Art, a Measure of Home Truths

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

This poem is from my general poetry archives for October 2016. More than one reader has emailed to ask why these archival poems have not appeared on this blog. No reason at all, except that feedback from most of you made it clear that the majority were only interested in accessing one blog or the other so, on the day, I had to make a choice. Poetry, though, like any art form,is all things to all people; we ignore what we choose, enjoy all that with which we can readily identify...and call it art/s appreciation.

An art teacher at my old school once told the class that we should not only learn how to look at art but how also to feel it. That was a good half century or so ago, but I am grateful for the tip to this day.

When we look at a painting, for example, it is obvious what we are looking at; less obvious is what lies behind the painting, how the painter saw his subject through inner eye and various absorbed impressions. The artist’s choice of colours and their shades, the force of certain brushstrokes, all are clues to what he or she is saying not only about his or her subject but  also about themselves.

The best art forms are not only delightful on the eye (or ear) but also draw us into them and thereby into ourselves. In this way, many art works survive centuries and a posthumous consciousness remains available to be tapped into by the discerning art lover who may not even be an expert, simply open to ‘live’ impressions. When we look at a work of art, we inevitably if subconsciously, look into ourselves ... and what do we see?

The Ancient Greeks, of course, produced one of the earliest well-developed examples of gay art. Going their own way from other ancient cultures, the Greeks considered free adult male sexual attraction to be both normal and natural. Gay people  like me were spared tortuous closet years imposed on us by public/cultural opinion; it is one of many modern tragedies that it remains the case for far too many of us worldwide.

ART, A MEASURE OF HOME TRUTHS

Studying me, it’s likely
that far more
than all you see will touch
mind, body and spirit,
sufficiently firing imagination
to give inspiration
a voice for home truths
ghosting paths of times past
and present…

Observing me closely, find
the inner eye
homing in on brush strokes,
the lighter here
and heavier there, colours
chosen for warmth
or cold, and touches of light;
dark, dreamy twilight,
moody gloom…

Seeing is not always (quite)
believing that creativity needs
an audience;
desires one, yes, if only to share
impressions of mind,
body and spirit laid bare
in such a way
as to make a presence felt
that would out

Art, a psycho-creative presence
redefining subject and audience


Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

Zen of the Seeing Eye

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

Today's post/poem is taken from my general poetry archives for April 2012. As regular readers know, I have health problems which I dare say go with the territory once a person turns 70+. Many thanks to those of you who have emailed to wish me well. So far, so good, as I am managing my pain levels and even getting out and about a bit with the aid of my trusty walking stick.

You will notice that I have dedicated the poem below to a gay-friendly artist friend, James Howard; I have known him since he was born, and now he and his wife will soon be parents. Wow, how time flies!

Admirers of James' art work will doubtless be interested to know that he has now created a kind of video diary on You Tube about confronting and overcoming everyday anxieties that can so often spiral into depression:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOoZiZKZnPM&t=50s

or: http://www.luckyluckydice.com

Many readers who access my poems about mental health issues, and rising above them, may well find James' site worth a visit, as I did. (Let's face it, such is the degree of homophobia worldwide that anxiety is - or has been, at some time in our lives - almost second nature to many if not most of us.)

Now, I know this is a poetry blog, but...

Many thanks to those of you who have been in touch to say they are also enjoying my fiction blog:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com

I am especially delighted that feedback on Dog Roses and Like There’s No Tomorrow has been so encouraging since I could not persuade a literary agent that they had anything to offer the reading public. Consequently, neither are available in print form, but I hope to upload them as e-books at a later date.

My latest crime novel - Catching up with Murder (Raider Publishing International, 2011)- is not a gay novel like Dog Roses or a gay-crime novel like Blasphemy or Sacrilege, but has a gay element in a story-line that frequently descends into black comedy. All my novels - published and unpublished - are serialised on my fiction blog which includes a second Fred Winter novel - Predisposed to Murder: http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/

Meanwhile...

I used to travel the UK giving poetry readings during the course of which I was invited to some lovely places and met some lovely people. Wherever I went, people would be busy photographing various beauty spots and aspects of nature that particularly caught the naked eye.  I rarely took any photograph as I was always too busy soaking in the atmosphere of a place, feasting on a history that nature has carefully archived and begs to be browsed. My inner eye would seek and find the raw material for a poem that would let me convey my deeper impressions of a place to share with others.

Every artist sees with his or her inner eye, whether writer, painter, musician, sculptor, whatever; the audience - reader, listener, observer - is thereby invited to do the same. So enjoy your photograph albums, but put your inner eye to work as well as your camera wherever you go. That way, we keep the felt as well as visual experience of places we have visited in mind and spirit always.

