Late Arrival on Cloud Nine

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

In mythology, Pygmalion was a sculptor who fell in love with a statue he had carved. Yes, well, we can do better than that...can't we?

Sometimes, it seems dreams can only ever be just...well, dreams... then love comes along and sees to it that life takes a turn for the better regardless of our colour, creed, sex, sexuality. Love, of course, takes many forms and lovers don't have a monopoly. Even so, the joys of being in love with someone who reciprocates can never be overstated.

Whatever, Carpe Diem, seize the day!

 LATE ARRIVAL ON CLOUD NINE 

I was gazing at the sky,

creating day-dreams out of clouds

so far, far, above,

friendly faces mouthing my secrets

telling the world I’m in love

and passing birds flapping wings

as if to approve,

reassuring me I have nothing at all

to prove to anyone

that I am any less of a man or person

for loving another,

yet as I looked away, sipped my tea,

I despaired of loving someone

so far, far, above me in every way,

has no idea I’m gay

In the shiny steel table top

I could still see the sky, day-dreams

determined to stay,

but a fingertip away, so near yet so far,

as you were to me

only an hour ago when we chatted

over a coffee, laughing

and joking about, well, no matter what

since just the sound

of your voice, the light in your eyes,

the turn of your smile

left me reaching for the sky, heart

like the wings of a bird,

beating, oh, so madly for trying to say,

I love you and I’m gay

I half rose and made to leave

my day-dreams behind, pay the bill,

get real…

when a distant roll of thunder took me

by surprise, and I sat down

just as it began to rain, and I had no mac,

wearing a tee shirt

and jeans since the day had started fine,

no reason to suspect

a storm, so I rose again to take shelter

in the café

when I felt a tap on my right shoulder,

turned to find you there,

an, oh, so queer expression on your face

as you moved in for a kiss

I’d had no idea you had guessed

my day-dreaming of our being lovers

all the time,

waiting for me to share the, come clean

about my feelings

instead of sculpting them with clouds

sharing with the birds,

winging to, oh, so far, far-away places,

where the only faces

I ever saw were yours, its shy smile

just like the one

you gave me just before you kissed me

in the pouring rain

and I kissed you back, no need to say

I love you and I’m gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

A Passing Bell

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

I do not believe in a life after death in any resurrection sense, but neither do I believe that death is an end in any final sense. When we die, we leave something of ourselves behind in family, friends, even some casual acquaintances on whom we may unknowingly made an impression by something we may have said or done (or not, as the case may be). They, in turn are shaped, maybe only slightly  but invariably significantly by such moments in time. In this way, a part of us lives on in them just as a part of them lives on in us.

Whatever our socio-cultural-religious mindset, we can but move on after the deaths of loved ones comprising family and friends just as we will live on in them when the time comes for us to leave this world, yet there is no leaving anyone behind; such is the continuum of life.


A PASSING BELL

A bell, it tolls, a single cry in the night,
summoning all my senses to reply
as if to some lonely body taking fright
at having to contemplate it may die

The cry, it painted me a dream one night,
of a graveyard lit by a weepy moon
where someone knelt in a pool of light
as anonymous as some faceless stone

A ghostly figure, it looked up at the stars,
following a trail past even the moon,
where the bell carried news of us to Mars,
old God of War, Reaper come too soon

The cry, it was but your heart calling me,
the ghost, a living metaphor for love,
assuming your fair form if, oh, so briefly,
urging me to let go, move on, and live

So it was, a dream bell, chiming we two
(as one) across all time and space,
berating the how, why, where (and who)
denying gay lovers a deserving peace

The ghost, from death, it steered me clear,
with its life-force I gladly entwined;
waking, I chose life, in time loved another,
for moving on, leaving no one behind

Copyright R N. Taber 2016

Macho-In-Crowd Taboo

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

I just love it when people get in touch with feel-good stories. Invariably, they inspire me to write a poem. It doesn’t even matter if readers think it’s a good poem, a bad poem or even a corny poem. If just one person can not only relate to it but finish reading it feeling GOOD about themselves, and perhaps a more kindly disposed towards that weirdly unpredictable phenomenon we call human nature, it has been a poem worth the writing.

