In the Frame (Again)

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

Many people in denial are not consciously aware of it. Ask someone if they are homophobic or racist, for example, and the chances are they will deny it even if their behaviour suggests otherwise. Yes, they may well not want to openly admit they are guilty of something they know in their hearts is morally indefensible, but some people are genuinely in such denial they cannot and will not accept any such accusations. 

The subconscious, however, has no such inhibitions and it can lead to a sense of confusion that, in turn, can cause depression. Take yours truly, I was never in denial of being gay from about the age of 14; not to myself, that is. It’s true to say that, in those days, LGBT folks were not well received by society, and I felt obliged to keep my sexuality to myself. It was not until after my mother died, in my early 30’s, that I came to realise that it was not my sexuality that had kept me in what had been, for the most part, a very lonely closet for years but my family. There had simply been no doubt in my mind that – apart from my mother – my family would not be in the least supportive.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe not. More than 60+ years on, I'll never know for sure any more than I suspect they will either.

So … what did this say about me, as much as my family? It took a nervous breakdown to finally admit that I had no real sense of family, and my subconscious had been wrestling with this since my schooldays. If we had been a family that talked things through and could really talk to each other, things might have been different, but it was as it was; no one to blame except perhaps ‘society’. Whatever, the emotional estrangement I’d felt with my family took a physical turn, and I doubt whether any of them will every understand why. I blame myself for not standing up for, LGBT rights, letting anger, hurt and resentment get the better of me …and more. But any attempt at reconciliation would be a waste of time, nt least because I don’t want one any more than I suspect, at heart, they do. 

If I could put the clock back, the one thing I would definitely do would be to insist we talk to each other as a family, no rushing to judgement. Sadly, though, 1950’s society was inclined to rush to judgement on many matters that continue to haunt even a so-called ‘progressive’ e 21^st century when it comes to prejudice and discrimination to which, notwithstanding Human Rights and Equal Opportunities, many societies and communities around the world remain in denial.

IN THE FRAME (AGAIN)

Whenever I am feeling low,
I stroll in a field where sunflowers grow,
reaching for the sky, as do I 
when moods have me slump in an armchair,
wondering where I go from there, 
searching a wall for answers
finding none, inspired to go looking in a field
of sunflowers  

Engaging with me, my sunflowers
talk me through all that a mind-body-spirit
in free fall needs to know
if to prevent a battering from the such winds
and rain as even humankind 
finds hard to bear as, all but beaten to a pulp
by mixed emotions, times changing for the worse,
no easy solutions 

They will touch upon ancient myths,
these giants of their kind, rework them for me,
place them in a Here-and Now,
where, just as Apollo failed to win Daphne
for his own, so, too, must I home in
on any suspect motivation and blind speculation,
fuelling apprehension and self-doubt, follow instincts,
make a decision 

All thought processes now hopefully
more open to home truths and common sense,
time to focus, get real,
leave a field of  sunflowers on my wall
to its fading, antique frame,
shake off my slump, demand all mind-body-spirit
pull together as one, reason the need, dare to give it a name,
put it (back) in the frame

Yet another existential traveller, looking for answers
in a field of sunflowers...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

[Note: This post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today.]

Applause, a Majority Verdict

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

Another (new) tree-related poem today. I was in my late 30’s before I finally came out to the world as a gay man; it was no easier then than it is now for many gay men and women around the world. To many families and friends, it makes no difference, they love us no less for being “different”. 

As I have said many times on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. Most people get that; sadly, though, many never will. Bigotry seems to be a way of life with some people, whether it is homophobia, racism or whatever; they cannot see that one of the wonders of the human as well as natural world is its diversity, without which its common mind-body-spirit would have seen nowhere near the progress it has made over centuries of narrow mindedness and narrow vision. 

We can blame a socio-cultural-religious-political upbringing and we might well not be far wrong, but it is no excuse for narrow mindedness; it is up to us all, each and every one of us, l to assert ourselves as bigger and better than that, accept that every person is unique and respect him or her for that instead of homing in on what we choose to see as their flaws and weaknesses. (Let’s face it, we all have our share of those.) 

Many people will not admit to bigotry, of course, if only because it is not ‘politically correct’; it is not what we say that counts, though, but how we feel and what we do about it. 

