Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Saturday, 3 December 2022

Bells, Messaging the Spirit of Christmas

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

“Christmas… is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it's Christmas.” - Dale Evans

“If there are occasions when my grape turned into a raisin and my joy bell lost its resonance, please forgive me. Charge it to my head and not to my heart.” - Jesse Jackson

“Oh, Christmas isn't just a day, it's a frame of mind.” – ‘Kris Kringle’ in the movie, Miracle on 34th Street (1947)

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach.” - ‘Scrooge’ in Stave 4 of  A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

“The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.” - Matsuo Basho

Reader C. C. who lives in East London, has asked for "...a Christmas poem that gay and other LBT readers, especially any rejected by family and peers for our sexual identity - seen as an abuse against certain cultural ideals - can relate to, while continuing to identify with a universal  'spirit' of Christmas, regardless of cultural demands."

Well, C.C.I have done my best and can but hope you are able to relate to the poem-post below and at least some of the quotations above.

During my first winter term at Junior School, (some 70 years ago…oo-err!) a teacher asked what we most enjoy at Christmas. “Presents, sir!", more than half the class yelled. One boy simply put his hand up. When the teacher indicated for him to speak, he said, “I enjoy it because people are much nicer and kinder.” “A good point,” said the teacher with feeling, “I daresay many people would agree with you about other religious festivals as well…” He then changed the subject, but I wasn’t the only one left reflecting on his words… and continue to do so. 😉 

As regular readers know, I became as disillusioned with most religious leaders and world religions as with most  politicians and world politics generally over the years, and now think of myself as a Pantheist. 

Now, having written and enjoyed reading poetry for as long as I can remember, I have tried to write a Poem for Christmas that reflects the common spirit of world religions, an all-embracing inclusiveness often found wanting in the interpretation of various dogma associated with them. And, no, I do not exclude Christianity. 

Although I respect anyone’s religious Beliefs, I reserve the right (as regular readers will also know) to agree to differ…😉

BELLS, MESSAGING THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS

Bells! Ringing out the same message
over centuries of fear
and pain, ringing out yet again
to remind the world
of such love and peace for all souls
striving, even fighting 
for peace of mind, but wishful thinking 
among any made to suffer hate and hypocrisy
poisoning a common humanity

They know, the bells, and feel our pain
as and when we struggle
to rise above it all, find peace and love
within each other,
endeavour to let the world know, for all 
its many differences,
that 'Love rules OK' and will find a way
to make its presence plainly and believably told,
no LGBT folks, left out in the cold

Hear the joyful sound of Christmas bells,
sending a message 
of peace, hope, love and goodwill 
to a common humanity,
men, women and children, no exceptions
for gender, ethnicity 
or sexual identity, celebrating heart-and-soul
of You-Me-Us by drawing on its multiple voices,
addressing the Spirit of Christmas

It's an all-inclusive You-Me-Us, a new generation,
acknowledging the kinder side of being human

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: The greater part of this post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today.] RT






Sunday, 29 August 2021

Hi Folks, from London UK

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

Hi folks, from London UK

A reader writes that he cannot get into the blog: "When I click on to a title, I just get HTML. 

I had the same problem when I first logged on to the blog this morning. It appears that Google have made changes. To access the blog on a pc or laptop, clicking on 'view blog' in the left hand corner, should bring up the post-poem in the usual way. Hopefully, this will solve the reader's problem. (At the bottom of the page, you will see ways of accessing the blog on a tablet or smartphone.)

Whatever, readers have to remember that I am in my mid-70's now and have difficulty using Internet technology these days. not least after years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer; it plays merry hell with thought processes and memory to such an extent that I often feel as if my whole identity is gradually being eroded. 

Other readers with prostate cancer - and other health issues that they find increasingly difficult to rise above and get on with their lives - get in touch from time to time, mostly asking how I manage. Well, with difficulty, I have to say, especially as I also have to cope with several other health issues at the same time, as many of us do. I try to take it all in my stride, make the most of each day as it comes along, and hope for a good day. 

How do I cope with bad days? Again with difficulty, but finding ways of distracting myself from whatever part of me is playing up the worst... always helps. In the absence of a garden, writing up the blog, dusting off and watching a favourite DVD or tuning into a the next episode of  favourite TV series... all these things help, but only temporarily.  Seeing friends is the best therapy for lifting flagging spirits, which is, of course, one reason why the pandemic has been so hard to bear; being unable to see family and friends as often as we'd like, sometimes not at all.. 

