The Defiant Ones

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

Unfortunately, Blogger does not change the date of post-poems published as and when I (often) revise them.  Several readers have emailed to say they find this frustrating as they may well not chance to view the blog archives and read any revisions for themselves. I have therefore deleted the original post on which the poem below was first published and am reworking it as a ‘new’ post together with the revised poem (the second one below) so readers can compare, may even feel it’s worth browsing the blog archives sometime after all...?

the 2012 post included a link to a video on my YouTube channel relating to a poem about Oscar Wilde: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxcbIozftcE&list=UUSdhLgPQOsng2Xz8n5m0ViQ

[To go directly to my YouTube channel for other videos:

https://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber/videos

As regular readers will know, I publish my collections under my own imprint because it would appear that poetry publishers are not happy with poems on a gay theme appearing alongside poems on other themes. Yet, poetry does not discriminate so why should we (or they?) Besides, I feel it would be hypocritical for a gay man to publish a collection of poems and ignore his sexuality. As I have often said on the blogs, as far as I’m  concerned, a poem is a poem is a poem and no theme is or should be taboo.  

Now, some readers may be interested to know that the original post in 2012 was published especially for ‘Enrique and Salvo’ who had been in touch to say they recently came out as partners to friends and family and ‘despite a few problems to start with, everything had settled down and they are “very happy.” I have heard from them again since; they are still together and “deliriously” happy.

 THE DEFIANT ONES (first version, 2010)

When I enter you and we are joined as one,
a fine spirituality embraces us,
centres us in a womb-tomb of earth, fire
and water, where we become as nature
intended, taking us into a vast eternal NOW
we feared until our sexuality confirmed
its identity

No longer afraid but glimpsing those ends
where new beginnings are made
to answer to the ghosts of childhood with wisdom,
where ignorance would prey on lovers
expected to lie down and die for each other

just as we lie here, you and I, chancing
a power of love far greater than the dictates
of religions, promises of politicians,
rhetoric of personal ambitions citing the prose
and poetry of a common humanity taken
from a a well-thumbed page in its history, praising
colour creed, sexuality and age,
coffin makers worldwide anxious to spread
the word that you and I would die for each other
than surrender to a lesser power whose lessons 
in glory but give the lie to our love story

If our bed be a coffin, better to die here and now
than with a lie on these twin lips we’ll kiss,
this flesh we’ll devour, its blood turned to wine,
our bodies as one

willing the world move on
and leave us alone

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This earlier version of the poem below first appeared in my 6th collection, On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010 and subsequentlyo0n the blog in 2012 only to be significantly revised (see below) June 2021,]

THE DEFIANT ONES (Revised version)

It's as we make love and are joined as one,
a fine spirituality embraces us,
centres us in a womb-tomb of earth, fire
and water, where we become as nature
intended, taking us into a Here-and-Now
that we feared - until (finally) sexuality
confirms its spirituality, showing us a love
that is our eternity 

No longer afraid but glimpsing those ends
where new beginnings are made
to answer ghosts of childhood with wisdom,
where ignorance would prey on lovers
expected to lie down and die for each other
just as we lie here, you and I, chancing
a power of love far greater than the dictates
of religions, promises of politicians,
rhetoric of personal ambitions citing the prose
and poetry of a common humanity taken
from well-thumbed pages in history, praising
colour, creed, sexuality, gender and age,
coffin makers (worldwide) anxious to spread
the news that we would die for each other
before caving in to worldly powers whose bigotry
but gives the lie to our love story 

If our bed be a coffin, better to die here and now
than with a lie on these twin lips we’ll kiss,
this flesh we’ll devour, its blood turned to wine,
our bodies as one, the world embracing us
as of its own, not as stereotypes would cast us,
(‘freaks’ of nature but one) LGBT folks 
but asking to see the world move on in its time
end (all) hate crime

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, rev. 2021 

[Note: Another reader asks why I post poems here only to revise them at a later date? I will try and answer that by way of a prose entry on my general poetry blog tomorrow. Meanwhile, both poems and an appropriately reworked version of the essentials of this post also appear on my general poetry blog today.] RNT

Crisis at Christmas OR Love is the Key

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

For many readers, it will not be a very happy Christmas Day this year, and for most of us it will be a Christmas break like no other for all the wrong reasons. Even so, there are vaccines on the way so still reason to think positive and look forward to better times in 2021.

