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

 

 

Unfinished Symphony

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

Strange, isn't it, how one recalls the oddest things about school days...?  I was listening to a bird singing its heart out on our classroom window sill and missed a question put to me by my English Teacher. Without thinking, I confessed the reason, adding for good measure that it sounded as if it was trying to tell us something. (I was known to be something of a dreamer even in those days and had written poems for the school magazine for which I was often mocked although never nastily). 

The rest of the class burst out laughing. 

My ears burned on receipt of some good-natured jeering. Expecting a reprimand, I was surprised (and not a little relieved) when the teacher commented, 'Nature is always trying to tell us something, Taber. The trouble is, only the likes of painters and poets can ever be bothered to listen. Now, where was I...?" whereupon he proceeded with the lesson without my ever knowing what his question had been. Such is life, I guess, where time - up to a point - is customised, and rarely (if ever) finished with us until we are finished with it.

This poem is a villanelle.

UNFINISHED SYMPHONY

Music of the Earth
invoking its biography,
at birth and rebirth

Come sorrow, mirth,
(womb-tomb of history)
Music of the Earth

Playing up to a dearth
of uncommon humanity
at birth and rebirth

Testament to its worth;
(crescendo, an epiphany)
Music of the Earth

At humankind's hearth,
an unfinished symphony
at birth and rebirth

Nature, eternal wreath
celebrating Man's integrity;
Music of the Earth
at birth and rebirth

Copyright R N. Taber 2009; 2018

[Note: I only recently revised this poem, and I dare say those readers who had already taken me to task for indulging in so-called 'poetic license' regarding its rhyming scheme will be disappointed, but that's poets for you, we cheat sometimes...]

Making Peace With Christmas

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

Now, I have never minded being on my own at Christmas and my kinder ghosts make sure I never feel lonely. I enjoy doing my own thing, in my own time, and in my own way. It’s selfish perhaps, but it is a delight not having to make an effort for anyone, but just be myself. Traditionally, I run the gamut of emotions from past sadness and regrets to being (eventually) reconciled with and thankful for the Here and Now…those ghosts dearest to me always making sure any demons don’t get a look in.

For those that can spend a happy time with family and friends, that’s wonderful, but being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely; you don't have to be with anyone to enjoy fond thoughts, happy memories, favourite music or even just a feel-good movie/ programme on the radio or TV likely to inspire a sense of peace and love.

(Image from the Internet)

MAKING PEACE WITH CHRISTMAS

It was the night before Christmas
and the world was uncaring and grey
as I made my way home
from bright, cheerful, carols in The Square
knowing that when I turned the key
in my front door there’ll be no one there
just like so many Christmases before

I took my time along the road
and the first snowflakes began to fall
as I made my way home
joyful voices stinging, ringing, in my ears
remembering how once I’d turn the key
in my front door, and you’d be there for me
just like long-ago Christmases before

I passed a tree, its leaves glistening,
and seemed to hear your voice calling me
to hurry, hurry, home
if only to be warm and safe from harm
if oh, so, alone, shutting the door
on a world  making out that all things holy
embrace even the lonely

It was the night before Christmas
and the world was uncaring and grey
as I made my way home
from bright, cheerful, carols in The Square
knowing that when I turned the key
in my front door, the dearest of all my ghosts
would be waiting for me there

Love, lifting me so as it always does,
I made my peace with Christmas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Joyriders

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

This poem last appeared on the blog in 2010 and I have been asked to repeat it today for ‘Louise P’ because, ‘I love it and it’s my birthday.  My parents as well as my two closest friends read your blog so I’d like to share it with them too as I am working away from home and have not seen them for nearly two years.’

What can I say but, it’s my pleasure Louise and here’s wishing you a very Happy Birthday!

JOYRIDERS

Crawling along a tree’s leaf,

falling among lower branches,

clambering down its trunk,

hitching a joyride on the back

of a grasshopper

Shinning down a weir’s fall,

sending ripples across a pond,

bodies into a cave

sloping down, down, towards

the earth’s axis

Balanced, oh, so precariously

on scales of well-being devised

by nature though humanity

taking credit for an improvised

morality of sorts

Voices in the head calling out

to no one in particular to explain

what humanity has against

nature giving some of us joy rides

to enlightenment

Spinning faster than a pit bull

chasing its tail to give its owner

a good laugh… until it stops,

tossing reason aside as if it were

flesh to a crocodile

Beside a weir, a fine old tree

offers joy rides on a grasshopper

to any who dare, preferring

nature’s passion to an obsession

with one upmanship

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010