Putting The World To Rights

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

Two Christian guesthouse owners who were ordered to pay damages after refusing to allow a gay couple to stay in a double room lost their appeal here yesterday. Could it be that, regarding sexuality (in some parts of the world at any rate) it is putting itself to rights at last?

Everyone has right to their own religious beliefs, but no one has the right to impose them on others. Besides, I may not be a religious person, but I know my Bible, and Jesus of Nazareth is not portrayed as someone likely to condemn anyone for their sexuality.

Don’t these ‘devout’ Christians know their New Testament at all? So many seem to have lost the plot altogether. For example, whatever happened to the ‘love thy neighbour’ bit? Not that certain Christians are alone among certain followers of certain world religions when it comes to losing the plot... 

One thing is certain though. There will always be wonderful people in the world who possess quality sure to get the better of any socio-cultural-religious prejudices without having to resort to either compromise or deception; it is called commonsense.

This poem last appeared here in December 2010 and I have since slightly but significantly revised it. Reader ‘Jermaine’ has asked me to repeat it for his boyfriend, ‘Dave’, whom he met in The Black Cap gay pub in Camden Town, London  NW3 a year ago today. I only go there occasionally these days, for old time’s sake, but have some wonderful memories of that pub, and recommend it to everyone.  

PUTTING THE WORLD TO RIGHTS

We met at a pub in Camden Town,

having arranged it on the Internet,

but for a while weren’t even sure

if we liked each other, never mind

up for sex

After failing to put the world to rights,

we felt far less wary of each other;

I began to feel attracted to a fullness

of lips, growing sensuousness of body

language

The more he talked, the less I heard,

a gleam in each eye distracting me,

and several shirt buttons left undone

inviting me to caress the bronzed flesh

within

By the time we got round to deciding

who should go to whose for coffee,

all I wanted was to slip under a duvet,

let him enter me, make good the poetry

of imagination

No duvet greeted me, but sheets of satin,

caressing my body even before his turn

to feel his way through the dark passages

of my self, guilt blocking every attempt

to come clean

He persevered, took me to the climax

of my fears, let flow waters of the earth

to succour this lonely self, left for dead

by those who insist it’s a sin for one man

to love another

If love means breaking ties that bind

generations, let’s have no reservations;

love is far too precious a gift to throw

in the face of a fate that wants the best

for us all

We gay folks love to be just as close

to family and old friends as anyone else,

but there’s a love we place even higher,

and it’s a foolish person caves in to those

denying us that

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2011

[Note: This poem will appear in my new collection Tracking the Torchbearer to be published by the end of this month /early March.]

It's Done With Mirrors

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

A camera may lie in the right (or wrong) hands, but not a mirror. We can be as much in denial as we like, about sexuality or whatever, but one searching look in a mirror and we are exposed for who and what we are.

The question is, what if anything do we do about it? Too often, we find ourselves facing divided loyalties between which we badly need to build a bridge.

One of humankind’s greater tragedies is that for every bridge, there is someone ready, willing and able to blow it into irreparable pieces. A cue for religion’s fundamentalists baying for blood at this door and that to start practising the love and peace creed and culture preach...? For that matter, is it not high time its leaders accepted responsibility and acted accordingly against those in their ranks intent on distorting its mirror on the world?  

We'll see...

IT’S DONE WITH MIRRORS

Looking in my mirror, all I can see

is a tear-stained face grimacing at me,

mouthing questions I can’t ignore

though asked them many times before

A still, small voice demands of me

I walk tall, be confident in my sexuality,

forget compromise as a real choice,

but make a stand, give integrity a voice

I tell the mirror, ‘That’s all very well,

and I agree I might just as well be in hell

for this pain and fear like a fire in me,

but what will I find if I walk tall, go free?’

‘What if people choose to reject me.

and I lose the love and respect of family,

friends, work colleagues, everyone…

lose face within my culture and religion?’

‘What chance of getting them to see

I didn’t choose my sexuality, it chose me,

and I’m the same person I was before

I chose truth, a refugee in lies no more?’

‘Follow your instincts,’ says the mirror,

though family, friends, creed and culture;

put love and peace to the ultimate test,

or how else can they, in you, find rest?’

‘Trust me,’ mouths the mirror, ‘A world

for whom respect seems so shallow a word

when it comes to healing its differences

will one day need to reassess its priorities.’

Dare I do as the mirror says in good faith,

knowing I so long to go its way, take a path

pointing me plainly in the right direction,

where I follow the rhetoric of deception?

