Growing Pains OR Waking Up to Sexual Identity

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

Acknowledging to ourselves that we are gay before we are quite mature enough to take it in our stride is never easy; it is even harder for those who are growing up in a gay-unfriendly home and/or or wider environment.

As for telling family and friends, that can be an even harder nut to crack, and depends on how close and understanding they prove to be; many young gay people are pleasantly surprised when they break the news. Even so, relatively few heterosexual adults have a clue what we go through. So today’s post is duplicated on both blogs since it is for parents as well as for young gay people and their peers everywhere. Not everyone will be happy for us, at ease with our sexual identity or even begin to recognize its integrity. We can but get on with our lives and remember that there are some rotten apples in every barrel.

Now, today’s poem has appeared on the blog before, but not for some time. I wrote it in 1990 after reflecting on my own troubled schooldays, but recently revised its appearance on the page.  In 1993 a youth, also still at school, contacted me anonymously about his desperation at realising he is gay and feeling unable to discuss it with anyone. I arranged with the editor of a poetry magazine, circulated in the area where the youth lived, to include the poem in the next edition although it would be years later before he contacted me to say he’d read it and felt reassured by it. 

On Tuesday evening, a young man phoned in a similar condition. He would not give his name, but we agreed I would call him Simon. I talked to him for a long time. He gradually calmed down and seemed less tearful. I said he could call me any time day or night, but urged him to find a gay support group either within or outside his area; I don’t know what part of the UK he lives, but thankfully there are plenty now, nationwide, all listed on the Internet.

Sadly, Simon would not even consider telling his family or even his best friend. It appears all are devout Christians. Well, if they are devout Christians, they should listen to what Jesus said and let love, not bigotry, lend its weight to their feelings; the first being as natural as a tree that grows where nature planted its seed while the second is a monstrosity created by human beings, and is anything but natural.

This was not the first time someone has called me to confide their struggle with an awakening sexuality it happens every now and then, especially during school holidays. I feel a profound sadness that it can still happen in the 21^st century.

The poem dedicated to young people everywhere who feel alone and scared because they have reason to believe they are gay. You are not alone and it’s nothing to be scared of, but you need to find someone you can really talk to and will listen; the sooner, the better. The best person is always someone to whom you feel close, will support you and whom you can trust to keep a confidence until you feel ready to tell others you're gay and if they have a problem with that, it's their problem, not yours; in addition, or even as a first resort of there is no one else to whom you can turn, counsellors at gay support groups do a great job and it is also an opportunity to meet others who know exactly what you are going through.

GROWING PAINS or WAKING UP TO SEXUAL IDENTITY

It was after Maths, and I had forgotten

a text book so you came back with me,

ostensibly to help me look, only minutes

to spare before Chemistry...

Suddenly, you were holding me

and your mouth missed mine

only because I panicked and ran,

shoving you aside. I remember

how you cried out, all that fear

and pain and love banging in my head

like passionate drums...

But there was no passion in me,

only feelings run riot and I don’t know

how I got through the next weeks,

avoiding you at every turn, demanding

of my anguished Youth other energies

to burn, sought in next-door Mary

other lessons to learn, and learned them well,

hurled into a hell of isolation, playing

at boyfriend, bike mate, regular son, unable

to relate to anyone, riding pillion

on Conversation in perfect rhythm without

much sense until, smashed and weary,

I let peel off all pretence, layer by layer,

sprawled on my bed, hypnotised

by a dippy moth making frantic wing

overhead...

I caught up with you after school

one day, felt foolish fumbling for things

to say, anxiously confided a pain

with geometry. You would not even

look at me…

At your house you turned the key

just as I found words to chance me,

and you (angrily) gave the door

a mighty kick, blinking back tears

that prick me even now, years on,

(no idea where he may have gone)

cherishing still our first nakedness,

who were born to thrill to a freedom

(finally) brought to bear in ritual ending

of our fear

Copyright R. N. Taber 1996;2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in August and Genet by R. N. Taber (Wire Poetry Booklet Series) aramb Publishing, 1996 and subsequently in Community of Poets, Winter 1999 prior to its inclusion in my first collection Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Apollo In Winter

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

I hadn’t intended to write a poem for the winter solstice even though it happens to fall on my birthday. [I am 66 years-old today...oo-err!] However, ‘Joel from somewhere in the universe’ has asked me to write something for his grandpa whose eightieth birthday is also today. It seems that Joel’s granddad is from Greece originally, but hasn’t lived there for years, and came out in 1991 when he was sixty.

Oh, but it’s just as the old adage goes; it’s never too late to get a life.

Congratulations go to grandpa and partner, and many thanks to Joel for getting in touch. I have tried to open up the poem so it is not only the likes of Joel’s grandpa that can relate to it.

This poem is a villanelle.

APOLLO IN WINTER or CUE FOR AN ARMISTICE

Risen one winter solstice,

in the firing line of ungodly bigotry,

forever proposing an armistice

As vulnerable to distress

as wintry hearts a summer memory;

risen one winter solstice

Driven close to The Abyss,

never giving ground on a spirituality

forever proposing an armistice

Savouring freedom in openness,

nurturing every seedling to maturity;

risen one winter solstice

Resilient if tearful under duress;

among shades of awakening sexuality,

forever proposing an armistice

No lack of strategies for peace,

despite a warring twenty-first century;

risen one winter solstice,

forever proposing an armistice

London: Dec 21^st 2011

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: According to Greek mythology, Apollo, the sun god, was bisexual, but had a special preference for male companionship, and more ...]

Epilogue OR G-A-Y, Survivors

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

Today’s poem is a rare self-indulgence in so far as it is probably the closest to a strictly autobiographical I have ever written. Oh, I draw on personal experiences and feelings often enough, but try to give the reader space to explore their own. Getting too personal can often inhibit the reader. On this occasion, though, I will chance it. Not only is it one of the longest poems I have ever written but it is also one of the most therapeutic.

I have met many people who, for whatever reason, don’t ‘do’ family. Some of them are bitter, and I can empathise with that. I once met a young man who told me he loved his family, but they were very religious and would not be able to accept he is gay so he felt he must stay in the closet if only for their sakes. I dare say he is still there. I only hope his bitterness does not erode the love he has for his family until it becomes hate. 

Bitterness is such a destructive force. Just because family life doesn’t come up to storybook expectations doesn’t mean we have to live an epilogue in the same vein.

A neighbour recently asked me if I am spending Christmas with family and was visibly shocked when I told him I’m not much of a family person. Nothing and no one will ever change that. I count myself lucky to have some good friends, which more than compensates. Even so, at this time of year my thoughts often turn to my brother and his family with whom I’ve had no contact since 1985. Oh, I dare say they blame me for most of the reasons why, just as I used to blame them. The irony is we have never sat down and talked any of these reasons through, not a single one.  

It is a Taber family trait, predominantly but not entirely on the male side, this reluctance if not inability to talk things through. Thankfully, my mother was an exception and taught me all I know about how to talk, how to listen, and when.  Believe me, this is a real education for a fire sign like me. At the same time, it can backfire (often does) as I get very frustrated and angry when people won’t talk through any issues we might have with one another. I’ll restrain myself for just so long, and then something (usually trivial) bursts open the floodgates and I let rip...  

