in spite of growing old and wrestling with implications unique to each and every one of us on a daily basis. Poetry as creative therapy alone, brings purpose to my life, much as the gardeners among us find purpose in nature and nurture; more reason to look forward than back, always important, but perhaps more so in our later years. Oh, not every seed we sow will grow and flourish, but as my mother used to say, “Better to live with hope than without it...” 

Who knows, we may well live to enjoy our very own rose garden; my guess is that more people do than don’t, given the inner eye’s innate gift for homing in on missing pieces in human time and (personal) space... 

THE ROSE GARDEN  or MISSING, THE ‘I’ IN  A  JIGSAW  

Jigsaw, depicting a rose garden scene,
almost complete, but for missing pieces
I can’t find for looking high and low,
tears of frustration but a small measure
of my anger at being unable to see the task
through to its completion 

It’s parts of a tree that’s missing leaves
that’s left me in despair, though not worth
a tear (I hear a voice in me sighing);
such is the way of life, parts gone missing,
gaps that need filling or else we’ll be judged
for not even trying... ?

The child I was, so much older now,
still frets over a jigsaw never completed,
angry at being made to feel defeated
by circumstances beyond human control
mind-body-spirit still aspiring to pull roses 
out of its very  own top hat 

I’ll never forget that damned jigsaw,
its picture garden incomplete to this day,
but no tears, only more sighs for lies
by ways of a world promising a rose garden
whether or not a global consciousness is (ever) 
up to either nature or nurture

Though humanity the sum of our parts:
age, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, etcetera,
and we may never get to see the picture
as a whole, for all we may do our damnedest
to copy its cover; no matter, while we can say,
hand on heart, we made a start? 

Few of us truly expect a rose garden
by way of life’s fulfilling all sweeter dreams,
but not all other dreams are second best,
or all missing pieces Black Holes in our history,
nor our fault either if we can’t see for looking out
for parts of such jigsaws as we're not

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021