Sleepy River

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

"I don't believe in failure. It is not failure if you enjoyed the process." - Oprah Winfrey

“There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere. “ – Jane Austen

"Make failure your teacher, not your undertaker." Zig Ziglar

" To see a world in a grain of sand/ And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand/ And eternity in an hour." - William Blake 

Hi folks,

I hope you are all coping with the exceptionally warm weather, unseasonably hot in some places around the globe, even those accustomed to high temperatures. 

Now, today’s poem was inspired by a favourite song of mine, recorded by the late African-American, baritone singer and actor, Paul Robeson. 

Years ago, when I was still at school and living with my parents, I would sit at the dining room table and do my homework, then sit back and listen to his beautiful voice while letting this particular song lead me through a landscape of dreams. 

Ah, the dreams of the young, so accessible, we would engage with and be inspired by them, whatever the chances of their coming true; all the thrills of fame and fortune with none of the spills that real life so loves to dish us all from time to time...

Relatively few dreams/aspirations of mine ever came true, but I still revisit them, even as I grow old, if only for their remarkability to keep me young at heart... until I find myself looking in a mirror and wondering just where I want wrong in the pursuit of those same dreams. 

Yes. they haunt me now, such dreams that I had, but mostly as friendly ghosts, whose company I have enjoyed, notwithstanding multiple errors of judgement on my part along the way…

SLEEPY RIVER

Walking in the sunshine
by a sleepy river where years ago
we’d stroll, hand in hand,
engaging with a fantasy landscape
of daydreams, destined
never to come to such fulfilment
as mind-body-spirit
aspired, but such is life, and no worries
so long as there’s you-me-us

Reasoning not the need
we’d travel the world first class
among such cloud faces
as had the measure of us, but happy
to keep company with smiles
of intrepid aspiration
as invariably accompany young lovers
wherever and whomsoever
they may be, in all walks of life in a world
where survival is the keyword

Ah, but too often dreams
fall foul of misunderstandings, 
barefaced lies, excuses
and good intentions, like shipwrecks
of which the less said, the better,
fat chance of retrieving 
remains of relationships abandoned
for lack of true staying power, togetherness,
found wanting under duress

Now, I grow old, saddened
for having failed so many dreams,
gladdened, though,
for having battled to see them fulfilled,
nor any sense of failure
in having surrendered them to vagaries
overtaking me, not one dream
forsaking me, but still able to inspire, embrace 
the poetry of personal space

Sleepy river, every tide a collective you-me-us,
every ripple, every wave, a life force...

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Notes on Real Time

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

Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future and makes the present inaccessible. – Maya Angelou

“For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”- Nelson Mandela

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.” – Edith Wharton

Now, it is great news that professional footballer, Jake Daniels, who plays for Blackpool has told the world he is gay, and at the age of 17 years. 

Wow! He makes cowards of those like me. As regular readers will know, I had realised I am gay by the time I was 14, but was not openly so until my 30’s. My family had their suspicions, of course, but I got the impression they preferred as quiet a life as possible and I wasn't about to open up without some encouragement. Oh, I had my reasons (don’t we all?) but there is no reasoning with our fears; until we at least try to get the better of them, I guess we might as well be living in caves.

Sexuality is not a lifestyle choice but a vital part of who we are, straight, gay, whomsoever; just as others must choose to love or malign us, so, too, must we, ourselves. 

NOTES ON REAL TIME

I hid in a cave, scared
to come out for fear of hunters
enjoying such sport
with the likes of me as would serve
their boasts, see us
roasted on a spit, no reasoning a need
to dance away their years
with adept footwork, admired by one and all,
least access to heart-and-soul

Once, almost caught,
concrete jungle sounding its pursuit
of me with gleeful horn
and harrowing peals of expectation,
like church bells
at a wedding, feeding on as well as into
mixed feelings, under a cover
of joie-de-vivre, no one likely to spoil the fun,
be thought a killjoy by anyone

Finally, grown weary
of dark caves with only untried fears
for poor company,
I gave mind-body-spirit full access
to heart-and-soul,
listened intently to an intense exchange
of rights and wrongs, likely gains
and losses, the former winning (eventually)
for reasoning a need to be free

Who dares braves the worst in dream after dream,
has yet to discover the best of real time

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Note: Needless to say, today's post-poem also appears on my other poetry blog.]

 

Beautiful Dreamer

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

When we are young, many if not most of us like to think we are invincible, the world our oyster and every beautiful dream worth chasing. It may well be that we are able to make some dreams come true while others will invariably fall short of the mark. 