I dare say my own family estrangements (immediate and peripheral) makes me something of a hypocrite when I advise people to kiss and make up with family members if they really want to and believe there’s a real chance their efforts will be reciprocated. Oh, well, no one is perfect...

Whatever, especially at this time of year when families are supposed to enjoy happy times together - as many, many, will do, and I envy them - I can’t help wondering what it is about some families that they seem to have an innate if subconscious fascination with the nature of self-destruct...

Christmas is a religious festival. How many other religious festivals, I wonder, are a camouflage for what secrets, lies, dysfunctional relationships...and what does that say about religion?

EPILOGUE or G-A-Y, SURVIVORS

Staring into a hearth fire
from the comfort of an armchair,
half afraid of shadows
that pose no real threat here,
cannot hurt me now,
even those to whom I’ve not been fair
so no blame there
for seeking revenge on a night
such as this, by a coal fire,
stoking up old memories, recalling
other Christmases

We were but a small family,
just Mum and Dad, Bro and me
trying to convince ourselves
and each other we were making out
well enough, Dad working
his socks off to see wife and kids okay
if always too tired to listen
to a word we had to say, never asked
about our day, demanding
affection, never dreaming he needed
to earn it

My mother, she did her best,
nursed pulp fictions of family unity
till the day she died,
loved us all to bits, and always tried
to make us see
how my dad had lived for navy days
for many a year,
surviving a savage World War,
dreaming of peace,
a wife and family he hardly knew
and so much more...

In my home fire’s cosy glow,
I mingle with shadows on the wall
hear them telling
tales about me I’d heard long ago
lying on my bed,
listening to my parents rowing below
about how I’d done this
or hadn’t done that, should know better
at my age, blotting another page
in the daily life of an extraordinarily
ordinary family

Christmas would come and go,
excitement about presents and whether
it would snow,
roasting chestnuts with neighbours,
picking at the turkey
in our kitchen, the whole house full
of fun and laughter
for as long as the magic lasted,
then back to normal,
all hell broken out, and me at the heart
of it all

It’s not as if my childhood
was deprived or my parents beat me
or I went hungry,
missed out on friends, halcyon days
of children at play,
engaging in delightful fantasy,
escaping from the horror
of the school playground and times
I’d hear my dad shout,
‘Elbows off the table, and don’t
look at me like that!’

Was it really all my fault?
I used to ask the shadows on the wall
at cosy fires
when I’d feel safe from an ever present
enemy having at go at me
for not answering, not listening, having
my head stuck in a story...
so I’d act the fool or throw a tantrum
and it wouldn’t occur
to any of them I had difficulty
hearing...

By the time I realised I’m gay,
relations with my family were so poor
that I was a stranger
to them all, and if close to my mother
dared not tell even her
for years, when she burst into tears
and swore me to secrecy
while doing her best to reassure me
my sexuality was neither crime
nor terrible sin if a matter better left
well alone

Amber glow, it’s fading fast,
fire sure to die soon if I make no move
to save it,
scary shadows grown so small I could be
a giant in a fantasy
risen from the ashes of my family
to reassure me,
tell me  it really doesn’t matter any more,
no one is to blame,
and forgiveness is the name of the game
this Christmas

I’ll feed the fire and read a book, a pleasure
since no need for an escape route any more

[London: December 2011]

Copyright R, N. Taber 2011

Chasing the Dragon OR A Walk on the Dark Side

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

None of us, gay or straight, man or woman, are immune to the pressures this sorry world brings to bear, and if most of us manage to survive on better terms, each of us in our own way is no less responsible for those that go under.

Oh, but it could never happen to us? That’s what they all say before the light dims in their private space and they fall foul of predators cruising a twilight world most of us can barely imagine.

For those spending Christmas or any festive occasion on our own, it can be sad time... if we let it.

There are far sadder ways to spend what is a living nightmare for some people, and not just at festive times. Drugs and alcohol addiction, domestic and street violence, poverty, homelessness... they take their toll all year round, but especially perhaps when it seems (outwardly at least) everyone else has something to celebrate. It is much the same for a significant minority in many large towns and cities worldwide, and a poor indictment, indeed, on this 21st century of ours that (so far, at least) nowhere near enough is being done to give these people hope and the means by which to get a better, kinder and more secure life.

CHASING THE DRAGON or A WALK ON THE DARK SIDE

One night in December
dragons roamed London town
in a rainy mist curtaining down
on carols in the Square;
nine-to-five heroes making cheer,
fog lights in red-rim eyes
quizzing here; there, ghosts
of Christmas grabbing shelter
in a doorway, foot nudging
a cradle of rags that’s stirred,
snored, slept on, not worth
a second glance; so let’s lead
a merry dance through the streets,
wondering where those beasts
have gone whose scales turn brightly
in the forest nightly?

I saw no dragons, whose roars
of distress and pain blinding me
like acid rain; no end in sight
but light under a door, a whore
my saviour! Together, scared
of Christmas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2011

[From: Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

I wrote this next poem a few days before Christmas in 1986 after I got chatting to a young rent boy in a café in Piccadilly Circus.

No, I wasn’t looking for sex, but we struck up an instant rapport. He told me how he had run away from home and wanted to earn enough money to enable him and his girlfriend to ‘get a life, like other people.’ At the same time, he hastened to assure me that ‘being up for rent is okay as far as it goes.’ He confided that both he and the girlfriend were mad about cricket and had plans to migrate to Australia. [Plans, I wondered, or pipe dreams?] He kept insisting his current way of life was only a temporary measure, but when pressed, admitted he’d been ‘doing business’ for a couple of years. What of his family, I asked, did they even know he was alive? He shrugged, ‘They never gave a toss about me, and I certainly don’t give a toss about them,’ was all he’d say.

He was sixteen years-old.

After I’d bought us several cappuccinos, he left. A well-dressed punter, shiny shoes and smart suit oozing affluence and a comfortable life if an unfulfilled one, had been covertly observing us from a nearby table for some time; finally, he had signalled an interest.

What kind of Christmas would ‘Danny’ have, I wondered? [Yes, I could have intervened on the youth’s behalf, but would probably have ended up the worse for wear, and he‘d neither have thanked me for it nor missed out on an opportunity to boost his savings for Dreamland. Besides, I’d gone with the occasional rent boy myself during my dark, closet years, so am no better or worse than that punter, except he was wearing a wedding ring and I never would.

As I watched him go, the idea for Danny, one of the chief characters in my gay-crime trilogy (Blasphemy-Sacrilege-Redemption) came into my head and refused to leave. [By the way, apologies to readers who keep asking when Redemption will be available as I have not been well enough to finish it; hopefully, it will be ready sometime next year although I’ll probably post it on my fiction blog, and then publish to Kindle rather than in book form.]

