Getting the Better of Beasties under the Bed

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

Today’s poem last appeared on the blog in 2013, and caught my eye as I continue sorting poems for a new collection, hopefully later this year; it will not include most poems posted during the pandemic as I have many other  unpublished poems waiting in the wings, but they are already earmarked for yet another collection so long as I have time to collate it before the Grim Reaper comes calling. Oh, and, yes it will include gay-interest poems as do all my collections in spite of potential editors losing interest because they see gay-interest poetry as a retail risk. wry bardic grin

Many thanks to those of you who get in touch from time to time and ask about my prostate cancer.  In 2011, after being diagnosed, I opted for radiotherapy, but was unable to hold my water prior to treatment so began hormone therapy instead. I have injections of Zoladex about every 18 months and … so far, so good. I feel fine. Yes, I get tired, but that is partly because I need to get up at least several times during night for a pee so have all but forgotten how it is to get a really good night’s sleep. My memory is also affected, but I will be 75 later this year so no surprises there anyway, and writing poetry as well as doing word puzzles helps keep to thought processes in reasonably good shape. On the whole, no complaints. I have been living with prostate cancer for 9+ years now, and suspect I may well have survived the Covid-19 coronavirus back in early January when I had the symptoms but put it down to a very bad cold so just stayed indoors. Yes, I am stressed by the pandemic and its implications for all of us, but I have good reason to count my blessings.

Meanwhile...

Now, like many very young children, I used to force myself to look under the bed and in any cupboards to reassure myself there was no Beastie there waiting to pounce on me once I fell asleep.

Well, you will be pleased to know I no longer do that particular security check before settling down to sleep.  Even so, you will realise there is a Beastie of sorts that causes me some concern now and then. Yes, hormone therapy is managing my prostate cancer so far, but I am very much aware that the cancer is there inside me. Most of the time, I forget about it. Now and then, though, especially at night, I find its presence more than a shade unnerving so I do what I used to do as a child, and work a magic spell. I think of nice things, nice people, nice places, until my head is full of all things NICE that's sure to keep the nasty Beastie away. It a trick that also saw me through years of fearing family and peers discovering I am gay, not to mention falling victim to several gay-bashing episodes (called queer-bashing when I was a young man) should I let my guard down.

The trick has never failed me, and if I don’t get a good night’s sleep sometimes it’s invariably down to those calls of nature better answered than ignored. The same magic has seen me through the pandemic so far, too, so you might want to try it if you haven’t already; what often works for children can work just as well for adults too.

GETTING THE BETTER OF BEASTIES UNDER THE BED

There’s was a Beastie

under my bed, eyes glowing red

like a devil

in the fires of Hell,

willing me

to descend, put an end

to all living artifice,

make the ultimate sacrifice,

set the body free

(in other words, surrender

to the Beastie ?)

There was a Beastie

under my bed, looking for a way

to get into my head

and indulge its penchant

for mind games,

challenge me to defy

a necessary evil

or demand I answer why

I’ll not cave in

to the inevitable, dare me

do battle

There was a Beastie

under my bed; like a cancer

it has spread

news of its purpose

to my brain,

but there it was put to rout

(if not without a fight)

for Brain knows every trick

every Book (and more)

exposing Beasties sixk intentions

to a higher power

There was a Beastie

under my bed, face a puffy red

as it returns

to where there still burns

a welcome

for its kind if likely

to meet its match

in the human spirit, burning

more brightly than some

devilish hearth in the bowels

of metaphor

No Beastie under my bed,

for its recognising a lost cause;

though it feed on my body,

no true or lasting gratification

to be had where flesh

but a coat of many colours

lent by Earth Mother

to distinguish friend from foe

until our return

to Her womb, the likes of Beastie

denied entry

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2020

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

"Humanity, Come on Down!" OR L-I-F-E, Make-or-Break Connections

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

More than once, readers have written in to ask why I don’t post more ‘nature’ poems instead of (often, it’s true) composing what has been called ‘so-called’ poetry that - in the words of one reader only recently - “…is just social comment.” I confess I take exception to the word ‘just’; besides, the arts are littered with social comment so why should I not join the fray?

