Gay is (not) OK, Says Who?

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

]Update (August 11th 2019: Several readers worldwide have suggested I create another gay-interest blog with fewer poems as he or she thinks there are ‘too many to browse’ here while others have said they cannot often access this blog at all.  Regarding any searches, , I can only suggest readers use the search field located in the top right hand corner by entering a keyword; e.g. culture, dogma, family, human spirit, human nature, life forces, love, personal space, positive thinking, relationships, religion, self-awareness, stereotypes etc.

Now, today's poem last appeared on the blog in 2010 so will be new to some of you who don't have time to browse the archives. It was written in 2007 and I still get fed-up with people telling me that ‘being gay is just so OK now’ and ‘gays have never had it so good.’ True, life is much easier for many gay men and women now than it was when I was a young man, but sadly not for all … and easy? I don’t think so.

For a start, gay relationships remain a criminal offence in some countries, and even in the so-called ‘liberal’ West, it is as tough as it ever was to be gay if you happen to be living in a gay-unfriendly home-school-work environment.

Moreover, it has been my experience that far too many people pay lip service to political correctness, saying one thing in public and the opposite in private when it comes to all manner of issues, including sexuality.

There is still much work to be done worldwide (no exceptions) when it comes to  getting societies to realise and accept that LGBT people have as much to offer as anyone else, often more because we know what it’s like to feel marginalised, criminalised and victimised.

We all need to think positive, feel positive and BE positive about making the world a kinder if not better place.

GAY IS NOT OK, SAYS WHO?

If the world is, oh, so politically correct,

why should it matter if people suspect we’re gay?

(How many fathers, how many mothers

ask if their sons, daughters, have same sex lovers?)

Whatever happened to just being straight

about who it is we are and what it is we stand for?

(Aren’t we protected now by legislation?)

Gay, we’re told, is OK - so why any hesitation?

Yes, I know it was in the news today,

about someone brutally killed for being openly gay,

but that was a cultural, ethnic blip or flaw,

all tied up with old religion-speak and tribal law,

nothing to do with the likes of us trying
to rationalise a twenty-first century equality of sorts.

We can legislate for a common humanity.

but that doesn’t mean to say its bigots will keep

an open mind so, no, we shouldn’t wait

to tell the whole world we’re gay…or how else

this world, its way, expect to find?

Come a time, we'll yet hear human voices worldwide

ceasing to pause at a three-letter word?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2019

[Note: Slightly revised from the version that appears in Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Mind-Body-Spirit, Renaissance

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

Today’s post was written in 1998, and is based on events that took place many years ago. 

Now, it has always been one of life's greater tragedies that just about anyone can be subjected to bullying by ignorant cowards who have no respect for their victim’s sex, sexuality, ethnicity, creed or even age.

Although bullying went on in schools even when I was young, there is no escape from it these days as the bullies taunt their victims on their mobile phones and social media sites. Some children and young people have even been known to commit suicide as a result of being bullied, adults too.

Parent and schools must spare no one’s sensitivity, but make their children confront the awful circumstances of bullying.

As for the bullies themselves, plainly they have psychological problems and need help to overcome them, but that does not mean we should go softly, softly with them; exposing them for who they are and condemning their actions unreservedly would be a good start. For far too long, various School Heads and parents have been in denial about bullying taking place under their very noses.  

Bullies may be in a minority among children and young people, but it is a very significant minority that needs to be tackled before they carry their sick ways into adulthood.

Now, we all have our own ideas about 'Heaven' but  is it not the Here-and-Now that matters most and making that as comparable as we can with whatever concept we might cherish regarding what may come later? No bullying culture - at school in the workplace or wherever - should be tolerated and needs must be nipped in the bud or else the young bully may well grow up to be an older bully. 

Anyone being bullied should find the courage to seek help and support. there is no shame in that, any shame rests with the bully. 

The worst punishment for any bully is public exposure for being just that, a bully. 

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, RENAISSANCE

Local park, lonely tree,

child looks up in a bloody pool

who should be at school

Tall, grown old,

branches outflung

at a brave new world;

small and sad, kid in uniform

hugs a photograph

before taking a penknife

to scratch out a life

on rough bark. Tree submits.

