G-A-Y in the Subject Field: Roger N. Taber focuses more on his gay-interest poems...

Where The Jury Is Still Out

2012-01-28T02:40:00.000-08:00

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

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

So you will understand why I haven’tthe energy to publish two posts today and [again, sorry] this one is duplicatedon both blogs. Hopefully, it may be of some interest to all readers.

As I do with poems, from time totime, I have revised this one since an earlier version appeared on the blogs in2010. Regular readers will be only too familiar with the sentiments expressed.

Political correctness can be such apain sometimes, responsible as it is for many people being afraid to say whatthey really think; in public, anyway. For example, I would rather know ifsomeone is a homophobe or how am I to know he or she is an enemy. Moreimportantly, how am I supposed to know unless people are honest with me to myface 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 asthey feel things aren’t going their way. Take my noisy neighbour for example. Iam in no doubt that he would try and play the race card were I to make a formalcomplaint against him.

Incidentally, I can honestly say Ihave never played the gay card and never would. [EqualOpportunities and diversity legislation here in the West has its flaws, and isoften abused.]

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

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

WHERE THE JURY IS STILL OUT

Some people say there van be nosafe haven

for gay men and women in that placesome need

to call Heaven

Some people say no God would evertolerate

the kind of so-called ‘sin’ perpetratedby such as

gay men and women

Some people say Holy Books are ameasure

of spirituality compensating forany open-minded

take on homosexuality

So who are they that so love to pithumankind

against its own on the grounds ofthis socio-culture

or that religion?

So who are they who rail againstthose gay men

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

rule, not ours?

So who are they who say they sidewith doves

of peace, and then go to war withsuch honourable

intentions?

Let them speak who claim to knowhow God

will have his way with men andwomen who happen

to be gay

Let them speak who would railagainst those

of us who are gay, and don’t letpolitical correctness

win the day

Let them speak who say gays cannotbe forgiven

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

or that religion

No matter who or where, allhumankind deserves

a voice, gay folks too, each of usgifted with a feeling

for freedom

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010;2011

A Measure Of Creativity

2012-01-27T02:08:00.000-08:00

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

This post is duplicated on bothpoetry blogs today.

For anyone interested ingay-interest crime fiction, my new serial Blasphemystarts on my fiction blog today; read the synopsis (on a previous post) to seeif it is your cup of tea:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

Meanwhile...

Several readers (gay and straightalike) who have been kind enough to say they enjoyed my last poetry collection On the Battlefields of Love have alsoasked about the location for the cover design. The photo is of the folly at Virginia Water. An annoying oversight on mypart meant the poem was not included in the collection as originally intended;it will appear in a new collection Trackingthe 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 fewmiles from London, and boasts some very affluent residents; it takes its namefrom the lake in nearby Windsor Great Park. The lake's name was transferred from a previousstream, 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 abuilding 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 wereacquired in the 19th Century from their original location in the Roman city ofLeptis Magna which is very close to where Tripoli in Libya is today. The ruinswere first taken to the British Museum in London where they stayed for someyears, before an architect 'rebuilt' them alongside the lake at Virginia Water.

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

A MEASURE OF CREATIVITY

Like a folly satirising ourhistory,

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 ofeternity,

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 ourhistory;

nature’s last laugh on humanity

(Virginia Water, UK. May 9th 2009)

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2009

The Yearling

2012-01-26T02:11:00.000-08:00

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber

Today’spoem last appeared on the blog about 18 months ago and I have been asked torepeat 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...