This poem was originally written especially for ‘Roy’ and ‘Davis’ who are out to family, friends and work colleagues and ‘everyone accepts us without a hint of the hostility we were expecting.’ True to say, life doesn’t always work out like that, but isn’t it just so wonderful when it does? They asked if I could write a poem for them. How could I refuse?

In seventy-six countries, gay relationships remain illegal; in at least five, it is punishable by death. Their governments and secret ‘religious’ police (as in Iran) should be thoroughly ashamed, especially the latter who are a disgrace to their religion. Every human being is different; those differences don’t make us different, only human, and that applies to sexual as well as social/cultural/religious/identity.

Those clerics - from various religions - who insist that LGBT issues are incompatible with religious principles are a disgrace to that religion. Religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality. Even so, no one should be made to feel they must choose between their sexuality and religion. [How does living a lie conform to any religious principles?]

Here’s wishing all those gay boys and girls, men and women around the world who cannot or will not take a chance on truth – for whatever reason – much love and happiness in their lives anyway.

Yes, yes, I have said all this before on the blogs, but as my dear mother used to say, if something is worth saying it is worth repeating.

A teacher at my secondary school once commented along the lines that we should never assume the worst although it does no harm to be prepared for it. That was over 50 years ago, and I have since learned the hard way that it is a sound principle by which to live.

Some secrets were just never meant to be kept. For example, not all gay men are screaming queens so At the same time, not all gay men so why even mention sexuality unless the subject comes up? A straight person does not introduce himself or herself as 'Hello, I'm ---- , 'm straight' so why should it be any different if you're gay?

Oh, and by the way, people are always asking how much autobiography I weave into my poems. Ah, well, that’s for me to know and you to wonder…

MACHO-IN-CROWD TABOO

I hungered for your body,

and could tell you wanted mine,

the way you’d catch my eye,

throw me an, oh, so wicked smile

when you thought no one else

was looking, trying to catch me out,

put it on the grapevine

that the rumours were true

about me and you

I longed to feel your lips

on mine, hands tearing off my clothes

while mine played copycat

with your quick, fever pitch fingers,

though so far we had only

made love in each other’s heads,

exchanging glances across

this office, that cafe, a bar popular

with hot-blooded hets

Oh, but our in-crowd

wasn’t really us, hadn’t been since

you surprised me with a kiss,

swore it was for a dare, and I might

have believed you

but for the queerest look on your face

that gave the game away,

suggesting some dreams come true

and you, too, are gay

We made love one night

in a cramped single bed at your place

(did we care?) finally resolved

to kill the lie, hold our heads high,

tell the world we’re in love,

reason with family, friends, colleagues,

and anyone else uncomfortable

with the fact that falling in love equally

applies to gay people

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2016

Engaging with Ghosts at the Edge of Time

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

In July 2013, prominent Cameroon gay rights activist Eric Lembembe was murdered. This man’s murder followed several attacks on the offices of Human Rights workers, including those working for equal rights for gay people. In a statement, Human Rights Watch said: "We don’t know who killed Eric Lembembe, or why he was killed, but one thing is clear: the Cameroonian authorities’ utter failure to stem homophobic violence sends the message that these attacks can be carried out with impunity."

[Eric Lembembe - Photo taken from the Internet]

In February 2015, a report issued by the International Federation for Human Rights   asserted that ‘It’s not safe to be gay or support Lesbian, gay, Bisexual Transgender and Intersexual (LGBT) rights in Cameroon.'

So much for the reader who got in touch some time ago to say he had dipped into my gay blog and doesn’t understand why I on earth I bother with it. He further suggests I ‘should stop celebrating my sexuality or whining about homophobia and just be grateful gay people have never had it so good.’ In some parts of the world, yes, this is true, and in gay-friendly environments the quality of life for many gay people has become markedly better in recent years, but in other parts…

Is this reader aware, I wonder, that 76 countries continue to criminalise ‘homosexual conduct’ punishable with prison sentences and hard labour? In five countries, the death penalty still applies.