Few rent boys haunt Piccadilly Circus these days although there are plenty to be found in various cruising areas and bars across London as in most big cities. I never saw ‘Danny’ again, but only recently chatted to a homeless man who has been sleeping rough for years. He told me he is HIV+ (among other things) and had once been a rent boy ‘...when I was young and pretty. But as you get older, the looks go and so do the punters.’ Not all rent boys end up like this, of course, but a good many do.

I have often wondered why relatively few rent boys seem able to get their lives together the way many if not most female prostitutes used to here in the UK; before, that is, the illegal drugs trade got out of hand and cheap alcohol became so readily available. I used to know a prostitute (I’ll call her Lisa) who stayed on the game for years even after investing her ‘ill-gotten gains’ in property and becoming ‘all but respectable’ as she would say. She was a very kind person and great fun. Tragically, some bastard drugs pusher infiltrated her defences, and got her hooked on heroin. She overdosed while alone in her apartment one Christmas when she was barely into her forties.

We should not be quick to judge. It takes a stronger and more mature person than ‘Danny’ or ‘Lisa’ to avoid going into freefall. Sometimes, the more we aspire to a better, kinder life, the farther away it all seems...and when those better off than ourselves tell us to get our act together while we spend every waking moment trying to do just that...Well, who can wonder that some people succumb to despair?

No, this isn’t a 'Happy Christmas' post, but it does none of us any harm to give some thought to the darker side of life while we are tucking into the turkey and pulling crackers. The world has more than its fair share of Danny's and Lisa's. May they survive the winter, and let us hope the New Year will give them a chance to bring their hopes and dreams closer to fulfilment.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Come all ye faithful, ghosts
of near and far,
shades of swing and see-saw
haunting every bar

As joyful and triumphant,
as leather on willow;
(if such a good innings, why
tears on the pillow?)

Came ye to old London town,
prostrate before Eros
on a ticket to the Circus
one Christmas...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2011

[Note: A slightly different version of this poem appears in  Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Portrait of the Artist as a Young (gay) Man

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

Once I had a really awful nightmare. I was fifteen years-old at the time. None of my family knew about my awakening homosexuality. I did not feel I could confide in anyone because gay relationships were illegal at the time. Yes, I had found ways to explore my feelings with other gay youths and men, but it was pretty scary all the same.

My mother’s explanation was basic, but very much to the point. She explained that dreams, even bad ones, are a safety-net for feelings we cannot explain or put into words because, for whatever reason, we have no conscious grasp of their wider implications. We might be in denial or grappling with emotions on the surface without really and/or truthfully understanding or acknowledging their depth. While good dreams can be inspirational, bad dreams are nothing to fear because (she assured me) the Sandman is always on our side and has our best interests at heart.

As an adult, I still take reassurance from the fact  the sandmen are on my side even if it took a good few years for me to be convinced.

PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST AS A YOUNG (GAY) MAN

A blackbird flew me into dawn’s
early glow, and together we discovered
where the Sandmen go;
gathered under a rainbow
among sunbeams, mixing its colours,
painting our dreams

Mind and body told me I should leave
without delay; in my dreams, he alone
would have the last say;
I couldn’t pick and choose
from the best, no artist dare ignore
the worst

The blackbird would have flown on
into the day, but I was having none of it,
would have my say;
How could a Sandman
always get it right, invade free spirits
each night?

‘Ah,’ said the Sandman, ‘it’s for you
to find your own way through the rainbow
to what lies behind;
the human spirit is a complex affair,
heaven forbid we should either prompt
or interfere.’

‘A human being is a unique creation,
free to fly at will, nor are we its keepers;
we can but try
to offer ways of seeing
the inner eye can observe, inspiring
hope and endeavour.’

‘Yet, humanity is but a fragile thing,
despite hidden strengths that will see it
right as often as not,
and it is down to us Sandmen
to see where it’s broken, pieces fallen,
patch it up

Blackbird dropped me there, left me
but half awake to ponder the implications
of daybreak,
and I thought I heard
it singing out there, where it’s a Sandman
has the last word

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

A (Gay) Poet's Take On Stoicism

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

Only recently, I was chatting to someone in a cafe who, after a while, asked me if I am gay. When I answered in the affirmative, he confided that he, too, is gay, but scared’ not only of coming out to family and friends he had reason to suspect would not be supportive, to say the least, but also of his understanding of the whole gay ethic. ‘I’m not sure I want to live a gay life,’ he told me.

So what is a gay life? For goodness sake, apart from our sexuality, we live no different a life, for better or worse, than those among the heterosexual majority. Being in a minority may mean we have to work harder to assert ourselves more often than not, but my gut feeling is it’s only human nature to be up for this challenge or that. Moreover, the human spirit does not suffer fools gladly.  

Let’s face it, even being actively closet, in those countries in the southern hemisphere whose governments continue to hold a candle to the ignorant ramblings of various socio-cultural-religious bigots, is not only a challenge but is also knowingly and invariably bravely sowing the first seeds of a deservedly inauspicious end for our enemies.

So let’s go for it, yeah?

A (GAY) POET’S TAKE ON STOICISM

Temptation drove me to cliffs,
where I contemplated rocks below,
despairing of such an end as this,
seemingly no place else I dare go;
the cliffs, they yelled defiantly
above the furious roar of a raging sea;
their words struck a chord in me,
Life and Death vying for my sanity

Nature raised a Gorgon's head
like a devil among the monstrous foam,
wishing me ill (better still, dead)
resolved to turn my better self to stone;
Love it was that had other ideas,
and joined the battle for my salvation,
converging on my worst fears,
blasting them with ancient canon

Life ill-deserves such derision
as to be tossed in a storm’s fierce jaws,
the consequences of our action
condoning betrayal of all natural laws;
where nature vents its fury
on lesser humanity’s short-sightedness
to colour, creed, sex or sexuality,
let' stand firm, reconcile differences

I answered Love’s call that day,
and the sea began to calm, the sun shine,
dark clouds steadily driven away,
like prejudices (eventually) in decline
while I returned, my corner to fight,
argue the ages-old case for sexual identity,
expose myself to human right,
walk tall, proud, confident and free

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Woman, Gay Man's Best Friend

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

Many thanks to those readers who have been in touch to say how much they enjoy my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Meanwhile...

Some readers tell me I should invest my poetry with more humour. Well, there is a wry humour in many of my poems if you happen to be in the mood to catch it. Or maybe you would prefer something more up-front, like this...?

WOMAN, GAY MANS BEST FRIEND

Once upon a time, I tried to go straight,
even went out on a female date;
she sort of liked me, and I felt the same,
but the chemistry wasn’t there
so (oh, dear) we just settled for a game
of strip poker

Needless to say, she got the better of me,
but, oh, how we laughed helplessly
till I blurted out blushing, ‘I think I’m gay’;
she just told me to get dressed,
poured two stiff drinks that saved the day,
and I confessed

I told her about a gorgeous guy in my office
and how I’d tried not to notice,
how he stares at me when I thinks I’m busy
so won’t get any ideas,
but (oh, dear) I already had plenty, mostly
in my trousers

She said I should chat him up without delay
since the chances are we’re both gay,
better (surely?) grasp the proverbial nettle,
and let human nature do its job,
no matter if it means I play teapot to a kettle
on the hob

So I took her at her word and caught his eye,
let him see, if he was lusting, so was I;
to my undisguised delight, she’d been spot on,
and soon we were enjoying our first date,
the irony being, it had taken a pretty woman
to bring us out

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Millions Like Us

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

Let some people say what they will, there is nothing ‘unnatural’ about being gay. Nor are we select products of our environment. We are human beings and no less natural for being gay than if we were (heaven forbid) straight. We come into the world this way and bigots should keep in mind that we are (or should be) a common humanity, whatever (and wherever) our socio-cultural-religious roots.

