Twenty Thousand Streets Under The Sky, And Counting

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

All over the world there are gay boys and girls coming to terms with their sexuality, and the fact that not everyone has either the maturity or understanding to recognize the moral courage it takes to ‘come out’ nor the inhumanity if not immorality of a holier-than-thou attitude towards  anyone who is ‘different’. 

As I have said many times, our differences do not make us different, only human.

This poem has not appeared on the blog since 2010 and reader ‘Bryan’ has requested its reappearance. Bryan says, ‘I have been happy living with the same partner for some years now, but will never forget my first rejection by a boy in the 6^th form at school. It haunted me well into my thirties, and it wasn’t until I met my partner that I found the courage of my sexuality...’

I love that phrase ‘the courage of my sexuality’ don’t you?

Here’s sending a BIG HUG to Bryan and his partner.

  

TWENTY THOUSAND STREETS UNDER THE SKY AND COUNTING

Wandering a maze of streets where we’d played,

innocents in childhood’s special places,

I recalled dreams we’d had and plans we’d made,

chocolate and ice cream on our faces

Later, during teenage years, I’d dared confide

a sensation of being in freefall,

swept along by feelings compelled to hide

yet bound to answer nature’s frantic call

Wary of streets where once you’d walked with me,

tossed aside by our childhood’s secret haunts

on feisty waves of brave maturity,

I turned a deaf ear to your jeers and taunts

These streets, alone, stood by and embraced me,

kept faith with a youth’s sexuality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Accomplices To Illusion

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

Today’s post is duplicated on both poetry blogs as several readers of both have been in touch asking who it was took the photo for the cover of On the Battlefields of Love that I posted the other day. Well, it was my close friend Graham who also designed the cover for my previous collection, Accomplices to Illusion (see below).

Graham has also taken responsibility for my 7^th major collection Tracking the Torchbearer to be published in the spring. [I will post an image once the collection becomes available.] In his job as a graphic designer for a notable Charity, Graham has typeset and produced covers for a number of books for which the Charity has cause to be grateful since there is no denying that his work has encouraged sales and helped raise much needed revenue.

Now, regular readers will know that when I started publishing my collections in 2001, I wondered whether I would sell many if any copies since various poetry publishers were ‘unhappy’ with the idea of my combining gay-interest with more ‘conventional’ themes in one collection; for this reason, I created my own imprint and went ahead anyway. I am delighted to say that I have not only recovered costs with each collection, but also sold enough copies to pay for new print runs and further publications.

Sales of poetry will never be remarkable, but I remain very pleased, especially with positive feedback from gay and straight readers alike. Well, the occasional heterosexual poetry lover has complained about the fact that I include gay material, but this has been the exception rather than the rule. It feels good to have proven various publishers wrong who thought there would be little or no interest in poetry on a gay theme.’ Not only that, but also the fact that I often write ‘form’ poems, use rhyme a lot and even my blank verse poems  and many of often bear little resemblance to the critics’ notion of what comprises modern poetry. If that means I am I am something of an anachronism in poetry circles, I remain a shameless one.

Although my poetry books are only on sale in the UK (and also available in many public libraries), I also sell copies to overseas readers (via PayPal) who email me with enquiries to rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader’ in the subject field. ; I give my blog readers a discount of 35% of  (retail cost + shipping) so please make sure that any initial enquiry includes where in the world you live.

ACCOMPLICES TO ILLUSION

Snowflakes, like miniature chandeliers

performing a magic show

Silvery shadows, dancing across fields

like the homeless at a party

North star, a shiny nugget of white gold;

moon slopes like ski runs

Owl, hunting down the ghosts of spring

to what passes for their fate

White Rabbit knows a trick or two, finds

sanctuary in a storybook

Carrot-nose snowman kept busy posing

for Christmas cards

Churches, mosques, synagogues - iced

like birthday cakes

First light of day, Apollo starts throwing

cold water on it all

Party over, the homeless left to work what

magic they can on a world in denial

{From: Accomplice to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

Keeper Of the Flame

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

Today’s post is duplicated on both poetry blogs.