Literature, music, art, ballet, sculpture … whatever … if anyone thinks it’s all entertainment, and nothing else, they are missing out on the whole of what any art form is about; there are parts to many if not most things - including human nature – and it is standing back to see-hear it as a whole that really counts.

Demonstrations here in the UK and the U.S protesting about the needless death of George Floyd, an unarmed African-American while being forcefully restrained by a police officer in Minnesota, have caused pain and anger beyond description; nor has either been appeased by precious little attempt at government level to pour oil on troubled waters. As for building bridges, well, hope springs eternal …

HUMANITY, “COME ON DOWN” or L-I-F-E-, MAKE-OR-BREAK CONNECTIONS

No matter the colour

of a person’s skin, their gender

or sexuality,

we all deserve no more (or less)

than to be treated

fairly if not equally at (and by) all levels

of human society

All mind-body-spirit

asks of the world is that it play fair,

be kind,

not impose such grim rites of passage

as racism, sexism,

hate crime against same sex relationships,

all stereotypes

Humanity is diverse

and that is how it needs to be or we

would want to know

how to make it (far) more interesting;

a common humanity

needs to respect such differences as it asks

to make us human

Take away respect

and we but give the worst of human nature

both nod and wink

to kill as well as give birth, ley anarchy loose

on streets that understand

any protesters would rather march in peace,

and be heard

The arts call on us

to pull together, be kind, give understanding

a chance to pave

the way for good intentions instead

of leaving them blocked

by socio-cultural-religious taboos, made to fear

recriminations

Human history

tells many a sorry tale of its wars and injustices,

but love, too,

reconciliation, grounds for hoping

that certain leading “Betters”

may yet touch base with those expected to settle

for the status quo

Any Here-and-Now

needs to be, open to change, and all its peoples

will never always agree,

but that’s where human nature comes

into its own, the jewel

in its crown, its capacity to hear and listen, look

and see

Human nature, get off your throne, earn your crown,

“Come on Down”

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

[Note: For any readers who may not be aware, "Come on Down" is a catchphrase from the television game show The Price Is Right; this poem also appears on my general poetry blog today..]

G-A-Y, Dance Moves

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

A reader asks if my poetry collections are still in print, Sadly, no, although I am hoping to publish revised editions at a later date. Poetry publishers did not want my gay-interest poems, and I was not prepared to publish a collection without any their being fairly represented. Eventually, I resorted to self-publishing (all) seven collections, but could only afford 200 copies of each at the time; they sold well, and I even made a small profit so I have no regrets. 

One U.S. publisher expressed an interest, but they seemed to think they were doing me a huge favour and could mess me around as much as they liked, so I withdrew. Another, expressed surprise that I write both general and gay-interest poetry … as if there is no more to any of us than our sexuality.

Needless to say, I eventually gave up on poetry publishers altogether apart from continuing to submit poems to poetry magazines for some years.

Now, a young gay man once confided that he was fed up with one-night stands ‘because they never lead anywhere.’ Ah, that may well be true enough, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, and more often than not sex will do just nicely. Besides, you never know …

DANCE MOVES

He caught my eye in a busy bar,

didn’t think I stood a chance

till he grinned and came right up to me,

asked if I’d care to dance

I had to confess to two left feet;

he laughed wickedly and loud,

grabbed my hand without another word,

and led me through the crowd

On the dance floor, I was aware

of people staring at us,

desire pulling strings on my arms and legs,

my heart doing somersaults

Lust, it was, dug its claws into us,

at mind-body-spirit it tore,

in a delicious frenzy of pregnant yearning

demanding more, more, more…

Lust it was, too, kept insisting

we skip coffee at his place,

strip each other naked at its feverish pitch,

submit to its ultimate embrace

All we wanted that crazy night

was sex, sex, and more,

no thought of love’s ever getting a look in 

never been in love before

As we lay awake the next morning,

he tightly squeezed my hand,

our kiss when it came confirming much more

than a one-night stand

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013; 2020

Caught Out

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

Not one of my best poems but, having been the victim of my share of homophobic attacks over the years, one I felt compelled to write 

Even as we all find ourselves social distancing and doing our best to defeat the Covid-19 coronavirus, readers around the world continue to get in touch to say they have been the victims of homophobic attacks. Yes, it’s scary; it has happened to me, too, but not in recent years, possibly because I am in my 70’s now and the cowardly thugs no longer see me as a target; they forget the power of the written word. Homophobia rocks self-confidence, but we have to get on with our lives rather than let the sick ‘machos’ win, yeah?