As I have said time and again on the blogs, and written poems on the same theme, sexuality has to be in the genes or how else can we explain that there are gay, homosexual, queer people (what's in a name anyway?) world-wide from all manner of socio-cultural-religious backgrounds? Furthermore, history tells us that many gay people have made a valuable contribution to the arts and sciences, so that hardly justifies the bigots and religious fundamentalists dismissing us for not ticking the right boxes. [Who wants to tick theirs anyway?]

In other words, we’re all in the same boat and if the boat is top heavy, no one is going to use our sexuality as a reason for our being the first to be thrown overboard. Just let them try, yeah?

Sexuality is only a part of our whole identity; it is the whole that counts. How would the socio-cultural-religious homophobes (by any other name) among us like it if we were to all but ignore everything about them except for their having drawn the heterosexual straw in the womb?

For anyone interested you can hear me read today’s poem on Brighton beach back in May for my YouTube channel. Incidentally, the camcorder we were using was stolen and I replaced it with an updated version of the same model that seems to work much better. We have recently improved recordings further by using a digital Dictaphone, but can only use this for voice-overs. I love recording on location, but we don’t have top of the range equipment (more like the reverse) so have to hope for the best. A number of viewers have been in touch to say they enjoy my YouTube channel while Graham and I have great fun making the videos so that’s good enough for us. Moreover, reading the poems and editing the videos has been a very enjoyable learning curve for Graham and me so look out for more as time goes by.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxDfd2Pxqic

If the link doesn’t work, go to my YouTube channel. Click on ‘see all’ and scroll down to Brighton in May (3):

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

[OR (updated 2012) simply click on the video below in which it is one of two poems I read.]

This poem is a kenning.

MILLIONS LIKE US

I am but one among many
sometimes pushed into a corner
or against a wall,
nor does Earth Mother always hear
when I call on her
to referee a fair fight, whistle them
downwind who seek
to wipe me out, cast doubt
on my birthright

I can but catch the tears
Earth Mother lets fall for failing me
sometimes, wash myself clean
of the world’s blood, sweat and dirt
staining my shirt,
pick myself up again, smile
in the face of adversity,
signal to my enemy that I am not
discouraged easily

I take hope and inspiration
from Earth Mother’s heartfelt concern
for all her children,
vulnerable as some of us are
to humankind’s dark side, especially
the likes of me,
frowned upon by a majority
bent on playing up to temporal ‘norms’
and a fragile spirituality

Call me out, who puts the ‘I’ in Identity,
the gene nature lets speak for sexuality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

[Note: This poem will be included in my collection Tracking The Torchbearer scheduled for publication in February/March 2012]

I am Stonewall, Making the Case for a Common Humanity

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

Sunday, June 28, marks the anniversary of the Stonewall riots in 1969, the event largely regarded as a catalyst for the LGBT movement for civil rights in the United States.  The riots inspired LGBT people throughout the country to organise in support of gay rights, and within two years after the riots, gay rights groups had been started in nearly every major city in the United States. 

Gay history has made us who we are. We, in turn, continue to make gay history with every positive step we take in its name. It is as much a part of gay people as the history of art, literature, music, sport...whatever it is that matters most to us in so far as we recognise it has helped shape the multiple facets of our identity for the good.

There will always be those bigots who love the sound of their own voices and will loudly insist that homosexuality is not a force for good. Oh, and bigotry is...?

This poem is a villanelle.

I AM STONEWALL, MAKING THE CASE FOR A COMMON HUMANITY

It’s no small part of me,
aches along with ageing bones
would set my spirit free

Even nature’s poetry
cannot gag its cries and groans;
it’s no small part of me

Alive to my sexuality
that an ages-old bigotry disowns,
would set my spirit free

Haunted by dark misery,
morality’s love for hurling stones;
it’s no small part of me

Yet, there is creativity,
uniting even the world’s religions,
would set my spirit free

An inspired spirituality
configuring a common humanity;
it’s no small part of me
would set my spirit free

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Philanthropists

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

Although I am not a religious person, I respect the beliefs of others. As for God, I am not exactly closed minded on the subject, but take what I feel as a strong sense of spirituality from nature, not religion. I grew up with religion and it did nothing for me except except torment me by making me feel a freak because I am gay. Nature makes me feel good about myself, so - rightly or wrongly - I will stick with nature. I am no atheist, though, and maybe nature and what we call God are the same...who knows?

A friend for whom religion is a huge part of his life and personal identity once asked me if I thought religion was 'big enough' to accept a gay person. I lent him a DVD called 'Rock Haven' about a young Christian struggling to reconcile his religion with being gay. It is a beautiful film.

Religion should never be confused with spirituality. The latter is by far the stronger and its pull by far the greater. When it comes to making the right choices, especially in matters of the heart, there is no place for misplaced guilt of the kind often imposed by those who profess to have our best interests at heart, but only according to some socio-cultural-religious criteria that is even more misplaced.

Christian, Muslim, whatever...we are as we are born, and if we believe in a God that is helping to shape body, mind and spirit then how can anyone believe he or she deserves rejection for this same God's shaping that part of us that happens to be gay. I don't, never have, and never will. Yes, there is an integral part of me that cannot relate to any religious dogma or ideology, but that has nothing to do with my being gay.

Where religion and love are seen to be at loggerheads, love is rarely if ever to blame.

PHILANTHROPISTS 

The sky was grey, sea even greyer
as we walked on a beach one summer
excavating layer upon layer
of mixed feelings for one another;
we were in love, on that we agree,
but you saw your relationship with God
under threat and a greater need
for that than nurturing love’s seed

‘God is love, ‘I put it to you in tears,
touching on a wisdom beyond my years,
desperate to allay your worst fears,
sensing I was losing you to The Others;
I tried to convince you with a kiss
that no benign God would begrudge us
a peace of mind and happiness
sullied by secrecy for anxious centuries

I saw your fearful glance at a cloud,
its rage bearing down as if speaking aloud
what others in that ugly crowd
were silently praying to some bigot God;
suddenly, the sun came out to play,
slowly but surely chased the clouds away
as white horses in a sea no longer grey
reared as if saluting us, though we be gay

You saw it as a sign of God’s philanthropy
as I thanked Earth Mother for rescuing me


Copyright R. N. Taber 1966; 2010; 2017

]Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

A Spelling Lesson

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

Family, lovers, friends, colleagues...we are all only human, and it is a sad trait of human nature that we don't always see the wood for the damn trees.