Tragically, some of those closest to us have died during the  pandemic, so how do we cope? Yes, with great difficulty. It is hard enough on families who have lost loved-ones without being able to say goodbye, but no less tough, either, on those who live alone as I do. Fortunately, I remain in touch with my best friend and 'bubble partner' by phone and email, and we get to meet up from time to time. Some people, though, feel very isolated and lonely, especially some old people who are not Internet savvy and perhaps cannot hear well on the phone. Sadly, not all neighbours are good neighbours and some people find it increasingly hard to cope.

So let's all try and be good neighbours, yeah? And keep an eye on - better still befriend - any neighbours we suspect of struggling to get by on a daily basis, at any age, for whatever reason, especially in the big cities and certain suburbs, well-known to be less friendly or neighbourly than more rural areas.  (So we risk getting  the brush-off, so what?  That's their problem. At least we tried...)

My stomach is now telling me it's high time I got myself something to eat, and I never give my stomach the brush-off... 😉

Take care everyone and be sure to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life.

Back with a poem soon,

(Digital) Hugs,

Roger

[Note: this post also appears on my general blog today.} RNT

Friday, 3 July 2020

Safe Landings

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

Few of us are fortunate enough to have an easy time of it between the cradle and the grave, least of all lovers who find themselves at odds with family, friends, culture, religion...whatever. 

Many of us have nightmares, often fuelled by doubts and misgivings fed us on a daily basis by those who think they know what’s best for us, and really haven’t a clue. Moreover, in my experience, the severest critics of other people’s relationships have failed miserably in their own despite pretending otherwise…invariably more successfully to themselves and each other than to anyone else.

Oh, but the bliss of snuggling up to someone and feeling safe and loved. It's no different for same sex lovers, of course, and don't ever let anyone tell you differently.

SAFE LANDINGS

I hear sounds like a child crying
in my dreams, then screams;
my eyes flying open, straining
to hear, wind and rain engaging
with my fear

A noise like someone weeping
prevents me sleeping;
lips parting, framing questions,
quickening breaths shooting down
suspect answers

My nightmare would last longer
but our life-force the stronger;
beside me, your body stirs if briefly,
yet long enough, arms reaching out
to save me

We snuggle up, at peace for a joy
no loveless ghosts can destroy
(do their worst though they may)
for love will always side with its own,
straight or gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; rev. 2020

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

Monday, 23 March 2020

Sometimes, Love asks too many Questions OR Harvest Home


This poem first appeared on the blog some years ago; it is repeated today at the request of several readers who have clearly followed the blog for some time, and many thanks for that.. 

Years ago, someone put it to me that we may well be asked to fight many battles in this life; against poverty, hunger, disease, loneliness, prejudice, culture, religion, and even ideas that sometimes become confused with ideals. Invariably, whatever the rights and wrongs of the matter, it is plain enough who is our enemy and where the battle lines are drawn. Only on the battlefields of love is it not only sometimes unclear just who the enemy is, but also where and when to draw a line.

Whatever, no LGBT person should let the less enlightened among us put us down simply for our sexuality. Everyone is different and it can never be said often enough that our differences don't make us different, just human.

As the COVID 19 pandemic continues to spread, we all - whatever our race, religion or sexuality - need to sat calm, positive, and think of others - especially health and other shift workers - whenever we may be tempted to buy more groceries than we need.

SOMETIMES, LOVE ASKS TOO MANY QUESTIONS or HARVEST HOME

I met a man in a gay bar,
felt his passion feed on mine,
let him take me to a place
for sex divine, and later, spent
and weary, as relaxing
in my arms he lay, confided
a dilemma in being black, closet
and gay

He hadn’t told his family,
said they wouldn’t understand,
but accuse him of betraying
their homeland;
but this is my home now,
he told my heart, and hot tears
on my skin felt like flames
licking at his fears;
his mouth on mine, we
made love again, again, again;
me, wishing we had forever;
he, dousing his pain

Why do those we love
demand we make such choices,
see us all but devoured
in a conflagration of kisses?
Years on, I often wonder
if he found the strength to say
to friends, family and workmates
‘I am gay’

He is good man (and lover)
deserving better...

Copyright R. N. Taber  2010, 2020

[Note: This poem first appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; alternative title added later.]

Cover photo: The folly at Virginia Water

Saturday, 21 March 2020

Heart to Heart


People often tell me I should concentrate on my general poetry and ‘forget the gay stuff.’ But the ‘gay stuff’ is as much a part of me as the rest so I will press on. If some readers and critics don’t like it…well, they don’t have to read it. Besides, I can’t win; the same critics tell me that my poetry is too conventional, that rhyme and ‘form’ poetry is old hat and I’m an anachronism etc.

