A Dream Come True

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

Some gay people acknowledge their sexuality only to themselves and become accustomed to a closet life, even convincing themselves they prefer it to all the daunting complications that  accompany getting real…until someone come along to make the damn closet a far less habitable place, and all the complications of an alternative reality far less daunting …

A DREAM COME TRUE or AN ALTERNATIVE REALITY

An end-of-tether night

out on the town, stuck in

the closet

You were sitting alone

with a beer, green eyes

everywhere, sunlight

in reddish hair like sparks

from a winter fire

that lit a flame in my heart

from the start

I wanted to speak

but did not dare in case

you sent me packing

with a flea in my ear - so

I hung around...

and tried to pretend

I was with a friend;

you glanced my way,

piercing my heart,

played with a button

on your shirt…

I glimpsed a tawny hair,

a twinkle in each eye

beckoning me near

We chatted awhile,

your erotic smile arousing

such heat in me

that you were a part of me

long before you finally

invited me back to yours

for a coffee…

A getting-it-right night

in with a chance, got out

of the closet

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, c2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the tittle 'Burn-out' in my collection First Person Plural, Assembly Book, 2002.]

Hands that Say We're Making the Case for Love

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

We're in the 21st century, for goodness sake. If some people can refuse be intimidated by either gossip or religion in their approach to gay men and women....why can’t everyone?

This poem is based on a tale told me by a gay couple I once met in a gay bar. A visit to the local fair in the village where they live had been their first public outing as a couple.

Some locals were plainly none too happy when their local priest targeted the subject and object of their gossip not with fire and brimstone as they might have expected (and hoped?) but a welcome handshake…

Photo taken from the Internet

This poem is a villanelle.

HANDS THAT SAY WE'RE MAKING THE CASE FOR LOVE

Neighbours paused to gossip and stare,

(backed up by umbrellas in pouring rain)

that day we dared hold hands at the fair

We tried to make out we hadn’t a care

(stomachs turning over again and again);

neighbours paused to gossip and stare

Proud of a love we had sworn to share

(grateful to heaven for shielding our pain)

that day we dared hold hands at the fair

Some yobs yelled at us to kiss if we dare

(so we did, just as the sun joined in again);

neighbours paused to gossip and stare

Other voices labelled us a disgraceful pair

(a cry taken up with much indignant distain)

that day we dared hold hands at the fair

A local priest greeted us then and there

(friendly smile and handshake like an amen);

neighbours paused to gossip and stare

that day we dared hold held hands at the fair

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2014

(Back) Down to Earth

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

Regular readers will know that I suffer from regular bouts of depression. Antidepressants help, but they are no magic cure. Yet, somehow I manage to call on hidden strengths to keep from falling into the proverbial pit and make my way back to a semblance of ‘normal life’…whatever that is. The kinder spirits of nature and human nature play their part, taking me on journeys across time and space,  revisiting loved ones dead and living, places and people that have given me sanctuary from the worst life so loves to throw at us from time to lime, reminding me why I attempted suicide at  the age of thirty-three as well as how and why I found my way to start living again.

I have suffered from depression as a child although depression in children was not recognized in those days. I was often told I was a moody or ‘difficult’ child at school and at home. As I grew older and realized I am gay, I found myself fighting a lonely battle with my feelings but was probably seen by many as just another ‘difficult’ teenager. I was a nervous breakdown waiting to happen…as it did in my early 30s. Then, as now, writing was my lifeline, especially poetry.

Not so long ago, I met a young man who poured out his heart over several cups of tea in a local café where I sometimes have lunch. He was plainly depressed. I recognized the symptoms. He was also in denial of his sexuality, just as I had been many years ago. Could the two be linked? I put it to him that he might give it some thought. He leapt to his feet, almost knocking his chair over. ‘I’m not gay,’ he shouted. ‘I hate gays,’ he yelled again and left …but not before snatching up my card that was lying on the table.

