Tuesday, 30 July 2013

A Life in the Day of a Sandman OR Facing Up to History



I often refer to ghosts in my poems. Do I believe in ghosts? Oh, yes, I certainly do.  Here, though, the ghost is simply a metaphor in the manner of many poets, writers, and artists before me and I dare say many more to come…

A metaphor, for what, did you say? Ah, therein lies the secret of the kenning form of poetry; you usually have to read it to discover the narrator’s identity.

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF A SANDMAN or FACING UP TO HISTORY

See me, ghost
of times past that takes my cue
from all around me,
busy creating roles to play
for me to step into
once choice comes into its own
and society acknowledges
my stake in it, and every right
live in peace

Hear me, ghost
of times present that will tug
at the restless heart,
invade the enquiring mind,
seek to be reconciled
with whatever moral order
is loath to acknowledge
there’s no harm in agreeing
to differ

Embrace me, ghost
of times yet to come, fretting
I may not fulfill
my potential, whether physical,
psychological, emotional
or, yes, sexual since you ask
(and well you might)
for I am the sum total of mind,
body and spirit

I am a child of time and space;
call me, Conscience

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011


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