THEYEARLING

You bodyrelaxed,

the tipof your tongue stroking my lips

as wemade love,

exploring,adoring, each other’s bodies,

oh, sotenderly at the start

thenletting rip with pent-up passions

of theheart

It wasour first time

and yougave no hint It would be our last

as wemade love

in amanner that was sheer poetry

desire inperfect rhythm,

nakedflesh feeding on the pleasures

of wetdreams

We becameas one,

riding apale yearling over misty meadows,

majesticmountains,

finally downheather-scented slopes

leadingto the sea

where welay, spent, on a sandy shore

contentin its embrace

I strokedyour hair

where itsflames but flickered in the hearth

you’dmade of my heart

and Ilonged to rouse your heat in me

again,again, again…

even aseach exquisite flame died

one byone

Youstirred, kissed me

until mymouth felt bruised by the intensity

of thatlong goodbye

thoughnot as I sensed you’d have it be

but muchthe same as I,

lying insun-kissed sand, no one

makingdemands

That kisswas magic, its spell cruelly broken,

your mindset on marrying a woman

CopyrightR. N. Taber 2010

A Gay Dad's Story

2012-01-25T01:00:00.000-08:00

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

Over the years (Iam 66 now) I have met a number of men, with female partners and children, who are essentially gay, butchoose not to go there; not publicly anyway. Many haunt late-night/earlymorning cruising areas while their partners think they are working late at theoffice, or they may have a secret gay lover who is willing to settle for alwaysbeing 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 beingstigmatised for their natural sexuality. Some make happy enough marriages, ifyou 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 hasonly 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 tomarry for convenience only to announce ata later date that he has decided to make a new life with a boyfriend? Do they have no conception of pain andhumiliation?

Of course gaymarried men have a conception of pain and humiliation; many if not mostexperience it every day at some time or another.

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

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

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

Right and wrong aretwo 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 sameapplies 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 lesbiansas well.]

So all you gay andbisexual dads whose wives/partners may have no idea that you fancy men and/or enjoy sexwith them, take heart as there are many, many of you out there. [I am not encouraging this particular element ofdeceit in a male-female partnership, but simply acknowledging a fact.] However, bear in mindthat love deserves honesty; nor islove 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 thelonger if not always the shorter term.

I remain on thefence with this one, neither condoning nor condemning, but sympathising with all those people playing happy familiesout there while never quite as happy as they could be were men and womenworld-wide given less cause by theenvironment/society in which they live to be fearful of the ultimate challengefacing 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 childrenlonging 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 andbirth,

nor do these fadeas others burst through

like springflowers,

a long, hard winterdone, 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 freelygiven and shared,

never quite overturned;

same sun rising andsetting, heaven

cheering, weeping

Copyright R. N.Taber 2002; 2012

[Note: This poem has been slightly but significantly revised from an earlierversion 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 willcontain revisions of some poems. Meanwhile, 1^st eds. remainavailable at a generous blog discount. Contact rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog reader; in the subjectfield. ]

Dark Secrets

2012-01-24T02:11:00.000-08:00

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

Today’spost is again duplicated on both poetry blogs.

Somereaders who also enjoy my fiction blog have been in touch to ask for moredetails about my novel Catching up withMurder published by Raider International last year. So I am publishing asynopsis (+ poem) here today.

Icannot publish it as an e-book until next year (due to publishing contract) andmay well serialise it on the blog eventually. Meanwhile, interested readers whomay be interested can buy the novel fromhttp://amazon.com & http://www.barnesandnoble.com/ (overseas)while UK readers can purchase from http://www.amazon.co.uk;all readers can access at the publishers’ own site: http://raiderpublishing.com/Home_Page.html

CATCHINGUP WITH MURDER: a novel inthree acts(approx. 100,000 words)

ByRoger N. Taber

SYNOPSIS:

Thenovel divides itself naturally into three acts. Act One commences with a young woman,JULIE SIMPSON, asking retired Chief Inspector FRED WINTER to investigate thedeath of an aunt, RUTH TEMPLE, found dead in her bath. Since a large amount ofalcohol was found in Ruth’s body, the coroner records a verdict of accidentaldeath. Julie thinks otherwise but cannotconvince Winter at first...

OnceWinter is on the case, he not only embarks on various avenues of enquiryregarding Ruth Temple but is also reunited with an old flame CAROL BRADY whosehusband had been murdered some years ago and whose son LIAM has been killed ina car accident although no body recovered and assumed washed out to sea. Onepotential lead after another leads to the same dead end, a village on the southcoast called Monks Tallow. Moreover, Winter starts to suspect that Liam Bradyis not only alive but inextricably linked to a series of tragic ‘coincidences’there.

ActTwo nowtakes the reader back twenty years to the early 1980s. A young man, RALPHCOTTER, shoots his friend, SEAN BRADY, at Brady's home, witnessed by Brady'syoung son, LIAM. Cotter, a married,closet homosexual, is terrified that Brady will expose him. Cotter runs to hislover, Darren “Daz” HORTON for help. They head for a cottage belonging toHorton’s aunt. (The aunt is visiting her daughter in New Zealand so the cottageis empty). En route, they stop to give a lift to a woman, SARAH MANNERS, whosecar has broken down in a storm. Shortly afterwards, the car skids and smashesinto a tree, killing Sarah. The two menbury the body and Cotter evades capture by taking her identity. Darren’s aunt dies and he inherits thecottage. He and Cotter live there, happily enough, as man and ‘wife’ in anobscure English village called...Monks Tallow.

