Lines on the Extraordinary Nature of Ordinariness

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

I am often asked why I revise a poem already published years later. Did I not have a sense of its being incomplete at the time?  The truth is, no I didn’t. As far as expressing a sense of what I was feeling at the time, I was happy enough with the original version of the poem below when it first appeared in my collection, A Feeling for the Quickness of Time in 2005. Rightly or wrongly, I felt the feeling was worth sharing, giving readers food for thought that might even let them experience a similar sense of past-present-future as expressed in the most ordinary surroundings as I did then... 

I feel the same way now, 17 years later. as I have grown older and my feelings matured, so too has my sense of that same ordinariness, especially in so far as there is nothing ordinary about it at all. At the same time, my feeling for poetry and expression, too has matured, and I recognise this. Still wanting to share my experience with others, I find myself working on the same poem, but in a different way, choosing my words no less carefully than before, but making sense in ways that eluded me when I was writing the original version because, albeit unknowingly, I hadn’t yet reached the stage in my life when I had experienced just what it was and is I felt the need to express and share in the form of a poem.

Over to you, dear readers, and I can but hope you will enjoy the experience of time-travelling via magic of ordinariness as much as I do. 

LINES ON THE EXTRAORDINARY NATURE OF ORDINARINESS 

Clouds, magic carpet rides
to exotic places;
awakening us to a repeat
of bath time potential,
pop star, jazz player, classic musician...
bent upon making the world wake up, sit up, 
shut up and listen

 Grass, littered with daisies
sunspots of memory;
trees, waving leafy arms,
telling us off
for the many mistakes we’ve (all) made, 
never meant to happen, best forgotten, easier
said than done 

A broken fence, urging us
to revisit, repair
broken friendships, forgiving
from the heart, so...
who’ll get us off to a good start, forget rhetoric
and more besides by letting actions speak louder
louder than words? 

An old armchair, memories
of a special someone who’ll sit there
no more, words
in the air left unsaid, missed opportunities
for too often forgetting
how much we owe the living
when too late, but for in our dreams of course,
for better or worse 

Crisp, clean pillowcases
all to ourselves, nudging us to observe
a damp patch
on the ceiling, spreading, lending pictures
to half-closed eyes...
landscapes, seascapes, cloudscapes passing by,
letting sleep take over for a spot of joyriding – or
running for cover?

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2005, rev. 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ghost Riders in the Sky

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

As a child, I would love creating stories in my head from cloud ‘figures’. People would laugh and tell me I’d grow out of this fantasising. Well, some people still laugh, but I’m glad I still feel inspired by clouds years on. (I will be 75 later this year.)

They taught me a lot, those clouds; for a start, how to create and enjoy fictions without confusing them with facts although ... well, there was a time in my life when it was a close call.

It is thanks to my childhood fascination with cloud shapes that I became interested in reading, writing and... yes, people. I have written many poems and a few novels, but cannot be described as a 'successful' writer in the sense that it has neither made me rich or famous. Yet, who cares? Nor me, that's for sure. Writing (even more than observing cloud shapes) has taught me much about myself and human nature; more importantly, I have enjoyed every moment, and - as is often the way with any form of creative therapy - it has also helped to keep my old enemy Depression at bay for years.

Clouds have played no small part in making me the person I am today, and hopefully i may even pass some of this on by way of a posthumous consciousness in time and space, to be touched upon by any who may care to remember words I have spoken or written long after this life has had its way with me. For sure, there have been people in my life, long dead, who have remained a 'live' influence on and within my own consciousness, in a very positive way, and always will.  

