Getting the Better of Demons

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

A Reader asks if I still submit poems to poetry journals. Occasionally, I do, but mostly I publish to the blog. Most editors stipulate that a poem should not have been published elsewhere which can tie up a piece for months while a decision is being made. In the past, I some 600 poems of mine have appeared in various poetry sources, excluding my own collections. I am greatly indebted to those editors for giving me the confidence to believe in myself as a poet.

One of my poems - Skeleton in the Cupboard - was recently published by the Society of Genealogists’ magazine (Vol. 33, No 8, Dec. 2020) here in the UK at the editor's request; it is distributed to members worldwide, so hopefully some readers will enjoy it. Blog readers will find it in the archives (right hand side of any blog page) for February 2018. 

Meanwhile ...

Some 60+ years ago, I used to have nightmares most nights and would sometimes fall asleep in class.  A teacher tackled me about it after school one day, and I told him about the nightmares. He did not ask what they were about, only warned me not to let them get the better of me. 

“Do they scare you, these nightmares?” he asked. I nodded.  

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life being scared? I shook my head. “Then chase them away. Open your mind to people, places, and things that mean the most to you, trust your more positive feelings, and let them convince you you’re bigger and better than any stupid nightmare just for having them. Start believing that, and no nightmare can survive. They are our demons. They love to sound out the worst in us, negative feelings we may not even be consciously aware of. Think positive, Taber, and they’ll run a mile. Try it, and see, yes?” 

“Yes, sir, I nodded, thinking what a load of rubbish, and anxious to be on my way home. 

Even aged 15, though, the sceptic in me could never resist a challenge. I gave his advice a whirl, and rarely have nightmares troubled me since. Moreover, I was a psychological mess for years, and positive thinking has worked wonders for my mental well-being. 

Mind you, getting the better of nightmares is one thing, getting the better of human nature, that's something else.

GETTING THE BETTER OF DEMONS 

I help recapture the best
of all yesterdays, and if darker times
should attempt
to muscle in and get the better of us,
I will summon the power
of love from its very first heartbeat
to drive any demons away
daring to believe they can pick a fight with us
and prove anything but losers 

I help plant and nurture
the finer seeds of all such tomorrows
as try to persuade
the world to turn as nature would have it,
pitted though it be
against the worst of humanity’s flaws
and baser desires
giving it (and us) just cause for a determination
to devise and effect reparation 

I have nursed broken hearts
and minds to a greater sense of wellness
than the very society
that would do them harm in the first place,
not least for its failing
to mark how its population nurtures
a split personality,
its diversity of socio-cultural-religious ideals
erecting fences, building walls 

Call me, Pillow, where hope and love share dreams
of saving worlds last seen fraying at the seams

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L-i-f-e, Beachcomber Tales

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

Now and then, readers of one or other (even both) my poetry blogs  - all ages, both sexes, gay and straight - email to say they are in London or coming to London and would like to meet up for a chat (about anything and everything) over a few drinks or a meal. I always enjoy these get-togethers, have met up with some very interesting people and keep in touch with many of them if only by email. So feel free to contact me any time, even if a meet-up is never likely to be on the cards. While I don’t allow comments on the blogs, I will always reply to emails; a lively exchange of views and opinions is always enjoyable.

Meanwhile...

'There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves or lose our ventures.' -  William Shakespeare

Dreams and daydreams are more a part of us than we care to admit, carefully – or even carelessly - stored away in some shadowy corner of the mind waiting for sandmen to come along and explore, rather like a children  rummaging through the contents of an attic and turning it into an adventure as only children can. Quite possibly, too, they instinctively recognize the worth or worthlessness of whatever they find there…as only children can.

Like it or not, few if any of us leave childhood – or at least its natural instincts – behind altogether; naivety and innocence may be tiresome from an adult perspective, while both harbour an honesty unfettered by the so-called ‘wisdom’ that comes with maturity and invariably urges discretion if not total restraint…for (our) survival’s sake if nothing (or no one) else’s.

L-I-F-E, BEACHCOMBER TALES

Sun going down,

leaving our daydreams to float

on waves of twilight

where some are sure to drown,

others washed up

on green-gold shores of infinity,

the rest left drifting

on a vast sea of darkness,

flotsam and jetsam

of human nature to be claimed

in the passing of time

by that old beachcomber, Sleep,

and re-appraised,

reworked by sandmen, guardians

of our secret selves

Twilight dimming,

anticipating thoughts drowning

beneath wintry waves

of abandoned hope, ambition,

darker aspects of nature

and human nature sure to drag

the human condition

into an unfathomable despair

were they not there

to watch over us, keep us safe

in dimensions of Being

beyond its everyday assumptions,

painting picture-poems

on closed eyes anxious to open

closed minds

A Smiley Moon

overseeing black holes for worms

and makeshift coffins

made up of pillows, duvets and sheets

where monsters lurk, waiting

to pounce unawares on consciences

left exposed and vulnerable

in the absence of any conscious effort

to make the kind of excuses

we need to half-believe in or spiral

into a state of half-living,

inciting us to try and beat The Reaper

as his own game,

losers all, we bit players in the greater

scheme of things

Sun resurfacing,

lending passage to lion and lamb

and all of nature’s own

going about the business of living

much as we human beings

if more protective and protecting

of its species and spaces

in spite of the world’s demanding

of Earth Mother far more

than its share of natural resources,

but all’s fair…(so they say)

