http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber
A college lecturer has contacted me to say he enjoys some of the stories my poems tell but I should write more 'real' poetry.
So what, I ask myself is 'real' poetry? Whatever...I am as I am and I write as I write. Many people seem to enjoy my poems and that's good enough for me; at least they are real. As for my critics... [Do I care?]
Meanwhile...
If you can’t stop the office gossips, why not give them something to gossip about?
Oh, did I forget to mention I was born with a wooden spoon in one hand? Well, there’s nothing like stirring things up now and then to combat bad attitude, bring misleading stereotypes to task, make the case for we gay folks being no better or worse than anyone else, not to mention more sinned against than sinning by those who purport to subscribe to this or that religion whose leading clerics invariably betray its basic principles of peace and love by propagating stereotypes tailored to their own interpretation of its Holy Books.
SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR SPREADSHEETS
Love’s light shone brightly in our eyes,
though we but chanced glances among high fliers
tongues wagging secrets and lies
gathered from grapevines, but never ours
It would be years before the room learned
that secret we kept safe, those lies we readily told,
how day and night we yearned
each other’s naked body to have and hold
I’d watch you over my desk sucking a biro
and in the mind’s eye we’d dare a passionate kiss,
not a single colleague in the know
(plainly married to a career, the pair of us)
One day someone made a cutting comment
about gay people expecting equal rights, equal pay;
the pink gin of prejudice left to ferment…
till you casually remarked that you’re gay
The silence deafening, spreadsheets on hold,
eyes looking everywhere, not a single key pressed,
a sense of shock-horror, blood running cold,
the office gossip machine making time to digest
You got up from your chair, approached me
and a shiver rippled down my spine, hands shaking
as I told my alter ego what will be, will be,
bracing myself for some history in the making
Our kiss but brief, you returned to your chair,
spreadsheets resumed, fingers flying across the keys,
so I did the same, though acutely aware
no one else was of a mind to do likewise
Extended applause, even a cheer here and there,
restoring our flagging faith in human nature
Copyright R. N. Taber 2007
A college lecturer has contacted me to say he enjoys some of the stories my poems tell but I should write more 'real' poetry.
So what, I ask myself is 'real' poetry? Whatever...I am as I am and I write as I write. Many people seem to enjoy my poems and that's good enough for me; at least they are real. As for my critics... [Do I care?]
Meanwhile...
If you can’t stop the office gossips, why not give them something to gossip about?
Oh, did I forget to mention I was born with a wooden spoon in one hand? Well, there’s nothing like stirring things up now and then to combat bad attitude, bring misleading stereotypes to task, make the case for we gay folks being no better or worse than anyone else, not to mention more sinned against than sinning by those who purport to subscribe to this or that religion whose leading clerics invariably betray its basic principles of peace and love by propagating stereotypes tailored to their own interpretation of its Holy Books.
SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR SPREADSHEETS
Love’s light shone brightly in our eyes,
though we but chanced glances among high fliers
tongues wagging secrets and lies
gathered from grapevines, but never ours
It would be years before the room learned
that secret we kept safe, those lies we readily told,
how day and night we yearned
each other’s naked body to have and hold
I’d watch you over my desk sucking a biro
and in the mind’s eye we’d dare a passionate kiss,
not a single colleague in the know
(plainly married to a career, the pair of us)
One day someone made a cutting comment
about gay people expecting equal rights, equal pay;
the pink gin of prejudice left to ferment…
till you casually remarked that you’re gay
The silence deafening, spreadsheets on hold,
eyes looking everywhere, not a single key pressed,
a sense of shock-horror, blood running cold,
the office gossip machine making time to digest
You got up from your chair, approached me
and a shiver rippled down my spine, hands shaking
as I told my alter ego what will be, will be,
bracing myself for some history in the making
Our kiss but brief, you returned to your chair,
spreadsheets resumed, fingers flying across the keys,
so I did the same, though acutely aware
no one else was of a mind to do likewise
Extended applause, even a cheer here and there,
restoring our flagging faith in human nature
Copyright R. N. Taber 2007
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