Who Says ...? OR Standing Up for Sexuality

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

Here’s a new poem today if on a familiar theme.  Readers often get in touch to say they agonise about wanting to be open about their sexuality and thereby risking rejection by their religion. The main thrust of a conversation I had years ago during a serious crisis in my life springs to mind.

FRIEND: 'My faith in God has seen me through every crisis in my life, and it can do the same for you.'

ME:  'I have tried, but cannot relate to God or religion, maybe because I am gay and the religion in which I was raised has no time for gay people.'

FRIEND: 'I said faith, not religion. Religion is one way to help some people feel close to God, but it isn’t the only way. We van feel close to God in many ways. You say you feel close to nature. Who’s to say that you feel any less close to God than anyone else?'

ME: 'I can’t believe in God as religion says I should.'

FRIEND: 'All the more reason to trust your feelings. God is all things to all people. Just because we cannot bring an image of God to mind doesn’t mean there is no God. Religion does not have the right to suggest otherwise.'  

'Who’s to say your feelings for nature are not faith in a God you seem to reject?  Reject Him as you will, He will never reject you, and never let anyone tell you differently, whatever their religion or feelings about a person’s sexuality.'  

'God is not constricted by temporal criteria. Call the spirituality you take from nature simply a feeling for nature, nothing else, and God won’t mind.  As for religion, it can provide an important support network and help you feel closer to people as well as to God, but  it has no right to dictate how we  feel about God or whether or not we should choose to access that feeling through religion.'

'Faith is a passion, not just a word. Rejecting the word along with other religious ritual and rhetoric does not mean you have no faith.'  

'Trust your feelings, and that goes for your sexuality as well. Those who insist religion and homosexuality are incompatible may know the ins and outs of their religion, but they have no real feeling for God; they are just homophobes. however much they may protest to the contrary. Look at me. I'm a priest, and my feeling for people has never excluded or been any less warm towards gay people than towards anyone else, whether they can identify with God or not.' 

'God is no dictator and wouldn't have it any other way.' 

This poem is a villanelle.

WHO SAYS...? or STANDING UP FOR SEXUALITY

Who says we’re damned eternally

if to our birth selves we stay true

by standing up for our sexuality?

Even the wind keeps asking me, 

earth and sea, heavens too,

who says we’re damned eternally?

Let’s not be bullied into hypocrisy

(if beaten black and blue)

by standing up for our sexuality

The cleric offers deals on spirituality

(all this and Heaven too?)

who says we’re damned eternally

Hear them swear by all things holy

we embrace an ungodly taboo

by standing up for our sexuality

This huffing and puffing sickens me

(scares me sometimes too);

Who says we’re damned eternally

by standing up for our sexuality?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Alternative Transport

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

Today’s poem last appeared on the blog in 2010 and is posted today especially for readers ‘Jim and Philippe’ who are (like me) fed-up with people passing snide comments about not owing a car.

Now, people are often appalled by the fact that I don’t drive. Well, I live in a city so having a car is not essential. (It really isn’t!) I am happy to go along with the UK government’s drive to persuade everyone to use public transport more often. Even so, the Greener argument is not the only one that works for me...  

Public transport can be a real adventure.  Well, less of one or me these days, it’s true to say. I will be 67 later this year; not old, but let’s face it I have no partner and am not as young as I was either. Oh, but I’m not complaining. One way or another, I relive my life through poems where memory filters away the bad times and the good times continue to serve me well. Even in later years, they come back into play, those good times (e.g. a nothing special car drawing up alongside, a something special guy suggesting I jump in...) thereby encouraging me to add to the archives.

Now, why should an old dog learn new tricks when the old ones are such fun?

ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORT

We got chatting on a bus
in pouring rain, feeling bold

for no too-obvious reason,
cocking an ear to fairy tales
reworked by a pitter-patter

on the roof making us feel safe;

we chuckled, sharing a joke

or two, and it felt right to feel

comfortable with you

At your stop, I got off too;

we just laughed at getting wet

on a street you thought

was mine, I thought was yours,

took a while before we saw

this comedy of errors for what

it really was, not just fate
conspiring to bring us together,
but also our consenting

Another bus happened along

and dried our clothes, rumbling
ifs and whys of closet gays;

in his mirror, the driver winked,

saw clearer even than us

how (so) much happier we were

for (finally) getting it together,
two strangers on a single decker 

coming out to each other

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem was posted on the blog in 2010 and appears in  A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.] 