and the human beast needs must

be the best of a bad bunch

occupying Her territories, fighting

over them for centuries

Cold light of day,

taking us through everyday motions

many if not most of us

think of as living, taking for granted

every ripple, every wave,

carrying us to the very edge of a world

created for ourselves,

all-comers welcome while remaining

in their seats lest they rock

this Ship of Fools chartered by ‘betters’

to take the rest of us

towards a landfall some call ‘Heaven’

where no going down

of the sun, no pillow promises made

at dawn cruelly broken

Selfies, everywhere

like dogs at a bitch on heat inciting

priority attention

as becomes nature’s motivation to fill in

time’s blank spaces

with living, loving, thriving species,

meant to mature,

(since such is the cycle of natural life)

by filling in their own blanks

with living, loving, thriving issues,

and any black holes

with light enough to show we were here,

we bit players, we flotsam

and jetsam, we bringers of all history

coasting shores of infinity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Dawn Prelude

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

They say we dream the more intensely just before we wake up.

Many if not most people love to dream of waking in a loved one’s arms.

Some such dreams do come true, of course, but not for everyone. and not without our having to first 'get real' by fighting off off any self-consciousness, getting out there to try and meet that special someone instead of sitting back and waiting for him or her to simply come our way. In the meantime, we get to meet some interesting people, make some good friends, broaden our horizons and generally acquire a social identity more likely to make us an altogether more interesting person to know, maybe even to love…

Positive thinking can defeat even the worst nightmares, especially when it becomes a habit likely to surface from even murkiest depths of the human subconscious.

Me, I only discovered the passionate side of love but once, in someone who was killed in a road accident abroad not long after we had found each other, but such is life sometimes, and it was well  worth every heartbeat just to have been in love and have it reciprocated even for a short time. Love, of course, is a many-sided creature, and we need to remember that; love for family, friends, pets and places too, all have their place in the heart that remains open to them even after certain doors slam shut.

DAWN PRELUDE

Seconds before dawn,

taste and smell of silence

invading the senses,
listening out for love, 
Poetry of Life, inspiring
dreamers worldwide

Seconds before dawn,

laughing among old gods

before responding
to their wake-up call,
reflecting on getting real 

with our dreams

Seconds before dawn
gets to strike its first blow
to send us reeling
from those home truths 
alerted to a centuries-old

war on dreams

Seconds before dawn
trust fear to give the heart
cause to miss a beat,
allow breathing space
to reassert its disputed role
as a lead player

Seconds before dawn,
we rediscover in ourselves
whatever raison d’être
asks we but keep in view,
if only to see us on our way
into another day

Seconds before dawn,

caressed by its shadows,

seduced by its charms,

comes you-me-us, where
hope springs eternal, the stuff
of all our dreams

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Halloween Landscape (Two Poems)

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

It doesn't have to be Halloween for mind-body-spirit to stray into a Halloween landscape. Indeed, there are times when can feel like we are an everyday part of it, and it of us. As for its ghosts, they are ours, too, nor all meaning us any harm; on the contrary, the majority represent a posthumous relating to loved ones that will comfort and inspire use is if only we will let it.

HALLOWEEN LANDSCAPE

One Halloween, I sought the dead
among trees all but stripped bare,
only to recover the living instead

Heart heavy, legs weights of lead,
I took my cue from bleak despair;
one Halloween, I sought the dead

By a wicked moon, too easily led,
I let Death's voices lure me there,
only to recover the living instead

My ghosts happy to see me, I fed
on that like a king to banquet fare;
one Halloween, I sought the dead

Too soon, an owl’s wings overhead
flapped like a shroud over us there,
only to recover the living instead...

Unafraid, where once I'd have fled,
I felt inspired by dawn's first glare;
one Halloween, I sought the dead,
only to uncover the living instead 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem has been revised since appearing under the title 'Fair Game' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

RECONCILING WITH EARTH MOTHER

Come Celtic revels,
witches and warlocks abroad
casting ancient spells

Voices, coaxing me
to take wing, soar like a bird
come Celtic revels

The world, it but calls
upon me to fall on my sword,
casting ancient spells

Earth Mother, she fills
my heart with a loving word,
come Celtic revels

Human spirit, unafraid
of some self-titled time lord 
casting ancient spells

Be sure, it will not be I
lets Earth Mother go unheard,
come Celtic revels
casting ancient spells

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007