Ghosts in the Tower

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

At 73, I have difficulty getting around London these days since a bad fall in 2011. As it happens, the accident occurred very near the Tower of London although I had not been visiting it that day. It later transpired that I had badly fractured my left ankle and would need to learn to walk again. At the time, several kind passers-by stopped to help and waited with me for an ambulance to arrive. I was in a lot of pain, ye I spite of everything, I experienced an uplifting sense of camaraderie not only with those kind strangers but also with what I can only describe as a sense of kindred spirit emanating from the Tower itself.

Call me fanciful if you like (who am I to argue?) but that same kindred spirit stayed with me throughout one of the worst years of my life which left me housebound for months and often despairing of ever being able to get out and about again. (I was, after all, 68 years old at the time.)

Now, I can walk again, if with some difficulty, with the aid of my trusty walking stick and mange wo get out and about pretty well, all things considered. Yes, I have good days and bad days, and on the latter, it is that same human spirit, positive even in adversity, that continues to see me through.

Now, today’s poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog several years ago.

Among ghosts at the Tower is said to be Anne Boleyn, beheaded in 1536 for treason against Henry VIII; her ghost supposedly haunts the Church of St Peter ad Vincula in the Tower, where she is buried, and has been said to walk around the White Tower carrying her head under her arm. Other reported ghosts include Henry VI, Lady Jane Grey, and the Princes in the Tower. In January 1816, a sentry on guard outside the Jewel House claimed to have witnessed an apparition of a bear advancing towards him, and reportedly died of fright a few days later.  There have been various nameless and formless apparitions reported more recently, by night staff at the Tower. 

GHOSTS IN THE TOWER

In the bowels of London’s tower,

beats the pulse of its history,

feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Though tempted, we do not cower

from a fear that's legendary

in the bowels of London’s tower,

Here, mortals high and low flower

like lotus, spoils of eternity,

feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Ambition, lights and dark of desire,

past-present-future of a city

in the bowels of London’s tower,

Where ravens fly and tourists gather,

a city (still) aspiring to glory

feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Pages in its history coming together

to engage with us (intimately)

in the bowels of London’s tower,

feisty ghosts reliving every hour

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

The Play's the Thing OR Audience Appreciation Paramount

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

‘One of the first conditions of happiness is that the link between Man and nature shall not be broken.’ – Leo Tolstoy

That quote leapt to mind one evening only recently as I recalled observing a glorious sunset from my bedroom window that looked over the backyard and garden of my childhood family home.  I experienced such a link then, like an electric current so powerful it made my head swim and almost knocked me off my feet.

I was only 13 years-old at the time, and that feeling of intense, personal bonding with nature has never left me even in my darkest moments. Whenever people let me down (as people are inclined from time to time) I go for a walk in the country, let Earth Mother  dry any tears and lend me the strength to rise above any ill feeling.  

Nature, too, of course lets us down sometimes; Earth Mother can be a harsh mentor. Yet, mentors teach and the better pupil will learn. While we should not cherry pick what we choose to take on board or reject, I suspect most if not all of us do just that. Whatever, I look around and see the world Shakespeare once likened to a stage as parts of a whole, and I bond with that whole, and the whole is nature.

I also recall my English Teacher at secondary school, 'Jock Rankin', commenting that we are to nature as nature is to us, and the sooner humanity gets to grips with that, the greater its chances of survival.  Like everyone else in Class 5B, I nodded and said “Yes, sir!” although none of us had a clue what he meant at the time. When I summon that moment to my mind’s eye now, though, more than half a century later, I am not in class at all, but that same bedroom window experiencing an epiphany in a sunset…

Ever get the feeling we are all but players in a docudrama, have been such since the beginning of time, and doubtless will continue to be so as past, present and future merges into that infinity we call death .... ?

"The play's the thing..." says Hamlet in Shakespeare's own play, referring to how his play will give the audience food for thought on recent events. Much the same, though, can be a said for all performance arts, (indeed, all art) in the sense of its intending to  give any audience serious food for thought as well as pleasure and entertainment.

THE PLAY'S THE THING or AUDIENCE APPRECIATION PARAMOUNT

Glad blue skies, a stagy backcloth

to sad, naked branches

barely hinting at far kinder times

yet to come once winter

has worked its worst on humanity

for wanting to prove itself

better, stronger than Earth Mother

while working its worst

on all things bright, beautiful

and freely given

Sad clouds leading us a merry dance

for wondering if any tears

that may (or may not) fall are meant

to harm (even kill) or nurture,

inspire, re-invent an ethos of peace,

love, kindness and respect

for nature, human nature, all-inclusive

no cherry picking for any ego

demanding the bright and beautiful

serve its own interests

Grey skies, making no sure promises

(or threats) to naked humanity

anxious to avoid the worst of nature

yet to come once winters

of the heart have worked their worst

on human mind-body-spirit

obsessed with survival for its own sake

rather than acknowledging it

all the brighter and more beautiful

for freely given

Amber-red skies, reflecting uncertainty

on earth as it is in heavens

anxious to see us avoid the very worst

we knowingly or unknowingly

propagate for the sake of a greater good

as reworked by dogma

bent on killing freedom of expression

by imaging only the brighter

and more beautiful in its own eyes,

on its own terms

Wide, open skies, ever inviting all nature

and human nature to a life

freely given, never for the asking or taking

besides Time’s remit

written in tablets of stone before its seasons

flowered, died and rose again

as humankind woke, slept and woke again;

testimony to old gods, new gods

and digitalised mock-ups... no match

for Earth Mother

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017