He did get in touch and we exchange emails regularly. After using me as a verbal punch bag for some time, he later acknowledged to me (and more importantly, to himself) that he is gay, but has yet to come out to family, friends and colleagues. It is his decision, but I am sure he will find his way to being openly gay in time. Until then,  he says, it feels like like living in a halfway house as he discovers what it is to be gay and creates a comfort zone from which he can come out to family and friends.

Whatever our social, cultural or religious identity, sexual identity also needs (and deserves) to express itself, openly and freely. 

In many countries - Russia, Nigeria, Uganda, to name but a few, LGBT relationships are a criminal offence, but in so-called 'liberal' countries, too, gay boys and girls, men and women are growing up in a gay-unfriendly environment under immeasurable stress. Those of us who can be openly gay without fear or (visible) prejudice would do well to give them some thought, offer encouragement, and never become complacent. 

(BACK) DOWN TO EARTH 

Swaying, drunk with life

at the very edge of its darkness,

struggling to keep a balance

of sorts or go into freefall,

no soft landing if landing at all,

but a lonely journey

among fake highs and tearful lows,

landscape of human nature

Darkness, hell among ghosts

losing the will to live and keep

fighting the good fight

for all mind-body-spirit can achieve

in spite of those ever ready

to dismiss any positive soundings

by prose and poetry to obliterate us

from living memory

Let painters, musicians,

all art-forms inspire we less blessed

to find a place of rest

within ourselves for engaging

with the artist in a finer art

than art alone can aspire, take heart

heart from its ascension into a heaven

of its and our own making

Oh, but joie de vivre

can be ours for the reworking yet

if we but dare to let

its spirit run free - look to see,

read to learn, hear to listen,

lose what we fear most

to senses left open to ‘live’ positives

in nature and human nature 

At the edge of darkness,

sounds, sights, cries, calling

me back to you, my love,

while grieving us (much like this),

the kinder for mind-body-spirit

stage-managing rehearsals

for ... what, exactly? Where to look 

but in personal space?

Few if any answers there,

but I am as I am, and any who would

put me down cannot erase

Apollo’s first kisses on my lips

as to certain bliss

(if uncertain peace) it's back down

to Earth, all the softer landing to find

you waiting for me here

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'The Return' first appeared in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2005.]

Close Encounters of the Third Age

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

A gay friend, growing old(er) like me, recently commented with some bitterness that he probably would not be on his own in the winter of his years if he wasn’t gay. ‘Gay relationships are so fragile,’ he said.

Bollocks!

True, many people find themselves on their own as they get old(er). Some relationships are too fragile to stand the test of time, but that has more to do with people not working at them than their sexuality. (Far too many people take their partners for granted.)  Sadly, some partners die while others fade away into a mist of wishful thinking.

Whatever, the Spirit of Love (in all its various shapes and forms) will be a good companion for life if we but let it. Moreover, gay or straight, male or female, we are never too old for romance, and never let anyone tell you differently.

The way some people pour scorn on relationships between old(er) people where clearly more than just platonic makes me so angry. Take no notice. They are just jealous.

Okay, sex isn’t everything, but nice work if you can get it…

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD AGE

Clouds broke,

made us run for shelter

in a shop doorway;

you spoke first,

but I didn’t catch a word

for wind and rain

I could but trust

my smile would convey

all I wanted to say

as you closed in,

put your mouth to an ear

straining to hear

Breath on my face

sweeter than a love poem,

and I was smitten,

half-forgotten

dreams of youth returning

my embrace

A dull, grey, day,

bringing people together,

no matter we’re gay

or past our prime

for the Rainmaker doesn’t

give a damn

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

On Earth Mother's Watch

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

Regular readers will know that I discovered some very early poems a few years ago; they were in an old exercise book and examples of my handwriting at its worst! However, all were readable and I have made relatively few revisions although changed the title of this one several times..

So, yes, here’s another poem from those dark, closet days when I was just seventeen years-old and gay relationships were a criminal offence here in the UK.

The likes of Russia’s President, Vladimir Putin exist worldwide (countries like Uganda and Nigeria immediately spring to mind) where anti-gay legislation encourages the persecution of gay people for their sexuality alone; any supporters are a disgrace to his or her office, country,  religion, and themselves. [I say that not as a gay man but a human being.]