All through the Night

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

I wrote this poem after the love of my life died some years ago. We only had a short time together, but our love sustains me still; he haunts my favourite dreams and whispers words of love and encouragement in my ear whenever I am feeling low.in my ear whenever I need 

As I grow old and having to sleep alone, there is no room in my heart for sadness, only his love. Moreover, having suffered regular periods of depression all my life, that love is the best defence against it I could have; time and again, it rescues me from the abyss where depression likes nothing better than to dump it victims. Love, of course, comes in all shapes and sizes; special people, places, even songs and pieces of music all play their part in helping to lift us when we are feeling so down, there seems to be no way up.

So when certain people from various socio-cultural-religious backgrounds try to tell me that gay people don’t know the meaning of either spiritual or physical love, I have only one reply..."Bollocks!" No love that is a part of us ever dies because it comprises the better part of us that we pass on to others among the better things we say and do...and so it goes on, and on, long after we, too, are gone.

You're right, this is not a gay poem as such, and why should it be? Love doesn't discriminate so why should we or, for that matter, a poem?

ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT

A bird sang in my garden as twilight fell;

what species it was, I could not tell,

but its song filled my darkening soul with light

and saw me all through the night

Came moon and stars to keep me company

and the bird, still it sang, as if just for me,

a song showing pictures of us to my inner sight

that saw me all through the night

Closer, dawn, new-old fears of another day

stubbornly failing to (quite) fade away;

moon and stars abandoning me to such a plight

as haunting me all through the night

Among the sun’s first rays, Apollo’s smile;

the bird, typically, came that last mile,

spreading peace and hope enough in a leafy sky

for a time to live and a time to die

Among even love songs heard or yet to hear,

none will sound sweeter to my ear

than of a bird whose species I couldn’t  make out

that once sang in my garden all night

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears under the title 'Empathy' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Gay Gets Real

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

Even in the West, being openly gay is not as easy as some people try to make out; in other parts of the world it remains at best a taboo subject, at worst a criminal offence that can lead to incarceration in prison or worse.

Much depends on whether or not we grow up in a gay-friendly environment; a supportive network of family and friends can male all the difference. Sadly, not all gay people (could be anyone, anywhere) are fortunate to have this.

There are still far too many misleading and offensive stereotypes flying around that persist in attaching themselves to less enlightened minds among the heterosexual majority. We have come a long way since the dark days of my youth, but there is still much to do before being gay no longer has no stigma whatever attached to it in anyone’s mind.

Meanwhile, the more open we can be about the gay ethic and the fewer people that prefer not to stand up and be counted (for whatever reason)...so much the better for everyone.

GAY GETS REAL

I was but a moving image,

all substance gone,

yet convincing enough to pass

for a whole person;

my mouth let fly with words

for unperceptive ears,

limbs in sufficiently good order

for most labours

People looked into my eyes

and saw what they chose,

invariably a misplaced metaphor

for themselves;

beyond a conditioned will

to live up to its name,

my humanity was but a virtual

ploy in a computer game

Even when I discovered love

and found my own way

in life, it screwed up the works

for being gay…

or so I was told by webmasters

vying for my attentions,

but I’d escaped virtual mode,

ignored their directions

No longer a moving image,

all substance restored,

I see, smell, hear, speak, relate

to the world…

for all its frailties and failures,

and comprehend

how learning from its strengths

matters most in the end

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

Yesterday Man

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

A beautiful day here in the UK! My thoughts stray to summers past and...

Well, knows what the future holds, even for someone my age? There is, after all, a creative phenomenon commonly referred to as positive thinking ...