Here's my favourite ghosts (from happier times) and I  wishing you all love and peace always, and many thanks for dropping by the blog.

Hugs,

Roger

CRISIS AT CHRISTMAS or LOVE IS THE KEY

Christmas, in a year
with many a tear in many an eye 
for a year that’s seen
so much grief, anger and pain,
yet, also a sense
of being a common humanity
in a world inclined
to view certain differences as weaknesses,
due to its own short sightedness

In a year that has seen
the devastating effects of Covid-19
on world economies
and personal lives, a sense of unity
attempts to rise
above that grief, anger and pain
all but dominating
everyday life, whoever and wherever we are,
any differences notwithstanding 

In times of crisis, people
will often pull together, bridging chasms
between old enemies,
suggesting bigots have second thoughts
asking of religions
that they practise what they preach
in so far as matching
deeds to fine words, embracing peace and love
without either caveat or favour 

For many, Christmas,
among other celebrations, but reinforce
an overwhelming
sense of loss, regret, loneliness, and losing out
in such everyday move
as humanity makes, potentially this way,
potentially that…
now, raising hopes, now (invariably) taking credit
for (inevitably) losing out to ‘Fate’

So, what can we do,
who are left to pick ourselves up, start over?
For a start, never forget
there are such people in the world who care
about others,
will lend a helping hand and see us through
to a kinder end,
while it’s a positive mindset (no weakness) that asks
for help, more likely to find happiness 

There will always be
the good-bad in this world, the happy-sad too;
we can but try
to rise above it all (down to me, down to you)
even compensate
for such evils as humankind may yet do,
let love be the key
to  mind-body-spirit left free to live, let live and let die
if (still) begging the question, "why…?"

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

Feeling is Believing OR Comfort and Joy

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

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2010. [I do not intend to repeat all earlier poems, but readers are welcome to explore the blog archives as indicated in the far right column of any blog page; poems published again here have been removed, and in some cases, revised.]

Now, I always write love poems with my late partner in mind even though he died years ago and we were able to spend little time together before he was killed in a road accident; sadly, it was a 'closet' relationship society was predominantly hostile towards same sex relationships in those day; they were a criminal offence here in the UK until the Sexual Offences Act, England and Wales (1967) legalised homosexual acts between two men  on the condition they were consensual, in private and had attained the age of 21. Age of Consent equality, though, did not come until 2001 in England, Scotland and Wales, and 2009 in Northern Ireland.

Hopefully, readers will always find time and space enough within themselves  to get in touch with their own deeper feelings. In this sense at least, all religious faiths and festivals have something in common. 

Love has the capacity for rising above the worst life and nature may feel inclined to throw at it, including winter, a winter of the heart as well as of the meteorological kind.

Yes, here I go again. The message of all religious faiths and festivals - is one of peace and love; who hears  and acts upon it, is another matter.

Long, long live love … and let's not discriminate against LGBT folks just because it offends some heterosexual 'norm'; in a common humanity, diversity is part of what should be an all-inclusive norm, not an exception to any rules laid down and spread by any religious dogma as a socio-cultural-religious 'norm'. God is love, after all.

Long, long live peace, too, wherever it is given even half a chance.

As for peace of mind, we can but try for it, and once we find, be sure to share it, if only to take  comfort and joy from watching the ripples spread ...

Gay or straight, there is more to anyone than his or her sexuality; certain individuals, organizations, and communities (parents, too) - worldwide - would serve themselves and others by far better for keeping that in mind.

FEELING IS BELIEVING or COMFORT AND JOY

I could hear bells ringing,
choir voices singing,
snow falling like manna 
from heaven for kids 
and snowmen while I gazed 
from a window,
nose against the pane,
never felt so alone

Suddenly, I saw you there,
sunshine in the hair,
so near, and yet so far …
a dear, familiar grin
daring me rejoin the comfort 
of togetherness
and share in festivity
than bare self-pity

Loneliness ebbing away,
I came out to play 
that wonderful winter's day;
you threw snowballs,
missed, and we kissed…
your lips so sweet 
and warm, grey-blue eyes 
forgiving me for living

Where snow piles your grave,
that winter's night,
we made love while bells 
rejoiced us and angels 
chorused all the pleasures 
of togetherness
that is the joy of festivity,
defying self-pity

Not once a year but every day,
love finds a way 
to bring such comfort and joy
as embraces us all,
nurturing the more positive
side of human nature,
heart and soul of a humanity
celebrating its diversity

If God is Love, and love acts thus,
where does bigotry have a place?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; it was originally written as a Christmas poem, but feedback suggested this made it come across as less all-inclusive]RNT

You-Me-Us, A Posthumous Consciousness OR Remembrance, Mentor Extraordinary

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

Today's poem appeared on the blog some time ago.

