Hello, everyone, from London UK

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

"Peace cannot be achieved through violence; it can only be attained through understanding". Ralph Waldo Emerson

“It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you.” - ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

“And sure enough, even waiting will end...if you can just wait long enough.” ― William Faulkner

"Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come." - Robert H. Schuller

Hi, folks,

Yet again, I am working on a new poem; the spirit is as willing as ever, but it is a grim looking morning outside and inspiration is not yet quite ready to compensate for it. 😉

A bad night with the prostate cancer hasn't helped; even though it was not diagnosed as aggressive back in 2012, I was not prepared for years of broken sleep. Even so, I continue to feel encouraged and inspired by so many people across the world having to endure far worse circumstances then yours truly, not least the homeless and dying.

Many years ago, at school, I studied Shakespeare's King Lear for A-level GCE Exam; I was only studying two subjects, the other one was French, and I needed to pass both to go to Library Schools - for which I had been conditionally accepted. I failed the French exam, not once, but twice because my oral was not up to scratch. I was devastated and and left school in 1964 with no clear idea of what the future had in store for me. In those days, relatively few people understood homosexuality and were even less tolerant of LGBT+ folks than many still are.

It was King Lear that came to my rescue. Of all the wonderful quotes to be found in Shakespearean texts, perhaps the least likely, but one that has seen me through some tough times all my life, has been from Act 2 where Lear, raging against the cruelties of daughters, Goneril and Regan, cries:

"You heavens, give me that patience, patience, I need...!"

Now, I am a Sagittarian and it would take me another 12 years to get a university degree  and eventually qualify as a graduate chartered librarian, during which time, I needed to draw on far more patience than comes naturally to anyone born under a fire sign...

Generally speaking, attitudes towards LGBT+ folks then left much to be desired and, for a variety of reasons, I stayed in a dark, lonely closet for more years than I care to remember. Slowly but surely, attitudes are changing as more people begin to appreciate that sexual identity is not a matter of choice. 

As I have said on previous posts, one of the greater tragedies of modern life is that many world societies and religions have no understanding of the LGBT+ mindset; in my case, it was this that led to a nervous breakdown in the late 1970'swhich would ,in turn, lead to lead to my coming 'out' and starting the gay poetry blog.

Oh, but I do indeed owe King Lear, more than I could have dreamed or hoped for way back in my schooldays...!  wry bardic grin

So, too ,'new' reader, K W, who dismisses my regular use of quotations prior to the main body of my poetry-posts as "a load of literary b- shit" may understand why we must agree to differ...?

Bye, for now, dear readers, and I hope to be back with another poem very soon.

Hugs,

Roger

[Note: this post also appears on my gay poetry blog today.] RT

A Life in the Day of Mind-Body-Spirit

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“Make the most of your regrets; Never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it ’til it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

“Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself.” – Gabriel García Márquez  

“Look closely and you will see almost everyone carrying bags of cement on their shoulders. That’s why it takes courage to get out of bed in the morning and climb into the day.” ~ Edward Hirsch

“Happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste.” – Charlotte Bronte

Again, not a gay-specific poem today but all we LGBT+ folks grow old, like anyone else, so I hope you will enjoy the post-poem.

The poem also appears on my general poetry blog today. Contrary to the way some straight folks and religious organizations appear to think of us, we are not a species apart, but as  much a part of a common humanity as anyone else. wry bardic grin

Sexual identity is not a choice, after all, nor is it a sin, but an essential part of who we are. Certain societies across the world are learning to accept us, especially among young, more open-minded people; others, in my opinion, have had there minds closed by various religious dogma and misleading stereotypes, forcing many LGBT folks to remain 'closet' all their lives.

Now, as each day passes and I grow old, I am often hard pressed to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life. I so miss being young, fit, able to make plans and feel confident that I will be well enough to not only carry them through, but also enjoy and learn from them. I miss having friends around for cosy chats and a laugh; many have moved away now and mobility problems make travelling difficult.