APPLAUSE, A MAJORITY VERDICT 

I could hear a voice screaming
begging for aid, to be let out, go free
from whatever trap it was in,
and I would have turned a deaf ear
to its pleas, far too close
for comfort, demanding I attempt
to answer its calls, no mind-body-spirit
deserving any prison walls, my heart aching,
for it just as dawn breaking 

From my window, I could just se
a pattern of light among the branches
of a splendid old tree
that had been so good a companion
for more years than now
than I care to recall, a pattern shaped
much like a skylark singing
a cheerful greeting, the anonymous prisoner
still in pain, and screaming 

As the lark sang, the leafy pattern
of light began to assume other features,
skylark still a felt presence
if conveying less joy than pain, and then
I saw that lark and prisoner
were one and the same, nature playing
a cruel game with me;
in no time, I could put a name to the leafy face
and the prisoner’s voice 

Sure enough, image once complete,
I saw myself, trapped in an alien persona,
no idea what to do or where
to turn for aid, only able to scream over
and over again, of a lark no sign,
only this pathetic specimen of humanity,
its very mind-body-spirit
refusing to rally, raise the alarm, give me a break;
Apollo, yawning, but half awake 

I reached within myself, daring to go
further than ever before, needing to know
what's happening to me,
my image at the heart of a tree screaming
to be set free, could it be
I was unhappy with my lot, refusing to see it
for what it was, but a pretence
of being happy, and suddenly, it’s as clear as day;
I need to tell the world I’m gay 

True, the world may not want to know,
and there will always be some who choose
a bigoted agenda for reasons
best known to themselves, although excuse
enough provided by this religion
or that cultural tradition’s setting itself
apart from a common humanity,
for being a shade better, such is the folly, vanity,
and diversity of human nature

Years on, it’s but a lark’s sweet voice I hear singing,
Apollo applauding, humanity (still) debating

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

 [Note: This post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today.] RNT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Wise to Ways of the World

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

A reader writes that “My partner and I love your tree poems, and always find them a comfort and inspiration. Can we have another please? Well, many thanks for that, and it’s my pleasure to oblige.

I only discovered later that the reader and his partner are gay; they have since been in touch again to ask me to post the poem here as well as on my general blog. 

When I first started the blog, feedback made it clear that readers welcomed the idea of a gay-interest poetry blog, and there seemed to be relatively little interest in my general blog although I have always made a point of posting gay poems there as well from time to time. I am pleased to say that, 10 years on, more gay readers seem to be dipping into both blogs now; even so, it is clear that many don't, which saddens because a poem is for everyone. It is true to say, of course, that much the same applies to general blog readers as feedback suggests few ever dipinto my gay blog. 

Poetry should be breaking down socio-cultural divides, at least that was my hope when I started the poetry blogs back in 2010; feedback suggests that hope has been realised in part, but just as in societies around the world, we still have a way to go yet; even so, some progress is better than none.😉

Whatever, I can only hope and many if not most of you, will enjoy this new poem that  has taken me down the sunny side of Memory Lane and helped restore flagging spirits; I can always rely on nature to engage with and rally the latter, even when I cannot get out and about to enjoy it  for real. Yet, no less real is the presence of nature in any of us if we will but let it in; no way does the creator-performer in any art form have a monopoly on nature unless in so far as it is their raison d'être to provide food for thought.

GROWING WISE TO WAYS OF WORLD 

Once, I had a friend
that would always listen
to my worst concerns,
ease the troubled mind
of a child who didn’t yet understand
the ways of the world

Once, I had a friend
that always knew just how
to cheer a sad heart,
bring light to any darkness,
company to ease a growing loneliness
for ways of the world 

As the child took on
the seasons of life, it learned
to take each as it came,
the good, the bad, the ugly,
let the heart sing even as it would weep
for ways of the world 

Now and then, the child
would return to bond yet again
with its old friend
in dreams if not reality
save a mind-body-spirit close to free fall
for ways of the world 

Though a time must come
when death us do part, old friend,
your spirit lives on
in all who care to engage
with an ages-old wisdom being passed on,
generation to generation 

Whenever ways of the world would defeat us,
find new life forces to be had in its trees

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Take care, folks, and be sure to nurture a positive thinking mindset,

Hugs,

Roger 

 

Forgiven

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

Today’s (new) poem was inspired by a tale of two old friends of mine, lovers for years, having made it up after a nasty tiff; the tiff itself, probably made all the worse by the tension we are all feeling during this awful pandemic.