Indue course, the past catches up with Cotter and Horton, driving them to committhree more murders.

ActThreefollows Fred Winter to Monks Tallow where he slowly pieces together this jigsawof audacious masquerade and murder while inadvertently putting himself andloved ones in mortal danger...

Copyright R. N.Taber 2007

Meanwhile...

Here’sa poem about dark secrets if not the necessarily as dark as those that Hortonand Cotter hug to themselves for so long. For me, as regular readers well know,one of my darkest secrets was once my sexuality. I had acknowledged to myselfthat I am gay by the time I was 14 years-old.

Inthose days, same sex relationships were a criminal offence here in the UK.Throughout my teenage years, I told neither family nor friends. I wasn’tashamed, just scared. Even as a young adult, it would still be some years beforeI’d find the self-confidence to come out once and for all. It had been drummedinto me during my vulnerable formative years that being gay was something dirtyif not perverted.

Withinmy family I only ever discussed my sexuality with my mother just a few yearsbefore she died of cancer in 1976; she warned me against telling my father orbrother. It took a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30s before I came outof that dark, lonely closet once and for all.

This poem is a villanelle.

DARKSECRETS

Darksecrets of the heart,

likeclaws of a trapped bear

ready totear us apart

Underthreat at the start,

nature’ssoul stripped bare;

darksecrets of the heart

Seetruth’s unerring dart

sentflying through the air

ready totear us apart

No sweeta fruit or tart

thanwords we cannot share;

darksecrets of the heart

Tools ofa far subtler art

thanMedusa’s stony glare,

ready totear us apart

Endgame,a poison dart

(anytime, anywhere);

darksecrets of the heart

ready totear us apart

CopyrightR. N. Taber 2008

Blasphemy

2012-01-23T00:47:00.000-08:00

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

Today’s post appears on both poetry blogs today, not least because a number of heterosexual readers got in touch to say they enjoyed my serial Dog Roses.

The poem has appeared on the blog before, and introduces a new serial - Blasphemy - on my fiction blog; a gay-interest crime novel set inLondon UK that was published in 2006.

For details and a synopsis: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

Meanwhile...

Accordingto Psalm 14 of the Bible, people who don’t believe in God are filthy, corrupt fools,entirely incapable of doing any good. Although those sentiments were writtenover 2,000 years ago, non-believers are still stigmatized to this day, especiallyby Christians and various other religious groups regardless of which Holy Bookthey purport to follow.

Doesthe fact that I take a strong sense of spirituality from nature where I foundnone in religion and cannot begin to relate to a personified God make me an non-believer?Religious groups would say, yes. Me, I am not so sure...

This poem is a villanelle.

BLASPHEMY

Wherethe blasphemy in any Belief

thattakes its cue from humanity,

shiningthrough like a spring leaf?

Whythe pain, recriminations, grief

putdown to a person’s sexuality?

Wherethe blasphemy in any Belief?

EarthMother has given us our brief

foreach season of our mortality,

shiningthrough like a spring leaf

Letreligious leaders make mischief,

undermininga common equality,

wherethe blasphemy in any Belief?

Anotherword pit against us is ‘if…’

confusingus, its very duplicity,

shiningthrough like a spring leaf

Whilebigots use God’s handkerchief

tosneeze at our integrity…

wherethe blasphemy in any Belief

shiningthrough like a spring leaf?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

The Yearling

2012-01-22T02:40:00.000-08:00

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

Today’spoem first appeared on the bog in 2010 and, perhaps ironically, is a favouriteof mine, possibly because I am 66 years-old now and have only some wonderful memories to keep me warm these days even if someof them are sad ones too.

Manyreaders have been in touch to say how they can relate to this poem. Itis just so sad that, even in the 21^stcentury, some people still feel obliged to defy their sexual identity and goalong with the conventions.

Yes, even in 'Equal Opportunities' western society, being gay still carries a stigma. True, we have seen significant changes since I was a tormented teenager at a time when same sex relationships were a criminal offence, but there will always be those for whom change is only cosmetic; it needs more of us to stand up for our sexual identity before being gay is seen by all as no more or less than a fact of life and nature.