After a sleepless night on Friday, I managed to get a reasonable night’s sleep last night so am feeling less washed out today. I don’t mind anyone throwing a late-night party now and then, but ALL night is not fair on the neighbours in a residential area.

Now, I promised everyone a new poem so this post is duplicated on both poetry blogs.

Meanwhile...

Reader, ‘William’ who has to use an Internet café to go on-line has asked me to repeat the link to my YouTube channel.  I hope you enjoy it. My friend and cameraman Graham and I are hoping to record more poems ‘on location’ for YouTube during this year:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile...

Raking the heart’s embers is easy enough. It takes but one precious memory to stir the flames of a love that was never meant to fulfil its promises...until, with all the passion of regret, we can but watch them fall away.

Now, a man or woman may be gay or straight, but neither is more or less vulnerable than the other to a love that, for whatever reason, is a secret only two will ever share.

KEEPER OF THE FLAME

I pile on wood,

and the flames leap higher,

bringing us together

as we were that summer

we’d meet up again

and again to go swimming

in the sunshine,

walking in the rain,

playing with fire

from each dawn to sunset,

now flaring, now fading

like love’s wistful voices,

its weepy echoes

I pile on wood,

and the flames are dancing,

lovers romancing

as we were that summer

we’d cherish

precious moments together,

each one stolen

from those who thought

they knew us,

yet never once suspecting

we were lovers,

not just best of friends

hamming it up

I run out of wood,

too soon the flames starting

to fall away

like an audience once a play

has reached an ending

well deserving of applause

even if no one cares

to admit the staged goings-on

were too close

for comfort, disturbing

vulnerable ghosts

ever tearful for being shut

on some secret closet

Fire smouldering, but a flicker

braving it out

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Where The Jury Is Still Out

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

I am still recovering from a BAD cold while trying to proof my new poetry collection ready for publication in February/March. I am also still suffering some side-effects of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer, but no real worries there. As this wasn’t enough, I have been kept awake all night by a nasty, thoughtless, neighbour in the flat upstairs and had to use six buckets of water to clear vomit from the steps outside. [Nor is this the first time.] I would have gone upstairs and confronted him and his guests in the early hours, but he has behaved very aggressively towards me in the past so I’m afraid I chickened out. He is, after all, more than half my age, and I am not feeling very strong right now.  

So you will understand why I haven’t the energy to publish two posts today and [again, sorry] this one is duplicated on both blogs. Hopefully, it may be of some interest to all readers.

As I do with poems, from time to time, I have revised this one since an earlier version appeared on the blogs in 2010. Regular readers will be only too familiar with the sentiments expressed.

Political correctness can be such a pain sometimes, responsible as it is for many people being afraid to say what they really think; in public, anyway. For example, I would rather know if someone is a homophobe or how am I to know he or she is an enemy. More importantly, how am I supposed to know unless people are honest with me to my face that I need to encourage them to develop a more human, positive, responsible attitude towards sexuality?  Also, many people are quick to play the political correctness card as soon as they feel things aren’t going their way. Take my noisy neighbour for example. I am in no doubt that he would try and play the race card were I to make a formal complaint against him.

Incidentally, I can honestly say I have never played the gay card and never would. [Equal Opportunities and diversity legislation here in the West has its flaws, and is often abused.]

As for the homophobes among us, making a friend of an enemy is just about the best Public Relations gets on any field of play, but you have to know your enemy first.

[NB Look out for a new (love) poem tomorrow.]

WHERE THE JURY IS STILL OUT

Some people say there van be no safe haven

for gay men and women in that place some need

to call Heaven

Some people say no God would ever tolerate

the kind of so-called ‘sin’ perpetrated by such as  

gay men and women

Some people say Holy Books are a measure

of spirituality compensating for any open-minded

take on homosexuality

So who are they that so love to pit humankind

against its own on the grounds of this socio-culture

or that religion?

So who are they who rail against those gay men

and women that are but as we are, and by nature’s

rule, not ours?

So who are they who say they side with doves

of peace, and then go to war with such honourable

intentions?