As for those religious fundamentalists and evangelical types advocating hell and damnation for homosexuals and tearing the socio-cultural-religious fabric of societies apart ... they are no better than those thugs who resort to physical attacks on LGBT people. Indeed, they are worse since they are using the darker elements of socio-cultural-religious (and political) forces to suit personal agendas; the latter invariably found wanting to say the very least.

Society is a matter of you-me-us, a collective responsibility; parents, teachers, politicians, religious leaders ... all have their part to play, each in their own way. We may think we cannot contribute much to what is a global consciousness, but we need to remember that  ripples spread, and even a little can go a long way.

CAUGHT OUT

Some say it’s cool to be gay,

there are laws to protect you and I;

blood and bruises say they lie

Thugs came with baseball bats

and chased us, my gay friend and I,

gesturing abuse at the sky

They beat us, six gutless morons

yelling how all gays deserve to die,

yet we survived to expose the lie

Some say it’s cool to be gay

in a brave new twenty-first century

professing to respect sexuality

Whatever, we’ll not be put down

(for long); the human spirit endures,

catching humanity out for its lies 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2020

Facing up to Life

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

The poems on my general poetry blog address anyone and everyone who enjoys poetry, regardless of  who or where they are in the world. I write up a separate gay-interest poetry blog as well because I am a gay man and recognise that many people might not be interested. Interest works both ways, of course, and feedback suggests that few readers of this blog dip into my general blog (although I have posted poems of particular interest to LGBT folks there from time to time,) A friend of one such reader has asked me to post today's entry on the latter here as well. So, here goes ...:.

Like many if not most of us, I am close to desperation as the Covid-19 coronavirus persists even though there are signs that it is starting to abate. I miss being with friends and am finding my own company increasingly unbearable. Only by engaging with an inner self that has always been a more positive thinking force than its human host, am I able to recover sufficient  self-confidence to not only face the day ahead, but even write a poem.

I have always been plagued by self-doubt. As a child and young person at school many years ago, any self-confidence I was able to muster would soon be undermined by one thing or another. My perceptive of ‘pitch’ deafness was not diagnosed till my early twenties, and this did not help; time and time again, I was made to look a fool by not hearing or mishearing what people said, whether they be family members, friends or school teachers. I had no way of knowing how the pitch of someone’s voice or surrounding acoustics could affect how I perceived what someone said and, in turn, what response was required. When I realised that I am gay, I was almost as inclined to put myself down for it as most people were in the 1950’s, and many still are although they might well deny it for fear of being seen to contravene any equality and /or political correctness legislation.

While I can only speak from personal experience, I have had many a conversation with people of all genders, ages and socio-cultural-religious backgrounds who, for whatever reason, have had battles with self-confidence all their lives; hopefully, we ain more than we lose, bit it is invariably the latter that continue to haunt us.

So how do we overcome a lack of self-confidence, faith in ourselves, and any subsequent self-consciousness that makes us wish the earth beneath us would swallow us up in certain situations? My Religious Education teacher,  a Mr Partridge, who ‘regretted’ but did not hold my inability to identify with religion against me, told me on the day I left forever that “Those unable to reach out to God, for whatever reason, have no choice but to reach out to themselves, that is to say the inner self. The chances are, they will touch and draw upon such physical and spiritual life forces beyond all understanding.” I was sceptical the time, but now in my 70’s, I have to say it is among the best advice I have ever received.

When nature and/ or human nature takes you to the edge of some existential abyss, take heart, dear readers, look to your inner self, and you may well be pleasantly surprised at what you may find there.