ZEN OF THE SEEING EYE
(For James Howard)

My skin is white, my skin is black,
fairer shades of yellow, darker shades of brown,
like leaves in milky sunshine come a storm
rearing like raging horses in heaven’s angry sea
for its children under threat, like me,
taking my cue from nature, mentor and guide,
only temporarily kept from harm
in the eye of a storm, sanctuary a fragile
prism of silence

My skin is white, my skin is black,
fairer shades of yellow, darker shades of brown,
like colours in a pallet before art
stakes its claim and transcends virginity
into a subtle blend of modernity
and spirituality comprising multi-aspects
of temporality stirred to direct
its inner eye to look and see, seek and find
what moves the human mind

My skin is white, my skin is black,
fairer shades of yellow, darker shades of brown,
camouflage for ingenuity and invention
though conspiracy and deception sometimes
making inroads where defences weakened
by a brooding inability to make the world hear
what we have to say, restore its pride
instead of some knee-jerk running away to hide
here, there, everywhere

Be fair to me in what or whom you think you see,
creative with even the plainer shades of humanity

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

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

Breaking Out OR G-A-Y, Standing Up for Sexuality

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

A homophobic neighbour once snarled at me, ‘I hope all you gays get your just deserts.’

I hope so too … and may it include the freedom to fall in love and be loved in return by the person of our choice just as nature intended - for us all, whatever our ethnicity, sexuality, religion or, yes, age too.

BREAKING OUT or G-A-Y,  STANDING UP FOR SEXUALITY

Shedding shackles that bind,

leaving fear and suspicion behind,

getting the life we deserve, born free

to fall in love ...

Coming but into our identity,

nature’s gift of life and sexuality,

deaf to threats of those world cultures

clinging to its scriptures

Refuting legends of Creation

denying us any hope of salvation

for fearlessly and, oh, so passionately

embracing our sexuality

Taking on biased critics

misinterpreting the hieroglyphics

supposedly expressed in ancient theses

on living nemeses

Mending fences torn apart,

reclaiming territories of the heart

under attack by a (so) bigoted morality

sponsored by Society

Making a stand for humanity

against those calling for ‘propriety’

based on some so-called  ‘moral’ stance

that we cause offence

Shedding shackles that bind,

leaving fear and suspicion behind,

getting the life we deserve, born free

to fall in love …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

With a little Help from Nature

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

Now and then, I find someone to chat to in a bar and now and then people tell me stories that set off a poem in my head…

Such a time was one evening recently. I met two gay guys who have been partners for years, and they told me how they first got together. I commented how they had been through a lot together, bad times and good. One simply shrugged and pointed out, "If it's out of our past we shape our present, it has to be out of our present we shape our future, right? It takes a positive thinking ethos to find any of us in good shape at the end of the road...or why bother?" He grinned, adding, "Besides, we love each other and you don't get more positive than that, do you?" 

It struck me as a timely reminder of how acknowledgement of and reconciliation with the inner self can move mountains...

Oh, but I do so love a happy ending, don’t you? History is full of them, of course, but for some reason human nature tends to focus more often on the unhappy ones. (Could it be they make for a more interesting conversation?) Whatever, we should celebrate happiness as the foundation stone of life not simply an aspiration. Think happy, be happy. Oh, and why not...? It has to be better than think sad, be sad... doesn't it?

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM NATURE

I asked the wind if you loved me,
but the wind could not say;
I asked the trees for a love poem
but the trees stayed quiet
and still, till I began to despair
that you might ever truly care for me
as I (so) cared for you

Two rabbits, a fine pair they made.
scampering openly in a glade…
Envied them a freedom if only brief,
enjoying the autumn sunshine
as I would with you, only I had yet
to trust your heart might ever see me
as more than a playmate

Closet ways, tearful days, loneliness
clawing away at all of me;
body, mind, and spirit now caving in
to desire, on fire, desperate
for an embrace, everyday masks
tossed aside, now, a fearful welling up
inside of anxious sexuality

You, too, were in the woods that day,
and chance would have it
we should meet, and we were different,
you and I, as if conjured up
like rabbits out of a hat, mindful
of a gentle wind urging ages-old trees
to help us find our voices

Nor does love have any need of words
to make itself known, heard;
all it took was an accidental-on-purpose
stumble against each other
and a clumsy, intimate, helping hand
transcended into an embrace for gay love
to prove to us it has a voice  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Closet Lives

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

Years ago, I had a fling with an Austrian guy called Günter. He was not openly gay in Germany, but enjoyed being so with me here in London. (I have lived in London 30+ years.)  We had a great time, seeing London - including a few gay bars, most of which have since closed down - and getting to know each other better.  The affair only lasted two weeks, and then he returned to Austria. We kept in touch for a while, but there was no Internet then and neither of us was good at writing letters. (Post-Internet generations are so lucky in as much as it is so easy to keep in touch with people by e-mail, even Instant Messaging.) 