Meanwhile…

Some time ago, I met a guy in a gay bar who turned out to be a naval officer who had been with patrols during and after the wars in Iraq. He was due for another tour of duty in Afghanistan within days. I have mixed feelings about that evening, and it haunts me still. A graphic description of war’s lesser and greater atrocities made my blood run cold.

We spent a good few hours just drinking ale and chatting during which he related some harrowing tales that gave me a whole new take on a sailor’s life on 21st century waves. ‘It’s not only the army and air forces that have their share of heroes,’ he commented wryly, shrugged and added, ‘We all put our lives on the line for peace, but the navy is always the last to make the headlines.’

Having offloaded for a good hour, he then changed the subject. We did not refer to it again, but discussed how well - or badly - gay people are perceived and received worldwide. It appears he has a partner, but gave no details and I did not pry. Suffice to say, their relationship remains a closet one. [While it may be legal in some countries now for armed services personnel to be gay, many if not most will confirm - as my friend did - that 'it's better and probably safer to keep quiet about it if only for a quiet life.']

As my companion was at pains to point out, men and women across the world are putting their lives on the line for peace every day. He commented, more than a shade wryly, that naval services rarely get the media attention or credit they deserve, especially true of gay personnel, of course, in all the armed forces. 'We deserve as much respect and privacy as the next man or woman,' he added for good measure.

ENGAGING WITH GHOSTS AT THE EDGE OF TIME or G-A-Y, PAST AND PRESENT FUTURE

I saw a ghost one midnight clear
as I strolled at the edge of the sea,
but had to strain  to see and hear,
its sweet, musical voice calling me

It moved no distance left or right
as despite cold fear, I veered its way,
unable to resist the ghastly sight
of poor humanity fallen into decay

Over the sand, I dragged my feet
to where the apparition awaited me,
Poetry of Quiet posed no threat
but muffled murmurs from the sea

‘I am your past, present, and future,
said the ghost (voice vaguely familiar)
getting the better of human nature
wherever it seeks to spite, kill, injure.’

'See me here, engaging with the sea
with a passion as for a (so) dear friend,
and though I die, believe this of me,
I lived for Peace on Earth to the end.'

Gone! Leaving me to sea and sand,
this restless heart well shaken but sure
of nature's taking us (all) by the hand
through life and love, in peace and war

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2016

A Singular Take on Rush Hour

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

A reader contacted me to ask if I have any more ‘story’ poems. Well, I like to oblige where I can…

Like many of my poems, this one is based on a conversation I once had with a delightful gay couple in a predominantly straight bar, at a time when I was feeling (and probably looking) very fed-up after a BAD day, all of which only goes to show how life is full of surprises; we never know what positive possibilities may await us around the next corner unless we just…turn it.

I do so love a happy ending, don’t you? We may not always find one, but we can have a great time trying, and one unhappy ending doesn't make a lifetime...

It's important, too, to remember that a happy ending may not take the form we would like. For example, I did not expect to be spending the latter years of my life on my own BUT I have some GOOD friends, am in sufficiently reasonable health to get out and about...and, of course, I have you, my readers. SO...no unhappy ending either and I remain a Happy Bunny, always looking on the bright side of life...well, most of the time. 

A SINGULAR TAKE ON RUSH HOUR

Looking
for love in all the wrong places;
cruising bars.
misreading faces that seemed
interested in me
only to discover as we moved in
on each other
these were only masks, ghosts
without substance
except in eyes of desire looking
for more, far more
than a one night stand, but living
in a fantasy land

Looking
for love in all the wrong places;
catching eyes
in turn-on, quick, turn-away faces  
less interested in me
than in feet, all sizes, pounding
frantic streets
for all manner of everyday meets
about as likely
to measure up to expectation
as wishful thinking
about a sexy lead in a new drama
on television 