GHOST RIDERS IN THE SKY

I’ve seen ghost riders

chasing sandmen into storm clouds,

and leaves fly

I’ve seen ghost riders

throw a sandman into a dark place,

and trees cry

I’ve seen ghost riders

pluck such as I from fragile shelters,

and no one care

I've seen ghost riders

playing cat and mouse with humanity

(winner takes all)

Ghost riders, goading 

others like me into this sorry world’s

worst nightmares

I’ve let ghost riders

drag me from my armchair, re-awaken

my consciousness

I’ve let ghost riders

rescue me from assault by prime time

TV advertising

I’ve let ghost riders

force me to face my more fragile selves

head-on

I've let ghost riders

leave me trailing behind, and found a way

back to real time

One by one, ghost riders

but a dust cloud, no trace even of a history

(except in me)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Seaside, through a Rain Cloud's Eye

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

More much-needed rain forecast across the UK today so stay safe , folks, as lock-down restrictions start to lift here in the UK and the rest of Europe even as new waves of the Covid-19 coronavirus breaking out in Beijing and elsewhere across the world..

in the course of deciding what poems to use in a new collection, I came across this one, first posted here in 2017 

I once asked a group of close friends what they love most about the seaside. One answer in particular summed up all the others. "It makes me feel alive, in all weathers..." my friend said to cheers and applause from the rest of us; it was ''in all weathers' that clinched it.

Sadly, my 70's have inflicted mobility problems on me now, but I have fond seaside memories - of Brighton in particular - and have but to close my eyes to revisit them (yes, in all weathers) for any sense of growing old and associated health problems to drop away and, yes, I take on a new lease of life that, one that will see me through thick and thin for as long as my memory continues to feed on happy times. That goes for most if not all of us, of course, regardless of gender, sexuality, ethnicity or religion, thus uniting a common humanity in a fractured world if only by way of mind-body-spirit.

"Corny, corny!" I fancy I can hear readers cry. Corny, yes, perhaps, but, oh, so, true...

Here's wishing you all your fair share of happy days as you journey through life, and never underestimate the simplest pleasures as a day by the sea come rain or come shine, especially when shared with close family and/ or friends.

If interested, the video attached to my poem 'Front Seat' (no longer on the blog) shows your s truly enjoying a solo stroll along Brighton Beach while best friend Graham manages the camera. I read two poems over the video:, of which 'Ancestral Voices' can still be found on the blog.

For my other poetry videos,  all shot by Graham: https://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber/videos 

SEASIDE, THROUGH A RAIN CLOUD'S EYE

I spy breakers crashing on the shore,
seagulls circling above,
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
and a woman walking her dog

I spy an ice-cream van doing no trade,
heads busy dodging umbrellas,
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
and a beggar being moved on

I spy a windsurfer gathering speed,
seagulls cheering him on,
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
and lovers pausing for a kiss

I spy plastic shopping bags burst open,
their owners getting in a state,
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
and men at a Bookies in tears

I spy cinemagoers pouring into a street,
frantically reaching for phones,
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
and the lovers having a quarrel

I spy the woman's dog, not on a leash
believing it can catch a cat,
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
and the windsurfer taking a tumble

Now, filtering a watery sunlight through
heavens all shades of grey;
faces at windows of a nearby hotel
showing signs of coming alive

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010
[Brighton, East Sussex]

Nature and Human Nature, a Love-Hate Relationship

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

Various species of the natural world - excluding humankind - are more likely to follow their instincts than make reasoned choices; it has to be said though, that we human beings are often out of step with reason and inclined to let our emotions get the better of us, for better or worse.

I once went to a local variety show which, for me, was spoiled by its two compères trying to score points off one another throughout. The audience clearly thought this was an act, and lapped it up. As it happened, I knew better. It was an excellent show, marred only (for me) by these two. (Sometimes, I guess, ignorance really is the better part of bliss.)

Years on, I recall this occasion wherever I see nature and human nature at odds with one another and lookers-on mostly accepting if not applauding it as part of the show. After all, how much better for everyone to sit back and take life as it comes; finding fault can be such a tiresome distraction.

There are times, though, when we need to speak up about how and why we feel let down by events if only for those in charge to tell us (more often than not) to mind our own business and let them get on with theirs. But isn't it our business, too, when we have paid our dues? Oh, and why shouldn't we have the last word if only (hopefully) to prevent the need for repetition?

Where human behaviour (good or bad) directly -  even indirectly - affects us, we need to make it our business. Whatever, of course, the show must go on. We may hate the storms that ruin our crops and spoil a child's birthday treat, but a kinder rain encourages the crops to grow and there will be kinder days for other treats ...


NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE, A LOVE-HATE RELATIONSHIP

Among winter snows,
a cruel north wind's howling,
natural world dozing,
ever mindful of its cue to wake
once the Song of Spring
rings true, ready to engage
the human spirit

Where forests once sang
odes to life, love, the spiritual
nature of new beginnings
and hope (yet) - a human race
up for sleepwalking
through all it misty yesterdays
finds barely a pulse

Run tiger. Run, rhino…
and other species menaced
by trigger fingers
in Big Business pies cooking
to a turn in mansions
the nouveau riche mistake
for social icons

Enter, summer storms able
to provide even parched earth
with sustenance enough
to provide for its keepers, if only
in the shorter term,
yet cannot prevent wildfires
raging at the uninsured

Midsummer hols, destined
to linger, fall prey to autumnal
appetites for make-believe,
lost opportunities and any regrets
left chasing our tomorrows
into winters of but playacting
at contentment

Among winter snows,
a cruel north wind's howling,
natural world dozing,
ever mindful of its cue to wake
once the Song of Spring
rings true, ready to engage
the human spirit

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 20120

Clouds

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

As a child (born 1945) I was stroking a cat one day, happened to look up and could make out a cloud in the shape of a cat. I asked my mother what a cat was doing in the sky. She told me that cloud is a gauze curtain that takes many shapes through which God can see what we humans are up to on Earth. Rain, she added for good measure, is His tears because he rarely likes what He sees, especially when little boys misbehave.

I was very close to my mother. She was a very Christian woman, and although she was far from being one of those people inclined to inflict their own views on others, her words put me off religion forever if only because I did not like the idea of any God spying on me; nor did I much care for the implied threat that I should behave myself … or else. Even so, her words haunted me for many years as I grappled with various concepts of religion and God, eventually discarding both in favour of nature. Nature would offer the young (gay) man I became, a sense of spirituality that came free, no strings (or dogma) attached yet contained within the organised chaos of a time frame-cum-continuum to which the Muse in me could easily relate.

It took me many more years to even begin to articulate on that offer, but was happy to settle for the warm glow it awoke in me and the subsequent poetry it has never ceased to comfort, teach and inspire. Whatever our race, creed or sexuality, we are all but human and - where we like it or not - we are all in the swim of life together. 

This poem is a villanelle.

PHOTO: from the Internet

CLOUDS

Cloud cover

come another dawn

(like cats' fur)

All a-shimmer

(a lonely, weepy sun)

cloud cover

Quicksilver

heavens for everyone

(like cats' fur)

‘Live’ mirror

(humanity looking in);

cloud cover

Analogies

demanding our attention

(like cats' fur)

Fine promises

caught out on the turn?
Cloud cover

like cats' fur

Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2016

[Note: revised (2016) from an earlier version that appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised ed.in e-format in preparation.] 

Pages in a Photo Album

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

Clouds tell many stories, not least our own...

PAGES IN A PHOTO ALBUM

Lying in the grass,
studying the sky as cloud faces drift by
like the years of my life from cradle
to now, wondering where did they go,
and why, how…?

Grandpa and grandma,
long since gone to dreams in the urn;
family and friends I have loved,
and those who freely gave their love
in return

Teachers, liked or loathed,
rarely understanding how hard
some kids find it to be good
at this or that so get into trouble
at an early age, and few bother
to turn the next page in their history
so - misery!

Prisoners’ faces, too, putting
on a show, believing they know
they are done for, puppets
made to wriggle and squirm
on all-invisible strings, even pray
for better things, but to what, where,
or whom…?

Faces in a global room
looking out, always too scared to shout
for Love and Peace
as Apollo and today’s tin gods
make sport with us

Lying in long grass,
studying the sky as cloud faces drift by
like the years of my life from cradle
to now, wondering where did they go,
and why, how…?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Looks Familiar' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Book, 2001.]

Streetwise or C-l-o-u-d-s, Mind Games

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

We don’t always know what we want, and when we do, we don’t always get it, but that should not stop us even just window shopping for inspiration…like millions before us throughout history anxiously seeking inspiration or perhaps just a comfort zone of sorts, sufficient at least to see us through another cloudy day.