So, yes, what will future generations worldwide think when they look back at the start of this 21st century, I wonder?  Let's face it. Even now, a hundred years on from the outbreak of the First World War, certain snapshots of the world can but make us wonder about the legitimacy of the bigger picture its various political and religious leaders like to convey... 

ON EARTH MOTHER'S WATCH

The world is a dark place,

where humanity hides a cruel face,

has neither time nor space

for people like me, yet planet Earth

is so vast a place and its mother

has so kind a face so (surely?) room

for people like me

The world is my enemy

where humanity dead set against me;

fat chance against history

for people like me, yet somewhere

good folk are taking my part

across time and space, giving heart

to people like me

The world’s inhumanity

would persecute us for our sexuality,

cleanse time and space of us

even where a common sun, moon,

(and history) bent on invoking

Earth Mother’s call on time and space

to let us in

No womb nurtures its child in darkness

but for the light of the world to embrace

Copyright R. N. Taber 1963; 2013

Hold the Dream

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

For the benefit of any new readers, I have been living with prostate cancer for 3+ years now.  However, there is no cause for alarm, as hormone therapy continues to prevent the cancer becoming aggressive. I am sharing this news with readers because so many men over 50 live in such fear of prostate cancer that they ignore early warning signs. Never feel embarrassed or fearful about seeing a doctor if you are worried about anything. The earlier these things are treated, the better the chances of survival. Better a false alarm than an opportunity lost.

While I feel fine most of the time, sometimes I feel quite stressed and so tired that it is an effort even to write up the blogs. Ah, but I do so like to say ‘hello’ to everyone. Besides, we all need to rise above tears now and then. Oh, but tears are healthy. Dear me, yes! And don’t let anyone ever tell you different. [That goes for male readers too.] Even so, there are times when a clown’s mask is hard to remove, especially for those whom we don’t wish to burden with our worst fears. We should remember, though, that loved ones and close friends would want us to share them just as we would expect to share theirs. [If we would rather not, our relationship falls a long way short of the true spirit of love and friendship.]

Never keep your troubles all bottled up inside until you are ready to crack or you will, yes, crack, just as I did many years ago and suffered a severe nervous breakdown from which it took me some years to recover.

Love asks that we talk to each other, not at each other.

Meanwhile…

This poem happens to be told from a gay perspective, but gay or straight [in Greek myth, Apollo was said to be bisexual] and whether or not you have met that special someone to share your life, be sure hold the dream. Never give up on it. Its inspiration will always be a force for good in your life and those whose lives you touch. If some dreams never come true, know that one beautiful dream will invariably feed another, helping to create hearts and minds with a capacity for letting peace and love come into their own.

Sharing someone's home may be a common enough experience, but sharing their heart...Now, that's really something.

HOLD THE DREAM 

Met at a dance,

drifted into romance later,

full summer moon,

misty as a priest’s glass eye;

voices in the wind

found us laughing or crying,

till morning stars

reminding us as we part

that life goes on

World ceasing

to turn, moment supreme;

voices in the wind

sighing 'Yes' to our first kiss;

never a night like this,

Earth Mother like a parent  

with certain reservations

about our intentions, a rush

of mixed blessings  

Come dawn, applause,

a tumble of clowns ringing

in the ears, we’ll take

our places in the Circus of Life,

to play down its worst fears,

acknowledge any unshed tears

while turning deaf ears

to voices deriding our choices  

for being ‘out of sync’

Find Apollo, love’s embers raking

for sleepyheads waking

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem edition appeared in an anthology, A Loving Grace, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2002 and in my second collection, First Person Plural the same year.]

Answering to Nature

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

Today’s poem was written in 1982 while I was still recovering from a severe nervous breakdown; if the latter was by no means entirely down to a crisis of sexuality down growing up in an intrinsically homophobic environment, I cannot deny it played a significant part.

Trust Earth Mother to know better than those tunnel vision bigots who insist gay relationships are unnatural. She may well be called to put our case even to her own, and always win.