Let them rant. As long as people continue to read the blog and continue to email me from time to time to say they have enjoyed a poem, I'll press on. 

Now, this may not be one of my better poems but sometime after it first appeared on the blog in 2008, I received a lovely email from someone who had read it aloud to his family in the course of telling them he is gay. He didn’t say what he or they thought of the poem but it doesn’t matter; what matters is that ‘afterwards…it was hugs all round.’ It appears they are a religious family, too, plainly inspired by a spirituality that lends itself to love no less than to religion. Oh, but how wonderfully reassuring!

I should add that for every LGBT person who has emailed to say they feel rejected by family members and /or friends, others have said they have been reconciled, even if it has taken awhile for those same family members  and/ or friends to understand that our sexuality makes not a scrap of difference in the sense that we are the same person whom they have come to love, regardless. 


HEART TO HEART

I told family and friends
how, come what may,
I’ll tread a straighter path
for being gay

I remain the same person,
sharing with you still,
a universal understanding;
love conquers all

If love imposes conditions,
what does that imply,
other than the human heart
has told its spirit a lie?

Let those without a dream
to call their own
rally all life’s lonely losers
to cast the first stone


Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2020









Saturday, 7 March 2020

Body Positive


Both poems appeared on both blogs in 2012 - on World AIDS Day - but received little interest and views here over several years; eventually, inexplicably, it disappeared and I did not replace  although  its sister post continues to be well visited on my general poetry blog. The poems appear here again today at the request of a reader who says his life has been 'turned upside down' after revealing to family and friends not only that he is gay, but has also that he has been tested positive for HIV-AIDS. He feels "rejected to the extend that I am even having suicidal thoughts." 


I would urge anyone harbouring suicidal thoughts to call The Samaritans (116 123) if in the UK or email jo@Samaritans.co.uk as their email service extends beyond the UK; also search the Internet for LGBT support groups if no one springs to mind to whom you can turn. 

Some people in some countries remain actively hostile towards LGBT people and we can only hope that love and commonsense will prevail in the end. Meanwhile, we can but seek support from those loved ones and friends who continue to put humanity before any bigotry and give any inhumanity the contempt and cold shoulder it deserves. Having said that, it has to be said that some people do need more time than others to get used to revelations about which they genuinely had no idea; this is especially true where formative years have taken countless faux stereotypes to heart.

For many people, it is only when HIV-AIDS strikes close to home that they ask themselves questions they should have asked long ago, but saw no need, content enough to go along with the flow  of socio-cultural-religious bigotry and hypocrisy that continues to make itself felt in certain societies worldwide to this day.

BODY POSITIVE

Life, death!

Floods me, goads me,
leads me beside hot beaches
where I run, a dazzling sea
cheering me on, and I wonder
where the lark has gone
that fixed me so with its cheer
before abandoning me here
like a forgotten toy filled with joy
for its having all but played
me out before going about nature’s
own business

Life, death!

Calls me, galls me,
urges me back, back to you;
but we are gone,
the taste of us honey on my tongue
where we romped and played
like tots in make-believe, heading
barefoot among jellyfish
for the Punch and Judy man
who’ll make us laugh
if anyone can before the sun goes down,
our time forgotten

Life, death!

Overtaken us now,
beckoning. I’ll not rush my pace
for we’ve already run our race,
won a place among same stars enchanting
same lulling swell.
All’s well. One lost toy recovered
and taken home. Punch and Judy
in a packing case,
sleeping it off at some Bed and Breakfast.
I, filled with a night too exquisite for words
like those we shared...

Before AIDS

Copyright R. N. Taber 1996; 2012

[Note: A slightly different version first appeared in August and Genet by R. N. Taber (Wire Poetry Booklet series) Aramby Publishing,1996 and subsequently in various poetry publications prior to its inclusion in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

None of us, gay or straight can afford to be complacent...


Didn’t test to see if I was HIV positive,
I was scared,
then my lover asked me outright
and I lied…
thinking I wasn’t really lying, believed
I was okay
but the lie began to haunt me more
each night and day,
especially when in my arms he lay
his body in my trust

I should find out, I thought, I must
have a test,
I can’t go on pretending like this
even as we kiss
that there’s no virus in me I can pass on
(as if I would)
but I cannot answer for the unknown,
need to find out
be worthy of his love and trust
or we’ll never last

Eventually, I had the test, it was negative,
I was relieved,
then I asked my lover outright
and he cried...
swore he hadn’t known when we first met
but discovered since,
too scared to tell me in case I got angry
(as I’d been he might reject me)
so what could I do but hold him near
plant kisses in his hair?
Yes, we’ve had the test, my love and me,
it set us free
from doubt and fear because, together,
we are strong,
can deal with whatever this life
dishes us…
beats treading on our dreams, left alone
and up against it;
above all its blessings, place trust
or love will fail the test

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

Wednesday, 18 December 2019

A Christmas Truce

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

This entry is from my general poetry blog from its archives for December 2010.