YESTERDAY MAN

I'd wonder sometimes if I’m gay

till I saw him on the beach one day,

blond hair bleached by the sun,

blue eyes laughing at everyone, a smile

that ran up and down my spine,

lips I’d rather taste than any wine,

body trim and tight, love at first sight

and it felt so ... right

Oh, but I had a hard on every day

that holiday. At night, we made love

in the wildest dreams,

bodies joined with such warmth

and passion, I couldn’t believe

a conversation I overheard at a bar

about ridding the world of poufs, pervs,
fags and queers ...

I contrived to crash into him,

let his beauty bring me to ecstasy

like a fruit flavoured condom,

his voice seduce me out of my shell.

Hadn’t I been in hell for ages,

taunted by a questions of sexuality?

Now here was a god in the flesh come
to answer me ... Oh, fantasy!

Yet, I took him to be straight,

and wouldn’t have dared say a word.

Besides, I was scared.

One day, in the water, he accused me

of staring and I blushed

to the roots of my hair. He laughed

and made a sudden grab for me, arms

pulling me down, no letting go

I thrashed and fought like a fish

caught on a line, but he very quickly

calmed me down with a grin,

though but I all but panicked again
as his arms pulled me closer,
waves crying "Yes!" as both of us

wanting more than a race to the shore
found us sharing our first kiss 

Seems like only yesterday, I'd wonder

if I’m really gay ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2019

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared on the blog and an even earlier version that appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

A Lovemaking

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

I gave myself to nature many years ago. I have no regrets, and suspect I’ve survived the roller-coaster ride that is a gay man’s life all the better for it, enjoying the ups and dealing with the downs as best I can...

This poem is a villanelle.

A LOVEMAKING

Come dusk in a summer rain,

Earth Mother half asleep,

making love to me yet again

My body forsaken its passion,

a late lark anxious to keep,

come dusk in a summer rain

Sharing in a sorry world’s pain,

its rose thorns pricking deep,

making love to me yet again

A hard won sexuality, a reason

its cloud shapes weep,

come dusk in a summer rain

Humanity finding redemption

(where dark forces creep)

making love to me yet again

Rejecting shame for salvation,

a fine harvest sure to reap,

come dusk in a summer rain

making love to me yet again

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

Two's Company

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

I spotted two teenage boys shyly reaching for each other’s hands on a bus recently and was reminded of this poem that has not appeared on the blog for a few years.

Gay, straight, male, female...when you're in love, the two of you is all the company you need. Let the socio-cultural-religious bigots and generally narrow minded criticise all they want...love has always gone its own way, done its own thing, and hopefully always will.

[

TWO’S COMPANY

 

Met a girl at a coffee bar
and we got chatting;
her boyfriend joined in the fun,
hair as black as a cool leather jacket,
cool 501’s

As we talked and laughed
all three, his hand,
under our table touched my knee
though it could mean nothing, surely?
Even so...

My whole body, suddenly
on fire, she kept
cracking jokes that made us roar,
all the while his fingers brushing mine,
I could not ignore

As if dangling on a fence
of barbed wire,
my eyes fixed on his snub nose,
bright eyes, wide grin, bent on ripping
off my clothes

Madly, I felt him strip me

gladly, surrendering
mind-body-spirit, imagining my hand
in his shirt, thrilling to the frantic beating
of his heart

They left, hand in hand. 

I sat alone, stunned;

but, yes, he returned, no words needed

to say why, just acknowledging sexuality,

do or die...

Four hands on a table,

visibly trembling...

I could barely manage a shy, cheeky grin

by way of  that obvious question, his place 

or mine...?

We left that coffee bar

on a natural high,

more drawn to each other in every way

than words could say, but didn't need them 

anyway...

Copyright R. N. Taber  2002, rev. 2012

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared in my collection First Person Plural by R, N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.}

The Long Farewell

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

Years ago, when few people knew I am gay, a work colleague discovered this. He did not threaten to ‘out’ me but warned me that homosexuality is a waste of a life and I should bid  the Devil farewell before it was too late and saving my soul was no longer an option. His sincerity both impressed and appalled me. Moreover, it inspired (or provoked?) me to do just that…if not in the way he meant.

