Starting Out

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

Not one of my better poems today, but I enjoyed writing it after a lively chat with a young man on the London Underground. 😉

We made an unlikely pair, two masked men, one in the first flush of a Here-and-Now still full of possibilities, and yours truly in the latter years of a Here-Today-Gone-Tomorrow.😀 

We had once worked together when he was mostly stuck in the proverbial closet and he was keen to relate his experience of having come out of it...😁 

Sadly, my prostate cancer means I have been virtually asexual for some years now, but a guy can dream, can’t he, even at 75+...? 😊

Although most world religions love to impose guilt on LGBT folks for our being 'sinners', how can love be a sin, especially since they also insist that God is love...? As for enjoying sex, with or without love... well, that's just human. People can make what 'moral judgements' they like, but what gives any of us the right to do that?

No one should be made to consider themselves less than human, whatever their sexual persuasion; if their religion is an integral part of who they are, nor should they be made to feel any God of Love would exclude them from it...whatever anyone else might say. 

I can almost hear people snort, "Oh, and what does he know... but what do any of us really know?  Such is the heart of whatever it is we believe in;  it bypasses beyond all knowledge. 

As I have put to blog readers before... if those of us who feel unable to subscribe to any world religion, for whatever reason, can respect those who do, why can't we all simply agree to differ instead of taking offence?

 STARTING OUT 

Dark blue suit, white shirt,
red tie, glossy black shoes, a hint
of yellow socks, perfectly groomed hair,
a slick, city guy for sure

He was chatty with everyone
in the bar, if going easy on the drinking,
“He’s into mind games.” a sixth sense said
as we had sex in my head 

I looked away and got chatting
to a barman while he expertly pulled me
another beer, the stranger all but forgotten,
fantasy kept well hidden 

Gazing absently into my beer,
till someone’s bending my ear, looked up
to see a pair of smiling eyes, coloured green,
looking directly into mine 

“You’re a quiet one,” he said,
a twinkle in each eye and lips relaxing
into a cheeky grin, “I’m only passing through,
and I really fancy you...” 

I laughed and flung arms wide,
“Why me, when you can have your pick
of anyone here?” His turn to ask with a grin,
“Is that a ‘no’ then...?” 

“Why me?” I asked again, playing,
for time, head acting out the same fantasy,
brain’s traffic lights on amber, body in a sweat,
my first time out... 

He told me his name, I told him mine,
and we made small talk over another beer
until he asked if I lived nearby and would I be ok
with making his day... 

“I’ve not done this before,” I blurted, 
expecting a roar of laughter, but he just shrugged,
leaned forward and whispered, “Frankly, me neither,
so, let’s be good to each other...” 

We were more than good to each other
the night he stayed over, and I’d wake next to others
in due course, never (quite) as in love, though, it’s true
as now when I wake next to you 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, it takes a Stranger

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2013.

When I was a boy in the early-mid 1950’s, my mother would always warn me not to speak to any strange men whenever I went out to play. As a gay youth, I was destined not to follow that particular piece of advice.

On the whole, I have been very fortunate in the gay men I have met while cruising around hoping for sex since my mid-teenage years; it would be few more years yet (1967) before sex between consenting gay adults would be legalised here in the UK and I would not be 21 until 1966. (I will be 75 in December so it was all a long time ago, yet I recall that time as if it were but yesterday.)

As a teenager, I took care never to let anyone take me to their home. As a young adult, I probably never appreciated the risks of going home (or anywhere else) with a total stranger or taking him back to my place. Even so, I trusted my instincts, and rarely did they let me down ... or not for long anyway. (No adrenaline rush could ever quite obliterate them.)

Few straight men understand about ‘cruising’ and find it sordid, even disgusting; what they fail to grasp is that there is a gay person inside us, desperate to come out, look the world in the eye, hopefully meet the boy or girl man  or woman or our dreams - or at least, kindred spirits. What few understand is that the world, as represented by the environment in which we live, is often unlikely to welcome us with open arms; in short, we are scared … of stereotypical attitudes prevalent among family, friends and workmates (or schoolmates) alike; not least, we may well have good cause to be scared of being beaten up simply for our sexuality.  

Until we put closet days behind us, though, we are prisoners of our twin selves. (I am often asked why, as gay man, I also write general poetry and fiction; not least, it is to emphasise the point that a person’s sexuality is an integral part of who they are, yes, but there is far more to anyone than their sexuality.

As I have said on the blogs more than once, and will say yet again, our differences do not make us different, only human. 