THEYEARLING

You bodyrelaxed,

the tipof your tongue stroking my lips

as wemade love,

exploring,adoring, each other’s bodies,

oh, sotenderly at the start

thenletting rip with pent-up passions

of theheart

It wasour first time

and yougave no hint It would be our last

as wemade love

in amanner that was sheer poetry

desire inperfect rhythm,

nakedflesh feeding on the pleasures

of wetdreams

We becameas one,

riding apale yearling over misty meadows,

majesticmountains,

finally downheather-scented slopes

leadingto the sea

where welay, spent, on a sandy shore

contentin its embrace

I strokedyour hair

where itsflames but flickered in the hearth

you’dmade of my heart

and Ilonged to rouse your heat in me

again,again, again…

even aseach exquisite flame died

one byone

Youstirred, kissed me

until mymouth felt bruised by the intensity

of thatlong goodbye

thoughnot as I sensed you’d have it be

but muchthe same as I,

lying insun-kissed sand, no one

makingdemands

That kisswas magic, its spell cruelly broken,

your mindset on marrying a woman

CopyrightR. N. Taber 2010

Casual Chat In A Greasy Spoon

2012-01-21T01:50:00.000-08:00

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

This post is duplicated on bothblogs today.

Some heterosexuals are (still) allbut obsessed with the belief they cannot possibly contract HIV-AIDS because they are not gay. Yes, it’s unbelievable, but true. When ithappens to them, they haven’t a clue how to handle it. The same can be said forsome gay men and women of course; a lot of gay guys, too, live in acomplacent little bubble of their own making.

I have written many poems aboutHIV-AIDS but it is today’s poem that last appeared on both blogs in February2010 which has caught a reader’s eye. I have been asked to repeat it by ‘Rudi’,who apparently has a friend in denial about recently been diagnosed HIV + whilebeing treated in hospital for something else. Rudi says, ‘It is like he can’tbelieve it could happen to a super fit heterosexual like him even though hesleeps around and doesn’t always use a condom. It has never occurred to himthat one of his casual girlfriends might have been infected by another casualmale partner...as if he’s the only one into casual sex!’ Rudi adds, ‘They have triedto help him at the hospital, but he won’t listen. He has convinced himselfthere has been a mistake, and they are a bunch of incompetents.’

Playing the blame game is always awaste of time. Rudi’s friend needs to see a doctor and counsellor and getmedication/advice NOW. Just because people can live for years with the HIV-AIDSvirus these days is no cause for complacency and is wholly dependent upon theright medication and a mature attitude to sexual responsibility.

Even talking to a complete strangerin a 'greasy spoon' café is as good a start as any although why so manystraight guys seem to think we gay guys should be any more comfortable with theidea of HIV-AIDS than they are remains a mystery to me. Maybe they think that,because we have lived with thepossibility longer and perhaps more intimately; it is ingrained in our psyche,forewarned, so to speak, being forearmed? There may even be something in that,but living with HIV+ is no easy ride for anyone.

This is an autobiographical poem andthe guy who told me he was HIV+ plainly thought I’d be ‘a good guy to talk to’because he thought I ‘looked gay’ and ‘would know about these things.’ I triedto reassure him and gave him some good advice for which he was grateful, butsquirmed a lot. We shook hands when we parted, and he told me in a wellmeaning if also very patronising way, ‘It’s been nice talking to you. Hey, youlot aren’t so bad, are you?’ I took it to be a rhetorical question and summoneda diplomatic smile.

By the way, Rudi didn’t say if heis gay or straight [does it matter?] but did mention that he is tested for HIV-AIDSon a regular basis, but a lot of his friends ‘can’t be bothered’ and/or ‘wouldrather not know anyway.’ Goodfor you, Rudi, and I hope you manage to knock some common sense into thoseidiots.

This poem is a villanelle.

CASUAL CHAT IN A GREASY SPOON

He blurted he’s HIV+ but isn’t gay

and blames people like me

(what was I supposed to say?)

I met him in a cafe one spring day

(me wearing a bright pink tee);

He blurted he’s HIV+ but isn’t gay

He was sad. I said, ‘Hi, a niceday’

and he got really angry

(what was I supposed to say?)

He said he doesn’t do nice, no way,

to ‘my sort’ especially;

He blurted he’s HIV+ but isn’t gay

I struggled to keep my hurt at bay,

fend off his hostility

(what was I supposed to say?)