This poem is a kenning. …

FACING UP TO LIFE

Let good times roll,

and find me responding

in kind as, indeed,

much the same whenever

life they take a turn

for the worse, although be sure

I will default to positives

before the harshest negatives will get

the better of me

See bad times persist,

and find me smiling through

if only to conceal

an everyday struggle within

to rise above however

mind-body-spirit defaulting

to autopilot by way

of blocking any such feelings likely to get

the better of me  

Yet, there are such times

in the human condition effecting

system failure,

demanding I call on whatever

native skills as left me

to restore working order,

rise above any sense of failure likely to get

the better of me

Above all things, I, Inspiration am set the task

of encouraging mine host to but do as I ask

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

No Place like Soho OR or G-A-Y: Here, There, Wherever

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog several years ago and is re-instated especially for Salvo who has emailed to say that home is a South London bed-sit and social distancing is making him very depressed. "I often go to a gay bar in Soho and love meeting and chatting with other gay guys there, maybe more sometimes, and miss all that terribly as I haven't lived here long and haven't made any  friends locally."  I empathise, of course I do, not least because I have battled with depression all my life (I will be 75 this year) but need must ...

If you are not having to self-isolate, do get out as much as you can; a brisk walk can do wonders for morale. You might try keeping a diary of good days and bad during the pandemic, anything to help distract you from feeling lonely. TV and radio are godsends, but only up to a point.

We all need to find ways of distracting ourselves from the awful situation to which we are waking up to daily at the moment. As I say on my general poetry blog today, "I am using the necessity for social distancing during the pandemic to look at and (sometimes) revise or rework old poems. I miss being with friends, of course, but I like to think of my poems and you, my readers, are friends  too; it helps me feel less isolated as I live alone and would almost certainly be feeling very lonely otherwise."

Until my eyes started to get tired so easily, I was an avid reader, mostly of fiction, and the characters would become friends. I was - inwardly if not outwardly - a lonely child and reading was  more than a pleasure, it was a lifeline. While most public libraries and bookstores are closed at the moment, talking books are available online and many public libraries have digital versions that can be accessed by library members. You might even want to try serialised versions of my own novels on my fiction blog:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

Feedback suggests that some readers who simply enjoy poetry also dip into my general poetry blog ... although it also suggests that the majority don't. <>

https://rogertab.blogspot.com/

There are plenty of blogs other than mine that might interest you, of course, so why not do a search and see what's on offer?

In the absence of all else, happy memories can be as companionable as they can also be a comfort. Since I passed 70, I often enjoy a trip down Memory Lane. I rarely venture on to the Gay Scene these days, but can always rely on some lively  memories to feed me wonderful daydream, and in glorious rainbow colours ...

I have lived in London, UK for many years, 30+ of  these in Kentish Town (London Borough of Camden). I would often go to Soho when I was younger, its Gay Scene second to none. Like me, it has something of a jaded feel now, and gay friends in the know tell me the Gay Scene has shifted to Vauxhall (South London) although I reckon Soho can still give any of its rivals a good run for their money.

For me, there really is no place like Soho.

This poem is a villanelle.

NO PLACE LIKE SOHO or G-A-Y: HERE, THERE, WHEREVER

Here, there, wherever I go,

gay bars far and wide,

there’s no place like Soho

It's G-A-Y in San Francisco,

but I’m on a Soho ride;
here, there, wherever I go

Though a club in San Diego

sure puts the ‘I’ in Pride,

there’s no place like Soho

Some people, they hate us so

(blame a cultural divide?)

here, there, wherever I go

,
G-A-Y, an all-colourful show,
its history, my sure guide;

there’s no place like Soho

Sunsets, fading to a pink glow,

on gay icons sorely tried;

here, there, wherever I go,

there’s no place like Soho

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Mind-Body-Spirit, configuring a Common Humanity

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

A reader once wrote in to say that my poems are not "real poetry" but "...more by way of social commentary." He or she adds that "I enjoy most of them anyway, but would like to see more nature poems ... especially as you claim to be inspired by nature." So, should a poet be precluded from making social comment, given that we live in a world where nature's greatest threat is human nature, not least by way of much the same flaws that threaten various societies across the world?

This poem is longer than I anticipated for its having taken on a life of its own - as some poems do - even as I was writing it. Feedback suggests that my longer poems are less popular with readers, but who is a poet to ignore the demands of his or her poem?