LGBT folks have come a long way since Stonewall, but in many countries, communities and family life around the world, we are not equal yet in the eyes of  many, even where there is legislation in our favour, Black lives, LGBT lives, disabled people's lives... every life matters and deserves to be treated as such, and not in a patronising way, but as ordinary people, part of a common humanity.

Have fun, but be careful out there.

SOMETIMES, IT TAKES A STRANGER

A stranger one fine day

asked if he could walk with me,

told me he was gay,

asked if he could talk with me

about being gay

What else could I do or say

but let the stranger walk with me,

tell me he was gay,

let him walk and talk with me

about being gay?

A stranger one fine day

told me he had seen me before,

suspected I am gay,

told me how he fancied me

(so am I gay?)

A stranger, many years ago

talked to me like no one else had

about being gay,

knew just what I so needed

to hear and say ... 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Ticking Over

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

Readers often ask why I publish a poem only to revise it at a later date, more often than not a much later date .Feedback at the time suggested that many readers could relate - in part, at least - to the image the poem projects, but something about the poem itself failed to engage them.

Hopefully, a revised version may help restore a meaningful balance.(Feel free to let me know one way or another.)

TICKING OVER

He was leaning against a lamp post, flickering,
almost dead. He demanded a cigarette.
I said I didn’t smoke. I’d have walked on,
but then he asked the time. On impulse,
I confessed I’d left my watch with a pawnbroker,
times were tough

By now the light had all but died as he confided
that he had no money or place to go since
his wife had discovered his appetite for other men.
She had kept their house and kids, taking care
to get all the locks changed and have a good lawyer
plead her case

He was now working all hours to pay the mortgage
keep  the 'ex' happy, their kids through university,
a mother-in-law in clover who had never liked him,
thought daughter could do better; not a bad father
but, so what?  Daughter taken in by his lies, for better,
for worse

Worse, as it happens. Nothing for it but to make
a clean break, no matter how life may turn out
for a cheating a husband and dad so long as society
(finally) seen to do right by a family let down
for being left to live a happy-sad lie - and (nobody?)
any the wiser

Street lamp died. He became no more than a shadow,
a light in the eyes telling me all I needed to know;
A family man he may well have been but now, like me,
he clearly hungered for that intimacy long since
short changed him by a society that needs must preserve
its integrity

I took him back to my place for much more than tea
and sympathy. By dawn, he's gone. Lonely sheets,
reminding me how men cruising invariably wear faces
reminiscent of watches in a pawnbroker’s window
asking to be redeemed, get a life well worth (more than)
its ticking over

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007, 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears under the title 'Living Over the Pawnbroker's Shop' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

You-Me-Us, a Safekeeping

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

I am retired now and have lived on my own for many years. I have some good friends, but would often go to a pub for a few drinks after work in the hope of finding someone to chat to rather than head directly home to an empty flat.

At such times, I would usually avoid gay bars so guys would not assume I was trying to chat them up, and a predominantly straight but gay-friendly bar I knew was always a favourite option. Sometimes, I might well find myself attracted to someone after chatting for a while. Then of course, I would have to try and work out if he was gay and whether he might even be similarly attracted to me. Invariably, I’d just enjoy the company and leave it at that rather than risk making a fool of myself. Yet, every now and then I’d consider the risk worth taking …and take it.

 ‘Win some, lose some.’ ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ All the old clichés conspired (with several pints of ale) to persuade me…

YOU-ME-US, A SAFEKEEPING

We had only just met
in a crowded, gay-friendly bar
(I liked him a lot)

He had views, opinions,
a very open-minded sort of guy
(how time did fly!)

Bar closing, time to part,
and he invited me to his place
(to share his space?)

I could not even be sure
He liked me much the same way
(was he even gay?)

He was so dressed to kill,
and I was in old jeans and a tee
(did he really like me?)

Bar closing, time to choose
if going back with a total stranger
would put me in danger

He seemed a genuine person,
and the evening had gone so well
(I so fancied him like hell)

I’d take my chances and agreed,
enjoying the ride in his so-cool car
(still no hint of…whatever)

Later, we chatted over a coffee,
and I managed to turn conversation
Into homo erotic speculation

He laughed.  I thought I should go,
got to my feet, resigned to losing out
(but, oh, so glad we had met

I thanked him for a nice evening,
and expected we’d just shake hands
but found myself in his arms

We kissed and it was all so natural,
just like our getting together had been
(my idea of seventh heaven)

One night stands may come and go;
love, its beautiful dream left sleeping
till waking in our safekeeping

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015; 2017

Perfect Strangers

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

Sometimes we sense a mutual attraction but can’t be sure, past mistakes gathering like vultures to pounce on the remains of yet another disappointment or worse.