Family and friends running with each other,

dare you care enough to see-hear my mirror?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This poem has been revised from a version I posted in March 2010. (I have left the original for any readers who may be interested to compare.)  It will appear in my new collection Tracking the Torchbearer to be published in the UK in a few weeks; blog readers will get a generous discount on (retail price + shipping). Enquiries to:  rogertab@aol.com with ‘Poetry Collection’ in the subject field. 

To The Lighthouse

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber 

Today’s post is duplicated on both blogs.

Followers (and I do have a few) receive notification of any posts I update so they will have received quite a few lately as I prepare to publish my new collection. It is not always easy to spot mistakes at the time I post or even write a poem, especially as I have been quite ill for some time and am always fighting off depression. Sometimes readers are kind enough to email me and let me know about typos or other elementary mistakes in the text of a poem, but not always.

So please feel free to email me any time as I will not be offended. On the contrary, I will be delighted to have the opportunity to put right any errors I may inadvertently have made. Come to that, readers are always welcome to email me about anything, and I always love to hear from you. I will reply asap if you give an email address or blog URL that has a contact button. Should I feel your email raises a matter of interest to everyone and raise it on the blog, your privacy is guaranteed as I never publish surnames or screen names.

Meanwhile...

We all need to keep an eye on that light at the end of whatever tunnel we may sometimes find ourselves in; it may dim sometimes, but will never go out...unless we let it.

Oh, and yes, this poem is a villanelle and takes its title from a beautiful novel by Virginia Woolf.

TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

It’s a light that I will always see

wherever I go…

in spite of shadows crowding me

Day or night, it will constant be,

come rain or snow;

it’s a light that I will always see

I take heart that others can see,

be in the know…

in spite of shadows crowding me

On land or sea, a born sexuality

like a lighthouse glow;

it’s a light that I will always see

It lends me a sense of spirituality

as through this life I go…

in spite of shadows crowding me

Come a time we are but history,

let others follow;

it’s a light that I will always see,

in spite of shadows crowding me

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

Fast Tracking

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

Several readers have asked if I have a Word file of my Tweets on Life and the answer is, yes, I do. If you would like a copy, email me at rogertab@aol.com with ‘Tweets’ in the subject field; alternatively, view them at https://twitter.com/rogertab. [NB I only use social networks to link to my blogs although I often read what other people post on my wall, but feel free to contact me by email any time.]

Meanwhile...

This week, St. Petersburg is pushing forward a law that would make it illegal for any person to write a book, publish an article or speak in public about being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender, and calling it "homosexual propaganda". St. Petersburg's Mayor Poltavchenko, President Medvedev and Prime Minister Putin are all pushing for a law that is more than an abuse of Human Rights; it is an insult to humanity. 

The poem last appeared on the blog in March 2010. As the UK is currently experiencing a very cold spell, you can hardly blame me for recalling a memory/poem to keep me warm... Moreover, I am dedicating it to all our brothers and sisters across the whole of Russia and beyond; any suggestion that someone should ever be persecuted for their sexuality is a stain on civilisation, but especially to the extent we have seen in parts of Africa, in Uganda for example.   

It just goes to show shows how bloody minded and ignorant some world governments can be. Come to that, I don’t recall reading or hearing anything about this sickening proposed anti-gay legislation in Russia here in the UK...

To all my Russian blog readers, a BIG HUG, and good luck! Мы думаем о Вас всех (I hope that is how you say, We are thinking of you all.)

FAST TRACKING

You dived under my top,

tongue on nipples aching with desire;

hands at my jeans would not stop,

my whole being on fire

I longed to respond, could not

(for too long told it’s wrong, obscene)

as you invaded me with your heat,

pulled my jeans down

My heart tore like an express

along twisting tracks of denial, regret,

embracing years of loneliness, pain,

on a rack of ages-old guilt

Slowly, I let go all hype

imprinted on my heart, soul, brain;

rose above the stereotype,

learned to live again

Once mere pieces of clay,

we discovered sex, no truths held back;

though some protest, as they may,

let them to their own lives look

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

Where Do We Go From Here?

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

I wrote today’s poem in 1963 and only slightly revised it in 2010. I would have been 18 years-old that year. Gay relationships were illegal in the UK until 1967, the year I was 22. I will never forget those torturous years between awakening to my sexuality at 14 years-old and being openly gay once and for all (no ducking back into the closet whenever I got scared) in my 30s. Oh, I managed to get plenty of sex, but it was all very furtive during my teens and I lived a lie for some years afterwards too.  Well, yes, I say furtive, but cannot deny that much of it was great fun. I guess, discovering and learning more about our sexuality can be a very mixed blessing at times, especially if you happen to be growing up in a gay-unfriendly home environment.