As regular readers well know, I remained in the proverbial closet until my early 30's when the upside of a nasty mental breakdown was (finally) seeing my way clear to letting the world know I am gay and finding a new self-confidence in refusing to be put down for it a second longer. In the course of my breakdown, for all its less savoury aspects, I managed to shed the self-consciousness and fear imposed during formative years by a society preferring established 'norms' to any 'differences' or 'irregularities' seen by a statistical majority as bringing said 'norms' into disrepute. 

Is it not high time societies worldwide accepted the very diversity of human nature, in the absence of which their populations would probably suffer early heart failure from the stress of sheer boredom?  

While I subscribe to no religion, I was raised a Christian and know my Bible, in which words attributed to Jesus of Nazareth come to mind time and time again: "Judge not, lest ye be judged."

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, CONFIGURING A COMMON HUMANITY

They would often place me

as homosexual, and I'd hotly deny it,

acknowledging only to myself

a sexuality as much a part of who I am

as any other aspect of identity

configuring a common humanity in all

its colourful diversity

Oh, how family would discuss

behind my back as to my sexuality,

as if it really matters

in the Grand Scheme configuring

bright, beautiful, dark or ugly

as we try to make our own way in life,

the less prejudged for it

Oh, and who are they who

would shape us as they would

justify first impressions

of who we are, how best we can

assert ourselves, play fair

by loved ones, return in good measure

something of...what?

Does humanity ask of us to do

for others without due reciprocity

only to deserve no reward

for our endeavouring to compensate

for its shortcomings, any failures

to ‘measure up’ mean a change of heart

out of the question?

How come, out of the question

when losing face matters less (surely?)

than being true to ourselves

and advocating a common humanity

as far as humanly possible?

Yet, fools rush in, much as our 'betters' do

for fearing covers blown

No cover, LGBT masquerading

as ordinary people, simply a matter

of fact, if less digestible

to some than the flesh of bird or beast

that never did them harm

other than looking them pitiably in the eye

for exposing naked truths

Weary of going undercover, LGBT

comes out, comes clean, comes face to face

with such bigotry and hate

as eats the perpetrators up, spits them out

after the way of followers

of fashion courting converts via prime time

media hits across the world

Where bigots may well place me 

as homosexual, I'll nod and cheerfully agree,

acknowledge my sexuality

for being as much a vital part of who I am

as any other aspect of identity

configuring a common humanity in all

its colourful diversity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Ghosts, Touching Base

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

A Mormon missionary once told me I should never feel ashamed of being gay because it is a mental illness. “You’re no freak,” he insisted.  (How kind of him!)  “Think of it like this. The mentally ill cannot help themselves so they need to accept help to get better. There is no shame in that, and we can help you.” (The colleague accompanying him smiling and nodding encouragingly). When I asked him if he was qualified to help mentally ill people, he insisted that was not the point. “The point is…” he started to say.

“The point is,” I interrupted, “that people like you have to believe people like me are mentally ill because you can’t bear the thought that being gay is every bit as human as being straight. As a human being yourself that would put us on an equal footing, something no bigoted ego dares contemplate for fear of being exposed as a freak.”

Both men looked hurt and very uncomfortable. I left them to their thoughts.

Sadly, I have had many such conversations with people from all walks of life who always insist they are not homophobic and are perfectly willing to tolerate gay people.

Well, I have news for them. We LGBT folks deserve better than to be ‘tolerated’.

How I hate that word, tolerate… don’t you?