Let them speak who claim to know how God

will have his way with men and women who happen

to be gay

Let them speak who would rail against those

of us who are gay, and don’t let political correctness

win the day

Let them speak who say gays cannot be forgiven

for, oh, such a sin on the grounds of this socio-culture

or that religion

No matter who or where, all humankind deserves

a voice, gay folks too, each of us gifted with a feeling

for freedom

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2011

A Measure Of Creativity

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

This post is duplicated on both poetry blogs today.

For anyone interested in gay-interest crime fiction, my new serial Blasphemy starts on my fiction blog today; read the synopsis (on a previous post) to see if it is your cup of tea:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

Meanwhile...

Several readers (gay and straight alike) who have been kind enough to say they enjoyed my last poetry collection On the Battlefields of Love have also asked about the location for the cover design.  The photo is of the folly at Virginia Water. An annoying oversight on my part meant the poem was not included in the collection as originally intended; it will appear in a new collection Tracking the Torchbearer to be published in the spring. [As with all my collections, it will contain 100+ poems in themed sections for easy reading and will include gay-interest material.]

Virginia Water is a pretty village in Surrey, UK, just a few miles from London, and boasts some very affluent residents; it takes its name from the lake in nearby Windsor Great Park. The lake's name was transferred from a previous stream, which was probably named after Elizabeth I, the 'Virgin Queen'.

The folly in the cover photo is not your usual folly (a folly is a building or part of a building that is built for no purpose whatsoever, and can look a bit ornate). This folly is authentic Roman ruins, and aren't even from England; they were acquired in the 19th Century from their original location in the Roman city of Leptis Magna which is very close to where Tripoli in Libya is today. The ruins were first taken to the British Museum in London where they stayed for some years, before an architect 'rebuilt' them alongside the lake at Virginia Water.

This poem is a villanelle, and last appeared on the blogs in 2010.

A MEASURE OF CREATIVITY

Like a folly satirising our history,

love takes to task its fears;

nature’s last laugh on humanity

Find the world’s blackest comedy

imposed on we poor actors

like a folly satirising our history

Glistening like a vision of eternity,

a lake of glad-sad tears;

nature’s last laugh on humanity

Watch how feisty skies effectively

feed on the world’s prayers

like a folly satirising our history

Hear the trees compose a melody

falling mostly on cloth ears;

nature’s last laugh on humanity

Deception, left to cascade prettily

down centuries of applause,

like a folly satirising our history;

nature’s last laugh on humanity

(Virginia Water, UK. May 9th 2009)

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2009

The Yearling

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber

Today’s poem last appeared on the blog about 18 months ago and I have been asked to repeat it by ‘Rhys’ who says he can relate 'only too well' to the poem, but adds that he later found love again with his partner 'Owen' with whom he has been living for several 'very happy' years.

It is perhaps appropriate that the poem should follow hot on the heels of yesterday's post and poem...

THE YEARLING

You body relaxed,

the tip of your tongue stroking my lips

as we made love,

exploring, adoring, each other’s bodies,

oh, so tenderly at the start

then letting rip with pent-up passions

of the heart

It was our first time

and you gave no hint It would be our last

as we made love

in a manner that was sheer poetry

desire in perfect rhythm,

naked flesh feeding on the pleasures

of wet dreams

We became as one,

riding a pale yearling over misty meadows,

majestic mountains,

finally down heather-scented slopes

leading to the sea

where we lay, spent, on a sandy shore

content in its embrace

I stroked your hair

where its flames but flickered in the hearth

you’d made of my heart

and I longed to rouse your heat in me

again, again, again…

even as each exquisite flame died

one by one

You stirred, kissed me

until my mouth felt bruised by the intensity

of that long goodbye

though not as I sensed you’d have it be

but much the same as I,

lying in sun-kissed sand, no one

making demands

That kiss was magic, its spell cruelly broken,

your mind set on marrying a woman

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

A Gay Dad's Story

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

Over the years (I am 66 now) I have met a number of men, with female partners and children, who are essentially gay, but choose not to go there; not publicly anyway. Many haunt late-night/early morning cruising areas while their partners think they are working late at the office, or they may have a secret gay lover who is willing to settle for always being second-best just as a straight man’s mistress has dome for centuries. They give me lots of reasons, these gay dads; some cannot envisage a life without children while others (still) fear being stigmatised for their natural sexuality. Some make happy enough marriages, if you can ever be happy living such a BIG lie; others  live out their lives as best they can, carried along by a genuine love for wife and children.