Ah, but no surprises there, really. After all, what is more natural than birth or the sexuality to which we are born?

ANSWERING TO NATURE

I heard a willow tree call my name,

down by the riverside,

as I surrendered to a rising flame,

and Apollo applauded

Sternly, the willow sounded us out

upon our intrusion;

what on earth were two men about,

engaging in such passion?

Frantically, we fought fire with fire

arms around each other,

as old Willow debated natural order

with Earth Mother

To how well Willow argued his case,

we were never privy,

but Earth Mother put him in his place

if birdsong anything to go by

We soared on wings of a symphony,

to share Apollo’s throne,

a natural life-force and its spirituality

ensuring our safe return

Never did a bed feel more heavenly

than where we lay, spent, to rest,

answering to none but a willow tree

persuaded Mother knows best

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2013

Being Me

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

Today's piece is a relatively early poem, rediscovered some time ago and only slightly but significantly revised.

Now, for anyone growing up in an intrinsically homophobic environment as I did, being gay can send self-esteem over a cliff. My closet was an abyss where I hung suspended for years.

Growing up, though, brings with it an appreciation of what’s wrong with our world and how we can change it for the better. We can choose to try, each in our own big or small way, or settle for how things are…

BEING ME

I was never any good at school,

my schooldays were a sham,

I’d mess around and play the fool

because I couldn’t quite get to grips

with who I am

I had a working class education,

didn’t ever dare aim high,

couldn’t see the point of ambition,

so I’d mess around and play the fool,

content to live a lie

I had a real problem with identity,

couldn’t bear anyone to know

it was an awakening homosexuality

saw me mess around and play the fool,

put on a side-show

I’d have sex in sly, secret, places,

even fancy guys in the street,

jerk open their shut-down faces,

let, dark, penetrative looks grind me 

to dust at their feet

There came a time as I grew older,

I wearied of playing the ham,

and resolved to get real, be bolder,

look the world in the eye and dare it

deny me for who I am

I came out to just about everyone,

and it was scary, but, oh, so cool

to be free at last of secrets, have fun,

walk tall, no more putting myself down 

for a self-conscious fool

I was never any good at school,

my early years were a sham,

but if I sometimes play the fool,

it’s because I’m not just gay but human,

and happy to be who I am

Copyright R. N. Taber 1985; 2014

Spontaneous Combustion

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

The Regent’s Park is one of London’s several major parks and not far from where I live. After strolling on Hampstead Heath, it is my second favourite pastime to walk along the Regent’s Canal towpath, pass by London Zoo’s aviary and over the bridge into the park. Besides acres of beautifully cared for grass and trees; there is also Queen Victoria’s rose garden (splendid in summertime) and a lake that nurtures all kinds of wildlife including beautiful black as well as white swans. 

Ah, but that it is not the only reason I love the park for chance can be a very fine thing indeed...

SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION

I was out in the Regent’s Park, seeking

an ice cream man for a toffee fudge cone,

when I saw him in a window of a café,

his face a rosy hue, baseball cap all askew, 
knew I just had to try my luck with him,

maybe even find out (in time) why a light

in his eyes shone so dim, as if peering

through a sunny haze, seeking something

or someone, perhaps a reason for living?

Ice cream forgotten, I went and (discreetly)

sat down at his table, politely asking

if I may, an ice cold orange juice in solitary

splendour on a large oval tray, pleased

when he nodded, although he did not say

a word, merely continued to look out

of the window (at a world passing him by?)

And who was I, a stranger to enquire?

Oh, how the pucker of his brow, green eyes

and full lips, set my entire being on fire

in a way that had happened only once before,

thought never to strike twice in a lifetime;

yet, here was I, blushing like a teenager, just

for trying to make conversation with a man

who may even turn out to be straight, although

I doubted that (don’t ask me why or whose

need the greater) but we got chatting by and by

(no easy task, I have to say, but got easier)

Many a day since, especially after a falling out,

we’d sulk (separately) in the Regent’s Park,

but invariably make up again, come what may,

at that same café where our lives took off...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'If The Cap Fits' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]