I finally bid a devil in me farewell that had prevented me from acknowledging to the world that I am gay. It suddenly struck me like a bolt of lightning what I had always known but somehow failed to quite grasp. Since I had no cause to be ashamed of the sexuality to which I was born, what did it matter what anyone else thought?

Even now, so many years later, I cannot believe I was so scared of people knowing I am gay. I guess it is down to all those early years when homosexual relationships were against the law here and, even worse, (or so I was told) an offence against humanity.

Perhaps if my family life hadn’t cowed me so, and I could not only have confided on them but relied on their support, things might have been different, but none of that matters now anyway. I did tell my mother in the end and she was supportive, but not so much that she couldn’t resist asking me to keep it a secret from family, friends, and neighbours.

Yes, I have regrets (don’t we all have our share, gay or straight?) but none greater than not having come out to everyone sooner than I did and saying farewell to that cold, dark closet once and for all.

At least, I was able to do this. In many countries, gay men and women still do not freedom of choice.  Here’s a BIG hug for all of you.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE LONG FAREWELL

My hell for years,

a gay kiss dared dispel;

farewell, my fears

A face that leers,

curled lip I know so well

(my hell for years)

Self-hatred’s tears

wiped clean by its spell;

farewell, my fears

Where guilt reveres

each wishing star that fell

(my hell for years)

To glory, love steers

over bigotry’s ocean swell;

farewell, my fears

Nature engineers

light where its darkness fell

(my hell for years);

farewell my fears

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Ballad Of The Boy Next Door

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

Many of the old adages that have fallen into everyday use are so corny. My goodness, but aren’t some of them just so true? I have in mind especially, ‘Fact is stranger than fiction’ & ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’

Among life’s many ironies, love (whatever the gender, age, class, culture, creed, religion or sexuality of its active participants) has never needed too much persuasion to go centre-stage, and rightly so ... especially in a world that needs more love in it.

BALLAD OF THE BOY NEXT DOOR

I used to play at cowboys

with the boy next door;

We‘d walk to school together,

share the homework chore;

Later we went to discos

and danced all night…

got drunk, tried drugs, began

to drift apart

I missed him more than words

can ever say,

having grown to love him

in such a way…

a smile that beat a roll of drums

on my heart,

playful touches like matches

to my shirt

Eventually, I knew, I must

make a decision;

I packed us in a box - marked

Do Not Open…

along with cowboy hats

and school reports;

Mad, musical days long gone

as life goes on

We met up again in a bar

one day;

I had one too many, told him

I’m gay;

His eyes filled with tears,

and I sensed distain…

as my tongue ran away

with years of pain

Afterwards, I dashed out

in the rain…

spent hours, wishing we were

cowboys again;

He found me in a dingy

back street café,

his hair a mess, face lined

and grey

I didn’t want to hear what

he had to say…

but the look in his eyes

made me to stay;

Could it be, I wondered,

that he understood?

Then I knew for sure

he did

Fingertips touching, like

lovers kissing...

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

Note: Several readers have asked why the covers for my Love and Human Remains quartet - of which First Person Plural is volume two - are not in colour. Quite simply, I felt at the time that it was more appropriate as I tend to think of myself as a black-and-white poet. 

Reprieve

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

Many dreams are preferable to real life if only because, in them we can be our true selves and not as we sense others - even loved ones sometimes - expect us to be.

It is not uncommon, though, to discover that some dreams are unexpectedly compatible with real life, and even come true, often when we least expect it, and in the least expected places.

I could not face the world as a gay man for years, and the closet seemed a life sentence. It took a bad nervous breakdown in my mid-30's to help me get real about life and myself; a reprieve indeed.

