Saturday, 23 July 2016

Distant Voices

I am often asked why I often write about ghosts and have recently received several emails on the subject.

For a start, I have seen ghosts although, yes, that may well have been simply my imagination in overdrive. Even so, I firmly believe that the human psyche comprises passions enough to make itself felt at any point in time.

Each in our own way, we leave a footprint on the passage of time for others to follow or simply observe, examine, reach (debatable) conclusions and act accordingly as and when they may (or may not) so choose. Inspiration lies in whatever it is someone somewhere - in the distant or recent past (not necessarily ours) – may have sad and/or done; thereby making their presence felt. It is this ‘felt presence’ that embraces us. We, in turn, pass it on, perhaps without each realising it, by way of a chance remark or observation; past and present contriving to affect the future while, again, not necessarily our own.

And so it goes on, each of us making history in our own way whether incidentally or by design, experiencing time’s continuum as if it were a home treadmill.

This poem is a villanelle.


Distant voicescome to haunt me
(how long must I turn a deaf ear?)
like straws tossed on a stormy sea

World, acknowledging poverty
(conscience seeing its way clear?)
distant voices come to haunt me

Where ghosts, my only company,
(giant waves, nightmares of terror)
like straws tossed on a stormy sea 

Dark waves rolling back history
(one for every human being’s tear)
distant voices come to haunt me

Sure threads of life’s rich tapestry
(hidden persuaders, politics of fear)
like straws tossed on a stormy sea

As heavens watch impassively,
(Earth Mother’s intentions unclear)
distant voices come to haunt me
like straws tossed on a stormy sea

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

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