Sex is a game it takes two to play,

we agreed over Fair Trade tea;

He blurted he’s HIV+ but isn’t gay

(what was I supposed to say?)

[Note: From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Bus Fare

2012-01-18T00:41:00.000-08:00

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

Yesterday, I posted a poem inspiredby a song sung by Doris Day. A reader has been in touch to ask, ‘It is badenough that someone who claims to be a serious poet writes gay rubbish, which Ifind offensive, but to write about Doris Day is really the last straw!’

Well, for a start I have neverclaimed to be a serious poet only someone who takes poetry seriously; well,most of the time. I am certainly no poetry snob, and readers will know that Iwrite on all manner of themes. Nor am I a music snob. I love Doris Day just asI love Ella Fitzgerald and Johnny Cash. I love some classical music,but I also love some pop and adorerock ‘n’ roll. I love some opera butcannot claim to be an opera buff. With me, it’s pick’n’mix. So what’s wrongwith that? If it is good of its kind, I will usually enjoy it. Why shouldn’t Ienjoy Elvis Presley every bit as much as Placido Domingo or adore ShirleyBassey just as I do Diana Ross and Leona Lewis. And let's not forget the late, great Dusty Springfield or, for that matter, Mario Lanza or Frank Sinatra. I could go on all day...

If people choose to limit theirappreciation to one kind of music, one genre of literature or one period ofart, that’s up to them. But there are lots of people like me who love to dabblein this ‘n’ that, and where’s the harm?

So I offer no apology for offendingthat particular reader. What planet is he (or she) from, I wonder?

Meanwhile...

Several readers have been in touchover a period of a year or so to say they could relate to this poem and haveasked me to repeat it so, as it hasn’t appeared on the blog since May 2010,here it is again.

Who says public transport isboring?

BUS FARE

He was a very ordinary guy,

with an ordinary face,

wearing ordinary clothes;

I couldn’t place why

he stood out from the crowd,

he just did

Fair, wavy hair that never

saw a dye; a twinkle

in the eye, probably a lie

and never meant

to be read, leastwise,

not how I did

When the seat next to him

became free, I sat down,

and would have engaged

in light conversation;

instead, we both stared

straight ahead

He brushed against me

as he left the bus;

for a while, he was just

a Thought for the Day

till I got off, turned back,

ran all the way

Caught up with his smile,

no ordinary guy at all

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

Castaways

2012-01-17T02:11:00.000-08:00

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

Today’s post is duplicated on both blogs.

Many thanks to those readers who have been in touch to say theyenjoy my Tweets on Life with which I link my blog posts to Twitter. However, Idon’t use Twitter as a social network as I am not into social networking so ifyou want to contract me any time, always email me at: rogertab@aol.com

If you want to read my Tweets, go to: https://twitter.com/rogertab

Meanwhile...

In 2010 I posted two poems that Ihad written by way of a tribute to Doris Day. A number of you asked me toinclude them in my new collection Trackingthe Torchbearer that will bepublished here in the UK during February/Match this year. I have justfinished collating the poems for the book, and only managed to find room forone of them (today’s poem); it will appear in the Opening Up To Love section and I will include a Note tosay how I came to write it after listening to Doris singing Love’s Little Island. I first heard the song many years agoand, being a romantic through and through, it has always been a favourite ofmine. [Okay, so it's not a gay song, but since when did heterosexuals have a monopoly on love?]

In another section of the book, Lasting Impressions, I willalso include a tribute to the late, great Ella Fitzgerald called Ella Sings The Blues. [See blog entry March 2010.]

Hopefully,there will be something for everyone in what will probably be the lastcollection I publish in book form. Book sales are already plummeting, and havenever been too good for poetry anyway, so I may well only kindle publish Diary of a Time Traveller to mark my 70^th birthday in 2015.

By the way, none of my poetry booksare available as e-books yet, but I will see how poetry transcribes to e-formatlater this year.

As regular readers are aware, UKreaders can order any of poetry titles at any UK bookstore or try their localpublic library; all readers (including overseas) can order signed copies direct from me at a blogdiscount & pay via PayPal. Enquiries to: rogertab@aol.com with ‘Blog Reader' inthe subject field or the email will not be opened.

