Nature's Way

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I started school in 1950 and never did well academically. Yet, as if not more importantly, I learned a lot from a hard hit generation of post-war teachers. Upon his retirement, I asked one (as children do) if being old was scary ‘what with death and all that’. He shrugged and gave it little thought before replying, ‘You reap what you sow in life, Taber. Sow well, and enjoy doing it, whatever and wherever it may be. Enjoy might not always be the first word that comes to mind, but satisfaction is much the same thing. Whatever, the chances are you’ll find Death isn’t such a grim reaper after all.’

That was more than half a century ago. Out of the blue, I found myself  thinking about him and those words of wisdom; both inspired this poem, written to help lift myself out of an inexcusably negative awareness of growing old and the cancer nagging at my prostate.

NATURE'S WAY

Sometimes, hearts lie heavy

on spirits young and fancy free,

in a world, oh, but less kind

than in its past it ever looked to be

in selective archives

No mornings up with the lark,

flying high among patches of blue,

negotiating storm clouds

like a seasoned performer in the art

of positive thinking

Some may suppose little left

but sweet dreams to soften the blow

of time passing ever faster...

heart, mind and body left to babysit

a restless spirit

Ah, but nature has other ideas,

nurturing life forces to the very end

of any span only visible

to the applauding eye, ever mindful

of its seasons

On Earth Mother’s watch, keeper

of all living things, human and other,

no heartless discrimination

along narrow lines of good, bad, ugly, 

or judgement passed

If a sad mind likely to lead us on

into a world of tears at losing its shine,

it’s a sadder spirit still

sees us taken in by the sweet-smelling

poetry of self-pity

Where a body less able to follow

first instincts to leave clear footprints

worth following in, 

let it take its cue from sun-moon-stars

cruising centuries

So I grow old, so what? C’est la vie;

the mind-spirit-body self can but dream

of rewriting its history…

while its spirit makes of us what we will,

no end-game

Though death would shut us out

of the world (however we perceive it)

find rest and peace

in any heart continuing to reach out to us  

for joie de vivre

Copyright R. N. Taber (2017)

Through the Looking Glass

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

As a young man, I once had the privilege of meeting a famous actor in a cafe one rainy evening in Soho. He caught me staring at him and grunted that he was in no mood to give autographs. I confessed I did not collect them anyway, but was thrilled to see him in real life. He thawed, and we chatted. I commented how wonderful it must be to live a life for which he would not only be remembered for all time but which had also been recorded on the big screen. “Oh, wow, what a legacy!” I enthused. He shrugged and muttered that the big screen was all about his acting, not his life, and how the only life and legacy really worth having is recorded for all time anyway…among the fonder memories of those who matter most to us.

At the time, I thought it was a trite thing to say. Now I know better.  I even found myself saying much the same thing to an elderly friend who was recently lamenting the fact that he had done nothing with his life to deserve leave any mention in the history books. I reminded him that the he has wonderful children who, in turn, have given him grandchildren. What better legacy or record of anyone’s life and history…?

Me…? No partner now, nor children or even family to speak of…but, hopefully my friends will think well of me when I’m gone and my poetry will at least have found a place in the hearts and minds of some readers. Do I think of my poetry as a legacy? I would not presume to predict. I have enjoyed every moment of writing ever poem, though, so hopefully some of that pleasure will have rubbed off on readers sufficiently for them to pass on the pleasure if not the poem.

Ripples …

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS 

Once, I looked in a glass,
and glimpsed a child waving
at me, a cheeky smile,
face smudged with playtime,
eyes shining

Later, I looked in the glass,
glimpsed a cheeky grin, youth
full of hope and promise,
face unlined, past and present
shining through

Once, I looked in a glass,
for a long, weary, weepy while, 
years taken toll enough
to obliterate even the shadow
of a half-smile

Later, I peered in the glass,
misty with quickening breath,
face-in-a-mist conveying
a wry smile for given up crying
over spilt milk

Now, I put an ear to the glass,
listening to words calling me 
back to life, love, nature ...
an oral poetry returning me
a cheeky smile

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017