Gay or straight, you know the feeling…that this just might be the One, but self-confidence is shaky after taking so many knocks…  

Well, what’s the worst that can happen? He (or she) is not interested. It's hardly the end of the world...

Whatever, every stranger is a potential friend if not more, so...worth finding out, surely, and letting time and tide take its course? 

Someone may not turn out to be the love of our lives, but the love of a good friend can never be overrated. 

PERFECT STRANGERS 

Shirt front hung wide open, red hairs

on his chest;

tongues of fire, leaping out at me,

licking at my nipples,

rekindling desire, teasing this cold heart

with dreams once cherished,

long forsaken;

liquid eyes spilling over, soaking my tee

like spring rain,

letting a body breathe again after years

of choking on ashes,

living on flashes of memory

I long to take this stranger in my arms,

be close to someone again,

yet dare not even ask his name,

can but look, my life

an open book if he but cares to flick a page

or two, sewn with paper thin threads

of flesh and bone, sure to snap

should he come any closer, neither of us

quite ready to give word or sign

that we’re peeping through the keyhole

of a door to a heaven

that has rarely welcomed us before

Lips parting, tongues shyly peeping,

hearts fairly leaping...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2011

[Note: revised from an earlier version that appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Rites Among Men

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

When I was a young man I’d go cruising known gay areas for love, knowing full well that all I was ever likely to find was sex; it was both an exciting and despairing experience.

Sometimes, though, lonely people really do strike gold …

RITES AMONG MEN

There was a time I was in love with love;

every man I met was the one for me;

each night I’d gaze at the bright stars above,

wishing for someone to be there for me

Again and again, I’d mistake lust for love,

reeling from foolishness, loss and pain

till one night, gazing at those stars above,

you came, stayed, put a hand in mine

Two lonely men cruising, out for a thrill,

we believed in that first sad kiss;

your mouth, arms, body heat in for the kill

found me baring my heart for sacrifice

Old gods applauding among stars above,

we rediscovered ancient rites, made love

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2012

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised (2012) from the original version as it appears in 1^st eds. of A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Casual Sex And Candle Wax

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

Today's poem last appeared on the blog in September 2009 and prompted a number of wry comments. [Although I don't publish comments, I always read them and will reply if the person includes an email address.] 'Mikael' wrote that on a visit to London, 'Among all the wonderful tourist attractions, I vote Hampstead heath the best. By day it is very beautiful. By night, it has to be one of the most exciting places for a gay man to be.'

I heartily endorse those sentiments although, regarding the Heath at night and in the early hours, I have to say that I have not visited that part frequented by gay men looking for sex since I was a young man. I am now 65. These days, I enjoy strolling its rolling expanse of grassy slopes, taking in trees of all description, ponds and varieties of wildlife, simply for its peace and natural beauty. Even so, I remember them well, those feisty days of old...]

Now, if some gay men are promiscuous, they certainly don’t have a monopoly on promiscuity. It is no less prevalent among heterosexuals. Moreover, it has been my experience that those people always expressing their disapproval of casual sex are, just as often, those who enjoy it the most.

Casual sex happens. It is a fact of life. We should enjoy it. Certainly, it is nothing to get up on a soap box about. Even so, we owe it to ourselves and any sex partner to act responsibly, practise safer sex and use a condom. Nor is it only HIV-AIDS we have to guard against. The rise in various venereal diseases in recent years has been little short of astronomical, not least in chlamydia, which can result in infertility.

So…have fun but play safe, yeah?

CASUAL SEX AND CANDLE WAX

One day on Hampstead Heath
I met a nice man, hair turning grey,
knew instantly he was gay

We sat and watched spectacular
views of London dim at close of day,
keeping stars at bay

We said nothing, looks enough
to let heart and mind have their say
and in the grass we lay

Twilight gave way to feisty stars,
a benevolent moon had turned full on
at the altar of passion

Taking no chances, we risked all
for the bitter-sweet spoils of desire,
fighting fire with fire

His mouth was warm and tender,
our bodies sculptures crafted in wax,
flaring, melting...in sex

We parted, never to meet again,
but I‘d learned how to seize the day
and be, oh, so glad I’m gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007