An elderly friend once commented along the lines that what he hated most about growing old was that dreaming becomes redundant. “Dreams are about the future,” he insisted, “What future is there for ordinary folks like me who have neither the money nor energy to pursue impossible dreams?” It was meant as a rhetorical question, but one I could not resist answering. 

As I see it, young people making their way in life have no more monopoly on beautiful dreams than religion has on spirituality. As we grow old, our mind-body-spirit is as likely to tune into our past-present-future just as it has always done- if we but let it. 

Aged 75 and living alone, I cannot pretend that old age is as I imagined it years ago, and I don’t see much of a future for myself. Yet, recalling the better, kinder aspects of my past and present along with those with whom I shared them, continues to fill what otherwise would be long, lonely days... nights, too. 

As I have said many times on the blog, love takes all shapes and forms; friends, places, and favourite pastimes as well as lovers. Old age may place limitations on any or all of these by way of various medical, issues, physical or psychological reasons, but they are part of who we are and that may well change outwardly, but not inwardly. 

The inner self is never too old to dream; if it cannot look forwards, it can always look back, and I defy anyone to say they have none of the better, kinder, things in life to look back on, not with regret for their having passed, but with thanks for their having come our way. 

Such is life; such, too, is the stuff of sweet dreams. So, you ask, what about nightmares? Well, many of us have those, awake and asleep; I guess the trick is letting the light of a sandman’s lantern save us from being overwhelmed by the shadows it throws. 

BEAUTIFUL DREAMER 

I am the glow
that lights up any dark
encroaching
on the mind-body-spirit
that’s edging
too close for comfort
to an abyss,
watching over us though we 
embrace or deny it 

I am close kin
to the star we wish upon
as darkness
threatens to leave us feeling
abandoned, scared,
just as we were whenever
we felt much like
ill-chosen pieces of a jigsaw in
an impossible dream 

I inspire the hopes
of things to come when life
is as likely
to fail us as we may well fail
even ourselves
and each other now and then,
by chasing rainbows, 
only to kickstart yet more storms
in tea cups or wherever 

I, am Love, as eternal a companion
as ever lit a Sandman’s lantern 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

Cookies, Conspiracy Theories & Personal Space

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I heard someone comment only recently that “With any luck, we’ll get out freedom back on July 19^th when life returns to normal...” She was referring to the provisional date set by the Government to end Covid-19 safety precautions here in England, depending on how the Delta variant progresses and affects hospital admissions. 

Hopefully, he’ right, but I can’t help wondering just how “free” any of us really are any more in a world where the concept of ‘Big Brother’ created in George Orwell’s classic novel 1984 has long since stepped out of fiction into the real world...? 

In a world of ‘political correctness’- to which any decent person would subscribe in principle - we have to watch what we say or risk having it taken out of context and used against us. Meanwhile, the Internet, along with other aspects of new technology, comprises the epitome of a double-edged sword, working both for and against us at the same time. 

More than sufficient reason (surely?) for the human mind-body-spirit to stay alert to the more positive life forces around us, especially given that these remain in the majority, thanks to the better, bigger, kinder heart of human nature. 

Alternatively...? Well, we risk being overwhelmed by a growing army of negatives, actively encouraged by bigotry and gossip - particularly of the kind that make media headlines - to rework and propagate misleading stereotypes. 

My money’s on the positives, notwithstanding every Here-and Now’s reminding us 24/7, that personal space remains as vulnerable as it is precious.

COOKIES, CONSPIRACY THEORIES AND PERSONAL SPACE

I am that contradiction
among the greater part of a humanity
that needs to run wild and free
while knowing there’s a place to go
where a mind-body-spirit
grown weary of the world’s pace
can rest, recharge in safety
and privacy, without being made to reason why
it’s never (quite) enough to do and die  

While human hearts travel
such seasons of personal space as quirks
of time-and-circumstance
see fit they should, so well may they
beat all the faster, the thrill
of adventure as likely as not taking over,
nor reasoning the need,
but leading with a sense of being as wild and free
as mind-body-spirits deserve to be 

At the end of every dream-garden
the heart nurtures, a trellis gate beckoning us
to make of our futures
whatever its desires would have us do,
succeed or fail as well we may;
such are the life-forces of human choices,
but no point in our refusing
a gate’s invitation to explore some Great Unknown
if we can’t do better by Home Grown 

Call me a socio-cultural-political consciousness of sorts,
no less engaged in stabbing backs as winning hearts 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

Unfinished Business

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

Friends have sometimes confided that what they regret most in life is never having found a partner to love and with whom to grow old. 