Our ghosts are a living part of us whether we care to acknowledge them or not; kind and less kind ghosts, where the former invariably more than compensate for the latter, lifting us when we are low,  restoring a sense of purpose should we lose sight of it from time to time; these are more than memories of better times, they are the people who helped make them better, kinder, happier ... and they are no less real than ever, albeit invisible. As I grow old, especially living alone as I do, my ghosts are as real to me as flesh and blood friends; life forces, encouraging and sustaining me through these tough times of Covid-19.

Whatever our ethnicity, creed, sexuality...  we are all but human; it is in our nature to be wary if not fearful of death. Religion may well offer a safety net of sorts, but it has always struck me as causing more worldwide divisions that it can ever begin to heal; neither, though, do I subscribe to negative thinking.

Whoever, wherever we are, there is a temptation, especially as we grow old, to look back on our lives if only because there seems more to look back on than look forward to. Not so, though, as who knows that tomorrow will bring? We always need to think positively about that however hard life gets sometimes as body fails to keep sync with heart. There is a further temptation to dwell on our mistakes, bad choices, missed opportunities; we all make them. The result of such negative reflection is that we may well lose sight of all the positives… many of which we may not even be aware. Time, then (if not already) to let mind-body-spirit teach us how to look to see, hear to listen.

Some years ago, I visited an old school friend who confided that he was gay, and I was the first person whom he had told. He was ill and had only a few years to live although neither of us had an inkling of this at the time. What bothered him most was that he saw his life as nothing more or less than a string of missed opportunities. “It’s all been such a waste of time,” he groaned, “my whole life,”

My friend had chosen a career in teaching. I visited him on his 65th birthday, and he let me browse his cards, many from ex-pupils whom he had clearly given cause to remember him fondly, One card included the photo of a young man, his wife and three children, and he had written: ‘You were right. Trust your instincts, and you can do anything you put your mind to, however much other people try to tell you it’s in your best interests to do something else.’ It seems he had joined the police, and made his way well up the promotion ladder against the advice of family, friends and several teachers who had seen a promising career for him as, yes, - a teacher. There were similar comments on other cards from ex-pupils whom he had plainly influenced for the better and they were clearly grateful. I suspect he will play an important if unknowing part in their consciousness for years to come.

A waste of a life, indeed…! I think not, and hope I managed to convince him of that as he died a week later so I never saw him again.

Much of what we achieve in this life, we never get to see through to the end. if we are aware of it at all. A word here, a word there, to the right person at the right time can make  the world of difference between their doing well instead of badly… and the chances are, we will never know.

YOU-ME-US, A POSTHUMOUS CONSCIOUSNESS or REMEMBRANCE, A GUIDING LIGHT

I grow old alone,

those who may have grieved me

gone into that unknown

some call Heaven, Paradise, 

Hell or whatever, anything other 

than Death

Death, a cruel word,

metaphor for a ghost, last spotted

peering over the shoulder,

such as observes in my mirror

how desperate I've become to get

some sleep

Sleep, harbinger

of dreams, good, bad or too ugly

to ever contemplate

wherever alphabet lanterns 

over my head insist on spelling out 

my darkness

Darkness, companion

to personal space if sure to keep

a (very) discreet distance,

since it would not do to imply

so much as a tenuous connection

with its devils

Devils, such secrets, 

running rings around me, less able 

let gather dust as once

I would, mind-body-spirit loath

to invoke heated family discussions

with repercussions...

Repercussions, haunts

of bygone days, years of answering

to outward appearances,

inner self all but suffocating

in a closet I let few in, among whom 

no one to love

Love, always so near

yet so far, on the tip of my tongue,

but at the last minute

struck dumb by stereotypes

forcing public opinion down my throat,

all but choking me

Ah, but what’s that I hear?

voices out of nowhere reminding me

of words said, soon forgot,

(and to whom) now thanking me 

for helping them turn corners, find hope

get a life...