Now, I often repeat poems a year or so after their first appearance on the blog for those readers who don’t have time to browse the blog archives due to other commitments or only have access to a public computer. I try to vary the preamble, but in this case I find myself duplicating the original post from 2009 almost word for word. It is as if my feelings on the subject are so strong that I cannot find a different way of expressing them.

Happy is not a word we hear often enough as we get on with our daily lives.

I well recall how, years ago [I'd have been about eight or nine years old] we kids were taught to sing a lively song at Sunday School; the lyric went like this:

I’m H-A-P-P-Y,
I’m H-A-P-P-Y,
I know I am,
I’m sure I am,
I’m H-A-P-P-Y

Only, it was a lie. I wasn’t happy at all. I fretted about that song for years. How come, I'd wonder, everyone was happy except me?

I should say that didn't have an unhappy childhood, but problems at school, a hearing problem no one picked up on and an appalling relationship with my father meant that it wasn't a particularly happy one either. As I got older, I then had to tackle the question of my sexual identity in a climate that was very anti-gay. If my childhood was difficult, my youth and young manhood were a total nightmare. None of my family would have understood, even my mother at the time. Thank goodness I discovered the twilight world of gay sex to keep me sane. Well, sane’ish... I siffered from depression for years, and syill do, although childhood depression was rarely if ever recognised for what it was years ago. It should have come as no surprise that I had a severe nervous breakdown in my early 30s.

While I am not bitter (well, not any more, just profoundly sad) I often wish someone had taken the trouble to ask me how I felt. It is good that adults listen to children and young people more these days. Perhaps if someone had asked me, it would not have taken so many years before I could relate to the words of that song...

A SPELLING LESSON

In the garden every day.
I’d tell my love I’m gay,
but my love would not hear,
my love was never there,
my love would be humming
pop songs in the car
on the way to or from work,
glancing at the office clock,
pausing at this task or that
to keep the cat, dog or budgie
happy

In the garden, I’d find a way
to tell my love I’m gay
and we’d lie in a bed of grass,
returning kiss for kiss
while rediscovering ourselves,
reinventing ourselves,
learning to show our feelings,
share them, let passion take
its course, tear off the clothes
a heart but hires to keep a body
happy?

The day came, I found a way
to tell my love I’m gay,
heard the words I longed to hear
whispered in my ear
and we lay in a bed of grass,
returning kiss for kiss
while rediscovering ourselves,
reinventing ourselves,
learning to let
love alone get us high,
be H-A-P-P-Y

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Going to meet The Man OR God Is No Homophobe

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

Today's poem has appeared on the blog before, but is repeated again today especially for 'Ivor' and 'Colleen', two gay people who have been in touch to say it helped reinforce a tenuous hold on their respective religions after being rejected by their local religious communities for being gay.

Now, regular readers will know that I subscribe to no religion, but find spiritual relief and inspiration in nature where religion offers me only division and bigotry. Even so, I will always defend anyone’s right to follow the religion of their choice regardless of colour, sex or sexuality.

So-called religious people who practice any form of socio-cultural-religious bigotry are a disgrace to their religion and its founders as far as I’m concerned. I have even said so on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrTjc2373IU

GOING TO MEET THE MAN or GOD IS NO HOMOPHOBE

A young man went to heaven,
and knocked at the door;
an angel came, looked him over,
told him he’d have to wait
a wee longer. A second angel arrived,
carrying the Book, stood there,
scratched his head, gave the poor lad
a hard, old-fashioned look.
When yet a third angel came to see
whatever could the matter be,
the youth managed to say,
‘Is there a problem ’cause I’m gay?’
The angels muttered piously,
‘Know, truth will have its way.’
The young man broke down
and turned to leave when Someone
took him, oh, so gently
by the sleeve, reminding loud
and clear...

"Who seeks shall enter."

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2010

[Note: Slightly revised (2010) from an earlier version that appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002 and other poetry publications.  Oh, and yes, the poem takes its title from a wonderful novel by that outstanding writer, James Baldwin.]

Behind Closed Doors

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

I saw my consultant the other day about my prostate cancer. She was very understanding and we have agreed a compromise. I will continue with hormone therapy for another nine months, and then stop for a while. If my PSA level does not shoot up, I will continue the hormone therapy, but if it does I will need to have radiotherapy. Even so, should the latter scenario arise, we can take into account my weak bladder next time so maybe it won’t be so stressful! Fingers crossed that the hormone therapy will keep the cancer at bay.

Meanwhile...

Some people who enjoy my YouTube channel expressed delight at my latest attempts at voice-over poems. My close fried Graham and I plan to use the same technique from time to time:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pT-qqOje4vY

[NB If the link doesn’t work, go to my YouTube channel, click on ‘see all’ and look for ‘Engaging with History’ (You may have to register with YouTube):

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

Now, I feel fine, but could be better, and am less able to travel these days as I need to pass water (that’s go for a pee to the initiated) a LOT.

Meanwhile ...

The poem below has appeared on my general blog and is posted here today especially for ‘Glen’ and ‘Ronan’ who spotted it and have been in touch to say it struck a chord with them. It appears they have ‘homophobic neighbours who son has just come out’! Well, I hope those neighbours will revise their views and continue to love the guy just the same. Most parents do even if it is a struggle for them at first. Sadly, love does not win every battle, but it has been my experience that it usually wins the war.

Now, communication (or the lack of it) between people is a regular theme of mine since I first started writing poetry years ago. It continues to strike me as ironic that in this Age of Technology that has given us mobile phones and the Internet, there are many, many people out there who never really talk to each other.

I learned the art of listening and talking things through from my mother. My father and brother never did; neither would take any interest in what anyone had to say unless they were likely to agree. As for even trying to enter into someone else’s point of view, that was completely beyond them. It led to all kinds of tensions at home. In time, especially being gay, I began to realise that this, for the majority of people, was the rule rather than the exception.

For years, I envied two straight friends who seemed to have everything; a great relationship with each other; a beautiful home; successful careers... One died of a heart-related illness and a hundred or so family and friends packed the little churchyard where he was laid to rest. Later that day, I found myself alone with his partner and commented how fortunate they were to have had 20 great years together.

‘Well, one great dream year anyway,' she confided. 'After that, just nineteen years of more dreaming because it was easier to go along with the damn dream than admit the reality. We should have split up years ago.'

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Nor did he,’ murmured my friend. ‘That was our reality.’ She looked right at me. ‘I won’t miss it, Roger. I certainly won’t be shedding any tears over it. We were like manikins in a shop window for years. Who's fool enough to cry over a manikin, eh?’ She walked away, dry-eyed and as pale as a ghost. Weeks later, she moved away and did not keep in touch. The last I heard about a year ago, she has a new partner, a baby, and is very happy.

Ah, but who knows what goes on behind closed doors...?