Being in much the same boat in as far as growing old alone, and having lived alone for years. I can fully empathise. 

Sadly, not everyone is fortunate to find a life-partner, and even when we do, life has a nasty habit of taking them from us sooner rather than later. 

Even so, as I have said many times on the blogs and intimated in my poems, love comes in all shapes and sizes; family, friends, pets and favourite places... all have a part to play in having us access the joys of everyday life as well as its woes. 

Love never dies; it remains a part of us, a posthumous consciousness inspiring and motivating us long after a loved one has passed away. Moreover, the positive power of love and all the good things it has to say for itself (and ourselves) will not only overcome any negative influences, but invariably touches everyone who comes in contact with it, whether in person or by way of hearsay, quotes or art forms we may come across. 

Whatever Earth's long-term future, I suspect the power of human love will yet see humanity's survival, its flaws notwithstanding.

By the way, I have received emails accusing me of being idealistic, over-optimistic (and far worse) for expressing much the same views of life and love here in the past. Whatever, it has been my personal experience of life, not dissimilar to that which others have confided me, helping us through its worst patches, even enduring such levels of stress as Covid-19  has inflicted on mind-body-spirits across the world 

UNFINISHED BUSINESS 

I may well come and go,
yet no leave-taking of You-Me-Us
in any Here-and-Now
can ever be forever, if only for a power
in me to strengthen
mind-body-spirit’s eternal need
to share the greater part
of lessons learned in the art of positive thought,
among other passions of the heart 

I make myself known
and partly known to various kith and kin
and (through them)
to complete strangers even, whether or not
they may well prefer
to keep a certain distance
from the likes of yours truly, if only for fear
of being persuaded by those same passions in me
fantasizing a roller-coaster life-history 

I make myself keenly felt
among friend and foe alike, tugging at strings
to mind-body-spirits
by consent or part-consent, unable or unwilling
to resist its pull on such needs
as well may pass human understanding 
for having been moved to trust me,
believe in me, follow its dreams rather than any hypes
of third-party gossip or stereotypes 

I am the Spirit of Love, bringer of such joys and woes
as often have unfinished business with human lives

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

L-I-F-E, Dreams and Dragons

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

I wrote today’s poem to help lift me out of a pit of despair, mostly due to years of hormone therapy for the prostate cancer, but with more than a little help from my landlord and certain neighbours. 

Fortunately, I was able to phone a close friend who encouraged me to rise above the worst of my feelings and hitch a ride on a dragon.

Yes, you've guessed it. Having learned long ago that crying over spilt milk gets no one anywhere fast, I made a stab at thinking and writing myself into a less torturous frame of mind. 

As creative therapy, it worked a treat As for what readers will make of the poem, I can but hope they will be less critical of it than I was a few hours ago of the same mind-body-spirit that came close to failing its host poet altogether... 

Among other things a wise old aborigine told me some 50+ years ago, "The only way to deal with despair is with patience. Look it in the eye, dry its tears, insist things can only get better - and they will... eventually."

L-I-F-E, DREAMS AND DRAGONS 

At the very edge of free fall
peering down into a bottomless pit,
all parts of mind-body-spirit
struggling to rise above such fears
as denied even any tears
for its more perceptive selves left dumb
by their own screams 

Teetering, too fearful even
to take a step either forwards or back,
no real sense of direction,
only an intense awareness of being
an abstraction of sorts,
all or nothing, depending how an inner eye
sees what it will 

A kaleidoscope of colours
attempts to perform art in a vacuum,
succeeds only in confusing
the mind, distracting a body left to rely
on some nameless spirit
to make something or nothing of what’s left
have us act accordingly 

Colours, now finding voices,
intent on transforming any senselessness,
bent on lending it images
such as inner-selves project on clouds,
dead eyes coming alive
for recognising a dragon’s head breathing fire
snatched from Apollo

Legs, recoiling instinctively,
stumbling, now arms flung out to save
from falling, dragon descending;
now clambering its scales, now astride,
flying low over landscapes
I used to know and love, inspiring such worlds
as the best dreams spin us 

At the very edge of nightmares,
waking to the sound of birdsong, sunlight
chasing shadows, creating art forms,
reminding mind-body-spirit (as one again)
that if nothing comes of nothing,
it well may be for failing to let inner selves loose
on the likes of dream dragons.

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

Fly-past

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

I didn't have an unhappy childhood, although it was marred somewhat by my not getting on well with my father. I used to dream then, more than I do now, but they were dreams enough to help me sleep; rarely did I have nightmares. I would often confide these dreams to my mother, and asked why I dreamed at all. She was of the opinion that dreams are ways by which the human spirit seeks to bring us respite from everyday cares of the world. This made sense, even to a 10 years-old boy, but it was not until later years that I began to appreciate the truth in what she said. 