Religious festivals should bring people together. Yet, so often they follow the age-old tradition of religions worldwide and, in the end, but cause division among family, friends, neighbours....

Christmas is no exception for many of us.

Even where people are brought together for a day or two, it is often no more than calling a truce. Before we know it, we are divided; fighting, insulting, demanding more than we deserve, failing to enter into each other’s points of view...or simply ignoring each other again.

Even so, calling a truce can be a new beginning ... if we let it, always bearing in mind that it takes two to tango' there has to be the will to get together, albeit often absent for all kinds of reasons it is not for any of us to judge.

A CHRISTMAS TRUCE?

Sought, a safe haven on Christmas Day
from family stuff, presents round a tree,
giving the rein to how things should be,
denying what stares in each tinsel face;
A stranger in red mentioned such a place
where I might escape, find sanctuary,
even peace - away from all pretence
at burying home truths under layers of truce,
letting sweet carols on the ear replace
a harsher cacophony of lies, more lies,
accusation (and retribution?) for crimes
against the ego (never mind humanity)
in the daily round of sheer hypocrisy
and petty discrimination against whatever
points of view that can’t, won’t, shouldn’t
always go with the flow in case we tread
on Someone’s feelings, trigger into motion
a tedious, even violent chain reaction,
that might go on for years, spill more tears
than for Judas or lied about Christmas

So, where to go? I asked a jolly man in red
who started laughing, said to use some
common sense and moved on, leaving me
for dead among piles of pretty wrapping,
more calls for a truce, plates of mince pies
and sausage rolls blind to a soul’s fears,
deaf to its prayers

[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005]

Tuesday, 3 December 2019

Christmas Lights

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

December, and a new poem. Over the next few weeks I will be publishing archival posts (on and from both blogs) leading up to Christmas. No, I do not celebrate Christmas, but like many if not most religions and religious festivals, it brings out both the best and the worst in people, challenge enough for anyone, not least a pantheist poet.

I was walking home with a work colleague one year, close to Christmas, and remarked on his generosity to a rough sleeper. He told me a story from his past that today's new poem can only partly relate but which hopefully captures something of the spirit of Christmas, indeed of any religious festival, often found sadly lacking, all but buried under layers of dogma that so often blinds people, especially families, to the fact that the roots of any religion lie in peace and love to all humankind, not just to those who happen to fit in with its beliefs and traditions. As my mother - a Christian woman - used to say, "God loves us, no matter who, what, or where we are."  Now, we may or may not enter fully into  the Christian spirit of that message, but any human spirit is free to embraces it just as wholeheartedly, surely?

No religion has a monopoly on spirituality; it is in that evergreen aspect of a common humanity that hope truly spring eternal.

True, we cannot love everyone, might even let hate get a look in from time to time, but love and hate are strong emotion if not sides of the same proverbial coins, inclined to blur at the edges into feelings which, for whatever reason, we may not care to dwell on... as much in so far as they reflect on ourselves us as on the other person...?

CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

Christmas lights
casting shadows long, short
and, oh, so tall,
across the sky, my ceiling
where I lie
in a sleeping bag, pretending
I'm as snug
and warm as by a cosy fire fuelling
family myths

Cast out, simply
for loving you, needing so
to run true
with the 'me' no one knew
(as no more did I)
till you penetrated my disguise,
burrowed the lies.
let in the light of day, vowed we'd live
proud and gay

Only, I hated you
for leading me into a reality
as dark as any closet,
ran away from any you-me-us
in the making,
heart near breaking, mind losing
its way, spirit needing
to turn an angry tide of exposed identity,
failing miserably

Christmas lights,
bulbous eyes on me where I lay
worm-like in my pain
and loneliness, not a single passer-by
sparing a glance for me,
swallowed up by a human convenience
less desperate
to be rid of personal anxieties than common
responsibilities

I closed my eyes,
embraced imagination, heard voices
calling my name,
saw the faces clearly, friends and family,
among them yours,
hot tears stinging my cheeks, distant bells
offering comfort
and joy in anticipation of peace and love getting
the better of rejection

Fearful though I was
of opening my eyes, letting cold reality
work its worst on me,
I found myself peering into a mist of light
and making out
the same dream, no dream at all, scarcely able
to take in its charms
till I felt your arms around me, you-me-us invited
to a family Christmas


Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Sunday, 20 October 2019

Leaves from a journal

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

This poem first appeared on my general blog in March 2010.