CASTAWAYS

Washed up on an island

in a misty dream,

passing centuries shadowing us

(wings across golden sand)

Game to explore an island

in a misty dream,

fair memories waving back at us

(castle flags on golden sand)

Last seen kissing on an island,

sea mist closing in,

too soon, time’s tide covering us

(footprints on golden sand)

Closer to nature on an island,

(love’s lasting dream)

earth’s descant surely winging us,

seabirds across golden sand

As golden sand to ocean waves

are the world’s lovers…

though humankind run the gamut

of nature’s grudges against it

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Frontiersmen

2012-01-16T01:17:00.000-08:00

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

The phrase ‘making love’ can be something of a misnomer, butis always a new experience and usually a delight, whether with the same personor someone different.

Now, sex may well give physical pleasure, but genuineaffection, whether or not it transcends into love later... These will take us to indescribably wonderfulfrontiers of existence and beyond ... Well, so long as we are not simplyplaying games with it.

The prevailing irony for many people is that we don’t evenneed sex to take us on what are, long or short, literally journeys of alifetime...

FRONTIERSMEN

I love to lie naked with you,

letting the warmth of your flesh

invade mine and comfort me,

making me so glad to be - alive!

In an embrace or lying still,

asleep or awake, your nearness

touches my heart as surely

as your lips parting to receive

my yearning tongue…

as we make love, rediscovering

each other and ourselves

during each gloriously intimate

moment as we, in the gutter,

reach for the stars and discover

new galaxies to explore,

plant our seed, express a need

denied all known art forms

for more, oh, but far more than sex

and its ready Box of Delights

can expect to offer as we lie here

together, secure in the knowledge

that we are soulmates, bound

by a love beyond mere parameters

of time and space and I gaze upon

your face, content to caress

its outline, lightly, with a forefinger,

knowing that soon your smile

will cross new frontiers, lips raise

a cheeky grin before we begin

again, again…to show the world

how it matters far, far less than

our being here together, like this...

I love to lie naked with you,

letting the warmth of your flesh

invade mine and comfort me,

making me so glad to be - alive!

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised from the originalas it appeared in 1^st eds. of AFeeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books2005]

Bonding With Nature

2012-01-15T02:34:00.000-08:00

http://www.authorsden.com/rogerntaber

I bonded with nature even as achild, but as I grew older the bonding became more intense and intimate. Inpart, it was a form of escapism, enabling me to be myself in a way the world ofhuman beings rarely let me; in part, too, it was the kind of spiritual bondingI had sought but never come close to establishing with religion even longbefore I realised I am gay. [Why does religion have such a problem withsexuality anyway?]

Most important of all perhaps wasrealising how insignificant I was amongst all this vast expanse of naturalbeauty and how little it really mattered who I was or what I achieved in thislife any more than who I wasn’t orwhat I didn’t achieve. So what had Ito lose by simply being myself, a gay man with aspirations that may or may notever be realised, but where was the harm in trying? I am over simplifying, ofcourse, but that is the gist of what my growing affinity with nature taught me.

In 1973 when I wrote the originaldraft of the poem, I had just completed Finals and was sitting on a hilloverlooking Canterbury, its splendid cathedral barely visible in an etherealheat mist but no less splendid for that.

I’d been watching a butterfly gliding leaves of grass for sometime before I was overwhelmed and all but swept away by a huge wave ofrelief; after three years of establishing an immensely enjoyable butsomewhat artificial bond with literature, I could still feel more inspired by acommon butterfly than a single stanza from a great poem, one of Shakespeare’sfinest monologues or even the likes of Tennessee Williams’ brilliant take on a metaphorical streetcar namedDesire.

Capturing that moment was moreimportant than writing the poem. Years on, recapturing that elation, almostlike lovemaking but even more intimate and lasting, and sharing it with you, is far more meaningful than a mediocre poemI drafted very roughly on the back of an exam paper because it was all I had.

The closest I had to a mentor during schooldays, anEnglish teacher known affectionately to generations of school kids as ‘Jock’Rankin, once told me that experiencinga poem, or any creative piece for that matter, is as important as the piece itselfbecause it takes us where more often than not we hadn’t even realised we wantedto go. I’d been studying literature at degree level and only just discoveredwhat he meant afterwards

I was so accustomed to jumping inand out of the closet like a jack-in-the-box whenever it suited me that I’dalmost persuaded myself it was the way things had to be.