Alone, yes, but lonely no more;

invisible hands warmly shaking mine,

re-awakening sensibilities

half-forgotten, repudiating despair 

of a life with little to show for it, nothing

much to tell

Ah, but we all have tales to tell, 

how life marries us, for better or worse,

successes and failures,

loves lost and won, dreams come true

and others left to cry ourselves to sleep over,

come a new dawn

Dawn, spreading its light over me,

feeding me such hopes as I hadn't dared,

reassuring me of 'live' ghosts

always on hand to advise me on making

wiser, kinder choices, urging I but listen out

for You-Me-Us 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

Candyfloss, Sun Oil, and the Rest is History

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2013. Life is not the same as it was then, of course, as we continue to do battle with the Covid-19 coronavirus and need to be careful out there, especially on crowded beaches ...  Me, I will avoid overcrowded beaches until the viral threat is finally over and/ or we have a vaccine proven effective and safe.

A young neighbour once commented to the effect that that growing old must be very boring, with nothing better to do than trawl Memory Lane…

Well, I take his point although I know of many a feisty 70+ year-old enjoying all sorts of Encounters of the Third Age…

As for me, well, yes, I do often trawl Memory Lane,itis worth bearing in mind that memories don't create themselves ... wry bardic grin

I well recall a usually taciturn teacher of metalwork at my old school occasionally getting passionate about the art of creating something with our own hands. It was a brave attempt to convince generations of cynical teenagers how all the sweat, tears, imagination and passion that has gone into its making will last forever and we have but to glance at it to relive the experience all over again…

We seniors may well trawl Memory Lane, but it doesn’t have to be boring. Dear me, no …

CANDYFLOSS, SUN OIL, AND THE REST IS HISTORY

It was a back

that would have stood out

in any old crowd

Candyfloss shirt,

three quarter khaki shorts

exposing calves

created by nature, designed

for roving eyes

It was a front

that would have stood out

in any old crowd

Candyfloss shirt

unbuttoned to a waistline

made for a catwalk,

exposing a chest

created by nature, designed

for roving eyes

It was a back

that would have stood out

in any old crowd

Candyfloss shirt

treating me to a wicked smile,

exposing an interest

in that certain way

created by nature, designed

for lovemaking

Sun bleached curls

tumbling like yellow roses

crowding a trellis

Candyfloss shirt
treating me to a wicked smile,
exposing an interest
in that certain way
created by nature, designed
for lovemaking

Invisible hands,

begin rubbing sun oil into me,

back and front

Back to front,

I dare say we’d have stood out

in any old crowd

we feisty ghosts

homing in on Memory Lane

for the duration

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013 (rev.2019)

A Misty Rain, Metaphor for Love

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

Sometimes love needs must take its time to find it way through the maze of human consciousness that is invariably bogged down with potential consequences, not only for those engaging with it lovers, but family and friends as well.  

Love invariably asks and deserves such commitment from us all as rarely comes without likely consequences reaching beyond love itself, consequences we need to consider, ask of ourselves whether mind-body-spirit is best served by the heart or  some other abstract often dictated by others in the name of  so-called 'common sense'; their version, that is, well-meaning perhaps, but not necessarily ours

It is a dilemma that many lovers needs must confront and rise above, none more so than LGBT lovers in a world that likes to think it is 'progressive' but continues to be party to socio-cultural-religious aggression, not least regarding sexuality. 

Why, I often ask myself, can so many among humankind who acknowledge that we are all, each and every one of us, part of a common humanity, fail to come to terms with the fact that our differences do not make us different, only human? 

No one culture, religion, philosophy (or poet)  has all the answers, of course, but of one thing this poet is certain; whatever our sexuality, it would be a better world for a greater inclination towards a kindness and understanding that isn't a load of patronising bullshit adopted by those whose hidden agendas require they needs must be seen paying lip service to so-called 'political correctness'.

