Sunny Days, Passing Storms

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Many if not most of us have to weather a winter of the heart at some time during our lives; sometimes a winter that never quite passes, but surrenders to spring and other, kinder seasons of life as it proceeds to beat for the best rather than the worst of times. It is then we most need to be reassured that we are loved; it is love, and love alone, that comforts us and will see us through to another spring. It may be the love of family, friends, or perhaps a pet. Whatever, can there be anything sadder than a person having no love in their life to which they can turn for comfort and inspiration in his or her hour of need?

I once worked with a Home Library Service. Among many lovely people I visited on a regular basis was a very old lady who lived alone. I asked her once if she was lonely. She replied, “In the sense that I miss people, yes. But how can I be lonely for long in the company of so many ghosts who love me as I love them? Memory, you know, doesn’t have to be a well of tears. It can just as easily be a garden of all things bright and beautiful that will never stop growing unless you stop caring for them. Stop caring, “she added with a dazzling smile, “and you’re all but dead already.” 

SUNNY DAYS, PASSING STORMS 

Wintry sunshine, breaking through

a fine mist of fun things done,

summer places known, kinder times

to memory consigned yet gladly retrieved

now and then when we are lonely, to enjoy

all over again like a toy always kept

in a special place that’s yours, mine, ours,

for rediscovering things that matter

more than rose-tinted tears of self-pity;

the simple joys of peace of mind

secured by friendship’s hugs, kisses,

cuddles, confiding poems, making plans

(though they be but daydreams)

and caring about each other, even apart;

let fiction against fact conspire

to distract us and a storm break, together

we’ll weather whatever challenges

the dark side of nature may throw down

or a gossipy neighbour just across the street,

curtains (forever) unsubtly twitching

No friendship is surer than upon itself

freely feeding or love as enduring,

no matter that some seize any opportunity

to redefine, malign its intimacy ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in first editions of Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]

Summoned by Ghosts

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I have learned to live side by side with ghosts. Ghosts can be good company. They are no threat and have a place in our lives. The trick is not to confuse their hopes and aspirations with our own (as we may well have done to our cost when they were alive).

Death is nothing to fear, but life must always take priority. That may sound like commonsense, but I have known people haunted by ghosts to the extent that they might almost be one of them.

There are times when we are particularly vulnerable. A sense of loss leaves us especially open to persuasive voices that may be well-meaning, but don’t always understand how our best interests can be served. When this happens to me as it does from time to time, especially at night and during early hours, I turn to Earth Mother, and invariably find the reassurance I seek.

SUMMONED BY GHOSTS

Come a late hour’s whim,

witness home hills turn to silver ghosts,

shades of midnight’s children

playing with stars, prisoners of the moon,

unable to sleep, anxious of dawn

Above, chance to watch an owl’s

graceful flight., see it circle, swoop, soar,

but can only guess at its prey,

victim, too, of a night that’s no friend

to the vulnerable, lonely…

I have wandered, asked questions

of shadows always mocking me, teasing me

with solutions, chasing grey rabbits

across dark meadows, party to a sad mind’s

convolutions...

At last, hills and sky hosting a new day,

sure to keep less welcome ghosts at bay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2000

[From: Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2000.]

The Confidante

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I should like to say a big thank you to those readers who email me now and then to ask how I am coping with my prostate cancer. Generally speaking, I feel fine although I get very tired some days, not that winter is a particularly inspiring month anyway.

Now, being philosophical about my prostate cancer is one thing, but I have to confess to moments of panic and low spiritedness. That’s when I turn to spending time with friends…

Looking back on my life (very selectively) I can recover peace of mind whenever I want. Writing helps. Oh, there are plenty of bad memories too, but that’s where the art of careful selection comes in. I guess it’s the same for everyone. Difficult times can make us vulnerable, edgy, and even scared. So what better course of action than to create another good memory to add to those we already have? Hey, presto! Suddenly, it is easier to stay calm, reach a more positive perspective on life, reap the finer rewards only peace of mind can bring.

It may not last long, peace of mind, but there is always recourse to the same archive of happy memories to restore it again and again for as long as it takes. Yes, probably a lifetime. Oh, and we should never forget that life is not about pleasing other people all the time, trying to be being a good friend and confidante; we need to make time for ourselves too.

We should all remember, too, that there is no shame in asking for support, physical and/or mental. Sadly some of us, especially men, seem to feel that it is an expression of weakness; on the contrary, realising that we cannot cope on our own and seeking help, even it its just means confiding our fears in someone, is an expression of inner strength, not to mention common sense. As well as or in the absence of anyone close, there are also support networks available where professional counselling can help; no need even to ask, just go on the the Internet. (Help - and computers - often available at your local public library.)

This poem is a kenning.