[Update (March 2016): A German reader has been in touch to ask if my poetry collections are available in German.  Sadly, no. Eventually, revised editions of my books (published and unpublished in print form) will be available in e-format.]

For many if not most people - in whatever walk of life, and wherever - family is always at the heart of their consciousness and daily lives. Not so for all of us though. Apart from my mother, I have never felt as connected, in terms of mind-body spirit, to my family as to close friends; they are my family. Some of those to whom I relate and identify as soulmates have died, but stay with me still; invariably, I hear them whisper words of wisdom, comfort and moral support in my ear whenever I need any or all of those things the most. Moreover, over the years, I have met many people in the same boat, estranged from their families over differences in religion, sexuality, politics...whatever.

When, oh, when will more people realise and accept that our differences do not make us different, only human?

Meanwhile...

‘Jenny and Alan’ readers from Birmingham asked me to include this poem in a collection after reading it on the blog back in 2007. I was delighted to oblige and hope you and they will find lots to enjoy in whole collection.

Family Group (in bronze) by Henry Moore (1950). [Photo from Internet]

This poem is a kenning.

LEAVES FROM A JOURNAL

I am a mother, keeping things together
even as they are seen to be falling apart
at the seams, nothing as it seems to eyes
homing in from this street, that fence…
failing to see through slats in blinds down
for the duration (a ritual celebration?)
Mother love, putting out feelers for ways
to end wars between brothers and sisters,
in-laws and neighbours

I am a father, home owner, mortgage
repayments having to take priority over
designer gear, latest PlayStation,
school trips, not to mention new cars
smarter, faster, than the one before,
sure to put theirs next door in the shade
and, no, we can’t just pile more credit
on cards unless you feel like explaining
bankruptcy to the neighbours

I am a child, weary of the rows between
Mum and Dad, sibling rivalry that’s not
half as bad as everyone’s making out…
and who cares if the neighbours have cash
to flash for vacations in prime locations,
digitals galore telling tales sure to have us
wagging tongues, scaling rungs...?
Sure, it’s okay to have this ‘n’ that, but not
if it means we keep scaring the cat

As spring to a branch, autumn to its tree,
I make, I take, I am family 

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

Saturday, 12 October 2019

Mind-Body-Spirit, on Rescue Alert

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

This week saw  World Mental Health Day, but every day is a struggle for some. This poem appeared on my general blog in July 2011. To see the original post, go the the archives - on the right hand side of any blog page - for https://rogertab.blogspot.com/

IYears ago, I became very deoressed about being gay, feeling rejected by family, friends and workmates for my sexuality alone...just a few of the knock life is inclined to throw at us, human nature being what it is.

Now, as a great fan of actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers (I loved The Tudors series on TV) I was very saddened to read that he had apparently attempted suicide. I attempted the same during a severe nervous breakdown some 30+ years ago. I swallowed a LOT of paracetamol tablets, washed down with a bottle of sherry. [Needless to say, I haven’t touched sherry since.] It was a terrible time, and I well recall the despair when I woke up after being unconscious for about 35 hours. Even so, I couldn’t stand the pain so managed to stagger half-dressed to my local surgery that was close to where I was living at the time.

Recovery took years, and I was unable to work for nearly four. Regular readers will be familiar with my poems like the one below that take depression and rising above it as a theme. I still suffer bouts of depression as I have since childhood, but I know the warning signs now and usually manage to rise above things through my writing, thereby avoiding going into free fall.

My passion for nature plays no small part in a self-taught capacity for positive thinking that, again, has its roots in a troubled childhood. I didn’t grow up in a broken home or anything as awful, but an appalling relationship with my father and a significant hearing loss that no one picked up on made life (and me) difficult, to say the least. It didn’t help when, as a teenager, I had to learn to cope alone with an awakening sexuality; same sex relationships remained a criminal offence here in the UK until 1967 by which time I was in my early 20’s.

Failure to commit suicide gave me a whole new outlook on life. So, yes, I am glad I failed although life has been an uphill struggle ever since, both emotionally and psychologically. Yet, isn’t life a challenge for most of us? I suspect the key is to take up the challenge instead of letting notions of failure mess with the mind; with the heart, too, perhaps. It isn’t easy, and there are times when the depressed person wants to run away from it all. Even so, as I have already said, learn to recognise the signs and it becomes marginally easier to prevent freefall.