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

I’d hear a knocking at the window,
a creaking on the stair,
but every time I looked for you,
you were never there

I’d write you unfinished love poems,
sing your praises in your ear,
but every time you looked at me,
I was never there

We’d join rambles in the countryside,
ride on dodgems at the fair,
but every time I looked for you,
you were never there

I’d bring you flowers from the garden
we’d nurture and share,
but every time you looked at me,
I was never there

The perfect couple, we’d hear them say,
an irony I learned to bear;
whenever I looked to you for love,
you were never there

Ghosts, come alive in chance memories
of the after-dinner kind,
a template for wishful thinking
written on the wind

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note:I plan to include this poem in my new collection - Tracking the Torchbearer - for which I am collating poems for its publication, spring 2012.]

Shaping the Clay

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

As regular readers know, most if not all my love poems are written with my late partner in mind even though he died many years ago and we only had a relatively short time together.Today’s simple poem has not appeared on the blog since 2009; it is repeated today for new readers and especially for ‘Christina’ who has been in touch recently to say she came across the poem by chance while browsing the blog archives and it made her cry. Apparently, it had upset her deeply that she had never been unable to cry for her partner, killed in a random attack by a mentally ill person some months ago ...  until now.

I feel very moved and privileged to have helped ease her pain even just a little. She said ‘thank you’ but it is me who must thank her. I ask you, what more praiseworthy comment on a poem can any poet ask?

'Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.' - Aristotle

And strange to tell, among that Earthen lot

some could articulate, while others not:

And suddenly one more impatient cried—

"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"  -  The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam                                                                                                               [as rendered into English by Edward Fitzgerald]

This poem is a villanelle.

SHAPING THE CLAY

It’s love sustains me every day,
bad times, good times, whatever
although my lover passed away

It doesn’t matter that I am gay,
there are ties death dare not sever;
it’s love sustains me every day

I listen to what the season’s say,
and take my cue from Earth Mother
although my lover passed away

While some despair I’ll not pray
to God, (mine the Spirit of Nature);
it’s love sustains me every day

Highs and lows, come what may,
thoughts of spring defeating winter,
although my lover passed away

Shaping my will to live, like clay
in the hands of a centuries-old potter,
it’s love sustains me every day
although my lover passed away

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Going with Nature

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

[Update Jan 5, 2017 Since writing this poem, the title has taken on a new (additional) meaning for me as I was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February 2011. retired from giving poetry readings around the UK a few months before a bad fall 20 2014 which resulted in my having to learn to walk again.Nature has been on my side and now I am able to get out and about quite well with my walking stick. Living with prostate cancer poses a not dissimilar challenge.Friends are very supportive but some men (gay and straight alike) with whom I have chatted at the Cancer Centre have no one and rely on Prostate Cancer UK for help and support. So I have decide to give a poetry reading (a mixture of gay-interest and general poems on various subjects) on National Poetry Day (March 21, 2017) to try and raise funds for Prostate Cancer UK. If enjoy my blog/s and happen to be in London or nearby, you are more than welcome to come along' should you also feel able to donate as much or as little as you can afford in a very worthy cause via my JustGiving page, so much the better. Cheers!]

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Roger-Taber

Meanwhile...

Today’s poem has not appeared on the blog since 2009 and I am posting it again today especially for those young people who write in from time to time expressing doubts and dismay about ‘coming out’ to family and friends. It is never easy, and must be a person's own decision no one else's. Yes, I encourage people to come out, but I respect the fact that some people can't or won't for whatever reason. Sadly, there are still far too many LGBT-unfriendly environments where socio-cultural-religious conventions remain in force.

Many if not most gay people who dread coming out are pleasantly surprised to discover that friends and family have already guessed they are gay and certainly think no less of them for it. Sadly, there are always exceptions, but most towns and cities have LGBT support groups now that can be located o the Internet and are well worth a visit.

It strikes me that we live in too much of a one-upmanship society. It is bad enough in adult life but young people especially should not feel they are in competition with anyone, but feel free to go their own way, cherish and follow their own aspirations, including sexuality, no matter that some people might try to put them down for it.

There are far too many small-minded people about who seem to think someone is a nobody unless he or she is somebody and you can only be somebody by wearing the right clothes, being seen at the right places and being part of what is invariably a rubbish ‘in-crowd’ or (worse still) a street gang.

As my dear late mother once said, the best thing you can do for yourself is BE yourself.

This poem is a villanelle.

GOING WITH NATURE

No point in competing with peers
(it doesn’t matter what others say)
where a sandman has other ideas

They will but shed crocodile tears
each time we seem to lose our way;
no point in competing with peers

We know to face up to our fears
and learn to mould them to our clay
where a sandman has other ideas

By whatever hopes a parent steers,
each child needs to find its own way;
no point in competing with peers

An early mist, so quickly it clears,
fair Apollo left free to carry the day
where a sandman has other ideas

Above all things, nature endures,
keeping faith with us, straight or gay;
no point in competing with peers
where a sandman has other ideas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

LGBT, Candidates for a Brave New World

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

Here’s a new poem today, courtesy of a reader who got in touch to say he enjoys my general blog and asks ‘Why do you waste your time and talents writing gay rubbish?’

What can I say?

He is entitled to his point of view of course, but I felt compelled to make time to compose a new gay-interest poem. It may not be ‘great’ poetry, but a lot of readers enjoy identifying with poems that treat sexuality like any other theme, as natural and acceptable as love poems, nature poems, whatever. Is that not how we gay men and women deserve to be perceived by the heterosexual majority, natural and acceptable? Oh, but I wish! Sadly, we still have a way to go on that Front. Gay people continue have a tough time in some parts of the southern hemisphere. Neither should we in the West ever become complacent about a perceptibly rising tide of homophobia discreetly and less discreetly stage-managed by bigots from all walks of life.

LGBT, CANDIDATES FOR A BRAVE NEW WORLD

I walked into a bar
if for no obvious reason
than it was there;
I wasn’t even thirsty,
but felt the need to enjoy
convivial company

Immediately, my mind
tuned in to an atmosphere
of a different kind;
human shapes, voices,
seemed to have an affinity
with closet choices

Where I had restlessly
dogpaddled indifferent seas,
a strangeness took me;
anxiously, my body
soaked it all up, relishing
a quiet ecstasy

I looked around a while,
and sexuality caught my eye
with a winning smile;
I felt reassured,
a sense of belonging to this
brave new world

I ordered another beer,
was soon swivelling my hips
on the dance floor;
someone took the slack,
wrapped me in welcome arms,
no looking back

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Sometimes Sex Will Do

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

Now, one reader says his family and friends think he is ‘...shallow and some sort of sex addict because I play the field a lot.’ Well, he is only 19 so there’s plenty of time yet to think about settling down if and when he finds someone with whom he wants to spend the rest of his life. In the meantime, if you have a high sex drive, ‘playing the field’ beats jerking off alone any day!

The poem appeared on the blog I write especially for gay readers (everyone welcome) in May 2009. Since including it in my new collection, On the Battlefields of Love, another reader has been in touch to ask why it has not appeared on this blog ‘...if only because straight people need reminding about protected sex too.’ He has a point, and to be honest, I didn’t realise I hadn’t posted it here before.

It is a myth that only men (gay or straight) go looking for sex. Women ‘cruise’ too. Look around at your next party, disco or gig and you’ll see what I mean.