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” - Pablo Neruda

A MISTY RAIN, METAPHOR FOR LOVE

Even the sun took time to cry

as we parted, you and I,

not knowing if we’d ever meet again,

heartbeats in a misty rain

We swore to write every day,

be true, come what may,

fear of never seeing each other again 

killing us in that misty rain  

I watched you go, saw you turn,

felt blown kisses start to burn

a hole in my heart where we had been,

left to ghost a misty rain

The sun stayed behind a cloud

as I named my love aloud,

leaving a summer wind to bear my pain

on the wings of a misty rain

Autumn passed and winter too,

yet I heard no word from you;

heartbeat, an illusion, hope on the wane,

love’s dream but a misty rain

Suddenly, the sun reappeared

from behind a tearful cloud,

shining for us, we lifeless flowers reborn

in the sweetest of spring rain

Birds sang all that glorious day

for lovers (straight and gay);

echoes of Earth Mother’s eternal refrain

if sometimes in a misty rain

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2014

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since written in 2008 and subsequently included in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books 2012.]

You-Me-Us Revisited

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

Regular readers will know that, while I do not subscribe to any religion, but choose to believe in Earth Mother, I have no problem as such with any religion, providing that it demonstrates humanitarian principles towards Man and Beast.

In the course of my 74 years, I have asked more than one cleric of more than one faith what their religion has against gay people. Do they really believe, I ask, that any God advocating peace and love could possibly be homophobic?

Christians invariably quote Leviticus, regardless of the fact that it is Old Testament and the New Testament all but makes that redundant. The God of whom Jesus of Nazareth preaches is a God of love, a far cry from the vengeful figure of the Old Testament invoking more fear than love. Sadly, the former message seems to linger on around the world. Many a cleric I have spoken to has been inclined to use God as a threat; i.e. Believe or go to Hell.

I once put it to a cleric that no LGBT person should not feel alienated from any religious path in spite of the likes of a certain Archbishop of Canterbury saying he has no problem with gay people, even gay clergy, so long as they do not practise sex. (For my part, I suggest that is tantamount to saying you can lead a horse to water so long as you don’t let it drink.) 

"How can you be sure,” I insisted, “…that God is not too well disposed towards LGBT people?"

“Ah, but of what can any of us be sure,” the cleric responded obliquely, “… but better to err on the side of caution, surely?”

 I am reminded of a quote by Bertrand Russell: ‘Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.’

If subscribing to whatever religion makes a person happy, he or she should never let their sexuality undermine either faith or happiness. instead, embrace both, whatever socio-cultural-religious ethos we subscribe to...surely?

YOU-ME-US REVISITED

I’m walking through the seasons

of my life, with you,

summer, autumn, winter and spring,

no matter what the weather,

come rain, come shine, come mists;

you-me-us, past-present-future

I’m walking through the time lines

of my life with you

by day and night, by night and day,

no matter love and loss,

come tears of joy, come tears of pain

mind-body-spirit, you-me-us,

I’m talking through the raison d’être

of my life with you,

all sociology, politics and religion

expounding views

hell bent, like as not, on compounding

its stereotypes and fake news

I’m talking through the ups and downs

of my life with you,

confidante, counsellor and a best mate,

closer even to alter ego

than either history or contemporaneity

in shaping its persona so

I’m always savouring, the better things

in my life with you,

taking heart from the poetry of all nature

and human nature,

 its working, reworking and sustaining

you-me-us, past-present-future

I’m always trying to live by principles

of my life with you,

taking each day as it comes, though dark

or sunny skies;

your death, my every pulse and heartbeat

this mind-body-spirit, you-me-us

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Christmas, Hall of Mirrors

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

Yes, a new poem today, appearing on both poetry blogs.

We all like to think we have fewer flaws than the next person, but it is invariably true of many if not most of us. Let’s face it, human nature is flawed, not least because we often have reason to believe it has let is down, even failed us with its complex set-up of contradictions, deceptions and preoccupation with appearances. We can but do our best to overcome these, and most give it our best shot; sadly, this often falls short of its target or misses it altogether, not always our own fault, but down to our target being human and we human beings adept at misreading signs in any shape or form. Many a close relationship has failed dur to those concerned failing to see the bigger picture; indeed, often enough, any picture other than they expect to see it, regardless of how the other person’s expectations. Too few people talk things over, but prefer to think that appearances speak for themselves.  Oh, but appearances rarely do…

Now, what has this preamble got to do with Christmas? Well, as much as it has to do with daily life all year round, but more so because it is a religious celebration; religion is meant to be about love, peace, and goodwill as well as (mutual) tolerance and understanding to all, not just the select few that share and practise our own socio-cultural-religious views and/or approach to life and people. While sharing and caring may well bring people closer, it should not follow that ‘outsiders’ are exempt from the caring aspect which, in my experience, especially with regard to my being gay, has so often been the case. Even so, there have been notable exceptions, supporting my view that religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality; the human spirit is far greater than the sum of all its stereotypical misnomers upon which most world religions are inclined to base conversion tactics. I have nothing against religion except where its followers disrespect those who refuse to enter into its dogma, for whatever reason.