For an actor, writer or any creative person, being something of a perfectionist is a mixed blessing. The perfectionist is never satisfied with his or her performance and this alone can lead us to the cliff edge of despair. One of the hardest lessons a creative person has to learn is to enjoy the creative process for its own sake, and while trying our best, not cave in to a mistaken sense of failure should our achievements fall short of expectation. Someone once said to me that she could not do anything creative until she recovered her self-esteem. In my experience, that is putting the cart before the horse. Until we try something, we will never know whether or not we can succeed at it; if we don’t succeed, we should give ourselves a pat on the back for trying and try something else until we discover our forte, something that gives us satisfaction and a boost to self-esteem that can only grow if duly nurtured.

Never feel a failure. Invariably, we do so in relation to someone else. There are times in life when other people don’t matter in the sense that we will only continue to feel close to freefall all the while we insist on comparing ourselves with those whom we most admire for whatever reason. At such times, we need to put ourselves first and refuse to let others put us down for who and what we are.

We can only make the best of what talents we have, and if these are insufficient to give us a sense of fulfilment then we should look elsewhere for the tools we need to help us feel a more complete person. Love and friendship offer fulfilment if we are prepared to work at them and not take either for granted. A talent for love and friendship is as creative an inspiration as we are ever likely to find in life; they come in all shapes and sizes and, again, we should not compare what we seek with others who have different needs and expectations.

I have said before on the blogs, we are all different and should not be in any hurry to measure ourselves by other people’s achievements.

I doubt whether Jonathan Rhys Myers reads my blog, but to him and all people driven to that degree of psychological and emotional free fall for whatever reason, I say, take heart, think well of yourself, and time may not heal all our hurts, but it will do a damn good job on most of them if only we are prepared work at it. There are no quick fixes and time can seem (very) frustratingly slow, but trying out new steps each day will produce positive results in the end if not always at a time we need them most.

A depressed person deserves a medal just for going through the motions of getting on with daily life. Believe me, I have been there, and my heart goes out to all those who suffer the worst depression can throw at us. Even once it has taken what seems like an eternity to lift, it will hover, and then go to wait in the wings until the next time it will try to take centre-stage; it is up to us to try and make sure it doesn’t. Oh, it will probably always insist on being a bit player in our lives, but that becomes just about bearable. People who suffer from depression are very fortunate indeed if it doesn’t make at least the occasional appearance. [The trick is to see it coming, and keep it from doing too much damage.]

To their loved ones, friends and work colleagues, I urge patience and understanding. Depression is NOT the same as feeling low or fed-up; it is light years beyond. At the same time, there is no need to let a depressed person’s mood swings take you to the edge as well. Speak up. Don’t let anyone walk all over you, whether they are depressed or not. But do so with kindness rather than in anger. Keep faith with love and friendship; it is at such times when depression or other hardships strike and test all of us that both truly come into their own.

Oh, but life can be so complicated, and rarely gives us a clear run all the way. Yet, for all its ups and downs, it is the only life we have so let’s make the best, not the worst of it, yeah? [Did I say it was easy?]

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, ON RESCUE ALERT

A shadow came to squat by my side,
its features obscured,
took my hand, claimed to be a guide,
said I should not be afraid;
a voice as silky as a child’s brow
persuaded me to my feet,
vaguely familiar voices calling, ‘No!’
distant echoes in my heart

If reassuring, the voice kept insisting
this was no time to be fanciful,
its silk at my ears faintly brushing
like lips behind a veil;
I let myself be led into my own garden
where I’d plant flowers,
prune its fruit trees and mow the lawn
during golden hours

Yet, even as the trellis gate swung open
to let us enter there,
I was gripped by an awful premonition
and sickening fear;
the silky voice took on a mocking tone
as the veil fell away
to a pecking at my flesh to the very bone
like a bird of prey

In a panic, I called the garden to my aid
only to see…
its trees were dying, its flowers dead,
the lawn but a spread of algae;
desperate to escape being eaten alive,
I tore myself free,
begging of that cold, dark, watery grave
a last sanctuary

I dropped as sure as a stone into the slime
and lay on its bed,
watching the algae, like veils of time,
expose half-truths over my head;
hands reached down to pull me to a surface
I instantly recognised,
where fruit trees, flowers and green grass
have endured

Between the lines of Earth Mother’s smile
I read how survival is but half the battle...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009



Sunday, 3 September 2017

G-A-Y, At Home and Abroad


As regular readers well know, I belong to a generation raised in an era that saw gay relationships as a criminal offence; homosexuality was a dirty word and gay-bashing more prevalent a hate crime than even racist motivated attacks. In some parts of the world, times have changed for the better although, as most if not all of us have discovered the hard way, there is no legislating for human nature's being accountable to itself.