Oh, I’d enjoyed my flirtation withacademia, and it wasn’t quite over yet, but it was a world away fromcreativity, not to mention real life. I was glad to return to my roots, nomatter what the consequences of thatmight or might not prove to be. Regular readers may recall that one immediateconsequence was a brief fling with a fellow student. I had adored him from a distance forwhat felt like an eternity, but had been too scared to go there, convinced he was a raging heterosexual since he always had a pretty girl on hisarm...

Oh, but how appearances can be sodeceptive, and epiphanies so liberating...!

BONDING WITH NATURE

Trees, rustling

their leaves;

Birds, singing

their songs;

Clouds, smiling

at us,

gay lovers finding

each other

Trees, nodding

their heads;

Birds, heaving

their breasts;

Clouds, passing

us by,

gay lovers kissing

each other

Trees, cheering

us;

Birds, singing

us;

Clouds, blessing

us,

gay lovers, coming

to life

Trees, shaking

their heads;

Birds, flying

off;

Clouds, frowning

at bigots

charging gay lovers

with sin

Trees, welcoming

us back;

Birds, singing

for us;

Clouds, smiling

at us,

gay lovers, returning

to life

Copyright R. N. Taber 1973;2010

Cocktail

2012-01-14T01:34:00.000-08:00

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

I wrote the original draft of today’s poem years ago, and it still pumps new life into this ole dog now and then when his tail starts to droop...

COCKTAIL

You smiled at me. I looked away,

(my companion had already noticed,

warned me you were gay) tried

to ignore an invitation in your eyes

I couldn’t help but read, longing

to respond with unrestrained delight,

but family and friends all thought

I was straight

You edged closer. I tried to follow

my companion’s lively conversation,

nod and smile in the right places

while keeping an appreciative eye

on contours of your body running

true for someone who’s working out

regularly, full lips blowing

kisses at me

My companion glared at you, even

suggested we leave, find another bar,

where our private space would not

be intruded upon by the likes of some

openly gay man claming the right

to make a play for just about anyone

who might take his fancy

(in this case, me)

You leaned across me at the bar,

an erotic cocktail of breath on my lips

demanding I rub a tingling calf

oh, so, subtly against your tight jeans

nor did I pull away a hand on the bar

you brushed with yours, my companion

hastily downing his beer, insisting

we get out of there

I finally met your searching look,

let you read me through and through,

closed book though I had been

for years, recipient of a prejudice fed me

by the less enlightened among us

who prefer to see home truths buried

under a heap of lies, if only to secure

outrageous stereotypes

You took your drink, moved away

and turned your back on me, but not

before you mouthed the invitation

your twinkling eyes had been so keen

to pass on from the start. I fought

in vain to give my companion my full

attention and resist a frantic tugging

at my heart

Suddenly, I did what I’d wanted to do

for years and threw caution

to the wind, saw that peace of mind

would elude me forever and a day

until I not only accepted that I am gay

but refused to hide away, let family

and friends see the whole of me

unashamedly

A bemused companion wishing me well,

I went to tell you I fancied you like hell

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2009

National Trust Outing

2012-01-13T01:16:00.000-08:00

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

Today’s poem last appeared on the blog in February 2010 and is not only a firm favourite of mine but, judging by feedback, has proven popular with many readers, straight as well as gay. It has always gone down well at poetry readings and I love reading it, especially to mixed gay/straight audiences.

New readers may be interested to know that I included it in a very informal poetry reading I gave on the 4^th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in July 2009 as my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley’s One and Other ‘live sculpture’ project to view the performance, click on the link, but be warned the whole thing lasts an hour:

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T

I have also read the poem on YouTube and you can catch the recording below; it is the second of the two poems I read.

NATIONAL TRUST OUTING

On my way downstairs, I paused

to look at a portrait on the wall

and it winked at me, opened

its mouth and said (laughingly),

“Yes, I too was gay in my day

although the word not invented

nor times quite ready to receive

the unseemly likes of a common

painter and his patron lover - so we

had to lie, indulge in subterfuge.

No one had the faintest idea,

certainly not the family (wife and

children included) or that ogre

Establishment whose inner circle

I was free enough to tread, so long

as I dared not bring it into disrepute

by word or deed. Oh, I loved them

well enough, indeed. But it’s not for

love of those I pose - radiating,

I suspect, an inner happiness?