Whatever, ENJOY the seasonal festivities whoever and wherever you are, regardless of religion, race or sexuality; like it or not, we are a common humanity, and more commonly flawed that many if not most of us care to admit, yours truly being no exception.

CHRISTMAS, HALL OF MIRRORS

At Christmas past,

wary of all we might see. Memory Lane

not always the pleasure

we would have it be, certain moments

in time best left for dead

than revived, reawakened, reinvented,

turned into pulp fiction by a mind-body-spirit

arguing against redemption

At Christmas past,

revisiting ghosts, letting them stir us up

with wooden spoons,

mixing fairy tales, Santa Claus, and elves

into an indigestible fudge

of broken promises, missed opportunities,

playing blame games as leave mind-body-spirit

to filter the consequences

At Christmas past,

calling on ghosts to move on, leave us free

to travel Memory Lane

as it used to be, enjoy fun snowball fights

among long-ago peers,

gifts and fairy lights on Christmas trees,

messaging home comforts and joy to passers-by,

carollers, and rough sleepers

Christmas Here-and Now,

calling upon all we Children of Earth Mother

to embrace the twin spirits

of Peace and Goodwill, and play our part

(no matter big or small)

in showing the wariest and fragile of hearts

a global consciousness that needs must prioritise

an inclusive human kindness

Copyright R.N. Taber, 2019

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

Footprints in the Snow

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

Today's entry is from my general poetry blog archives for December 2011.

‘Karin and Tomas’ have asked me to repeat 'my video links'. They do not say which one/s so here is the link to my You Tube channel and the link to my (very informal) poetry reading on the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square as my contribution to Antony Gormley's One and Other 'live sculpture' project  in 2009. [The You Tube clips are only a few minutes, but the One and Other video lasts an hour.] I hope you will enjoy them, and will be able to watch in an Internet cafe since you appear not to have a home computer

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T  [NB: Sept 19, 2019 - The British Library confirmed today that he video is no longer available as it was incompatible with a new IT system, However, it still exists and BL hope to reinstate it and make it available to the public again at some future date.] RNT

Meanwhile...

Many gay-friendly heterosexuals I know seem to think I am exaggerating when I tell them that gay men and women worldwide still feel threatened; even here in the West. Perhaps they should take more of an interest in their fellow human beings. Mind you, that isn’t easy when the media all but ignore gay issues except when occasions like World AIDS Day demand they pay some token attention.

I recently received an email from the U.S. based All Out organisation regarding recent anti-gay activities in Russia and Nigeria, but there will be gay people from all countries and of all religious persuasions that will have little to celebrate this Christmas or during any of the world’s religious festivals.

Last week, pressure on the Russian government prevented a vote on its anti-gay bill from taking place. All Out members around the world amplified the voice of Russian activists, forcing world leaders to speak out against this law that justifies hate and discrimination. Russia’s gay men and women remain hopeful, but the fight is far from over; the bill may still come back.

Unfortunately there's no time to celebrate. The Nigerian Senate has just followed Russia's bad example, passing a bill this week which would make it illegal to publicly support LGBT rights. Simply showing up to a gay bar could land you in jail for 14 years, regardless of your sexuality.

www.allout.org/nigeria

Nigeria is already an incredibly dangerous place for LGBT people, and this latest piece of legislation will only further push the Nigerian LGBT community deep underground.

Here’s a BIG HUG from me for gay people world-wide unable to openly stand up for their sexuality for whatever reason.

Now, Christmas is looming fast. As regular readers will know only too well, I do not subscribe to any religion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect anyone, anywhere, whose religion plays a very important part in their lives. Besides, all religious festivals are times when people, especially families and friends, come together in peace and love. Well, that is how it is supposed to be although it has been my personal experience that peace and love are sometimes in short supply; celebration is by its very nature infectious, and there's nothing wrong with that so long as people remember to live by whatever it is they are celebrating long after the festivities are done and dusted.