THE CONFIDANTE

I wait

in the wings, ever willing,

never failing to relieve

a fellow player stumbling

into everyday dramas,

comedies, darker scenarios

and Mummers' Plays

reaching out to an audience

up for empathy

I help clarify

those arguments between

mind and spirit

ever turning over choices

of words, trying

to keep to a script of sorts

reworked more times

than memory dares mull over

its mistakes

I lead

from the heart where heads

make ever-increasing

circles, a fragile conscience

debating intention,

direction, and motivation

without coming to a conclusion

most likely to earn a standing

ovation

Rely on me, a friend of the kind

arguing for Peace of Mind

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014

Reassurance

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Today’s poem was written in 2011 and was first published in an anthology, Fear Itself, Forward Press, 2012.

In the 1980's I spent a couple of years working as a librarian with the local Home Library Service that visits housebound people unable to get to a local library. One of my customers was a lady well into her nineties, all of whose family and friends had died. She was a lovely lady; with soft, silvery hair and the most beautiful skin I have ever seen on an old person; she must have been a real beauty in her younger years.

The group of people with whom I worked visited the same people every three weeks in a mobile library van and we got to know some of them well. I asked this lady once if she was ever lonely. ‘Of course,’ she replied in a hauntingly musical voice. ‘I miss my friends and family, but I have my reading, my music and can look out on my garden and enjoy nature and wildlife. They are always reminding me that life is precious, but nothing lasts forever. I used to worry about dying alone, but not now. The garden will know when my time comes. The flowers and trees, birds, butterflies, and even the grey squirrels will see me through whatever lies in store for me. Earth Mother will remember me when I’m no longer here, even if no one else does....’

At the time, I thought it was a very romantic thing to say, but that’s all. I know better now.

Whatever their ethnicity, creed, gender or sexuality, people of my generation and older (I am 67) who don’t have a partner, for whatever reason, often tell me they get scared sometimes of growing old alone and dying alone. I can relate to that although I rose above such fears some time ago. 

Yes, I have occasional lapses of confidence and start to panic, but only have to look out of my window at the garden below or go for a walk along the canal or on Hampstead Heath to feel reassured. Even city life plays host to nature if not on the same scale as the countryside.

In later years, especially after I turned sixty, I realized it was unlikely I would meet anyone else with whom I’d want to spend the rest of my life.

I confess I grew more and more apprehensive about growing old and being on my own. Yes, I have some good friends, but who’s to say who will outlive whom? For a while, I found little comfort even in my close affinity with nature. Indeed, I became more than a little apprehensive about the future. I got scared, really scared.

Ah, yes, but not now….for human nature has a healing power of its own; it is called positive thinking. besides, whenever I contemplate the inspiring beauty of the natural world, I feel a sense of peace that lifts me above any negative feelings that might try to sneak in, not least regarding my prostate cancer ...

Years ago, I asked a neighbour, a keen gardener who had lost a leg in a car accident, how he managed to stay so cheerful all the time. "That be down to nature," he said with broad grin, "Do well by Earth Mother, and she'll do well by you," adding with an infectious laugh as he caught me glancing at his artificial leg, "She can't be held responsible for bad drivers, now, can she, eh? A rock, she be, and no mistake, a reassuring presence, just when you need one the most. While all around you are busy quoting from some Gloomsday Book, she be actually there for you." He returned to pruning his roses, humming cheerfully away, while I returned to my book; I barely gave a second thought at the time to  to words that would play a central part in my life and poetry in the years ahead.

REASSURANCE 

There was a fear in me

that became terror as I grew older,

of being left alone,

family and friends long gone,

dying on my own

I could not sleep at night

for the grip on me this terror had,

a living nightmare,

nowhere to go, no one to share

so much as a tear

One sunset, in my garden,

watching fluffy pink clouds drift by,

a nightingale’s song

captured the sheer joy of living,

an eternity of loving

I felt Earth Mother’s arms

take me in a strong, intimate embrace,

a presence reassuring,

sense of rest and peace enduring,

no dark dreaming

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Detour

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Sometimes we feel let down, even betrayed. and wonder why we carry on. On such occasions, I have always looked to nature for reassurance, strength and inspiration...

DETOUR

On a road of broken dreams and shattered lives,
I took a detour down a dirt track;
among leafy trees, green fields, sheep grazing,
I revisited Earth Mother;
we had been estranged, she and I, for some years
yet it seemed but yesterday
I had risen with larks, let a lullaby of nightingales
lull me into false hopes

I felt fingers stroking my hair as I passed through,
as if to reassure a prodigal child,
but I was bitter for what I (still) saw as a personal
act of betrayal and deceit;
had she not let me believe the finer things of life
would always survive the worst,
yet abandoned me on a road of broken dreams
leading nowhere?

At dusk, a nightingale greeted me like an old friend
but I pretended not to hear
as I settled on a bed of sweetest smelling heather,
afraid to close my eyes;
sleep, though, eventually penetrated my defences,
left me vulnerable
to the iron resolve of Earth Mother under its cover
of gentle persuasion

I journeyed through dark centuries of pain and grief,
defiant ghosts for company,
showing me killing fields where peace and love left
for dead but rose again;
they planted in me, my ghosts, an unspoken trust
to keep faith with them;
accordingly, I flew off on the wings of a dawn skylark
into a new awakening

[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]