A number of blog readers have expressed a
wish to read some of my poems again, but don’t have access to my collections or time to browse my blogs. For
a while, therefore, I have created temporary, historical records on Google Plus
with past as well as any current posts, deleting some and adding others on a
regular basis so there are never too many poems to browse. The preamble to some posts may well be out of date, of course, but recent feedback suggests it doesn't bother anyone. Besides, readers can always skip the preamble and go straight to the poem.:
https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606/posts
https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606/posts
Now, as regular readers will know, I was
born in Kent the so-called ‘Garden of England’ county at a time when gay relationships
were illegal and attitudes towards gay men and women left much to be desired;
the latter remains true in many parts of the county. Oh, I am sure many people will deny it - including members of my own family - not only because some of us have conveniently short memories, but also because it would now be considered 'politically incorrect' in most parts of the western hemisphere and no one likes to be seen in that light if only because they don't want to risk being taken to court. Yet, whoever and wherever
we are, love creates its own garden where lovers - gay or straight - can walk more
freely and probably far happier than many if not most of those voicing and heaping
disapproval on their relationship.
There's nothing quite like being made to feel unwelcome...well, is there? Sadly, it is much the same anywhere in the world where certain people so love to rush to judgement on others (often prompted by misleading stereotypes) and cannot (or will not) see or accept that our differences don't make us different, just human.
There's nothing quite like being made to feel unwelcome...well, is there? Sadly, it is much the same anywhere in the world where certain people so love to rush to judgement on others (often prompted by misleading stereotypes) and cannot (or will not) see or accept that our differences don't make us different, just human.
This poem is a villanelle.
GAY IN
THE GARDEN (OF ENGLAND)
Fairest
of flowers
found in
spring’s garden,
this love
of ours
No ivory
towers
but
temples of passion,
fairest
of flowers
Pride in colours
by nature
freely given,
this love
of ours
Like
spring hours
from
winter’s grave risen;
fairest
of flowers
Temporal
powers
may rage
but cannot ruin
this love
of ours
Where
bigotry cowers,
begs
Earth Mother’s pardon,
fairest
of flowers,
this love
of ours
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2008; 2012
[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N.
Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]
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