And what of those who spend Christmas alone? Well, I personally can honestly say I have spent many a wonderful Christmas alone; yet, never really alone because I am surrounded by the ghosts of Christmases and other ‘together’ times past who never fail to invite me to spend a happy, peaceful if reflective time with them. Moreover, I consider myself a son of Earth Mother, and she is never far away.

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

I woke one morning to find
snow in the ground;
where my garden used to be,
a vast, white sea,
waves whipped up by the wind
like a frozen Tsunami threatening an island
of woebegone leaves

Footprints across this icy sea
beckoned me;
soon I was following them out
of the garden gate,
where once chirpy fields were,
to winter’s unfeeling whims now laid bare,
trees, like icebergs

The footprints halted suddenly
where daises used to be
you’d made into a chain for me,
each flower a memory,
and we’d promised that spring day
our love would last forever, always find a way
to bring us together

Distant bells ringing joyously,
a snowman smiling at me,
fair Apollo’s coming out to smile
on lovers going that last mile
for one another even in bleakest winter,
all confirming the daisies are with Earth Mother
for safekeeping

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Making Peace with Christmas

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

This post is from my general poetry blog archives for December 2012.

Now, I have never minded being on my own at Christmas and my kinder ghosts make sure I never feel lonely. I enjoy doing my own thing, in my own time, and in my own way. It’s selfish perhaps, but it is a delight not having to make an effort for anyone, but just be myself. Traditionally, I run the gamut of emotions from past sadness and regrets to being (eventually) reconciled with and thankful for the Here and Now…those ghosts dearest to me always making sure any demons don’t get a look in.

For those that can spend a happy time with family and friends, that’s wonderful, but being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely; you don't have to be with anyone to enjoy fond thoughts, happy memories, favourite music or even just a feel-good movie/ programme on the radio or TV likely to inspire a sense of peace and love.

(Image from the Internet)

MAKING PEACE WITH CHRISTMAS

It was the night before Christmas
and the world was uncaring and grey
as I made my way home
from bright, cheerful, carols in The Square
knowing that when I turned the key
in my front door there’ll be no one there
just like so many Christmases before

I took my time along the road
and the first snowflakes began to fall
as I made my way home
joyful voices stinging, ringing, in my ears
remembering how once I’d turn the key
in my front door, and you’d be there for me
just like long-ago Christmases before

I passed a tree, its leaves glistening,
and seemed to hear your voice calling me
to hurry, hurry, home
if only to be warm and safe from harm
if oh, so, alone, shutting the door
on a world  making out that all things holy
embrace even the lonely

It was the night before Christmas
and the world was uncaring and grey
as I made my way home
from bright, cheerful, carols in The Square
knowing that when I turned the key
in my front door, the dearest of all my ghosts
would be waiting for me there

Love, lifting me so as it always does,
I made my peace with Christmas

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

(Gay) Pride (still) Breathing New Life into Old Ways

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

[Update June 4th 2017]While our thoughts and hearts go out to all those affected by last night's terror attack in London, we are also reminded not to let anyone attempt to pull our strings, neither terrorists nor bigots. In a free world, no one wears strings. If we allow others to influence us, on our own heads be it. We need to be aware, though, that there are those who see influence as power and power, as we all know, is easily abused.] RT

Regular readers will know that I did not come out to the world (only a select few) until my late 30’s, not least for having been raised in a gay-unfriendly home and school environment.

A boy at my school who had been surrendering to a desire to kiss other boys, albeit on the cheek, was made to undergo electric shock treatment to ‘cure’ him of any ‘homosexual tendencies’’ this, alone, was enough to keep me in the closet! Among crowds, I felt like a ghost, walking unseen with an increasing sense of other ‘ghosts’ all around me. They visited me in my dreams, these ghosts, and I sought them out in my spare time, discovering old haunts where we would meet and comfort each other emotionally and sexually. In this way I discovered how to ‘cruise’ along with the best.

It took a bad nervous breakdown in my late 30’s to (eventually) remove the blinkers I had been made to wear all life and get real about my sexuality.

