Tempus Fugit, Carpe Diem,
Memento Mori
Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus.—Virgil, Georgics
There comes a time in every errant life
When pleasures of the flesh are not enough,
And vivid dreams about a neighbor’s wife
Seem pale compared to all the other stuff
Imagined. Learning ancient Greek is one;
Another is to sit astride a whale;
A third might be a simple kindness done,
Which we’ll remember when we’re old and frail.
So while we’re still regarded trim and spry,
Why not behave as though the day had come
When we were told that we would shortly die?
The games we play are never zero-sum,
And it’s a shame how much there is to lose
For those who weigh the odds but fail to choose.
Tempus Fugit, Carpe Diem, Memento Mori: Latin: Time is fleeting, seize the day, remember death
Nature vs. Nurture
When children seem, at best, grotesque distortions
Of deformities their parents passed along,
Genetics and euthenics both have failed,
For each has had its say in equal portions.
Faith demands that we believe: If one went wrong,
The one gone right would then have countervailed.
Pennies on the Dollar
Laconic stars stand vigil on the nights
When everything that matters falls apart.
Resumption of the old ongoing fight
Eviscerates bright hope and takes the heart
Out of the effort pledged to aid the cause
Of reconciliation. Trust is slain
When lovers try evading hallowed laws
They signed in blood, and many grades of pain
Accompany new vows too soon endorsed;
The signatories eagerly renege,
And few among the recently divorced,
If granted second chances, kneel and beg
To be united once again. What’s lost
Is lost; grieved parties might as well move on,
For wishes buy no more than coinage tossed
In wells drained dry to raise a greener lawn.
The fixed and constant stars on high lie low,
Too reticent to broadcast what they’re thinking,
And make it hard for supplicants to know
Which way is up. While options keep on shrinking,
The provident abandon schemes for linking
Their fates to pardons silent lights bestow.
C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.









Your vast array of verbal talents are on brilliant display in these three “laconic” poems from failing to choose and countervailing results ascribed to DNA, to options that keep on shrinking. The enjambment is excellently executed. These seem to be a continuation of your own recent personal reviews and reminiscences of a life well accomplished, yet reflections on what are likely mild regrets encumbering the mind but more likely seeking perfection rather than absolution. The final two lines of the third poem echo in my own mind: “The provident abandon schemes for linking
Their fates to pardons silent lights bestow.” This is trenchant and indelible.
Sometimes, Roy, it seems that the oldest ideas are the truest. Our Judeo-Christian (i.e., Western) literary legacy is a vast resource available to all. Though genetics is restricted and restrictive, the noetic and poetic realms are not. Some of what you wrote reminded me of one of my favorite Bluegrass Gospel songs, which you can listen to here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-akODlG6XQ
Speaking of echoes, you might want to reread Emerson’s essay, On Self-Reliance.
C.B. The Bluegrass Cardinals are well blended as a Gospel group. I see why you pointed me to their song. I used to sing with a gospel quartet that toured the East Coast of the United States. We cut an album, “Gospel Heritage.” I tried to find ways to copy it here but could not make it work. I may try sending it to YouTube later and try to paste it.
These poems are another reason why I value C B. Anderson so highly as a poet.
I have rarely seen the scourge of divorce, which has ravaged the fabric of this society, so competently addressed.
Not just divorce, Stephen, but also the loss of old friendships. And of course I thank you for the kind words.
All three of these are gems, Kip. I always appreciate your insights, your keen observations and your utterly unique skill with language.
Carpe Diem especially grabs me with observations which fully support the idea not only to “seize the day” but to live as if we know what a very limited amount of time it is that we have left. Sobering, but that clarity of focus in life really matters. The imagery and examples that you choose to impart this wisdom are a hoot. The neighbor’s wife, the study of Greek, riding a whale. You have a gift for making improbable associations which both surprise and inspire serious thought.
I’ve never much paid attention to the “nature versus nurture” argument in psychology. As I see it, if a house is on fire, put it out and don’t waste time trying to figure out who drafted the blueprints.
In Pennies on the Dollar, the imagery of reticent stars looking down and giving neither intervention nor clue is quite powerful. I especially like your usage of “the provident” which is simple enough but a nominalized adjective which I’ve not seen before. I also especially like the homey garden phrasing and imagery of: “For wishes buy no more than coinage tossed/In wells drained dry to raise a greener lawn.” So, so true.
