Saturday, 15 August 2015

Minder, the Selfie Gene

Strange, isn’t it, how some words, events and people stick to the memory like glue? Could it be they press buttons we rarely if ever choose to press ourselves?  For example, there is a pub in Old Street (London) called The Masque Haunt. I once overheard a complete stranger comment  as he looked up at the name, ‘Now, that’s life. Oh, yes, that is life…’

I have often reflected on how the inner selves that come together to create human identity  are a motley crew; invariably, they adapt to a variety of circumstances, performing accordingly for a variety of people in a variety of ways, depending on why we have (consciously or subconsciously) brought them into play in the first place.

This poem is a kenning.


I tell people what to do
and where to go, putting them
in their place
where needs must, advise how
not to lower the eye,
but appear relaxed to all intents
and lesser purposes,
direct the semblance of a smile
to complete the illusion

I fulfil the role of showman,
 treading no boards, just dreams
(nor gently either)
inciting the coward to bold acts
likely to pass for bravery
by the less discerning observer,
appropriately applauded
by an audience with its own ideas
of entertainment…

I hunger for a share of glory,
albeit behind scenes played out
to (near) perfection
by conscience and consciousness
at centre-stage
of everyday deceptions produced 
by circumstances
and directed by those old stand-bys,
diplomacy and discretion

Minder-Carer of a human condition
some call Self-preservation

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

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