Hanging skylark lets out a cry

as chick-in-the-nest

prepares to fly

Climb, climb!

Terra out of mind.

bullies down our way, chaff

on the wind …

Tears for mum and dad and pal

heffalump.

Gran and grandpa, show ‘em all,

not afraid to jump.

A still, small voice 
whispering in the ear,

‘Look! Beyond that runny nose

there has to be
a way clear to confide bully fear 
in someone near

and (who knows?) eventually

make it disappear.’

And it did, I know.

That kid at the Hanging Tree

long ago, but walked away

free...was me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2010

[Note: An earlier version of this poem (written in 1998) appears under the title 'Heaven Can Wait, in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

Sow-Nurture-Reap, to Every Heart, its Seasons

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

As I grow old(er) incidents and conversations from my childhood and younger years return to haunt me, in the nicest way, but make me wish I had learned sooner to listen more for what often lies behind certain words, phrases and sentences people select to use at any given moment in time… instead of just taking them at face value.

BOY ROGER:  I hate winter. It’s cold and horrible and so long. It just goes on, and on, and on...

MOTHER: Never mind, dear, it will be spring before you know it.

BOY ROGER:  Huh! I’ll believe that when I see it.

MOTHER: Yes, well, give up on spring and you really will have a long winter. Why don’t you go out to play instead of moping around?

BOY ROGER: No one will want to come out to play on a day like this.

MOTHER: Perhaps not. But you’ll never know unless you make the effort to go and find out, will you?

BOY ROGER: (grudgingly) I suppose not…

No matter how hard a time we may be having or how it may strike us (at any age) that the winter of our years has struck prematurely, we should never forget that another springtime will follow as sure as day follows night. Oh, and I well recall how I did make the effort on that occasion all those years ago and did find someone to play with; a cold, grey, winter’s day didn’t seem nearly as bad after all, just for being able to share it with someone, and create a lasting happy memory.

SOW-NURTURE-REAP, TO EVERY HEART, ITS SEASONS 

Once there was a time

it seemed like winter every day,

only a watery sunshine

streaking a sky that’s leaden grey  

life barely worth living

Past and present, unforgiving,

catching me out  

in what I took to be a loneliness

of old age as I’d read about

in novels, rarely taking notice,

forgetting the roots

of fiction lie in such harsh reality

as now had me in its grip,

leaving me to fret that only much

the same lay ahead, cruel

twists of fate by any other name,

delivering me into a spiral

of heavy, leaden grey depression

No hope of rescue till into my life

you came, bringing light,

warmth and joy, making of a lonely

winter of the heart a fair copy of some

eternal springtime 

Oh, and such a spring! Come to lend

even its shadows a touch

of wry humour, so lessening the burden

of my distress that I could

once more make space for a happiness

of which neither age, gender,

culture, creed or sexuality may justly

(surely?) claim a monopoly

content (finally) to let sleeping dogs lie,

cease berating a rose

for its thorns, rain for catching me out,

but dry my tears, start to love

and laugh, feel young at heart again

Where society so loves to put down

its gay lovers, be sure our season will long,

outlive its own, and even when time

brings us to where dark winters looming,

we'll never give up on spring

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Voice of a Rose

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

Today’s poem first appeared in its original form in an anthology, Truly Mine, Poetry Now (Forward Press), 2003 and subsequently in my collection. I have only recently revised it. 

I have discussed revising poems - and titles - in the past and am aware of the arguments for and against. However, it is my view that as a poet moves on, there is no reason why a poem should not move on with him or her. Some people will argue that a later version loses its spontaneity, yet as I re-read some poems, a spontaneous revision springs to mind as I sense something missing in the earlier poem despite its good intentions.