I have often wondered if Günter ever took the plunge and came out to family and friends as he was very unhappy about not telling them. He asked me what I thought he should do, but I never give advice, only express an opinion. If he was unhappy, I said, he needed to do something about it. He agreed, but seemed doubtful so I often wonder…

It is a curious phenomenon, unhappiness; hard, near impossible to put aside, but can and needs to be superseded by a life focusing on sufficient satisfaction if not joy to keep it in the shade where it belongs. Like many trite sayings, there is much truth in ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ More often than not, the way is neither easy nor plain sailing, especially in the shorter term.

Whatever, it is always a good start, achieving peace of mind, in one sense if not another…and who knows what lies ahead?  Nor is it so different for gay people coming out of a dark, lonely, closet than for heterosexuals harbouring secrets they would prefer not to keep but fear the consequences of breaking their silence?  

Most if not all of us tell lies sometimes, but we are kidding ourselves to suggest it does no real harm. Oh, yes, we tell truths too.  The trouble is humankind tends to have different versions of each. Most lies - and just as many home truths - invariably hurt someone, somewhere. Better then to develop a greater affinity with truth, and be less judgemental even if it doesn't happen to coincide with our own version of it?

CLOSET LIVES 

Shadowy stalker,

haunting you day and night,

however hard you try

to put me out of your mind

with various distractions,

given that even the human spirit

(easy prey to convention)

sees me as a tough adversary,

never easily defeated

Whatever fine strategy

you may devise to put me down,

I come up with another,

and we lock horns, you trying

to beat me at my own game

while I play dirty, reminding you

of all you stand to lose

if you so choose to give the heart

its straining head

Yes, I play dirty, and well,

teasing inner selves with scenarios

that would have any victory 
of mine a petty, piecemeal affair 
compared any peace of mind

my silence offers, whose riptide 

ever closing in as you run

for cover, having known no better

than secrets and lies

Playing hide-and-seek in your space,

I am Conscience, its saving grace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

What Goes Around, Comes Around

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

For as long as I can remember, Brighton on the East Sussex coast has always been a gay-friendly place. Many years ago, I met someone there with whom I had a brief fling that lasted all of one day. It was raining and we spent most of the time in his hotel room. It was my first experience of sleeping in a four-poster bed.

In recent years, I met up with an old friend who introduced me to someone with whom he had been at school some 50 years ago…who turned out to be the same young man (much older now, of course) I’d met that rainy day back in 1966. In those days, of course, same sex relationships were still illegal in the UK.

Incredibly, we recognized each other at once. Confiding some but not (quite) all to our mutual friend, we seized an opportunity later to take a trip down Memory Lane…in more ways than one.

True enough, it is a fact of life that, more often than not (one way or another) what goes around comes around …eventually.

This poem is a villanelle.

WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND

What goes around, comes around,

no matter, gay or straight

as spring seeds to wintry ground

Let time, our mistakes, compound

(love will always see us right?)

what goes around, comes around

As dogs of war run peace to ground,

see humanity put to rout…

as spring seeds to wintry ground

In all nature, no finer, sweeter sound

than love songs killing hate

what goes around, comes around

Let martyrdom, its myths compound

where light and darkness mate

as spring seeds to wintry ground

Where sexuality dares speak its mind

(or society construct a closet)

what goes around, comes around

as spring seeds to wintry ground

[Brighton, East Sussex, March 17th 2010]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Passing Glances

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

Sometimes when I catch someone's eye (or they catch mine) it feels like we are confiding an entire life history without having to say a word.

My mother once commented that a look can reveal more home truths than a bestselling biography although it would be some years before I understood what she meant.

PASSING GLANCES

Sheltered under an awning

only yesterday,

heard someone muttering

‘I bet he’s gay.’

Can’t help but wonder why

he’s sniffing

at my clothes, eager to catch my eye,

turn up his nose

Who knows? Need to flout

a macho pose

so no one’s in any doubt

he ain’t one of us?

Could it be an inner eye

taking in the scene,

closet self in anxious denial, turning

shades of green?

As for me, I was in flames

fanned with lies,

making believe it was anger,

I fed his lovely eyes

Finally, the rain stopped,

we were in the clear,

free to go our separate ways,

no one the wiser

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Wet Day on the High Street' in 1^st eds. of The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation]

Queer as Folk

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

There was a time when bullies scared me. Thankfully, I discovered that most bullies, especially the homophobic ones, are even  more scared of themselves than I was...