REPRIEVE 

I had a cool car and a good job

and life was looking up for me;

yet, among shadows of the mind,

the better part of me knew

I couldn’t be happy without you

Years before we saw each other,

you came to haunt my dreams;

I’d tell myself it was but fantasy

in the heat of our embrace,

a sweet tasting sweat on my face

I dated girls to please the parents

but you were always at my side;

I’d call you names and mean them

as they’d slip into my bed

and I’d watch for you in my head

It was at the local library we met,

and you glanced up from a book,

made a mockery of my whole life

with a twinkle in green eyes

soon stripping my heart of its lies

We got talking. I let myself believe

I was glad to make a new friend

but my shadows insisted I felt more

than this, your cheeky grin

come to bring my defences down

One day I stumbled. You caught me

in your arms and held me there

then bent to kiss me on the mouth,

no matter what others might say

and, by default, I almost broke away

Love gave me a last minute reprieve

and let me kiss you back,

arms closing in around your neck,

for the better part of me knew

I couldn’t be happy without you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Sometimes

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

Although I have been openly gay for many years, people still ask me if I am happy and if I have any regrets about being gay and therefore ‘deprived’ of a ‘normal’ life!

Well, I certainly don’t feel deprived, and what on earth is ‘normal’ anyway? Like most adjectives in any language, everyone one has their own take on it.

As for regrets and being happy...Well, yes, occasionally I wonder how my life might have been had I been born one of the heterosexual community’s own and let it dictate how I should live my life...but not often. 

Am I happy? Yes, I am happy in my own way although I dare say I’d have been a lot happier if there had been more ups and less downs throughout my life.  Yet, I suspect many if not most of us can say the much same regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality...

True, I miss having my love to keep me warm, but I have some dear friends, my poetry and nature to sustain me, and it is more than enough to keep me as happy as I suppose any of us can expect to be given the state of the world we live in.

SOMETIMES

Sometimes I regret being gay,

take long walks in the rain…

pausing now and then to ponder

puddles, wonder why I envy

the conventional person living

a conventional life in a two up,

two down, plagued by in-laws,

wife and 2.5 children

Sometimes I regret being gay,

take long walks by the canal…

pausing now and then to watch

geese flying high and free, just

as I yearn to be but feel trapped

in a cage where society would

have me stay though it dare not

give public voice to the thought

or risk being taken to court

Sometimes I regret being gay

take long walks on the heath…

pausing now and then to chat

with this and that person (some

gay, some not) about the weather,

global warming, War on Terror,

so much poverty in the world,

and how we should be glad - for

a fine day and the way we are

Sometimes, being gay is a burden

till, with you, I lay my body down

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

Failed, by Schools of Thought found Wanting

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

Feedback suggest that most readers agree with me that education is the key to ridding the world of homophobic elements so I was happy to go along with the general consensus and include today’s poem in my new collection.

As my collections are general rather than specifically gay, it means that straight as well as gay readers get to read to my gay-interest poems; they can, of course, skip the gay material, but I am delighted to hear from a good many straight readers who appear to enjoy my poems on a gay theme as much as those about nature, society, whatever. [As regular readers of my blogs and books will know, I am up for writing on just about any subject under the sun.]

Whenever I post a poem in support of young gay people, I receive complaints accusing me of trying to corrupt them. Do they honestly believe none of us start wrestling with our sexuality until we are adults?

There are gay boys and girls around the world who badly need reassurance and support; schools could offer a lot more, religious institutions, too, instead of piling on the angst and making out they know best all the time.

FAILED, BY SCHOOLS OF THOUGHT FOUND WANTING

The first time we made love,

we were like young rabbits living in fear

of an owl swooping down

It was under a leafy awning,

in woods where we'd played as children

although never like this

As twilight cast a golden glow

across the scene, we caved in to feelings

we'd resisted for years

Oh, the bliss of physical love,

acting out its beautiful poetry, unspoken

till now but for its tears

Ah, but freedom was an illusion

if not the love consuming us that summer,

schooldays shut in a closet

Gossip raged. By the winter term,

we had gone separate ways, heads bowed,

twin hearts ripped out

To our shame, we let bigotry

get the better of us, an awakening sexuality

tempered by immaturity

Years on, mature adults now;

if a bigot's penchant for bullying still about,

more of us standing up to it

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

[Note: First published under the title 'Where Tick-Box Curricula Found Wanting' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]