The poem relates to an affair with a deaf-gay man years ago who, among other things, did his best to teach me sign language. I fear I have forgotten most of what I learned in that respect if not in others… 

Partially deaf since childhood, I’m afraid I have never been good at sign language (but can lip-read) probably because I’ve not had much opportunity to practise it. Even so, I have never had a problem communicating with any deaf or hard of hearing friends; lip-reading, facial expressions, a custom-inspired-signing-of-sorts and shared sense of humour (plus the written word where all else fails) have always proved more than enough to let us enjoy each other’s company. It was the latter that especially attracted me to him. We were both members of a local walking group and had stopped for a pub lunch. I was zipping up my fly in the toilet when he entered, paused, saw what I was doing and gave me the wickedest grin. followed by a questioning glance to which I instinctively nodded. I eft and we had little more to do with each other for the rest of the walk after which I had planned to catch a bus home. At the bus stop, he pulled up in his car and I got in. He helped me with my seat belt and gave me another wicked grin, and that was the start of a love affair that lasted months and a friendship that spanned a good 30+ years. He had a fatal heart attack on a sea voyage and was buried at sea., but I only have to close my eyes to enjoy his company all over again. 

VOICE OF A ROSE

Love gave me a rose,

fond hands signing

in a light summer breeze

like petals waving

Its fair petals falling

like heaven’s tears,

hands helpless at my side,

pricked by thorns

Thorns, drawing blood

where love’s fingers

get a feeling for nature’s

darker dreaming

Dreams, like parodies

of summer roses

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2012

View From A Bedroom Window OR On Seeking Inspiration and a Voice

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

I wrote this poem in 2003; it is based on another I wrote when I was just thirteen years-old and growing up in my home town of Gillingham in Kent. In those far-off days, the view from my bedroom window was much as the poem describes. I was born in that same house and the bedroom remained mine until the family moved across the river shortly after my 14th birthday.

Our red (Irish) setter was called Barney and next-door’s cat was named Jakesey. Barney was 14 years-old when he got ill and had to be put down. Jakesey had long since been found dead one morning (at a good if uncertain age) under the hydrangea bush, his favourite place.

At the time I came across the original poem, I was already an adult and had not lived in Gillingham for many years. The poem took me back to my old bedroom, and it was a comfort as I was missing a boyfriend with whom I had enjoyed a passionate fling before his return to Australia only a few days earlier. [After a relationship with someone that lasted only a few years before he was killed in a road accident, I was destined to have to settle for occasional flings…]

I loved that room. It was my bolt-hole, a refuge from family, school and other problems with which I hadn't a clue how to cope. Nothing was ever the same after we moved away and life would get a whole lot worse for a teenage Roger Taber (not least for struggling to express a sexuality that was considered criminal then) before they began to get any better. Ah, but that’s another story…part of which you may well read between the lines in another poem...

VIEW FROM A BEDROOM WINDOW or ON SEEKING INSPIRATION AND A VOICE

Stone yard below,
honeysuckle crowding
a trellis gate

Red setter on the alert
to make a break for it, see
the world

Next-door’s cat
yawning, teasingly,
on a fence...
leaning, precariously
over a flowering hydrangea,
but in no danger
from a dog’s
merely quivering
snout

Reflections of a bed
left unmade, where I sleep
without you...
dancing with daisies
on a lawn untouched since
you’ve been gone,
left me alone
with a dog, next door’s cat
and…what?

Shopping, cleaning,
washing-up, contemplating
irons in the fire

Dog ears pricking,
killing time till it sides with
the heart’s desire


Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2012

[Note: I have changed the appearance of this poem on the page and slightly revised the last stanza from the original version as it appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

A Song For Gay Lovers

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

We all have bad days from time to time. Some months, too (like November) bring the kind of weather that does nothing to cheer us up. Here's hoping today’s poem will bring a smile to any long faces; it has not appeared on the blog since 2010…so time for an airing methinks.

  

A SONG FOR GAY LOVERS

It doesn’t matter that we’re gay,

our love is pure;

whatever people say, it will endure

It doesn’t matter that we’re gay,

happiness is ours;

day by day, winging heaven’s towers

It doesn’t matter that we’re gay,

time is on our side;

ebb or flow, let golden hours decide

It doesn’t matter that we’re gay,

we can dream too;

come what may, we’ll see it through

It doesn’t matter that we’re gay,

our love is pure;

whatever people say, we will endure


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

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