It may not strike you as a particularly good poem, but may give those readers who keep asking why I ‘defend’ gay people who refuse to be open about their sexuality. It is not about defending, but understanding. There are so many reasons why gay people worldwide have to stay in that cold, dark closet for as long as they do; a lifetime for some. If the reader who wrote to tell me that ‘gays have never had it so good so shut up about the down side and be positive’ lived in parts of the southern hemisphere, he would not be so cocky. And there are plenty of gay people in the West, too, whose family ties appear very strong but would snap were just one family member to come out and say he or she is gay.

I am positive about being gay, but few openly gay people need help to feel positive about their sexuality whereas those who feel, for whatever reason, they must be secretive...they do need help and reassurance; they do need encouragement to feel positive about their sexual identity, and not take on the mantle of shame and guilt imposed on us for centuries by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority.

Where do YOU go from here?

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

The world is a dark place,

and Nature shows a cruel face,

has neither, time or space

for someone like me?

Yet, the world is a huge place

and Nature can show a kind face,

so time and space (surely?)

for someone like me

The world is my enemy

and Nature dead set against me,

fat chance against history

for people like me?

Yet, somewhere walks a friend

who will fight to the end

of time and space (surely?)

for people like me

By nature’s finer grace

we are come to this dark place

concealing time and space

from people like us;

yet sun shines and moon,

and a time soon when

time and space letting light in

for people like us

So what are we waiting for?

Let’s go, grab our share

Copyright R. N. Taber 1963; 2010

Excess Express

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

Some readers may be interested to know that I have just posted Chapter 4 of Blasphemy my gay-interest crime serial on the fiction blog: 

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com 

Meanwhile...

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since mid-2010. I have been asked to repeat it for ‘Chantelle’ and ‘Gus’ for their respective partners, ‘Holly’ and ‘Liam’.

Like so many of my love poems, this one can apply to any lovers anywhere, regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality. Oh, and why not? Since when did love discriminate against anyone?

EXCESS EXPRESS

I only had to see you

for a heat to rush through me

like an express train

I only had to hear you

for music to rush through me

like songbirds on wing

I only had to touch you

for desire to rush through me

like a summer wind

You only had to hold me

for passion to rush my senses

like wild honeysuckle

You only had to kiss me

for delight to rush my despair

like birthday surprises

You only had to love me

for its sheer ecstasy to rush us

like an express train

Where life rushes at love

and would share but glimpses,

we had other ideas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Chance Meeting

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

Today’s poem was written in 1994 and was inspired by a chance meeting with someone at a gay bar in 1987 with whom I shared but a brief, intimate encounter, yet have stayed friends   ever since.  

Gay relationships were decriminalised here in the UK in 1967, but it wasn’t until the late 1990s that attitudes began to soften towards us.  I have to say that now I have that sinking again as multiculturalism is slowly but surely turning the clock backwards. Regular readers will know that I have nothing against multiculturalism in principle; on the contrary, I would welcome it with open arms, but for the fact that so many people from various socio-cultural-religious backgrounds have not only brought their native prejudices - including homophobia - to the UK but also appear to be nurturing them; if it is a minority, it is a very significant and increasingly vocal one. Thank goodness for an open hearted, open minded majority, and long may it remain one.

Now, time spent looking for close encounters of the intimate kind can sometimes result in BIG disappointments. (Oh, and how!) Ah, but it only takes one unforgettable moment on one unforgettable occasion with one unforgettable person to make up for all of them...

CHANCE MEETING

In a smoky gloom, 

I watched you standing there, 

idly running cruisy fingers 

through hair kissed by stray sunshine

flickering through shutters 

set to glower the world outside, 

nursing us on the inside 

to a comfortable anonymity,

and you glanced at me 

then flung your eyes back into a pool 

of drowning men 

shrieking so if silently for rescue 

despite dog-paddle gestures 

defying their distress like the rhythm 

of a hit pop song pulling at heart strings

repudiating our loneliness

Gathering up a casual air, 

I spoke to you, let the lilt of your voice 

wash over me like a friendly

shower after a bad dream as we talked 

comfortably while loud music 

screened all ghosts from us, inciting

a temporary deliverance; 

we went outside into a gentler 

conspiracy of noon sounds 

urging us to hurry to a kinder place 

where my hands may freely frame 

your face, my lips on yours, your body 

answering mine, all threat receding, 

this world as we'd always known it

(chasing votes if not hearts and minds)

turning us inside out

Copyright R. N. Taber 1998; 2012

[Note: This poem has been revised from an earlier version that last appeared on the blog in 2010 and also in 1^st eds. of Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001; 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, signed 1^st eds. are available on request at a generous blogger discount.]