Today’s poem has only ever appeared on my general blog (in 2007)  prompted two wives getting in touch with me  to ask how any man can be so selfish as to marry for  convenience only to announce at a later date that he has decided to make a new life with a boyfriend?  Do they have no conception of pain and humiliation?

Of course gay married men have a conception of pain and humiliation; many if not most experience it every day at some time or another.

I could not tell these women why their husbands chose to marry them, only that I am sure they were and are loved. I can understand and deeply sympathise their feeling of being ‘used’ ...but it isn’t as simple as that is it?  Acknowledging sexuality is nearly always a formidable first step, not least due to prevailing misguided attitudes in various homes, work places and societies world-wide. Arguably, moreover, a person cannot be accused of living a lie if they have never got around to acknowledging the truth. The next step is moving forward, and can be even more complex; so much so that some gay people either refuse to take it or feel prevented by circumstances from doing so.

Now, I know from personal experience that it is possible to be in love with two people at the same time. In my case, it was two men, but why shouldn’t it be a man and a woman?

Yes, a gay man should be honest with a female partner about his sexuality, but he risks losing her and someone in love is not always up to taking that risk. No, it isn’t fair - on either party - and yes, honesty is the best policy, but some gay men  stay in denial all their lives and genuinely don’t see themselves as living a lie; any casual sex with someone else on the side is seen as ‘a male thing’ to which they are entitled and they see nothing wrong in it.  Is it any wonder that a partner who is left to discover this for herself feels betrayed? The heterosexual majority does not have a monopoly on sexism.

Right and wrong are two sides of the same coin; it is rarely difficult to make a case for either, no matter which way the coin falls. I am focusing on men here, but the same applies to women of course. [Suffice to say, this is a gay man’s blog, but much if not most of what I have to say applies to lesbians as well.]

So all you gay and bisexual dads whose wives/partners may have no idea that you fancy men and/or enjoy sex with them, take heart as there are many, many of you out there. [I am not encouraging this particular element of deceit in a male-female partnership, but simply acknowledging a fact.] However, bear in mind that love deserves honesty; nor is love as fragile as some like to make out, and I know lots of people who have  been amazed at how much love can bear in the longer if not always the shorter term.

I remain on the fence with this one, neither condoning nor condemning, but sympathising with all those people playing happy families out there while never quite as happy as they could be were men and women world-wide given less cause  by the environment/society in which they live to be fearful of the ultimate challenge facing each and every one of us...to be ourselves.

A GAY DAD’S STORY

Married, with kids, and not unhappy,
lives all but running true;
Trying to be a good husband, dad,
seems the right thing to do;
Of daily life, real love no less a part
for phantoms tugging at the heart

like children longing to come out to play
but made to stay indoors, lest angels
with dirty faces lower the tone, heaven

but looking on

Married, with kids, and not unhappy,
lives all but running true;
trying to be a good husband, dad,
seems the right thing to do;
few greater joys of Mother Earth than love,

togetherness and birth,

nor do these fade as others burst through

like spring flowers,

a long, hard winter done, heaven

but looking on

Parted, kids grown, and not as happy
as we ought to be,
but a sense of integrity, worthy
of our sexuality;
time enough for friends and family
to understand, lessons learned;

love, once freely given and shared,

never quite overturned;

same sun rising and setting, heaven

cheering, weeping

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2012

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised from an earlier version that appears in 1^st eds. of  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2^nd ed. in preparation. NB 2^nd eds. of my poetry collections will not be available until after 2015 and will contain revisions of some poems. Meanwhile, 1^st eds. remain available at a generous blog discount. Contact rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader; in the subject field. ]