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.” -  Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds

STREETWISE or C-L-O-U-D-S, MIND GAMES

Now and then life grabs us

by the scruff of the neck

and tosses us into The Street

where we lie on our backs

look a passing cloud in the eye,

demanding answers it

It soon becomes very clear

the cloud doesn’t care

what on earth we're doing there,

(nor it seems do passers-by)

so we have to face the possibility

it could well be our fault

Our flaws stand up poorly

to close examination,

lying on our backs in The Street;

time to get real, get up,

walk on, trust centuries of hope

to treat blisters on our feet

Wearily, treading the world

in anxious footprints left

by ghosts fired by desperation

to track the kinder side

of reality, live in love and peace,

secure a comfort zone

Last spotted throwing caution
to the winds, putting can
before can't and will before won't,
giving winds of change
a fighting chance to do their best
on the street where I live 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

Ghost Fingers

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

Regular readers will be aware of my passion for clouds, also more than a passing interest in the posthumous consciousness; this poem combines elements of both.

(Photo taken from the Internet)

GHOST FINGERS

Inspiring the young, comforting old,

fuelling tales at cosy fires,

melting a frost on cobbles of despair,

thawing the icy grip of fear;

a warning too or at least a hint

of what’s to be, rooted

in shifting sands of a memory playing

fast and loose with our desires,

heavenly spires secretly tumbling us

Partying the young, partnering old,

fireflies dashing at twilight,

breaking into its pregnant silences,

fracturing cruel thoughts;

an intruder too, wearing a mask

that’s oozing familiarity,

shifting sands of a memory playing

fast and loose with our desires,

heavenly spires overtly spinning us

Driving the young, steering the old,

taking rough with smooth,

making inroads to forbidden places,

bringing hope, love;

a stranger at the wheel, no map

to dictate our route across

shifting sands of memory playing

fast and loose with our desires,

heavenly spires playfully teasing us

Feeding imagination, art’s finer promise;

clouds, like ghost fingers, signing to us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[From: Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007] 

Poems By Passing Clouds & The Challenge (2 poems)

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

I posted a ‘Cloudscape’ video on You Tube yesterday and read one of my ‘cloud’ poems (The Challenge) over it: http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

As I only posted The Challenge here in February, I am repeating another ‘cloud’ poem that has not appeared on the blog since 2010.

Today is National Poetry Day here in the UK. Here’s hoping that if you love clouds even half as much as I do, you will enjoy these poems…

POEMS BY PASSING CLOUDS

Some songs in the wind

only the trees ever hear

and even beasts and birds

never learn the words,

can but live by the descant

of hungry young in spring,

butterfly wings in summer,

falling leaves in autumn winds

bin bag puppies in winter

Some songs in the wind

only the trees ever hear,

no matter that humankind

imposes its own lyrics

(poor carbon copies passing

for popular reflections in

some subway busker’s eye)

sure to become global classics

since they make people cry

Some songs in the wind

only the trees ever hear,

will never let on they know

or beast and bird give up

on a world that humankind

likes to make out it knows

but dare not face the wind

with its, oh, so pathetic untruths,

lyrics sure to blow the mind

There’s a song in the wind

only the trees ever hear

about nature’s secret ways;

life, death, misadventure,

why it’s the good die young

more often than not, while

the old pressure the rest of us

not to forget long-ago, kinder days

but take a leaf from the trees

There’s a song in every tree

running rings around history

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010. 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; slightly rev. 7/19]

 THE CHALLENGE

There is a bridge between clouds

where we pause

who ponder on the purpose

on living just to die,

where the spirit unfulfilled,

the heart strayed

across certain boundaries society

has imposed (conventions)

so much the better to disguise

its worst intentions

There is a bridge between clouds

where we pause

who ask why the world below

has let us down…or did we

let ourselves and each other down

in the end

for never ceasing to demand more

than our fair share

of whatever peace and love

to be found there?

There is a bridge between clouds

where we’ll wait

our turn to cross…or be left

wishing deeds undone,

words unsaid, lies left creeping

under the tongue,

never to see the cold light of a day

when we must answer

to all its invidious shadows

may have heard us say

We can but cross, we children of Earth,

rise to the challenge of life over death

Copyright R. N. Taber 1984; 2010