Few if any of us can say we are never touched by the more unkind, even cruel examples of life and human nature that home in on us throughout our lives. This is where the arts so often come into their own, perhaps, feeding us comfort food, inspiring dreams about that to which all art aspires, both encouraging us to open our eyes to the harsher facts of life if only to make us even more aware of its kinder, beautiful aspects to which the artist aspires to help us keep in mind. 

The act of creating any work of art, in any form, demonstrates a beauty that the work itself may appear, at first glance, to all but deny. On further reflection, though, we are taken between the lines of its prose, poetry, paint etc. into the mind-body-spirit of the artist which, more often than not is a beautiful experience. 

An art teacher at my old school once told the class that art is a “felt experience”. I would hear that same expression bandied about many times over many years before I began to experience for myself what it mean;  it was an art class, after all, and I have never been good at drawing or painting, too young then to appreciate how much the same sentiment applies to all art forms. 

While some or many of my poems may not ‘work’ for some or many readers, hopefully something of what has gone into writing them may yet provide a not unwelcome experience of sorts...?

 FLY-PAST 

We fly over oceans, rivers and streams,
whatever the weather, sunny skies or dark,
day or night, whenever the call comes
to mark a celebration of life, whether for real
or just to colour in any blanks 

We will touch base with various leafy trees,
all species, sure to home in whenever we can
on where we’ve been before in a life span
made for coupling, birthing, teaching our young
to make their own life journeys 

We fly under eagle eyes of any looking out
for us, perchance to shoot and bring us down
or - learn something of Earth Mothers ways,
though free to ignore, dismiss for no more or less
than a whim of art’s perspective 

We are birds of the air, a welcome distraction
for the mind-body-spirit left troubled by the ways
of a common humanity sure to leave scars
on a global consciousness whose essential goodness
they are inclined to wear down 

We are dreams, winging human landscapes
whatever the weather, sunny skies or darkening,
day or night, whenever, wherever, called on
to mark a celebration of life, whether in real-time
or just to colour in any blanks 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

What on Earth ... ?

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

The owner of a pub about to enter the strictest tier of restrictions in England was recently heard to comment, “We do our best, but it’s never enough. We are told one thing, and do it, then we are told something different.  How are we expected to plan ahead? What I wouldn’t give to know just what’s going on behind the doors of Number 10 Downing Street! 

Well, the old saying is so true in so far as we never know what’s happening behind closed doors, especially when those doors give access to the powers-that-be responsible for making decisions that all but map out our daily lives. 

Here in the UK, even the Government admits that relaxing safety regulations designed to protect us from Covid-19 during a 5-day window over Christmas will inevitably lead to more deaths. If the thinking behind it is that many people will do their own thing anyway, why not leave things as they are; most people will respect the regulations while those who don’t will go their own way regardless of any window.

WHAT ON EARTH... ?

Weary of restrictions,
patience running (very) thin
shoppers turning on
anyone putting them right
about masks slipping
or not caring to wear one at all;
conspiracy theories
all the rage, and testing the self-control
of majority non-believers 

Christmas edging closer,
safety restrictions to be lifted
for a window of cheer
no matter anyone flinging it
wide open likely
to pay dearly for the pleasure
once it’s slammed shut,
Covid-19 having had no such reservations,
continuing to make itself felt 

Mothers, fathers, sisters,
brothers and close friends left
grieving as we move
into 2021, hopeful a vaccine
will bring an end
once and for all to a coronavirus
spreading chaos and pain
the likes of which all humanity can but trust
it may never so endure again  

May the world’s politicians
stay mindful, too, of such threats
as global warming
to all nature and humankind,
reasoning the need
with care, clarity, and openness,
no room for confusion,
less underestimating Joe Public’s watchful eye
on the party politics of illusion 

Such is life, most of us making
the best of things rather than dwell
on worst scenarios,
its being too precious to waste;
better to seize the day,
celebrate a common humanity,
for all its population
left sighing over rainbows time and again, asking
"What on earth is going on ...?"

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 

Lines on the Psychology of Dreams

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

As I grow old, (in my mid-70's now) I become more and more frustrated with things I need to say, feelings I need to express. On reflection, though, it is not an entirely new experience, but one with which I have been afflicted all my life … for reasons shrouded in mist, revealing but shadows that could be anything or anyone; they are, of course, those parts of me I cannot reach for reasons best known to that 'other’ self, a twin subconscious if which I am aware only of a nagging presence, details to which self-awareness may or may not be made privy in the course of a lifetime...

