Today’s poem is often accessed in the archives, but not everyone has time to browse the archives, and not everyone has a computer at home that enables them to browse the Internet at will. Feedback suggests that many readers, for whatever reason, only read my blog entries for the day on which they access them.
The gay Pride festival season will soon be upon us here in the UK although I like to think the spirit of Gay Pride is evergreen and eternal, no matter what or whom we might find ourselves up against in various parts of the world now or at any time in the future. Everyone needs self-confidence to survive the ups and downs of life, and that includes confidence in our sexuality; it is as integral to the integrity of the individual as the pride he or she needs to take in that very individuality. [Human beings are not a race of clones (yet) thank goodness!]
Taking pride in ourselves is an easy enough pose to adopt for appearances sake, but more often than not a hard lesson to learn for real. Not everyone is receptive to individuality, let alone sexuality. You only have to look at various religious fundamentalists, for example, who are about as individual as they are original with their singing from much the same doctored hymn sheet in whatever language it may be written.
Homophobia is a sickness for which the only cure is example; it is, as it has always been, the responsibility of gay men and women worldwide to set a universally better one. Where we succeed, we can be well pleased with ourselves. Where we are seen to fail, we should not be quick to judge since behind every failure is always a damn good reason; some people, for example, are as easily misled by stereotypes as they are by less enlightened heterosexual clerics.
Whatever, this poem is for gay people everywhere, inspired by our individual and collective triumphs over an individual and collective homophobia (in all its quasi-acceptable socio-cultural-religious shapes and forms).
A BALLAD FOR GAY PRIDE
Gay love is for fools, they said,
and for years I believed
it was so, hugged my sexuality
to myself, afraid to let go
Gay love is for fools, I was told
by family, friends, work mates,
so stayed in a convenient closet
designed for straights
I hated all that straight-speak
about opposite sexes
lighting fires, pouring cold water
on gay desires
One day, pinned to someone
on a train during rush hour,
a smile chanced to embrace me
like a hot shower
Oh, how I relished same sex lips
homing in on mine
and closed my eyes, primed
for that moment divine
It didn't happen that way of course
and my dream lover left the train,
leaving me to reflect how I needed
to feel that way again
Gay love is a sickness they said,
and for years I believed
it was so till until a greater wisdom
taught me, myself, to know
Gay love is for fools, I was told,
by family, friends, workmates,
preferring (and welcome to) closets
designed for straights
[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]
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