When I was a young man, 'queer' was a term of abuse that the bigots among us would throw at gay men. While I remain uncomfortable with the word, it is good to see how it has been reclaimed by the gay community and reinvented itself for the better.

The poem tells a true story.

QUEER AS FOLK

He was a bully

and I was the coward

too scared to ever
stand up to him though 

he’d call me names,

say all queers should be

shot for the social

vermin they are, to hell
with equality

He led a local gang

that drained every nasty

word he said, awful

things he did, like booze
to an alkie...

He was their god

in whose mind’s sewers

they would freely dive,

invariably come up smelling
of show roses

One day, I turned

a bend, saw him coming

my way on his own,

dived into an alley

and just kept running...

It was a dead end!

He had me cornered,
no point yelling for cavalry
or expecting mercy

He was less sure

of himself on his own,

brow (rid of horns)

starting to sweat,

no one egging him on;

I’ll never know why

but I hit out with my fist,

missed, froze, was aghast, 

fearing the worst

He lunged at me

and we fell to the ground,

his breath on my face

challenging my lips

to let rip with a sound;

I lay still, eyes shut,

way past caring, passively

waiting for the beating

I’d long been expecting

to start...

No blows rained

where I lay in naked terror,

only a kiss on my mouth,

more reassuring even

than a hot shower;

my eyes flew open

and a face homing nervously

in on mine belonged

to someone else, far more
scared than me

Did I have a choice?

No, I struggled to reason,

pinioned to the ground

and dare not resist

this mad, appalling passion;

how could it be true,

these bodies, this rhythm ours,

a growing sureness

and frantic heat, ramming
heaven’s towers?

Spent, we lay,

unable to find a single word

to explain, knowing

anyone might

come by, but no one did;

once on our feet,

he blurted out an apology,

exposing how scared

we’d both been of a restless,
dormant sexuality

He kept his word

and I never knew what lies

he told his cronies, only

that love and hate

went their separate ways;

we never understood

how we felt about each other,

nor were we ever friends,

me and the bully who became
my closet lover

  

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Reprieve

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

Many dreams are preferable to real life if only because, in them we can be our true selves and not as we sense others - even loved ones sometimes - expect us to be.

It is not uncommon, though, to discover that some dreams are unexpectedly compatible with real life, and even come true, often when we least expect it, and in the least expected places.

I could not face the world as a gay man for years, and the closet seemed a life sentence. It took a bad nervous breakdown in my mid-30's to help me get real about life and myself; a reprieve indeed.

REPRIEVE 

I had a cool car and a good job

and life was looking up for me;

yet, among shadows of the mind,

the better part of me knew

I couldn’t be happy without you

Years before we saw each other,

you came to haunt my dreams;

I’d tell myself it was but fantasy

in the heat of our embrace,

a sweet tasting sweat on my face

I dated girls to please the parents

but you were always at my side;

I’d call you names and mean them

as they’d slip into my bed

and I’d watch for you in my head

It was at the local library we met,

and you glanced up from a book,

made a mockery of my whole life

with a twinkle in green eyes

soon stripping my heart of its lies

We got talking. I let myself believe

I was glad to make a new friend

but my shadows insisted I felt more

than this, your cheeky grin

come to bring my defences down

One day I stumbled. You caught me

in your arms and held me there

then bent to kiss me on the mouth,

no matter what others might say

and, by default, I almost broke away

Love gave me a last minute reprieve

and let me kiss you back,

arms closing in around your neck,

for the better part of me knew

I couldn’t be happy without you

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

Born Again OR Mind-Body-Spirit, Second Time Around

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

Being in denial is the worst kind of self-torture if only because our alter-ego is well aware of what is happening and does not let up its torrent of accusation and recriminatory taunts; turning a deaf inner ear may win us a few battles, but we’ll not win the war and peace of mind doesn’t stand a chance ...

The human spirit is stronger than that; as life forces go, it has to be first among equals, and only a heartbeat away.

(Photo taken from the Internet)

BORN AGAIN or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, SECOND TIME AROUND

You had an angel’s smile,

white shirt flapping like wings

in a breeze;

out of nowhere, you came,

coaxing this lonely Unbeliever

to his knees

You took me in your arms

kissed me, your lips fanning ashes

all but spent;

my long-smouldering body

burst into flames of mad desire

as was meant

A passion raging in the soul,

far more than sexual, rose like a ghost

set free...

into the kind of heaven

sure to offer unconditional

sanctuary

You named and shamed me

out of a self-denial keeping me
in its hell;

Oh, ecstasy, born again
in you, you in me, to love,
the victory

Copyright R. N. Taber 1973; 2012; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Kiss of Life' in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.

