M-E-M-O-R-Y, Mind Games OR Tell-Tale Diary

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Who are we? What are we? Where are we at in life’s journey, and how long may we stay? Where next, and what will we find around the next corner? More of the same, perhaps, or better, worse…? 

Whatever, we can but continue trying to work through and  make sense of those parts of us that make up the human condition; in so doing, shape and reshape ourselves and each other, hopefully for the better.

M-E-M-O-RY, MIND GAMES or TELL-TALE DIARY

Names, names, more names...
rushing the mind
like commuters boarding a train

Faces, faces, younger and older,
collage of the heart,
prize pictures in an exhibition

Places, places, and more places,
focusing the inner eye;
home movies at a birthday party

Good days, bad days, and so-so
ganging up on us
in a well-meaning consciousness

Regret, regrets, and more regrets,
like grains of sand
measuring us out in an hour glass

Mind-body-spirit, and all it takes,
for getting the better
of our worst fears, come what may

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Mind-Body-Spirit, Opening Up to Spring

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Spring is in the air, but sadly, the COVID-19 coronavirus is taking its toll just abut everywhere across the world. Not since World War 2 have we all needed to trust love - in all its shape and forms - to distract us and help us rediscover peace of mind ...

"Daffodils that come before the swallow dares, and takes the winds of March with beauty." - William Shakespeare (The Winter's Tale)

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, OPENING UP TO SPRING

Come wintry seasons,

no peace for the unquiet mind

as it mulls its choices;

none so obvious as yelling “Me!”

and let the rest go free,

leaving mind-body-spirit to focus

on such kinder aspects

of human nature as any disinclined

to be a slave to its worst flaws

Winter, preferring gloom

to sunlight more often than not,

sending mixed feelings

all but mad with mixed messages,

now reassuring us,

now threatening us with the worst

it can throw our way,

now suggesting we do this, now that,

at each new day’s dragging out

Come, a hint of spring,

daffodils making their presence felt

in buds no quite ready

to open their hearts to the world,

let us see inside,

be inspired by Earth Mother’s need

to take a lead,

defy inhibitions hell bent on throwing

even the best of us off the scent

To mind-body-spirit, all the more peace 
and love for spring’s embrace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Stumbling Blocks

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While I continue to replace originals in my print collections with any later revised poems in preparation for publishing online at a later date, I have also decided that, once having completed the task, I will first publish a collection of the most  popular poems on the blogs; this way,  readers will be able to dip into them should Google delete my blogs once I have gone walkies with the Grim Reaper.

I have to confess that I am finding even  my early 70's heavy going on a daily basis. I am 74 now, live alone, and seem to deal with just about everything so much worse than I used to. Inclined to get everyday crises out of proportion, to say I am less than happy with my quality of life these days is an understatement. 

I used to be happy enough living on my own, but now I often feel isolated, probably because I have so much less of a social life these days. Even so, I have much to be thankful for, especially a best friend without whom my life would be unbearable. 
  
Life could be better, for sure, but it could also be much worse so...as good a reason as any to continue taking my cue from Monty Python, and always look on the bright side of life; well, nearly always... (My cue for visiting nearby Hampstead Heath, where the  peace and beauty of nature can always be relied upon to clear even the most dissatisfied mind-body-spirit.)
.
I guess growing old(er) was never meant to be an easy journey. Writing poetry helps; in my head, I can hear Ella Fitzgerald singing 'A Satisfied Mind', and do my best to achieve just that...

STUMBLING BLOCKS

Stumbling so, my years
across a shifting sea of sand;

the poetry of unshed tears

In a haze that never clears

though blind faith withstand,

stumbling so, my years

A sad heart’s secret fears

expected to make a last stand; 
the poetry of unshed tears

Deafened by global cheers

at some false god’s command,

stumbling so, my years

World, too, nursing its fears,

(failing to stay a logger’s hand);
the poetry of unshed tears

Peace, it all but disappears,
under layers of dissatisfied mind;

stumbling so, my years,

the poetry of unshed tears

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 'On the Battlefields of Love' by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

On the Nature of Love

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I have often heard people say they feel they have missed out on love, and it saddens them because they feel life has left them feeling incomplete.  Perhaps they have never been ‘in love’ or a partner has died young or a lover may have let them down in their eyes…

Whatever, love is neither so easily defined nor confined to the context of being ‘in love’. As I have said before on the blogs (and dare say will say again) love takes many shapes and forms that can be as real, inspiring and life-shaping as a lover.

Me, I haven’t had a steady partner for many years and we only had a short time together, but knowing him was a learning curve in many ways, not least in learning to take nothing for granted, especially love. It is possible, even likely, that platonic love between good friends can be as enriching in its own way as the love shared by lovers. A love of certain places or simply for travelling and experiencing new places can be wonderful nor less so the love of home life and everything it means to us, even if we rarely if ever step out of that particular comfort zone.

Different people want and need different things from life, but so long as we keep our eye on love, and always remain aware of and nurture its presence, the least likely we are to ever look back on our lives and find them wanting.