 FORGIVEN

A masked man sat near me
in a bar, and social distancing with his body
while getting up close
with wide blue eyes dispensing with any need
for words 

I found myself listening to eyes
enabling words of love to pierce cloth ears,
invade my personal space,
take my heart prisoner, be sure I catch the sob
in its voice 

Any resistance on my part, futile
from the start, those eyes long since engraved
on a mind-body-spirit
regretting harsh words spoken in the rising heat
of a moment 

As I swam in those beautiful eyes,
waves lapping intimately at all parts of me,
it was like a homecoming,
all your senses and mine embracing a missed-you
kind of greeting 

The masked man drained his glass,rose
and headed for the exit without looking back,
nor was there any need;
four eyes had said all there was to say, two bodies
left on love to feed 

Back home, masks off, in a bubble
of comfortable silence, we ate a meal abandoned
in rage, now forgotten,
tucking in, confident of glorious days ahead for our
having been forgiven

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Take care, folks, and try not to let Covid stress get to you even if looking on the bright(er) side of life requires peering through an emotional fog to find it,

Hugs,

Roger 

[Note a gay-friendly married couple insisted I post this poem on my general blog as well today on the grounds that "It will probably ring a bell with couples worldwide, gay or straight ...]

Nature, Mentor

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

 Another new poem today if only by way of my making (some) progress in warding off depression; it is an old enemy of mine, depression, and poetry has always proven more effective that any antidepressant. 

 Hopefully, dear readers, the end product will be of some comfort to you during these hard times as writing it has been for me.

 NATURE, MENTOR

A fat thrush flew to my window sill
from a branch of an old oak tree,
one of several guardians keeping watch
over house and garden, peered at me
and cocked its head to one side, possibly
curious about its reflection in the glass
or perhaps wondering why a human being
slumped in an armchair doesn’t spread wings,
take to the air, shrug off dull care 

The thrush flew off, and I lost count
of leaves torn away from the tree
by an autumnal breeze letting the world
know its intent to unsettle nature
and human nature simply because it can,
no other reason than that, and I’m left
envying a thrush for being able to go about
daily life in much the same way as it always has
and always will, no worries 

When next I looked, a squirrel squinted
back at me as if amazed that anyone
would prefer to slump in an old armchair
on a fresh, sunny day, winter on its way,
all the greater reason to be up and about,
nature not ready to go to sleep just yet,
swallows flown south and tortoises dozing
but Earth Mother insists we must put a show on,
not a full cast, better than none 

The tree, it returned squirrel to its heart
with a leap and a bound, out of sight
if not out of mind, and I fancy I can hear
Apollo’s lyre, urging me to get on with life,
no matter a coronavirus imposing chaos,
take my cue from nature, carry on regardless;
though it may sometimes be in short supply,
there’s joy to be had in the simplest, everyday task,
that cannot be hid behind a mask 

Wherever Covid-19 would strike humanity down,
be sure its mind-body-spirit will see us rise again

Copyright R. N. Taber
(October 21^st 2020) 

Take care and stay safe, folks,

Hugs, 

Roger

[Note: For those readers who dip into both blogs, this poem also appears on my gay-interest poetry blog today.]

Forever Young OR Ghost, Life Force

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

A new poem today, the one I was working on before I started posting archive titles, but became too stressed-out with coronavirus-related events to continue. I remain stressed, but, as always, the creative therapy provided simply by writing (and finishing) a poem has significantly (if not completely) restored my positive-thinking mindset. 

Sadly, the Covid-29 coronavirus continues to take its toll on the world population, each death a personal tragedy for families and friends left behind to grieve, and ask “Why …”

Me, I still miss the person-to-person contact with those I have loved and lost, but their presence in me, by way of a posthumous consciousness, allows me to keep company with their ghosts whenever I choose.

A reader writes that “Ghosts suggest someone who cannot rest in peace for whatever reason. You should not encourage people to deprive the dead of their right to rest in peace, it is very selfish act.” 

We are all entitled to our points of view, of course, but this reader and I must agree to differ. I think anyone would know if the Spirit of Love returning loved ones to us in this way was unhappy about our calling on it to do so. None of my ghosts summoned by love have appeared in the least unsettled by the experience, quite the contrary. 

There are, of course, ghosts that may haunt us for reasons other than love, those that appear of their own accord, that we would much prefer leave us alone; that, in my experience, is a matter of conscience demanding to be squared, and up to each and every one of us to find a way to oblige.