GHOSTS, TOUCHING BASE

Ghosts, in time and space,

mingling with crowds as blind

to their living presence

as parents to a gay son’s pain

in being made feel

a blot on the family landscape

for failing to live up

to the quintessential macho image

toeing the family line

Ghosts, in time and space,

whispering in cloth ears as deaf

to every word

as parents to a gay son’s pleas

to live and let live

without cocking an ear instead

to gossips and bigots

dead set on prescribing moral highs

to kill off home truths

Ghosts, in time and space,

straight out of the pages of history,

rummaging sound minds

for intelligent reasons why bigotry

has infiltrated religions

where peace and love have become

bywords for hypocrisy,

cherry picking life force principles

to accommodate dogma

Ghosts, in time and space,

whispering encouragement in my ear,

urging me not to care

what some people might have to say

about being gay, and less

of a person for that, given centuries

passing on inspiring tales

of LGBT folks around the world rising

above its prejudices

Ghosts, in time and space,

defying parameters of human nature,

the better to support

those whose natural instinctiveness

for love and peace remains

barracked by a world refusing to be honest

about any of this, convinced

by socio- cultural-religious dogma

that ‘real’ men never kiss

Copyright R. N. Taber 2018, 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem has appeared on the blog before under a different title; regular readers will be familiar with my revising earlier poems from time to time.]

L-I-F-E, Seasons in Time and (Personal) Space

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

Several LGBT readers have emailed to ask why I did not post the poem below on both blogs when it appeared on my general poetry blog yesterday.  Well, in the past, feedback has strongly suggested that many if not most LGBT readers only visit the gay poetry blog because they can directly relate to it.. In the past, I have published gay-interest poems on my general blog, but this has not proven very popular with anyone. A poem is a poem is a poems, of course just as a person is a person is a person .... whatever their socio-cultural-religious or sexual persuasion so ... hope you enjoy the poem.

Another  reader writes, how can you write poetry when the world is being devastated and left bereft by COVID-19? I am not sure if this is meant as criticism or compliment so will take it as both. Well, it isn’t easy, even at the best of times, to compose a poem that attempts to strike a balance between a celebration of nature and human nature while also acknowledging their flaws. 

Given that the Here-and-Now in the shape of COVID-19 is probably among the worst of times ever for many of us, the task has felt all but Herculean; it has taken several days of writing and rewriting to arrive at the poem below. Hopefully, most readers will get a sense of the spirit of optimism in which it was written, but as we all know, you can please some of the people some of the time but never all the people all the time …

Whatever, fingers crossed …

Yet another reader comments, “… it feels like we are heading for Armageddon.”  Well, I take his or her point, but beg to differ. I have had my fair share of ups and downs in life, and if the experience has taught me nothing else, it has shown me the power of positive thinking.

Never underestimate the human spirit, neither its natural resourcefulness nor its compassion; we may well find ourselves at the edge of some transcendental abyss from time to time, but the human spirit will always lend us the strength to resist diving into it if we can but touch base. Never easy, and sometimes we fail; it has worked, for me - albeit more subconsciously than consciously - more than once, but especially when I had a bad nervous breakdown in my early 30’s and attempted suicide.  (I will be 75 later this year.)

To date, I know of only one friend who has died of a COVID-19 related illness; we played together as children, lost touch for years and found each other again online a few years ago. Every death is a tragedy for family and friends left behind.  At the same time, I am reminded of something a teacher at my old school back in the 1950’s told the class: “Love and friendship never dies, not only for remaining a part of us all our lives, but also for that part of them in us being passed on in ways and to people we may never know … and so it goes on. A university lecturer would later refer to it as a posthumous consciousness to which, as regular readers will know, I often make reference in my blogs and poems.

Remembrance is no compensation for loss, but I have always found it a great comfort to sense that no one’s life has ever been in vain; we all make a positive contribution even if we don’t always realise it. [Some readers may get a greater sense of my mindset from my reading of my poem,  ‘The Enchanted Wood’ @ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGCv54LM4yo  - among other videos/ readings on my You Tube channel.  

I am not a religious person, and consider myself a pantheist; nor do I believe that religion has a monopoly on spirituality. In the sense that I try to give the human spirit a voice in my poems, hopefully they express something of a sense of spirituality with which I invariably engage as I write them.