Ballad of the Straight Cafe

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

More often than not chance encounters don't turn out quite as we expect but can be good for an adrenaline rush all the same. It is also true to say that life is full of surprises, none more amazing at times than other people.

We might think we can read someone's body language like a book, and arrive at certain conclusions, forgetting they may well be able to read ours, too, and arrive at their own...

BALLAD OF THE STRAIGHT CAFE

A face glimpsed in a crowd
had haunted me all day
then fate sat us at the same table
in my favourite café

I fought to control the frantic
pounding of my heart,
shied away from his passing glances
as if dazzled by their light

I felt the sweat on my brow
replace unshed tears;
salty drips, a measure of body heat
and unspoken fears

It spread to my groin, that fire
raging through me;
I relished, lapped up the pain, martyr
to my sexuality

His lips parted and let me see
the pinkness of a tongue
tossing words, fuelling the furnace
my body had become

He asked me to pass the salt
and my hand shook;
our fingers brushed and he gave me
the queerest look

I could scarcely breathe, sounds
like stifled screams
of feisty ghosts, last seen tramping
on wet dreams

I blurted out my name, asked his
and a chill wind all but let
the furnace die, left me smouldering
among coals of regret

Yet, a hint of light in his dark eyes,
though the dimmest glow,
warned it was now or never, he and I,
our selves to know

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

The Message OR Aspiring to Peace on Earth

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

As regular readers know, I subscribe to no religion. Nor would I call myself an atheist as I like to think I have a strong sense of spirituality... that I take from nature, nowhere else. However, I have open-minded, open-hearted friends of all faiths, including a close Muslim friend. It is my experience that the majority of ordinary men and women, whatever their belief or non-belief, are ready and willing to take others as they find them and do not let religion get in the way of establishing lasting friendships…however much their leaders, deliberately or otherwise, might encourage them to do so.

Tragically, it is the fundamentalists (in any religion) who shout the loudest and not only make themselves heard but are exploited by a world media who would have us believe they are 'typical' Muslims, Christians, Hindus...whatever.

It has been my experience that the majority of people from ethnic minority backgrounds are culturally homophobic although many self-styled ‘devout’ Christians no less so. However, I am glad to say there are many exceptions and, hopefully, these will eventually prevail over the bigoted majority.

Even so, these are worrying times for gay people. For example, a local newspaper in Tower Hamlets, a borough in the London’s East End that has a significant Muslim population, recently reported what reads as a very disturbing case. A teenager, apparently described by teachers at his school as “devout, humble Muslim” was recently acquitted on the charge of murdering a school student support office last November amid allegations that the victim was a “predatory paedophile”. The 17-year-old defendant admitted wielding the kitchen knife that fatally injured the man but said he had feared being raped or killed by him; he also admitted taking a knife with him in case the man tried to force him “into sexual acts”. Subsequently, he was unanimously cleared of both murder and manslaughter by the jury:

http://www.asianimage.co.uk/news/united_kingdom/8353101.A_Level_pupil_is_cleared_of_murdering_student_officer/

My problem with this case is that, as the article reads, whether or not the victim was an alleged paedophile or gay man, if the student thought he might be sexually assaulted, why visit the man anyway and take a knife with him?

Does this not give the green light to the view that 'It's okay to kill a gay' as I heard two schoolboys discussing on a bus only the other day? Worse, could it not also be interpreted as fuelling the misconception, commonly expressed by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority, that gay = paedophile?

Whatever, the deplorably narrow-minded Far Right and may well be on the rise in the US and Europe, along with others easily influenced by some of their worst sentiments and, yes, they may well win a few battles in the years ahead…BUT...it/they cannot and will not win the war against those who uphold the principles of a common humanity. Humanity is bigger and better than that…yeah?

This poem is a villanelle.

THE MESSAGE or ASPIRING TO PEACE ON EARTH

The message of Islam is peace
though some people have other ideas;
beware, who dares undermine this

It’s of love the Koran teaches
though some people play on its tears;
the message of Islam is peace

To the world, its prophet reaches
though some people play on its fears;
beware, who dares undermine this

The truth about Islam is kindness
a prophet’s wisdom across centuries;
the message of Islam is peace

May religion, its martyrs embrace,
reject paltry egos poisoning its prayers;
beware, who dares undermine this

We are a common humanity, no less
for its religions and secular philosophies;
The message of Islam is peace;
beware, who dares undermine this

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010