Yes, there are now many gay people of both sexes whose families and friends have no problem with their sexuality, but there are also many others who - by whatever means, for whatever reasons – are made to feel they have no choice but to say nothing; a choice all the more tragic for being made not out of any real sense of shame for their sexuality but real love for those unable or unwilling to accept it. Like it or not, those socio-cultural-religious bigots who persist in any LGBT relationships need to accept that they always have been, and always will be integral to any society' social history. 

Many people insist ‘blood is thicker than water’. While I have good reason to dispute that, I prefer, in any case, to believe that true love, if not always the stronger, is by far the better and worthier match for hate and hate crime any day, and the more enduring. A favourite quote of mine, all the more profound for its simplicity, springs to mind:

‘Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.’ - Martin Luther King, Jr. [A Testament of Hope: the Essential Writings and Speeches]

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”- James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room



G-A-Y, AT HOME AND ABROAD

At home, G-A-Y
was a dirty word (or worse);
at school, fuel
for the bullies and bigots,
and scapegoats
for home truths in dark closets;
at work, something
best left hanging out to dry
in staff rooms

Slowly, but surely,
political correctness entered
the arena,
pro-LGBT legislation,
a warning to certain 
socio-cultural-religious forums
bent on feeding
feelings for hate crime as milk
to a new-born

Slowly, but surely,
G-A-Y began winning hearts
and minds …
if only among those intuitive
of formative years
surreptitiously (or openly)
shaping various
forms of socio-cultural-religious
nemeses to order 

At home, G-A-Y
becomes no less of a dirty word
for being ignored;
at school, it might well be OK
with (some) parents
but only for staying well clear
of the curriculum;
at work, still making the best
of good intentions

On the street, G-A-Y
starting to coming out, get a life,
despite the bullies
and bigots hogging headlines
meant to expose flaws
in any social history if (invariably)
perpetuating stereotypes;
Stonewall forever chipping away
at tablets of stone


Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Saturday, 5 March 2016

Always Open to Dialogue OR Opening Up Closed Minds

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

Now it's an old truism that you can bring a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink. Gay, straight or transgender, it is up to the individual to find his or her way in life, which includes acknowledging (or not) their sexuality. Nor is it up to anyone else to speculate or fuel rumour and gossip. Sexuality is only part of the whole person; it is the whole that counts.

Who are we, any of us, to pass an uninformed judgement on the part and apply it to the whole?

As far as being gay is concerned, I can tell you from personal experience that not coming to grips with sexuality can result in a slow but sure build-up of mental health problems. I was only 14 years-old when I acknowledged to my awakening sexual self that I am gay. (Gay relationships were illegal in those days.) Subsequent closet years contributed significantly to my suffering a severe nervous breakdown in my early thirties. It took me a long time (years, not weeks or months) to recover and get my life back on track, but on track it was at last, not least because I was now openly gay where previously I had been in and out of that damn closet like a Jack-in-the-box, something I would not wish on my worst enemy.

Being gay is no more a matter of choice than being straight; acknowledging and acting on it...that is the choice all LGBT people face, and learning to live with ourselves. Whatever our sex or sexuality,  life is rarely an easy path, but better (surely?) to tackle its ups and downs as we are rather than as we or others might have us be? For me, the latter was like trying to breathe in someone else's skin, a living nightmare.

Whatever life choices we make because feel it is right, that choice should be respected, not condemned because certain socio-cultural-religious elements in any society anywhere happen to take a different view. We may well find ourselves harbouring strong feelings for or against one or more aspects of a person's expressed take on life, but we have no right to judge that person on those alone, and it would be a crime against humanity to do so; we may dislike, even hate a particular song for its lyric, orchestral arrangement, whatever...but only a total jerk would presume to judge the singer on the basis of one performance. (While not presuming to suggest all gay-unfriendly folks are jerks, if the cap fits...)

'A conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. That's why there are so few good conversations: due to scarcity, two intelligent talkers seldom meet.' - Truman Capote

'Once you have dialogue starting, you know you can break down prejudice.' - Harvey Milk

This poem is a kenning

ALWAYS OPEN TO DIALOGUE

I am no enemy,
and more sinned against
than sinning…
wherever I go, whatever
path I take in life,
trudging sadly, skipping madly
or taking wary steps
among minefields haunting
most if not all of us   

I am a friend,
born to be so to the end
of life’s journey,
even beyond halcyon days
and nights committed
to sweet memory, transcending
any regret for times past,
inspiring an earthy spirituality
in most if not all of us