FOREVER YOUNG or GHOST, LIFE FORCE

It was a so-bleak midwinter
of the heart,
the mind’s window on snow
falling, snow on snow,
the human spirit
in free fall even as it reaches out
for no idea what 

The cold invading my senses,
all but freezing
any desire to rise above feelings
of despair and loneliness
for your having left me
to tackle this cruel world head-on,
clueless and alone 

Suddenly, a breath of fresh air
finds its way 
into the prison of my despair,
assisting a breathing
gone as quiet as your grave,
for playing love’s evergreen song
on my heart strings 

I feel a presence where there
had been none
only moments ago, half turn
to see you standing there,
the same flower in your hair
calling on this heart to seek you out
across a crowded room 

Smiling now as you were then,
that long-ago spring,
your sweet lips shaping words
of love needing no sound
to make their meaning as felt
in me as its life force now homing in 
on mind body-spirit 

The vision vanishes as suddenly
as it had appeared,
but what the eye, it cannot see,
the heart, it will conjure up
Spirits of Love always,
its kindlier ghosts  looking out for us
in the Here-and-Now

 Copyright R N Taber 2020

[Note: This poem also appears on my general poetry blog today; our kinder ghosts are a part of us all, and we are (like it or not) a common humanity whatever our gender, ethnicity, religion, social class or sexuality.] RNT

 

Pride in Love

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

No matter who or where in the world, there will always be those who find the love of their life and those that will never quite make it.  Some, like your truly, are teased by fate; we find it, only to lose it again. Yet, true love found is never lost, even in death; it lives in the heart forever and remains an essential part of who we are. 

Now, sometimes gay readers email me to say I am a “fossil” or a “dinosaur” given that no one cares about whether a person is gay, bisexual, transgender or whatever; they urge to get real and join the 21^st century. Sadly, we must agree to differ. In many societies and homes around the world, LGBT folks are still being rejected and/ or made to feel they are less of a human being than anyone else. 

Nothing is more awful than feeling rejected by family and friends or made to feel it is so likely a possibility that LGBT folks are still forced into a closet existence for fear of rejection. It appears to be happening less, I agree, but that it should happen to anyone, anywhere at any age, continues to put the 21^st century to shame. 

A gay reader has asked for a poem for his closet boyfriend who “… loves me, I am sure, but wishes he wasn’t gay and is too scared to come out to family and friends in case they call him a perv.” 

In my experience, where family and friends really care about a person, they won’t stop caring, and they will say so; those hung up on stereotypes may take a little longer to understand how they have been misled and should be forgiven for that. I only wish I had come out to family and friends when I was a young man instead of staying in a lonely closet for years; few people knew I was gay until ai came out at the ripe old age of 40 some 35 years ago. My only excuse is that attitudes towards LGBT folks were different then, invariably hostile. 

Things are different now, yes, and all the better for it, but many of any LGBT persuasion will continue to risk rejection wherever stereotyping, fake news and plain old-fashioned bigotry are alive and kicking. We just have to show we are better than that. 

This poem is a villanelle. 

PRIDE IN LOVE 

Years ago, I was told only perverts are gay,
of love, a gay heart would never learn to sing;
I realised how lonely I’d been the same day 

Gay love, though (and true) chanced my way,
as we ran for shelter when it started raining
(years ago, I was told only perverts are gay.) 

We‘re exchanging grins, nothing much to say,
raindrops making merry on the shop awning;
(I realised how lonely I’d been the same day.) 

Soon we were chatting in a light hearted way;
ice-broken, we embraced a feisty thawing …
(years ago, I was told only perverts are gay.)

We were mutually attracted, come what may,
each seizing on the chance of a happy ending;
I realised how lonely I’d been the same day … 

Love and sexuality, they would have their say,
much peace and joy to us would they bring;
Years ago, I was told only perverts are gay,
(I realised how lonely I’d been the same day.)

 Copyright R N Taber 2020

 

To Apollo, Over

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

The coronavirus, COVID 19, is spreading worldwide and various Governments feel obliged to take various emergency measures; it all smacks of Big Brother to me although needs must we act responsibly and conform to a whole new socio-cultural-political mind-set. 

Whatever, let's stay calm folks, use our common sense, trust our basic survival instincts and we will get though what appears to be the worst global crisis since the second world war. Remember that thousands of people still die of flu every year, and there has only been a vaccine available for about ten years; while this corona virus is clearly far more serious than an outbreak of influenza, we all need to stay positive and help each other as best we can. 

As always, the sick and elderly are the most vulnerable among us so we especially need to rally on their behalf, even if it means getting to know neighbours who are all but strangers; we are a common humanity, after all ... are we not?. 

Me? I will be 75 later this year and have been living with prostate cancer since 2011. I live alone, and mostly stay in touch with friends by phone as many have had the good sense to move away from London. It gets lonely sometimes, yes, but let’s face it, not seeing many people has its advantages during a pandemic. Meanwhile, I continue to take each day as it comes, and hope for the best ...