Few people, in my experience, can say they feel wholly fulfilled, Yes, I envy those that can, of course I do, but we should never let envy of others blind us to our own blessings, even when the latter sometimes seem somewhat thin on the ground; be assured they will pick up, but only if we open up to them, fill our senses with them, see them for what they are through our own eyes, not someone else’s.  Yes, I know it’s pretty obvious, but SO many people fail to see the proverbial wood for trees planted by someone else.

As for sexuality, it embraces love, yes, but love is bigger than that, and anyone who believes in love needs to be big enough to admit it, socio-cultural-religious prejudices notwithstanding, or they are 
hypocrites...to say the least.

‘Where there is love, there is life.’ - Mahatma Gandhi

ON THE NATURE OF LOVE

Hey, listen out…

Hear that lasting beat 

whose remit to feed

the sweetest memories

to a hungry heart.

long after its life force

carried away

on wings of a day set aside

for sorrow

Hey, look there…

Discover cloud shapes

whose remit to relay

best (and worst) times

to an inner eye

long after losing sight

of friendly faces

to hands on a wall clock

stuck fast

Hey, have a smell…

Where grass is greenest

and leaves bring

the scent of summer roses

to the mind

all but closing down

in keeping

with a winter all but gone

to earth

Hey, get the taste…

For honey on the tongue

on what we may

liken to a ‘soul’ having left

its lasting imprint

on such as we may care

to call ‘spirit’

in the lamentable absence

of a poem

Ever get the feeling…?

Earth Mother, nurturing

the beauty

of our seasons going

full cycle,

constructive comment

even on dreams

of each hopeful tomorrow

left unfulfilled

Hey, reach up, touch…

Where the heart beats out

its hopes

for such peace and love

as may or may not

run true, but much the more 

worth the dreaming

for filling all my senses

with you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Twilight on a Lake OR Nature, an Everyman's Guide to Infinity

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As I grow old, some memories dim while others take on a whole new perspective, probably because we don''t always realize at the time just how much certain occasions mean to us or those with whom we get to share them. 

I have made some changes to this villanelle that I wrote during a wonderful weekend in the Lake District some years ago.

 Twilight at Ashness Bridge (Lake District)

TWILIGHT ON A LAKE or NATURE, AN EVERYMAN'S GUIDE TO INFINITY

Though pain a part
in our lives surely take,
play on, glad heart

There is a beauty art
strives its copies to make
though pain a part

When life falls apart,
and fragile promises break,
play on, glad heart

Cherish from the start
each dip in passion’s lake
though pain a part

Where the stars chart
our every move, mistake,
play on, glad heart

May love’s winged dart
find its mark for our sake;
though pain a part,
play on, glad heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2016

[Note An earlier version of this poem was first published in an anthology, 'Chasing Shadows', Poetry Now [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in 1st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised ed. in e-format in preparation. The poem was slightly revised in 2013, and an alternative title, added 2016.]

The Lovers OR Quality Time

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Today’s poem is a favourite of mine and appeared in several poetry magazines/anthologies before I included it in my first major collection; it was written in 1991 after a conversation over a garden hedge with an elderly man whose wife had died the previous year. He talked about the spirituality of love and togetherness in such a way that I was full of admiration and close to tears.

THE LOVERS or QUALITY TIME

Scarce we talked of love,

scarce we talked at all

I would scan the paper

while you got the tea

or prune my roses

while you watched me

out of the corner of one eye

at your herbaceous border

busy with a trowel

Scarce we talked of love,

scarce we talked at all 

I would fix whatever

while you made us a cuppa,

and when I’d finished

we would sip comfortably

in our favourite places

glancing up now and then to

read each other’s faces

Scarce we talked of love,

scarce we talked at all 

Now I prattle away

in a misty rain,

bring you roses where you lie

in a patch of cemetery,

birds for company,

wondering why, oh why?

Again and again

Scarce we talked of love

scarce we talked at all

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001

[Note: this poem was first published as 'The Lovers' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; rev. ed. in e-format in preparation.]

Among Games People Play

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We see politicians and religious leaders at it all the time, but can any of us say in all honesty that we have never played the blame game?

 AMONG GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

There's a secret game people play,

that rarely stays a secret very long;

before you know it, they'll leak it,

see gossip machines into overdrive

It’s a so-nasty game people play,

that nearly always gets (far) worse

before any signs of getting better

for anyone whose head in its noose

It’s a so-sorry game people play

that must (invariably) end in tears,

 its losers left cut to the quick,

while rare, a ring-leader who cares

It’s a so-lonely game people play,

(needing to be one of an in-crowd)

eager to point invisible fingers

at human kindness going belly-up

It’s a game we all love to deplore,

yet who among us can honestly say 

we've not played gossip machines,

regardless of any risks to overdrive?

It’s the blame game people play,

deemed as good a diversion as any

from errors of their own ways

(masks mistaken for friendly faces)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011