I have no idea when I wrote today’s poem. I recently discovered it (undated) in a pile of potential rubbish for the next recycling collection. (Hopefully, I have not since reworked and given it a different title.) I suspect it was written sometime during the mid-late 1990’s. Whatever, it is as relevant now as it was then. Who knows where a chance encounter with a stranger may lead, and if there is a clearly a mutual attraction, why not GO for it…?
A (straight) friend once commented, 'There is something very comforting about sex. Whatever, it has to be the best form of creative therapy invented..." Who am I to argue?
A (straight) friend once commented, 'There is something very comforting about sex. Whatever, it has to be the best form of creative therapy invented..." Who am I to argue?
Whether a person is gay or straight, much the same principle applies although - yes, even in this 21st century of ours - it can be a tougher decision for any gay person who, for whatever reason, feels unable to go public about his or her sexuality.
AN LGBT POCKET HISTORY
Meeting by chance, noon sun
like an acid drop in a stormy sky;
crow, pausing in mid-flight
to stare. Ghosts in the wind, lonely
and eager for romance, though
time deny the finer fruit that only
lovers share
Highlights in the hair, a sparkle
in the eyes, frantic lips on mine,
world ceasing to turn for us;
ghosts all around us crying, ‘YES’
and each kiss, the spoils of a motley
that’s a waking dream, ours if we
but dare
Defying bigotry’s menacing look,
I gladly take your arm, find shelter
in a barn, madly returning
each caress as ghosts, warned off
in times past for their sexuality,
warm up for what promises to be
a brave new century
Bed of straw, magic of clowns
ringing in the ears, we’ll play out
life’s circus, confront our fears,
our heaven the laughter and tears
of other people’s ghosted years,
reaching for clear skies, further even
than the crow flies
Winging history’s cruel divide,
gay and proud…
Copyright R. N. Taber c1990’s
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