Shipmates

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

Very few of my gay-interest poems have been published outside my collections; this is one that appeared in an anthology, True Love, Anchor Books (Forward Press) 2001 and subsequently in my collection the following year.

Ah, the (rare) bliss of a one-night stand turning into something more ...

Some years ago, I met a guy on the Gay Scene who was drop dead gorgeous. It turned out he was a sailor. For all I knew, he had someone in every port. Did I care? Well, no…and, yes, we did have protective sex. [Tip: Never have too much to drink when there is any possibility that you might have sex. It can ruin the sex and a condom is the last thing on anyone’s mind].

We had a fling that lasted as long as his shore leave then he sailed away, I assumed out of my life forever… but I saw him every shore leave for several years. Oh, how I  envied him a life at sea until he confided how he hated the closet but it was impossible to be openly gay in Her Majesty’s Navy without having to endure daily bullying, even violence. He envied me for being free to sail the sea of life without having to live a lie. (Having been forced to live that very lie from school days to early manhood, I understood only too well what he meant.) One day, we hugged and kissed goodbye, and I never saw him again. He disappeared from my life as unexpectedly as he had entered it.

Even now, years later, I answer a knock on the door and half expect to find him standing there, arms open wide, a cheeky grin on his face and a wicked twinkle in each grey-green eye. I do just that sometimes, but only in dreams...

SHIPMATES 

It was just a one-night stand,

I’d tell myself;

mustn’t let a fun time in bed

go to the head;

get a grip. Stiff upper lip

and all that

Read a book. Watch a movie.

Go for a walk, anything...

Must stop hovering, waiting

for the damn phone to ring,

’cause it won’t, yet here I am

in case it does…

We’re but ships in the night!

(Logo for a tee shirt

bought in Old Compton Street);

chin up, chest out,

time to get real again, strut

and fret a Happy Hour

"Away, all boats, away!"

Till I answered a knock on my door,

and there you were…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, rev. 2014

[Note:  For any readers unfamiliar with London UK, Old Compton Street is in a district called Soho that has hosted some great gay bars and cafes for many years. . An earlier version of this poem first appeared in True Love, Anchor Books, 2001 and subsequently in my second collection, First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Spring Fever OR War Games of the Heart

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

Readers continue to ask if a CD is available of my poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square back in 2009 as my contribution to Antony Gormley’s One and Other 24/7 ‘live sculpture’. Sadly, no, but you can still catch it here, just bear in mind that the whole thing lasts an hour.

www.oneandother.co.ukparticipants/Roger_T

Now some readers have asked why I am repeating historical posts on Google Plus. On the whole, though, people seem to like having the opportunity to return to poems for which they don’t have time to browse the blogs. These will be a mix of gay-interest and general poems, a few You Tube video-poems thrown in for good measure from time to time, will usually remain on Google + for five days, and be repeated every so often in the hope of catching new readers and keeping regulars.

Now, spring is on its way. Well, hopefully so. Ah, but spring fever easily outlasts spring. Nor does it always play fair with its lovers.  If you ever go on the 'Gay Scene' you’ll know just what I mean. (Not that it's any different on the 'Straight Scene'...it isn't.)

I often write about living among friendly ghosts. Not all ghosts, though, are welcome, especially those hell bent upon reminding us of our mistakes. 

Me, I am but a sheltered flower these days…of the wallflower variety. But… who knows? If being in my late 60s places me in the autumn of my years, perhaps I may yet be in for an Indian summer…

SPRING FEVER or WAR GAMES OF THE HEART

We greeted love on a high,

my heart and I, acting our parts

for beech, sycamore, lark,

nightingale, lured by their call,

choosing to ignore the cuckoo’s

sweet if cocksure yell

We found secret beaches,

among the remains of rainbows;

caresses, kisses, promises

wrung to madness, high tides

sweeping us way beyond the salty

shingle of local gossiping

Ah, but we abandoned love

(without thinking) for other thrills,

seduced in crowded places

by winks and grins inviting us

to play cuckoo since all's fair in sex

and war games of the heart

Reunited among ashes of defeat, 

but much, much, too late...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.] 

Eternal Springtime of the Caring Heart

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

Oh, but there is something about spring that seems to bring out the best in even the worst people. I well recall how one spring a work colleague (culturally homophobic, but always careful to pay lip service to political correctness) conceded on one occasion, while we were on our own, taking a tea break, ‘Well, maybe you gays aren’t so bad after all…’

True, spring is some way off yet, but we can dream, can’t we?

Now, every season is magical in its own way, but there is something so special about spring that any small child with a lively imagination could be forgiven for saying he or she had spotted fairies taking charge of things. Of course, we adults know it was only blossom sailing on a spring breeze. (Well, don’t we…?)

ETERNAL SPRINGTIME OF THE CARING HEART 

It was a spring to remember;

we saw rainbows every day

in leaves singing peace songs

for lovers, including those of us  

who are gay

It was a spring to remember,

let a sweet-smelling rain

heap nature’s blessings on us,

wash clean the worst stereotypes,

fears and pain

It was a spring to remember,

Pandora’s Box flung wide;

innocence, mating swallows

taking time’s feisty cut and thrust

in their stride

It was a spring to remember,

a fine memory to cherish

as seasons pass, leaves, petals,  

rainbows fade, and fairest things

seem to perish…

Spring, a time to remember,

rainbows for every day

of love’s asking but to be left

in peace where Nature’s banners

flying, bold and gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014