Gay-unfriendly legislation in some parts of the world and various socio-cultural-religious obsessions a with the heterosexual ethos means that there will probably always be closet ghosts: I sense them wherever I go, make eye contact with some and we exchange signals of recognition and wishful thinking, much the same as men and women do when attracted to each other, albeit  invariably but passing glances because, once out, no gay man or woman wants to share their life with some ghost in a closet; been there, done that, got the emotiona scars to prove it.

In my 70’s now, I still walk with ghosts, but none of the closet variety; any hauntings now are of an inspirational nature, voices in my ear across centuries of their being abused and misunderstood simply because the less initiated prefer to home in on one aspect of a person’s identity - his or her sexuality - failing altogether to appreciate the whole person. Words of wisdom in my ear, indeed, prompting me to look the world in the eye, unashamedly gay, and that’s my business, no one else’s; not an employer’s and certainly not a cleric’s. (The prevailing notion in some circles that being gay effectively undermines our ability to do a good job or any - related or unrelated - sense of spirituality is absurd; it always was, of course, but especially in a so-called ‘progressive’ twenty-first century.

Thanks to successive pioneers determined to give gay men and women a voice, G-A-Y can take its cue from O-U-T, refuse to be cowed by divided societies worldwide and feel proud to keep company with all gay-friendly souls...past, present and future.

Common humanity will yet get the better of socio-cultural-religious bigotry. 

(GAY) PRIDE (STILL) BREATHING NEW LIFE INTO OLD WAYS

Walking out

where few had walked before,

talking with those

with whom few had talked before,

sharing secrets

few ever get to share in a lifetime

of repression

Treading dreams

where many had dreamed before,

fed nightmares

no psychiatrist ever quite understood

because they know

only the theory, nothing of living

in fear of shadows

Ghost, a scrapbook

of would-be memories, fictions

I’ve sought to act out

in closets with doors I’d leave ajar

for light enough

to read minds by, assess potential

friends and enemies

Loneliness,

gamut run, nor safety in numbers

or (quite) free to talk

as we walk (as we do anyway) given 

public opinion

inclined to portray the same profile

hanging us out to dry

Returning

to places that defy any returning,

in memory

of exorcising demons once hell bent

on destroying me,

but I resisted, fought back, live

to tell the tale

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Ode to My Love

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

Regular readers may recall how my partner died many years ago after only a short time together. As it turned out, I never met anyone else with whom to share my life. Even so, I have some good friends and have met some wonderful people whose life stories – happy and sad alike - have inspired many of my poems.

Sometimes people ask me how I can face growing old alone. Well, yes, I live alone but that does not mean I am alone. I have plenty of company, not least my poems.  Besides, love, in all its shapes and forms, sustains and inspires me just it has always done, especially whenever I am feeling low or start feeling sorry for myself for whatever reason.  Friends, places, nature, they haunt my memory and invariably come to my rescue to help me rise above whatever may be troubling me at the time.

My long-ago love is never far from my thoughts and our love continues to guide me through the complex maze we call life. He brought out the best in me and it is that which prevents me dwelling on mistakes, letting wishful thinking distort all the Here and Now has to offer me and (hopefully) I, it.

The great thing about love is that it doesn't discriminate against anyone for their colour, creed, sex or sexuality. Sadly, many human beings do, resulting in lovers the world over having to resort to subterfuge, sometimes being rejected by disapproving family and friends on grounds of certain socio-cultural-religious-principles that love (quite rightly) does not recognise.

Time and again, life calls on us to learn and move on from our experiences, good and bad. We can but do our best. At the same time - as I have said many times on the blogs, and doubtless  will again - it is always worth remembering that moving on doesn’t mean leaving anyone behind, especially those we have loved.

ODE TO MY LOVE

I so love you for a smile on your lips, 

the laughter in your eyes, the way 

your hair blows in a summer breeze,

how tears fall like a gentle rain

from heaven whenever we watch 

soap television

I so love you for a song in your heart, 

how it echoes all around, 

sweeter sound even than skylark 

or nightingale, lifting my soul 

on wings of a prayer given thanks

for your being here

I so love how you flare like a candle 

in the wind whenever 

we quarrel, making up before 

the day closes, recharging 

our bodies, the more joy and power 

to each other

I so love how you shoulder hardship,

brave and true, my hero;

though folks tread roughly

on our dreams

you’ll keep us safe, hold my hand, 

quick to reassure

Who could ask for more...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2016

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appeared under the title ‘Ode to my Love’ in First Person Plural by R N Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]