That’s ok. We’re all only human. Sexual frustration is natural enough and - so long as we take precautions (it’s not only HIV-AIDS that can result from unprotected sex and some venereal diseases can cause infertility) - satisfying it is nothing to get judgemental about.

Just remember, especially you younger folks, cruising rarely provides more than a one-night stand. No relationship based only on sex ever stood a cat in hell’s chance of lasting.

No, I’m not knocking sex. I may be something of a sheltered flower as I grow old(er) but I’ve made my share of making-hay-in-the-sunshine days…

Let's face it. Gay or straight, male or female, love can be elusive, and such is the chemistry between two people sometimes that sex more than compensates if only for the Here and Now. As for all our tomorrows...well, who knows?

This poem is a villanelle.

SOMETIMES SEX WILL DO

Come night falling on a city,
I took a road I didn’t know,
its lights looking out for me

Everyone kept smiling at me
like celebrities on show,
come night falling on a city

Self-conscious of a sexuality,
(companion to my shadow)
its lights looking out for me

I entered a bar half-hopefully,
willing my shadow follow,
come night falling on a city

A god dipped my immaturity
in a bright neon glow,
its lights looking out for me

In a vainglorious 21st century,
raising a glass to Soho,
come night falling on a city,
its lights looking out for me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2016

[Note: For the benefit of overseas readers, Soho is historically a very gay-friendly area of central London. However, you can have a good time here whatever your sexual persuasion]

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

G-A-Y, an Education

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

[Update, May 18th 2019]: There have been protests here in the UK from parents of various ethnic origins regarding the teaching of sex education in schools, especially concerning matters LGBT.
Can they not see that education is a basic learning tool for life, neither judgemental nor prejudiced but preparing children and young people for what they can expect to find beyond the school gates. Needs must they make up their own minds, all the more discerning (surely?) for being acquainted with plain facts rather than stereotypes dressed up as home truths open to abuse.]

I laughed once when a friend warned me that writing blogs quickly becomes an addiction! Ah, but she was so right. I really missed you all yesterday. Even so, I have a good reason for dropping by after receiving a call from ‘Alex’ who I have no way of contacting. Alex’s family will have nothing to do with him after he told them only recently that he is gay. Sadly, this is not as rare a case in this so-called ‘liberal’ northern hemisphere as I would like it to be. Alex didn’t say if he is staying with friends or on the streets. Please contact me again, Alex, and I will do my best to help you. [As a librarian all my working life, mostly in public libraries, it was my job to refer people to information/help sources.] If you have access to the Internet, there are LGBT support groups and networks around the country so see if there is one in your area.

Young gay people would not find themselves in this situation if more parents and schools encouraged intelligent debate about relationships, including gay relationships, instead of trying to pretend no son, daughter or student of theirs could possible be gay.

Young people regularly contact me to say they enjoy reading this gay-interest blog because it helps them feel better about themselves and less guilty about an awakening (or already wide awake) homosexuality. I despair I really do of those who, even in this 21st century of ours, continue to make gay boys and girls, men and women, feel ashamed of their sexuality. Worse, some people do it in the name of religion! All I can say if that any God would be ashamed of them. And, no, I am not only saying that because I am gay. As regular readers know only too well, I had given up on religion by the time I was 10 years-old. I wasn’t able to articulate ro myself about and acknowledge being gay until a few years later.

Well, let the bigots try and put us down. We know differently and, my goodness, we will show them we are every bit as decent a human being as any of them. Sadly, all the while so many misleading and offensive stereotypes of gay people continue to attach themselves to the less enlightened person's imagination, change for the better will be slow in many parts of the world, including pockets of the West where homophobia is alive and kicking. .

Never, but never, let anyone put you down for being gay. If someone has a problem with it, it’s their problem, not yours.

Okay, so I have said much a same thing in many of the near thousand gay-interest posts on the blog so far. But as my dear, late, mother used to say, if something is worth saying in the first place, it is always worth repeating.

G-A-Y, AN EDUCATION

I gave little thought
to sexuality until one day at school,
a classmate brushed against me
in the showers, causing a Tsunami
of mixed feelings to descend
on me, carry me away, refuting
every thought and lesson
I’d been taught in the best interests
of so-called ‘Education’

I had to turn away
so he would not see or (worse) let on
to others how my sexuality
had responded to the heat and silk
of his splendid body
as, naked, we washed ourselves clean
though some would say
I was the victim of a temptation
to let my self sin

I resisted temptation,
but no victim was I that day, only shown
an alternative way to live, love,
and fulfil what I had long suspected
was desire in me, but rejected
as an unknown quantity, preferring
to keep to safe, well-worn paths
in the preferred manner and direction
of so-called ‘Education’

I learned a much valued lesson that day,
acknowledged I am gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Update: This poem appears in the gay-interest section of my latest collection, Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

G-A-Y, Harvesting Centuries

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

I once discovered that it is not beyond the realms of possibility to fancy a friend you are convinced is a hot-blooded heterosexual only to discover the attraction is mutual. Perhaps they are bisexual or in denial about being gay, but when push comes to shove, does it really matter? The old adage is so true; gather ye rosebuds while ye may. There will be time enough to consider any long-term implications after having made the most of what’s on offer in the shorter term.

Now, the person with whom you are at the very least infatuated may not prove to be the love of your life, but there’s another saying that springs to mind; when opportunity knocks, be sure to let it in.

This poem has not appeared on the blog since August 2009 and is repeated today especially for ‘Henry and Malcolm’ who celebrate the 10th anniversary of their first meeting today. They don’t say why they chose this particular poem, but I can’t help wondering...

G-A-Y, HARVESTING CENTURIES

You were asleep when I got home;
I stripped in a pool of moonlight
spilling through a chink in blinds
carelessly drawn,
sat on the bed and watched you,
not sure what to do, lightly
stroking your pillow, hair lively
shades of brown

Guessed you’d hate me for being
here like this, lips longing
to kiss yours, moist and red,
like a dawn rose,
forced my eyes to the twin bed
inches away, empty, as quiet
as a waiting coffin, expecting
me to crawl in

You opened one eye, then two.
I froze. Your hand seized
my forefinger and its fierce heat
burned my toes;
not a sound to be heard as you
sat up straight, looked
right through me, wide-eyed,
disbelieving

Your free hand pinched my left
nipple, as if to remind us
it was no dream and my eyes
began to scream...
“Sorry!” Instantly, your mouth
and tongue ripped into me
without apology, finally setting
us free

We made love without a word
(there was no need);
on time wasted, we hungrily,
exhaustedly fed…
until such dreams worked a spell
on the two of us
as gay lovers have dared share
for centuries

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2017

[Note: This poem first appears under the title 'Food for Thought' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

G-A-Y, as Written in the Stars

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

This poem has not appeared on the blog since April 2009 and it saddens me today to post it for ‘Mark’ whose boyfriend was killed in a homophobic attack ‘...in his own country, by members of his own race and blinkered culture only a few years ago.’ I have no details. Tragically, the murder could have been committed by just about any ignorant, intolerant, homophobe anywhere in the world; there are plenty of them still, just as there plenty of gay men and women enduring pain and misery in secret for that very reason.