LINES ON THE PSYCHOLOGY OF DREAMS

Once, I flew a blackbird’s wing
all length and breadth of global space,
saw much, understood little;
misty doors, some left ajar for glimpses
enough to fire the imagination,
others opening up by way of an invitation,
many, though, remaining shut,
suspicious, perhaps, of any unasked-for attention
or if something to hide … what? 

Suspicion, in turn, I was fed plenty;
even as I enjoyed taking up invitations,
joining celebrations, whatever …
The goings-on behind those closed doors
haunted mind-body-spirit
enough to subdue any fires of imagination
lit by random glimpses elsewhere;
nothing for it, but connive to get me a skeleton key,
if only to get the better of... fear? 

We flew low over a jackdaw’s nest
and I grabbed a key glittering in the sun
before we flew on to a door
we had passed before, made me curious
for various sounds inside
I could not (quite) identify, a sixth sense
warning this would not end well
even as I was turning key in lock, oh, but softly, softly
only, once inside … freefall 

Blackbird flown, left alone to answer
for the consequences of letting curiosity
get the better of cowardice,
nor was it the first time nor likely the last;
the door that says “Keep Out”
may well have our best interests at heart,
but the tone of its voice
on a sensitive ear, is a sure give-away, for giving intuition
right of way, no... choice? 

I awoke in my bed, as safe and sound
as I could expect after dreams taking me
beyond mind-body-spirit to places
I denied it for reasons shrouded in such mist
as those doors I would enter,
and may well yet if and when I am ready, able
to understand what goes on
within human heart and mind, its spirit too long kept wishing
and hoping for an invitation

Copyright R N. Taber, 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn, Season of Silences

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.

When barely spring here in the UK, it is already autumn in some parts of the world. An Australian reader living and working in London one spring and ‘feeling homesick’ once asked for an autumn poem. [I lived in Australia once, a long time ago, and would love to go back as fate had it in for me at the time and I wasn't able to stay long. Sadly, travel insurance due to my prostate cancer and other health issues is prohibitive so I suspect I never will.]

There is a dreamy quality about autumn that, for me, is like listening to unspoken poems, a spirited silence that no other season can quite match, even a feisty spring or gregarious summer, as if it is loath to go into a winter sleep likely to subdue its silence if not its spirit ...

AUTUMN, SEASON OF SILENCES 

One long, lovely summer

once I spent with you

till fallen angels broke cover;

enter autumn, on cue

Our time together near over,

we were as leaves

on a grieving sycamore

falling like tears

Drifting, piling on a grave

of broken promises,

all the love we’ll never have

for all our kisses

Saddest of autumn dreams,

unspoken poems

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020

[Note: This poem was first published in an anthology, Shades of Autumn, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2004 and subsequently in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Sleeping with Ghosts

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Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2014.

Several people among my own generation (and younger) have told me recently that they are very  scared of growing old alone and especially of dying alone; the latter, significantly more so since the coronavirus pandemic. I can understand why.  Those of us living on our own cannot help worrying about what will happen if we develop symptoms …

Me? Well, if I have no one to hold my hand should I die with coronavirus, at least I will have my favourite ghosts. Our kinder ghosts will always be with us, if we let them, and we need to let them, not only for our own comfort and inspiration, but also because they can see to it that none of us need either grow old – at least in spirit - or die alone; no, even if we live to a ripe old age and have outlived everyone who ever meant anything to us in our lives.

Kindness may sometimes seem in relatively short supply these days, but there is plenty of it about. Be sure, too, there is such a thing as the kindness of ghosts, and our kinder ghosts will never abandon us.

As a child, I was afraid of the dark, and subsequently of dying having heard it describes more than once as an eternal darkness. As a child, I was also afraid of ghosts. One evening, come my bedtime, I confided both fears with my mother, poised as she was turn off the lamp beside my bed.
She left the light on, but pointed out, "No dark, no dreams. No dreams, no happy times coming back to haunt us like ghosts coming out to play," She did, however leave my bedroom door ajar in case I felt unwell in the night. I listened to her descending the stairs, feeling safe, and turned off the lamp, eager to enjoy playing with ghosts if, well, just a little apprehensive. Needless to say, I have never feared darkness or ghosts since.

Oh, I have my share of bad memories and unkind ghosts, just like everyone else. Sleep, though, is as much my world as any ghost's, and I will always have the last word in which ghosts I choose to play with; to any that would muscle in and spoil things, I only have to call on my nocturnal playmates to help chase them away.

SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS

I sit in a comfy armchair,

flicking through pages of a novel,

characters kind, unkind,

and none (I imagine) will come

to see me;

I stumble on a creaking stair,

look down at the hallway below,

kind ghosts waving,

but none (I imagine) likely to come

and give me a goodnight hug

I sit on the edge of my bed

flicking through a photograph album,

kind ghosts comatose,

and no-one (I imagine) coming

to hug me;

head, comforted by pillows,

surrounded by friendly shadows,

waving at me...

but none (I imagine) likely to come

and tell me a bed-time story

I snuggle under the duvet

recalling the clean smell of fresh sheets,

a safety-net of blankets,

as I revisit the many kindnesses

lent by years of make-believe

with an invisible cloak, magic enough 

in its seams to free me

from troubled times, if never 

(quite) enough to come through for me

 in a once-and-for-all fashion

Among the shadows, a figure

looms larger than the rest, elbows its way

forward, arms open wide

a familiar voice wiping away my fears

like a child’s tears;

I close my eyes, follow the Sandman

into a past-present-future 

where life is a copycat Heaven,

so many cups of loving-kindness on offer

that no-one need ask or beg

As for a cruel darkness, yes, I’d be afraid

but for Peace having the last word

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011, rev. 2020

[Note: This poem has been significantly revised since it first appeared on the blog some years ago.] RNT

Give a Dream a Go

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Once, I read something along the lines that the ‘dreams’ we most vividly recall are but leftover, half-formed thoughts inclined to either embrace us or knock us for six as we necessarily negotiate an emotional landscape that finds us close to waking up but unable (quite) to let go of whatever it is about sleep that insists we stay; cave in to the latter, and we risk making of our lives an open prison.

We are used to being told that certain political and legal moves are in all our best interests, but there is often a hidden agenda that benefits some people most if not all the time and the rest of us ... well, some of the time at least, we hope. We only have to look at what is happening in super-power countries like China and Russia, but political strategies worldwide have much to answer for as far as the principles of personal freedom are concerned. Oh, and yes, I include the UK. Whatever, though, the human heart is still a free country, and mind-body-spirit is not without certain strategies of its own to keep it that way.

Now, more than once, contemplating the day ahead over my breakfast has felt like being pulled one way or the other by complacency and positive thinking, each in the form of a viable escape plan from the other. Usually, but not always, a few slices of toast and several cups of coffee will summon a strength of mind-body-spirit resolved to let the more constructive alternative run its course.

Sleepwalking through life (with eyes wide open if eyelids drooping) is sadly, all too common; going through the motions of life instead of living it the way we want not as other people, convention... whatever...suggest we should. At the same time, we need to bear in mind that not everyone's idea of 'living' is the same, and it is unfair to compare, even more so to set ourselves up as judge and jury as so many people I know SO love to do...

Life, of course, doesn’t always give even the best of motives their head, but our options are often limited through no fault of our own. Even so, where an opportunity to improve not only our own lot but others, too, does present itself, we owe it to ourselves (and them) to GO for it, no matter what some might say or think. Some readers may argue that's just selfish, but in my experience, letting someone prevent you from doing something you really want to do can but end in tears; more often than not, any who appear to  begrudge us the opportunity are simply employing a get-out clause for not pursuing a dream of their own.

Life is rarely easy and sometimes makes demands of us we might well prefer to put on the proverbial back burner, but where there's a will, there's usually a way ... and that's where mind-body-spirit comes into its own. Yes, win some, lose some, but better surely to find ways of putting a dream to the test if only because it's how history and personal history come together and make history ...

'What is not started today is never finished tomorrow.' - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (German Playwright, Poet, Novelist and Dramatist. 1749-1832)

GIVE A DREAM A GO

Sometimes, the human body

will not (quite) emerge from shadows

(courtesy of sleep) conveniently

induced by selective half-memories

of fonder (kinder) times

when body and spirit took a stoic stand

against the more aggressive

(egocentric) interpretations of what it is

to be a practising human being

Sometimes, the human mind

can't (quite) escape a darker, weaker side

(courtesy of conscience)

invaded by selective half-memories

conveniently (almost) buried

under layers of regret, pain, wishful

thinking for turning back

the ever-spilling clock measuring out

human life in grains of sand

Sometime, the human spirit

refuses (quite) to justify being slow

to do the right thing

by all that’s integral to the integrity

even of those children

of a lesser god than it chooses to put

above reproach, especially

when available to call upon to excuse

the plainly inexcusable

Eventually (with luck) we wake

to choral music promising us heaven

of a kind not (quite)