Ah, yes, you understand. It is my

lover’s brush, exploring mind

and soul, touching what makes life

real (no trappings and trimmings

comprising Society’s notion - of

propriety or political expediency,

nor even an image of home fires

burning) – but Love, in all its

rampant glory, telling my story

here and now, for whomsoever might

care to consider, critically, a glow

in the cheek, lift of the eyebrow,

crook of the knee, hands pointedly

showing off slender fingers, touches

invariably missed in critique, put down

to art’s mystique, few appreciating

the intimacy between lover and lover,

bouncing off each other, long after

the oils runs dry, spoils of eternity.”

In my own time I descended,

feeling befriended

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2006

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; a printing error in the first print run was subsequently corrected and the above version also included as an Appendix to A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Awakenings

2012-01-12T05:33:00.000-08:00

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

Several readers have asked me to repeat this poem, but I try to keep repeats about two years apart; this one last appeared on the blog in May 2010. I hope new readers will like it and regular readers will enjoy being reacquainted with it.

Now, I suspect that I am not alone in saying that some of my happiest memories are also among the cheekiest...

AWAKENINGS

Lying in your bed

in the middle of the night,

I start nibbling at an ear

and give you a fright, even

as you’re panting away

with dreamy delight

Riding a storm,

I ease your shorts down,

tongue in your cheek

pleading penetration while

I’m already wrestling

with a condom

As your body

responds to my sensuous heat,

we take a decision

not to retreat, in the light

of your being aroused

and well up for it

Wave after wave

to a safer shore than any dream

has to offer, we tumble

each other, drenching the sheets

with intimate

laughter

Becalmed at last,

we Creatures of infinite Deep

turn over, go back to sleep

and make love again, knowing

Apollo will have

the last word

Copyright R. N. Taber 1996; 2010

[Note; This poem has been slightly revised from the original that first appeared in my early selection, August And Genet (Aramby Publications, 1996 & 1st eds. of my first major collection Love And Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2001; a 2nd ed. of the latter title is in preparation.]

Out Of Africa

2012-01-11T00:46:00.000-08:00

http://aspectsofagaymanslifeinverse.blogspot.com/

Today’s post is duplicated on my general blog because, hopefully, it will be of real interest and concern to all readers. Here in the UK, it is bad enough that homophobia and hate crime against gay people, especially gay men, is alive and kicking, but in some parts of the world, and not only in the southern hemisphere either, it aspires to diabolical proportions.

Anyone who watched the Channel Four Dispatches programme ‘Africa: the last taboo’ in July 2010 will have a good idea what it is like to be gay in the greater part of Africa.

Now, evangelical pastors preaching homophobia and worse across the world have much to answer for, but it is perhaps the greater part of Africa that they aspire to their most diabolical; their influence is such that a newspaper editor in Uganda has called for the deaths of known gay people, and they must accept no small responsibility for anti-gay legislation in many if not most African countries.

http://www.channel4.com/programmes/dispatches/episode-guide/series-65/episode-1

OUT OF AFRICA

‘Kill the homosexuals!’

an evangelical pastor cried,

and true to his words

many gay men and women

have since died

‘Homosexuals are sinners!’

the impassioned pastor yelled

at a congregation

that took up the cry, would

see us killed

‘Homosexuality is an evil,’

the demon pastor screamed,

‘and no known cure

so kill, kill, or see its sinning

go unredeemed!’

‘Man shall with woman lie!’

The pastor furiously exhorted

his flock to heed verses

from Leviticus, Christ’s coming

conveniently aborted

Someone in the congregation

dared point out that Christ said

we should love

and help our neighbours, not

wish them dead

‘Blasphemer!” the pastor cried,

near hysterically refusing to relent

his demonising

of homosexuality undermining

New Testament

Africa, Africa, what are you doing,

even listening?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: This poem will appear in my new collection Tracking the Torchbearer to be published in the spring.]

Slump

2012-01-10T01:14:00.000-08:00

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

Today’s poem appears on both blogs; it last appeared on the general blog in 2008 and has not found its way to my gay-interest blog at all so I guess it’s high time I gave it an airing. It is particularly relevant for me at the moment as I have a very bad cold and ‘slump’ is just about all I want to do. At the same time, from what people tell me, 'slump' just about sums up post New Year's Day January.

So it's not a gay-interest poem, so what? Does the heterosexual majority have a monopoly on 'slump'? I think not...

SLUMP