Wishing you all love and peace, whoever and wherever you are in the world,

Hugs,

Roger

L-I-F-E, SEASONS IN TIME AND PERSONAL SPACE

Spring comes, offering all nature

and human nature a time to nurture

and flower, making such promises

as it craves will see our lives spread joy

on our graves

Summer comes, offering all nature

and human nature a time to give senses

their head, deck humanity with love

and peace, see any living nemeses left

for dead

Autumn comes, reworking all nature

by winds and rain enough to blow away

its debris, imploring mind-body-spirit

remain free before winter dares impose

captivity

Winter comes, nature, so eerily quiet

but for redbreast, forever making the best

of the worst, coaxing the human heart

into the Spirit of Stoicism, living metaphor

for its heroism 

Nature and human nature, deserving

a time to come, go, rest, and come again

in light and dark, each in its turn,

a measure of life and death, come ultimate

Harvest Home

Copyright R N. Taber, 2020

Love.My Comfort Still

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

It is a well-worn adage and some would say a corny one. Yet, it is so true. Love lasts forever. Whether it is for a partner, family member or close friend…where tragedy strikes, our love for them and theirs for us will mount a rescue operation in due course and replace the burden of grief with the lighter, even humorous touch of happy memories

Now, I refer to Earth Mother the poem and regular readers may well wonder why as I am not a religious person. Yet, religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality and God is many things to many people. (I'm an agnostic, not an atheist, while verging on pantheism.) Nor is there any reason that I can see why God should not be female.

I rejected religion for nature even as a child. Yet, who is to say that Nature and God are not the same? I respect religious beliefs even if I do not share them. As I was give to understand as a child, religion is meant to be about peace and love, yet a good many religions prefer to take their cue from hierarchical (mostly stereotypical) interpretations of what it means to be of an LGBT persuasion; they can neither respect the fact we are not only capable of love but of a more spiritual than religious nature.

As I have said elsewhere on the blogs, religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality; the mind-body-spirit common to us all, must find its own way.

Okay, so I am a romantic. But, yes, in my experience, love is one of the few truly blessed aspects of life upon which we can rely to stay with us always…provided we don’t shut it out, for whatever reason.

LOVE, MY COMFORT SILL

Whenever tears falling like winter rain
for thinking of our hurt and suffering,
I think of springtime, find you once again
beside me - hopeful, happy, laughing

As my heart cries out in darkest despair,
in pain for the tragedy of our plight,
I think of summertime and see you there,
jumping for joy in the sun’s gentle light

We can but trust in Earth Mother's care
wherever bigotry found doing its best
to break us simply for being who we are,
gay lovers asking but to be left in peace

Beyond any Here-and-Now, love never dies
though its lovers parted by secrets and lies

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Memories, Prayers, Flowers' in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Dotting the 'I' in Humanity OR L-I-F-E, Choices

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

This poem deals with a subject close to my heart, and one particularly under the spotlight here in the UK at the moment as protest from some quarters grows in relation to the teaching of LGBT matters in schools being compulsory from 2020; sexuality, of course, is but one of many stereotypical closets into which certain people are quick to fit anyone "different" regardless of the fact that our differences do not make us different at all, only human.  Many young LGBT people share a home/family computer, and are reluctant to access my gay-interest blog so I am posting this post/ poem on both blogs today, especially for any readers needing to be reassured that sexuality is not a lifestyle choice for which we often blame ourselves as much (if not more so) than others are inclined to blame us. 

Now, there is good in all of us, just as there is knowledge. How we use or abuse either is more down to us that any 'extenuating circumstances' we may plead if caught out in the latter. There may well be extenuating circumstances, but guilty is as guilty does; we all have a choice. The bully, the bigot, the hypocrite, the liar, the thief...they all have choices. Sadly, they don't always appreciate what those choices are or where they may lead in the long run; all they see and hear is a Here-and-Now egging them on; peer voices, as like as not.

We all make wrong choices at some time or other in our lives, often these can be rectified, even redeemed, but we need to know how. We may choose religion, but that is only one of many choices open to us and a biased one at that. Education is not only about syllabus and curriculum; by engaging with the various fruits of science, literature, religion, whatever...we open the door to engaging with those responsible; in class, among peers, at home, in the maturing mind...wherever.  They may well be dead, these ghosts bringing scientific formulae to our attention, a memorable piece of literature, aspects of a religion... to which we can relate or not... but we gave been alerted to it, and even if it is only with examinations in mind, if it resonates with us, it will never quite go away; on the contrary, it may well alert us yet again in later years when we need to make choices in the real world.