The poem was written for lovers everywhere whose love, for whatever reason, is frowned upon by family, friends and those in high places who have us in a stranglehold, yet could so easily change things for the better if they had any sense of human decency.

Countries like Uganda, Iran and parts of the Arab World may spring immediately to mind, but our hearts go out to gay men and women worldwide who live in fear of imprisonment and worse should their sexuality become public knowledge.Even in the so-called 'liberal' West, families are still divided by a son or daughter's declaration that they are gay. Oh, we have come a long way since I was a gay schoolboy in an era when same sex relationships were a criminal offence, but there is a long way still to go before our sexuality is universally accepted as something perfectly natural and incidental rather than a major issue.

It is high time certain people put their socio-cultural-religious bigotry aside and accepted the fact that we are all equal in a common humanity and that none of us can help with whom we fall in love. Here in the UK, for example, many immigrants bring their historical prejudices with them; the result is many scared gay boys and girls, men and women having to tread on eggshells between the world from which their families came and the one in which they are growing up.


G-A-Y, AS WRITTEN IN THE STARS

At the farthest edge of twilight,
where the sky a misty blue,
we’d haunt the shores of love
where dreams come true ...
We’d pause at its quiet places,
fall into each other’s arms,
enjoy Earth Mother’s embraces,
employ her feisty charms

Oh, kisses tasting of yesterdays
closing in on us like stars
shaping the world’s tomorrows
set aside for (all) its lovers!
Our bodies joined as day to night,
we’d surf life’s raging sea
at the farthest edge of a twilight
hinting at eternity...
Come splendid night, we’d lie
and wonder at its glories;
each star, a kiss shared by lovers
in other centuries ...
At daybreak, dreamers waking
to proceed as chisels to stone
at a love marked for the taking
once its battles won...

On a cruel sea of local dissent,
among wreaths of flowers,
we were despatched prematurely
to a place among the stars
at the farthest edge of twilight
where a misty blue sky
haunts the shores of such a love
as shared by you and I

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

Bus Stop OR Waiting for...Wow!

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Just when we think things can’t get more boring and life is generally getting us down, along comes a bus (at last!) that’s going our way…

BUS STOP or WAITING FOR...WOW!

Time passes
like a double-decker bus rumbling
down the High Street
looking for the likes of us
to stick out a hand
and make it stop, the way it did
in pouring rain that day
we jostled in a smoky queue
for a 29 (running late as usual)
anxious to be home

We began to chat about
this 'n' that although I didn’t catch
everything, your sweet smile
winging me a tenderness long forgotten
(on my own, last love flown!)
Now, I’ll not stay my heart’s leaping
for keeping you company
at bars, clubs, cinemas, to ease
our pain, rediscover in each other
an alternative freedom


Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 'Love And Human Remains' by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Oscars

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Several men have been in touch who find themselves in heterosexual relationships from which they have no wish to extract themselves, but feel guilty about having sex with other men whenever the opportunity arises. This guilt is so hard to bear that their respective their marriages are under threat as a result. I offer no solutions or advice, but suggest they might consider seeing a marriage counsellor along with their respective partners. In my experience, it is much easier to discuss matters with a third party who is neither a relative nor friend but a professional who is not only detached but has also almost certainly heard it all before so is unlikely to be in the least shocked or judgemental.

Now, it is tough on a woman when she finds out her husband or boyfriend is gay or bisexual; or a man when he discovers his female partner has lesbian tendencies. Let’s face it. It is, after all, a betrayal of their relationship. It isn’t easy for either party. Whatever reasons, excuses, explanations or pretty rhetoric we care to debate, betrayal is betrayal. And betrayed people feel immeasurably hurt. It is not only the heterosexual partner who feels betrayed either; many repressed gay people are likely to feel they have betrayed everything they were brought up to believe in.

Regarding bisexual men and women, there is a train of thought I won’t follow here that most people who see themselves as bisexual do so because they are loath to examine the gay side to their sexual identity too closely; all the while they can happily swing both ways, their masculinity, or femininity as the case may be, is not under threat. Yet, among the many people who assure me bisexuality is ‘cool’ I’d say the majority are essentially gay. [I will leave transvestites and transgender people out of the equation for the purposes of this blog entry, but in no way do I underestimate either their problems or the courage many display in overcoming them.]

Whatever, it can take time to learn to believe in ourselves. Only then can we start to believe in each other. Betrayal is a raw wound that can take a long time to heal. Tragically, some such wounds never do heal properly. Even so, if the relationship between partners of the opposite sex is such that they are close friends as well as lovers, those wounds may start to heal sooner rather than later. Yet, once the die is cast, they have to find their own ways of dealing with it and we should not judge those too harshly who find themselves unable to forgive.

Many gay men and women can form a physical relationship with the opposite sex if the attraction is mutual and strong enough; some even think themselves into heterosexual mode because they can’t face up to being gay, probably having been brought up to think the worst of gay people by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority. It isn’t easy to shake off the shackles of formative years. For most of us, sexuality will out us in the end. Tragically, some stay in the proverbial closet all their lives; those who can and do break out, in the early days at any rate, are likely to leave a trail of tears, not least their own.

Few of us set out deliberately to hurt others, especially those we love. But sexuality is an issue that is relatively rarely debated in the home or in any public arena; never at all in some parts of the world. Oh, there are books and the Internet, but the long and the short of it is we are on our own and have to work it out for ourselves.

Once we have acknowledged to ourselves that we are gay, it becomes easier (never easy) to tell other people. Some people are receptive to our findings, others reject them and try to steer us in another direction while others choose to see us as a lost cause and give up on us. And I use the word ‘choose’ deliberately. We all have a choice. As it happens, various socio-cultural-religious get-out clauses are not in short supply, but we are each and every one of us ultimately responsible for whatever choices we make in life, no one else.

It is not only gay people who find themselves at odds with loved ones, friends and various socio-cultural-religious traditions, but we are discussing gay people so let’s not get sidetracked.

When a gay person finds that he or she cannot stay in a heterosexual relationship any longer, the closet door has to be flung wide. There is a lot of understanding out there, but there is also a lot of ignorance and bigotry. As I have said on the blog before, little or nothing will change in real terns until sexuality is openly and intelligently discussed in schools. Legislation to give gay people equal rights in society is all very well, but you cannot legislate for bad attitude.

As for me... I am in my late 60s now and have only slept with two women in my life. Technically, I may be bisexual, but I have thought of myself as a gay man for many years and always will.

I have recently (slightly) revised this poem that I wrote in 1999.

OSCARS

When I am with a woman
I am hers alone, no thoughts
of men as we make love
with a sure passion, and wherever
we walk, talk, laugh, play,
I’d never wish myself elsewhere
or some man setting out
to prettily seduce me there

It doesn't work that way

Love of a good woman
(put at a price above rubies)
is a treasure I respect,
and would never wish to abuse;
So why this naked heaven
with a man, more pleasing to me
than any earthly jewel,
does my inner eye choose?

Who knows?

Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]