Oh, yes, the poem … It has already appeared on both poetry blogs and repeated on my general blog; a reader has asked me to repeat it here also “… especially as legend has it that Apollo swings both ways.” 

Old gods, new ways, first dawn, last sunset…world ending with a bang or a whimper, I wonder? 

Bearing in mind Apollo’s sexuality, I like to think he shares with us the same true grit that has seen LGBT communities worldwide survive against any bigoted heterosexual odds for centuries. Long may he shine upon us. 

Nature may well hold most if not all the answers, but wears them close to its heart, and who can blame it given humankind’s predilection for demanding (and getting) its own way, no matter who gets hurt or what damage done in the process…? The natural world is likely to endure long after humanity has failed to learn anywhere near enough from a catalogue of mistakes, not least underestimating climate change; each and every of us need to take our share of responsibility more seriously; less of dropping our rubbish in the streets and on our beaches as good a start as any…?

As for humankind, we can but trust those faceless mandarins stalking the corridors of power across the world may yet be named and shamed, replaced by those whose feeling for humanity is not above demonstrating some old-fashioned common sense as well as proving just how actions speak louder than rhetoric when it comes to Green Issues.

TO APOLLO, OVER 

Broken statues in the dust,
marking many a historic dawn,
shooting long shadows 

Far, far, these shadows fly
across our much-damaged land
like many arrows 

Into a poor scholar’s dugout
an arrow makes its presence felt
at Apollo’s early rising 

Red sun shining on our dust,
revealing broken statues weeping
and bleeding for us

 Copyright R. N. Taber 1999; 2013

 [Note: This poem has been slightly revised from an earlier version that first appeared in the poetry magazine Meridian (1999) and subsequently in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001]

 

Waking Up to Life

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

One of the (many) problems of living with prostate cancer and being treated with hormone therapy (Zoladex) is that its success depends on keeping testosterone at bay. 

Most of the time, I have no sexual urges so am relatively content. Every so often, though, a rush of testosterone creates the urges while failing to address bodily functions anywhere near adequately. (In other words, I can barely get an erection, if at all!) Being sensually rather than sexually active is even more frustrating than being without a regular partner, given that there are usually brief encounters to be had if you know where to go. Knowing where to go, but well aware it would be a complete waste of time, however, now that can be soul-destroying. 

Oh well, I just have to keep looking on the bright side of life and be thankful that (75 soon) I am still here to tell the sorry tale. Stay positive, I am always telling people so I guess I need to practise what I preach! (I do, mostly, but now and again I allow myself to lapse into whinge-mode…)

Not in any wasteland, though, not me, not any more. There is more to life than wanting what we can't have; we just have to find ways of making the most of what is available to us and, no, that doesn't mean having to settle for less. The human condition is incredibly adaptable to its circumstances, just as the human spirit can rise above even the worst life throws at us ... if we let it.

What's done is done, and gone. No one gets their time over again, neither the good parts nor the bad. What we can do, though, each and every one of us, regardless of any socio-cultural-religious or other forces working for or against us, is start looking ahead, resolve to make the most not only of what we have, but who we are in a Here-and-Now that has the potential to let us play not only as constructive a role in our past-present-future as any personae we may have previously adopted, but all the more so for a positive thinking mindset.

WAKING UP TO LIFE

Overslept,
dreams preventing deep sleeping,
or eyes opening,
taking m places I'd rather not go
but can't stay away
because they are an integral part
of my history

Overslept,
revisiting brief, intimate encounters
(high hopes dashed)
that promised everything, but left me
stranded in a wasteland,
worse off than ever for misreading
not seizing the day

Overslept,
cuddling up to a pillow, surrendering
to the surreal,
long enough to leave all emotion spent
on fuelling imagination 
into meeting more pro-active demands,
body stalling 

Waking up,
faces on the ceiling floating wry smiles
for a sleepy-head
sick of taking each day as it comes, only
to be left stranded
on some lonely wasteland without a clue,
body on stand-by

Getting up,
resolving not to include a dead yesterday
in my calculations,
no more truck with illusion and delusion
needs must get real, start
exchanging negatives for positives by way
of mind-body-spirit 

Starting over,
(finally) getting to grips with life as it is,
people as they are,
learning to laugh again (even at myself)
finding silver linings
wherever I look, no going by any text book, 
and all the better for it

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018; 2020

(Note: This poem also appears on both poetry blogs today given that issues it raises  may well affect us at some point in our lives, regardless of  ethnicity, culture, gender, sexual persuasion or, yes, growing old...] RNT