We do what we can, Brian, no more and no less. I’ve always been fascinated by artificial ponds where people are encouraged to toss in their pocket change. As a youth, and even now, I tended to disregard the pennies, but, man, I’ve always wanted to go after the dimes and the quarters. Do you remember that song from a couple of generations ago that started: Higher than a mission bell, deeper than a wishing well. Here it is:
https://www.google.com/search?q=song+my+love+is+higher+than+a+mission+bell&sca_esv=9fc0643cb5b0db60&sxsrf=ANbL-n6viX1wbEDkl7IZmlfsbR04DcyInw%3A1779318326057&source=hp&ei=Nj4Oau139Mmm1A-W1pOgBg&iflsig=AFdpzrgAAAAAag5MRvvcCloTl_W6yjrb0iSdGUA3xPxi&oq=song%2C+higher+than+a+mission+bell&gs_lp=Egdnd3Mtd2l6IiBzb25nLCBoaWdoZXIgdGhhbiBhIG1pc3Npb24gYmVsbCoCCAAyBhAAGBYYHjILEAAYgAQYigUYhgMyCxAAGIAEGIoFGIYDMggQABiJBRiiBDIIEAAYgAQYogQyBRAAGO8FSP_DAVAAWJWmAXAAeACQAQCYAW2gAeYRqgEEMjkuM7gBAcgBAPgBAZgCIKAC5RLCAgQQIxgnwgILEC4YgAQYigUYkQLCAgsQABiABBixAxiDAcICBRAuGIAEwgIREC4YgwEYxwEYsQMY0QMYgATCAgUQABiABMICDhAuGMcBGLEDGNEDGIAEwgIIEC4YgAQYsQPCAggQABiABBixA8ICCxAAGIAEGIoFGJECwgIIEC4YsQMYgATCAgsQLhiABBixAxiDAcICBBAAGAPCAggQABgWGB4YCpgDAJIHBDI3LjWgB_nnArIHBDI3LjW4B-USwgcHMC4xOC4xNMgHYIAIAQ&sclient=gws-wiz#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:d242a287,vid:Mz3mY6rcgok,st:0
The only problem I see with the Nature vs. Nurture idea is that it neglects a third, most important element, illustrated in this poem by George MacDonald:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/8558445-Baby-by-George-MacDonald
Don’t ever tell me that poetry isn’t practical.
I enjoyed these, C.B., especially your takes on “tempus fugit”, etc. There’s wisdom here and, as always, some puzzling things (I’m not so sure about sitting astride a whale….) And I’m glad you coaxed me to look up “euthenics”. (I don’t think this is the first time you’ve increased my vocabulary.)
Well, Cynthia, it doesn’t have to be a whale. Any cetacean will do. As I have pointed out many times before, English words are free for the taking, which is something you yourself have often demonstrated.
Kip Anderson’s poetry often has a slightly riddling quality — that is, what is said is elegant and as smooth as silk, but also leaves the reader somewhat uncertain, or caught in a dilemma. Of these three “Tempus Fugit…” is the clearest, in that it says “waste not time while time may last,” while the other two are playful in their hesitancy. They tickle us with possibilities, without giving us a map for decision-making.
I wish I could say, Joseph, that every word of my more elliptic poems were the result of a careful masterplan to beguile and exasperate the reader, but closer to the truth is that I tend to lose the thread and get lost in the labyrinth of my mind. However, I think the second (the middle) poem is fairly clear and direct: if there is even half a chance, the good will out.
There is a lovely sensoroial charm to the first poem. A memorable image closes the second.
I got mixed up – I was thinking of this memorable image:
“For wishes buy no more than coinage tossed
In wells drained dry to raise a greener lawn.”
In regard to both comments, Daniel, I thank you for your observations. How deep must a wishing well be to fulfill wishes?
Hi, Kip. I like these three poems very much. “Sitting astride a whale” reminds me of depictions of Cupid riding a dolphin, though maybe the poet Arion enchanting the sea creatures with the music of his poetry is more apt with you in the role of the great poet. And the reminder that “the games we play are never zero sum” is a great way of saying that not to choose is also a choice. “Nature vs Nurture” reminds me of how I think of the genetic load we all carry, and I appreciate the implied criticism of that utopianism of social reformers, euthenics. As for the third poem, I second the compliments rendered by Mr. Peterson.
As Paul Christian Stevens once or twice said to me, Duane: It’s all grist for the mill. And, yes, Roy Peterson has been around the block a time or two.
C.B., as ever your admirably crafted poems are a lesson for all those who take the creative process of poetry seriously. “Nature vs. Nurture”is my favorite for its succinct wit and its depth of wisdom. I especially like “Faith demands that we believe: If one went wrong, / The one gone right would then have countervailed,” because it turns an age-old debate into something short and sharp – something I have taken to heart and will remember. C.B., thank you!