Looking
for love in all the wrong places;
dressing to kill,
trying to thrill, excite, make out
I’m all that I’m not
because so unhappy with all I am
without someone
to need me, want me for more
than sexuality
demands we must satisfy this way
or another
given mind, body and spirit at odds
with each other

Thinking
of love in the most unlikely places,
even day dreaming 
on the 7:15 carrying me through
the hustle and bustle
that’s an everyday commute to a job
I’ve come to hate,
not least because it’s all repetition,
nine to five
and never (quite) alive at start or end
for being on my own
at waking, playing, even (mostly)
sleeping alone

Not looking 
or even thinking of love, but chatting
to a stranger
while waiting for train running late
one dreary day;
it turned out we had much in common
and it mattered less
about all the pushing and shoving
on the platform,
frantic rushing for a seat once the train
(finally) arrived;
we laughed companionably, thankful
to have survived

In time, friend and lover to each other
without (at first) looking for either …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Soldier, Soldier OR An Affinity with War Poets

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

Having been a gay boy and young man at a time when gay relationships were not only a criminal offence here in the UK but gay people were considered the lowest of the low, I am sometimes asked if I am bitter towards the human race in general about those (and subsequent) years. I asked myself the same question on my recent 70th birthday.

Yes, I was once, for a long time, but not now. Nor is it only because we even have gay marriage here in the UK now for much of the human race (given its heterosexual majority) still has a low opinion of gay people.

Years ago, at school my class was discussing the subject of age, I forget why. ‘What’s it like, getting old?’ someone asked of our teacher who was probably barely 40. “Much the same as any other time,” came the wise reply, “You can make peace with it or go to war with it, your choice. I advise the former, though, if only because it helps you think more clearly…”

Everyone laughed although I suspect none of us could have explained why, but nearly 60 years on I have to say he had a point.

SOLDIER, SOLDIER  or AN AFFINITY WITH WAR POETS

During wintry attic days,

I would wander Memory Lane

along with a toy soldier

that had kept me company

through ups and downs,

trials and tribulations, crises

and celebrations, tears,

fears, and multiple variations

on just about every theme

life challenges us with taking up,

rejecting out of hand

or putting aside for rainy days

in that Wonderland

where nothing really matters

but human identity,

regardless of creed, ethnicity

sex or sexuality

He stood by me,

the toy soldier, when you left

for someone new,

and my heart was near breaking

as I teetered at an abyss

of desolation, wanting to die

for the loneliness

of not hearing your dear voice,

cherishing your touch,

relishing kisses that had meant

so much for so long,

seeing no way clear to go on…

but the soldier

comforted me even as I cried,

urged me onwards,

head high, the badge of love

worn with pride

He reassured me,

the toy soldier, at my nadir,

it was no reflection

on my being gay that love

had abandoned me,

society slowly hand clapping

its decision,

observing my melancholy

with open derision,

but such is the way of life,

love, human nature,

that even positive thinking

is vulnerable to changes

of heart in others no less likely

to pander to prejudices

than dogmatic political, religious,

social injustices

Time to leave the attic,

said my soldier friend, shake off

the dust and breathe again,

leave wintry days to sad old men,

take a cue from spring rain

nurturing the kinder side of nature,

bringing flowers to bloom,

turning leaves green, waking us up

from hibernation,

making of life a celebration,

(no place for toys)

that men, women, girls and boys

may explore the beauty

of a world too busy arguing
this or that policy

to see to spreading the GOOD news

about diversity

Urged on by the soldier,

to victory over prejudice, hate crime,

bigots preaching what’s best

(while inciting a fickle human nature

to do its worst...)

exposing stereotypes for fake news

winning hearts and minds

to such differences as are no more 

than expressions of humanity,

personal identities for the sharing,

caring, earning... less fighting

over who’s right or wrong in history

but coming to heel,

letting ourselves feel for humanity,

access an innate spirituality,

make peace not war with creed,

ethnicity, gender, sexuality...

Together, we’ll seize the day by its poetry,
for homing in on a common humanity

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2016