I speak from personal experience, yes, as I often do, but also a lifetime of chatting to people from all walks of life in an attempt to discover just what makes humanity tick; there is no one answer, of course, as we are all different, and rightly so or life would not only be difficult sometimes, but permanently boring. I hated school and didn't do especially well there; it would be nearly ten years after leaving that I would go to university, and subsequently access postgraduate training. 

A psychological mess during my school years (in my 70's now) I may have done better if media, family and certain peers  saw homosexuality not only as the criminal offence it was in those days, but a deplorable if not sinful choice of life-style. Yet, I had no choice. I have always got on well with women, but was never sexually attracted to them because, by nature, I am gay. While reconciled to that at an early age, it would be some years before I would choose to be openly gay and deal with the inevitable fallout from the heterosexual majority.

Oh, and a reader complains that I repeat myself 'far  too often' in posts and poem, what do you expect after having written over 1000 poems?  I make no apologies. Hopefully, someone somewhere will relate to what I have to say, and at least engage with it, whatever points of view they subsequently choose to take. We all need to make responsible life choices from time to time, and deserve better than to be judged for them by those who happen to think we chose wrongly, invariably without any idea as to whatever prompts anyone else's actions.

DOTTING THE 'I' IN HUMANITY or L-I-F-E, CHOICES

I am that free spirit

neither shackled nor governed

by dogma or conventions

imposed by any culture, religion

or formative years

left hanging over us like a threat,

suggesting ‘needs must’ paths

to follow, no detours under pain

of sure retribution

Find me anywhere

and everywhere, seeking to pass

the time of day, engage

in lively conversation with friends

and strangers alike,

show an interest in all points

no sense of rushing 

to judgement, but mind-body-spirit

on a learning curve

Unfazed by such ears

as preferring not to hear or eyes 

choosing not to see for fear

of some unpalatable home truth

finding its mark,

breaking down worn metaphors 

of sanctuary and salvation, 

over centuries of cross-questioning

by I, the accused

I know myself for all I am and am not;

no candidate for some lonely closet 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Listening in, Anyone?

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

While many of my poems are concerned with LGBT issues, others could easily have been posted on my general poetry blog. Oh, and why not? As I make the point time and again, there is more to all of us - LGBT or straight - than our sexuality. Just as a person is a person is a person so, too, a poem is a poem is a poem, to take as we find, no rush to judgement or totally misleading stereotypes affecting how we receive either person or poem. (Yes, well, hope springs eternal...)

Given the title of the poem, I should perhaps emphasise - as a significantly if only partially deaf person - that everyone has an 'inner' ear responding to our sensibilities and imagination rather than sounds.

I have been so pleased by the number of readers dipping into both blogs since I have been posting from the archives of one to the other recently.

Expect the occasional new poem/s in 2020, while some of you may like to explore the archives for either or both poetry blogs; these are listed and can be accessed on the right of any blog entry. Oh, and if you ever feel like sending the link to anyone you know who enjoys poetry, be my guest, and many thanks.

Compiling revised editions of my poetry collections will take time, but I will let you know as I complete each one and publish it online.

Happy New Year everyone, and many thanks for your support over the last 10 years.

LISTENING IN , ANYONE?

Another day, another year
as hope springs eternal, catching every tear
that falls, echoing every cry
from the heart for us to treat each other
better than either history
or contemporaneity attempts to remind anyone
who’s listening in

Another day, another year
of an everyday striving to at least appear
at one with a world
tearing us apart with its relentless aggression
against those unable to fit
into our preferred window on life, love, equality
in this or that society

Another day, another year,
pulling mind-body-spirit together, the better
to take each rise and fall
as it comes, keep looking on the bright side
of life, no matter how
we read graffiti on our walls, the good-bad-ugly
sides of human history

Another day, another year,
resolutions made in good faith upon the strokes
of midnight, ear bashing
those with the best of intentions among us
on our way to the bar,
a licence to kill time before it gets to exposing us
for wishful thinkers

Another day, another year,
and more of life's epic poetry writing up humanity,
(warts ‘n’ all, no one spared)
spelling out expectations for future generations,
assuming it’s not too late
to wipe Graffiti Earth clean, rework personal space,
let us breathe again


Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019

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