as interpreted by various Holy Books

if only to keep us quiet

in the face of pain and regret stoically

managed but self-inflicted

all the same, especially upon others

who mean us no harm

Day dawns, and life goes on

so we need to pull ourselves together,

put the world to rights

and put any irksome misgivings down

to common misdemeanours

attributed to quirks of sleep expressing

(only human) anxieties

of a far less forgiving ego than likely

to meet the eye over breakfast

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Ghost Riders in the Sky

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

As a child, I would love creating stories in my head from cloud ‘figures’. People would laugh and tell me I’d grow out of this fantasising. Well, some people still laugh, but I’m glad I still feel inspired by clouds years on. (I will be 75 later this year.)

They taught me a lot, those clouds; for a start, how to create and enjoy fictions without confusing them with facts although ... well, there was a time in my life when it was a close call.

It is thanks to my childhood fascination with cloud shapes that I became interested in reading, writing and... yes, people. I have written many poems and a few novels, but cannot be described as a 'successful' writer in the sense that it has neither made me rich or famous. Yet, who cares? Nor me, that's for sure. Writing (even more than observing cloud shapes) has taught me much about myself and human nature; more importantly, I have enjoyed every moment, and - as is often the way with any form of creative therapy - it has also helped to keep my old enemy Depression at bay for years.

Clouds have played no small part in making me the person I am today, and hopefully i may even pass some of this on by way of a posthumous consciousness in time and space, to be touched upon by any who may care to remember words I have spoken or written long after this life has had its way with me. For sure, there have been people in my life, long dead, who have remained a 'live' influence on and within my own consciousness, in a very positive way, and always will.  

GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY

I’ve seen ghost riders

chasing sandmen into storm clouds,

and leaves fly

I’ve seen ghost riders

throw a sandman into a dark place,

and trees cry

I’ve seen ghost riders

pluck such as I from fragile shelters,

and no one care

I've seen ghost riders

playing cat and mouse with humanity

(winner takes all)

Ghost riders, goading 

others like me into this sorry world’s

worst nightmares

I’ve let ghost riders

drag me from my armchair, re-awaken

my consciousness

I’ve let ghost riders

rescue me from assault by prime time

TV advertising

I’ve let ghost riders

force me to face my more fragile selves

head-on

I've let ghost riders

leave me trailing behind, and found a way

back to real time

One by one, ghost riders

but a dust cloud, no trace even of a history

(except in me)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Faces at a Window

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

A friend once commented on how there's no disputing we live in a dangerous world, one that's the stuff of nightmares.

Before the Covid-19 pandemic the first thing that leaps to mid is probably the threat of terrorism leaps to mind; nor has that gone away either. There are everyday threats closer to home as well; racism, homophobia, street crime, gang warfare, cyber bullying, certain religious and cultural issues such as FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) and the more barbaric aspects of Sharia law etc. etc.

Is it any wonder then that dreams and nightmares sometimes merge into a hideous quasi-reality? 

As for a face looking passively in at it all, that could belong to just about anyone, even one of our own personae that the conscious self we know and love either fails or refuses to acknowledge … in case it feels obliged to act rather than remain a critical bystander unwilling to get involved in someone else’s affairs? There comes a time, though, when we have to acknowledge that, like it or not, as part of a common humanity, we are involved...in helping, any way we can, to ensure not only its very survival, but its survival for the better.

Enter, the metaphysical poet John Donne: ‘No man is an island entire of itself…any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind...’ (Meditation XV1) 


FACES AT A WINDOW

Faces looking in
at a window
on my dreams
are always mouthing words
I can't make out

These faces looking in
at a window
on my dreams
always have a smile for me
no matter what

One face looking in
at a window
on my dreams,
it wears a wry expression
(knows me well?)

I struggle to imagine
what they see
as my dream-self
explores all time and space
of a subconscious
indulging in freedom
from restraints
along the lines
of universal dogma playing
war games
with mind, body, and spirit
or the temporal
manipulations of various
holier-than-thous
acting out an ages-old parody
of human justice

Faces looking in
at a window
on my dreams,
approving what they see 
for having a say

One face looking out
of a window
on my dreams
mouths I'm doing my best
(fair enough)

Waking at first light,
in time to catch
anxious shadows  
on my ceiling, dark forces
beating a retreat


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 2020

T-i-m-e, Life Forces

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

An old saying insists that, ‘It’s ‘a man’s world.’ Maybe that’s true, maybe not, for there is another that suggests, ‘Behind every great man is a great woman’. As for how we define 'great' I suspect it has to do with goodness; if goodness is as great as any of us can aspire to, not all greatness is synonymous with goodness.