See me for what I am,
a natural ally to conscience
since its birth, always
on its side, knowing right
from wrong, discerning
society’s excuses and abuses,
unafraid to pleasure me
despite bigotry and hypocrisy
conspiring against us

It's a closed mind judges my integrity
on the grounds of my sexuality


Copyright R. N. Taber 2011; 2016

Thursday, 5 March 2015

Ghost in the Mirror OR A Rage to Live

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

For any gay person who feels, for whatever reason, that he or she cannot be openly gay, it is a terrible lie to live and burden to carry. I lived that lie for years as a youth and young man (I will be 70 this year) and it not only saddens but horrifies me that in the 21st century there are still gay boys and girls, men and women worldwide, who feel they cannot be openly gay but must give the appearance of being heterosexual. Those responsible, whether within family and/or religious and/or cultural circles should hang their heads in shame for their intolerance and inhumanity. 

Lies, like ghosts, are inclined to haunt us, but not necessarily in a bad way; they can, in truth, drive us towards a kinder reality or at least one likely to invest the inner self with greater integrity than any so-called ‘reality’ we may have been led to believe (for whatever reason) is all there is…

Reality for the human being comprises a multitude of differences; differences that make people not different, just human, and deserving of respect for their humanity regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality. If we cannot respect each other’s differences, what chance of finding common ground on which to build a worthwhile relationship as a family member, friend, lover, colleague or whatever...?

The young, closet man I once was would confront lies in mirrors  and shop windows daily. ashamed that I hadn't the strength of character to look the world in the eye. Among the lies, though, were greater truths such as passed on by generations of LGBT people working against intolerable odds to create a better, kinder world for the likes of me; it was for them as much as for myself that I finally y flung the closet door wide open (rather than toe it occasionally ajar) at the ripe old age of 40. Even now, though, I sometimes see that tormented closet self in the eyes of passers-by, fellow passengers on a bus or train...and am truly thankful to be free.

GHOST IN THE MIRROR or A RAGE TO LIVE

I told myself a lie,
lived that lie for years
till (inevitably?)
a day came I broke down
in tears,
and through my tears
I watched the lie
come for me out of a mist
like a ghost

The ghost revealed
the lie had run its course
till (inevitably?)
it was breaking me down
in pieces,
and among the pieces
I caught glimpses
of consequences slowly
killing me

Pieces all in place,
I saw the bigger picture
that (in spite of me)
had haunted my other self
taunting me for years
of giving fictions 
priority over reality,
time to face home truths,
make amends

Reality, taking pride
of place at last, better late
than never ...
all but ready to cast off
a lonely closet past
ill-spent deceiving myself
about wanting to spare 
any loved ones shedding
tears over me

I confessed to the lie,
I‘d hid behind for years
and (inevitably?)
a day came I broke down,
revealed all,
and through my tears
I walked free,
embracing truth, world,
and sexuality

The ghost, it stayed,
a reminder of those years
and (inevitably?)
it rages now and then
in my ears, about
just how it was before
I saw my way 
to holding my head high
for being gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015
















Friday, 30 January 2015

Whatever Happened to Agreeing to Differ?


[Update: 25th Dev 2018]: It is Christmas Day, and the UK is very much divided over Brexit, I am all for freedom of speech, but why must so many people with opposing points of view take it all so personally? It is a poor indictment of human nature ...] RT

Some time ago, I met a refugee from Iran who recounted some horrific details of torture and worse that gay associates had met at the hands of its religious police.

Here in the West, we are, for the most part, able to move freely and openly as gay men and women. Even so, each and every one of us is only as free as our environment allows us to be.
Even in the so-called ‘tolerant’ West, as elsewhere in the world, there are gay boys and girls, men and women, whose reason for  continuing to feel they have to suppress their natural gay nature from family, peers, and work colleagues is invariably down to varying degrees of socio-cultural-religious intolerance.

May each of us, to the self, be true. We are not a race of clones...yet...thank goodness.

 WHATEVER HAPPENED TO AGREEING TO DIFFER?

My family,
friends and neighbours,
why despise me
because I cannot be as you
have been led to believe
I should be by those
suppressing empathy with mind,
body and spirit
or humanity’s getting the better
of dogma?

My people,
why can we not be as one
on the same earth,
under the same sky, from birth
till time and nature bring
all divisions to heel
in a dimension that dares despatch
socio-cultural-religious thought
to the living poetry of a common  
humanity?

My country,
why do you persecute me
for being gay…?
What can I say, but it is no sin
against God or humankind
to be, yes, human …
How can any religion condemn
the likes of me
for simply reclaiming
my identity?

Copyright R N Taber 2015