Whatever, we live in a world for which I suspect we have mostly women - past, present, and future - to thank for its (and our) ever aspiring to a kinder world and common humanity, all the better for its feminine side looking beyond the Here-and-Now to host such peace and love as all the best dreams are made of, including one called Progress...

T-I-M-E, LIFE FORCES

Seasons come and go, Hope,

nurturing root-leaf-flower of its thought 

in a garden of peace and love

Earth Mother, complementing

time's healing touch in a thousand ways

while its seasons come and go

Nature, human nature, playing host

to all living things, its ghosts left sighing
over every missed heartbeat

Human arts and sciences lending 

a sense of shared responsibility in caring

for a each and every one of us  

Seasons come and go, World asking
of nature-cum-human nature its sacrifices

for a kinder, unprejudiced ethos

As life forms put through their paces,
nature and human nature invariably at odds,

find a woman called Hope regenerating
dream-gardens of peace and love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013;2020 

[Note: A slightly different version of this poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.] RNT

Love, a Joy Forever

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

This post/poem is from my gay-interest blog archives for September 2010.

A reader, ‘Ron’, has contacted me to say he enjoys my general blog and took up my invitation in yesterday’s post to take a look at my gay-interest blog. ‘…and what do I find,’ he complains, ‘but 'Icon' which has to be about as gay rubbish a poem as you can get.’ Well, maybe Ron… but haven’t you ever eyed up a pretty woman in much the same way? The principle is the same, and where’s the harm? It is, after all, true what they say. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, and a beautiful man or woman is likely to leave a lasting impression on mind, body, and spirit....whether Memory chooses to acknowledge it or not.

Meanwhile…

This poem has been slightly revised from the original as it appears in my collection and on the blog (July 2009). It has been requested by ‘Caroline for my partner Megan’ and also by ‘Cliff for my partner Des.’ Another request comes from ‘Granny K’ for her granddaughter, Louise who will be celebrating a civil partnership with Simone on Simone’s birthday coming up soon. [How wonderful to hear from someone of the older heterosexual generation who can be genuinely happy for a gay couple!]  Here's a BIG hug for you and all my readers.

(Photos taken from the Internet)

Now, for sure, true love (gay or straight) truly is a thing if beauty to be cherished, and where duly nurtured, a joy forever ...

LOVE, A JOY FOREVER

When I am with you,
the world seems a better place
by far. I frame your face
in tender hands (no need to
catch a falling star)
and all my wishes come true;
my life with you is blessed
(I knew it that time we kissed
after a mad dash
in pouring rain, and missed
the last bus home)

My dream is yours, the future.
ours to savour, like
a subtle flavouring of herbs
in the plainest fare;
no greater thrill, ever, than
our arms homing in
upon each other, warmth
like a dove’s down
filling us, your lips like petals
waking to a glorious
new dawn, whispering
a first love story
of our own, hearts beating
as one

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Joy Forever' in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Oh, Christmas Tree...

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

December, and a new poem. Over the next few weeks I will be publishing archival posts (on and from both blogs) leading up to Christmas. No, I do not celebrate Christmas, but like many if not most religions and religious festivals, it brings out both the best and the worst in people, challenge enough for anyone, not least a pantheist poet.

I asked a friend whose family, like me, do not subscribe to any religion, why they celebrate Christmas, a Christian festival? "Apart from the religious aspect," he replied, "it is all about peace and goodwill to all humankind, isn't it? That has to be worth celebrating, surely?"  I could not agree more, but peace and goodwill to all humankind is not (or should not) be a seasonal aspiration; both belong to the evergreen family.

Well, hope springs eternal...

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE...

Oh, Christmas tree,
all tinsel, pretty baubles
and presents
for everyone on hand,
lead character
in a play for all the family,
meant to convey
a message of home comforts
and eternal love

Oh, Christmas tree,
tell me what it is you see
from the window
you face, curtains drawn
so rough sleepers
may yet dare to dream
of kinder days,
children playing in the sun,
laughing off the rain

Oh, Christmas tree,
do you even remember me,
one who dressed you
in between a mince pie here,
a sneaky sip
of homemade wine there,
and writing cards
meant to spread love and cheer
at least till New Year?

Oh, Christmas tree,
so soon abandoned, forgotten,
caste off as waste,
not even up for recycling,
your artistry
as artificial as the needles
messing the carpet
and pricking the eyes of all those
Santa Claus forgot

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019