Ah, corny though it may sound, the human spirit really can keep us young at heart and soul, if only we will let it, Rarely easy. We can but try, even if, as life itself invariably proves, it’s a case of ‘win some, lose some…’

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF MIND-BODY-SPIRIT

There are times in any life
when the flesh is weak, but the spirit
remains as strong as ever,
whatever its reason or season, be it
a spring, summer,
autumn or winter of mind-body-spirit;
it perseveres, encouraged
by a heart-and-soul, wiser beyond its years
to sources of human tears

There are times in any life
when waking after a poor night’s sleep
leaves the body too weary
to even raise a smile at dawn’s rising
above early mist and cloud,
trying to force its way to half-open eyes
and ears, through drapes
at windows obscuring Everyman’s perception
of life, love, regeneration…

Finally, though, mind and body
takes its cue from that which gives it form
and a sense of stability
from birth to death, whatever in-betweens
may lie in wait, ready to pounce
and test us to limits sure to weigh heavy
on any host body, 
all the love attending it beseeching its survival
of Humanity’s heart-and soul

Alas, not every ear that hears,
can comply with every caller’s bidding;
no call, though, is ever in vain,
no matter if the human outcome be loss
and pain, in whatever form;
living, partly living, or consigned to memory’s
vault  of eternal spring,
there remain such ways for all humanity to choose,
every which way, then…loose?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

[Note: Apologies for not adding many gay-specific poem tot he blog these days, but = as regular readers well know - I have been sexually inactive for some years, since starting hormone therapy for my prostate cancer; I can't even get a hard-on these days. Do explore the archives, though, and I am delighted that feedback suggests more LGBT readers are also dipping into my general poetry blog as well now. Poetry is, after all,  for everyone and far more all-inclusive than some societies across the world where others like us are growing up - as I did in the 1950's - in a climate of fear due to the propagation of certain religious dogma and misleading stereotypes.] RT

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You-Me-US, Peopling a kinder Eternity

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People often tell me how close they feel to family and close friends that have died or drifted out of their lives for having moved away or whatever… and lost touch. I know the feeling only too well. During coronavirus lockdowns and feeling lonely and/or increasingly ill and no one with whom to exchange mutual whinges (thereby all but restoring a sense of proportion once again) I have been visited my many a ghost from the past, even from as long ago as schooldays… and I’m 75 now!

On the whole, they are a comfort, my ghosts although there are always one or two who feel the need to have a go at me for this or that reason; I guess many of us regret, in hindsight, how we may have treated people in our past, whether intentionally or otherwise.

A friend once told me he wished he had fewer regrets, but mostly only had himself to blame for them and playing the blame game never did anyone any favours, so he focuses on happy memories in the company of family and friends instead. Another friend, present at the time, commented to the effect that it was a very selfish attitude. Me, I am all for a healthy mind-body-spirit; any happy memories always need to be at the top of anyone's agenda for mind-body-spirit.  Bad memories may well hover, but the kinder ones will always see to it that they don't get much of a look-in so long as we continue to nurture a positive mindset.  Not always easy, that's true, but always worth the effort.

As my mother used to say, life is too short to keep looking back when there is so much to look forward to if we but pause a moment or two to think about it, even if it does take the form of wishful thinking as often as not…

YOU-ME-US, PEOPLING A KINDER ETERNITY

Inner eye, clouding over,
mixed feeling tearfully washing away
favourite memories,
mind-body-spirit left to make what it will
of free fall, feeding on
such details as it can still make out
and taking heart…
even as Time plays its cat and mouse games
with us

Here-and-Now, a window
on a you-me-us still letting in sunshine
as it has always done,
even if the view now misting over, curtains
all but closed;
yet, weary though Apollo may be
of giving way…
there’s still (potentially) time yet for keeping
promises

Promises, no more or less kept
or broken as those we make to ourselves
and each other, meaning well,
but misled by finger messages on the heart’s
window, left ajar…
to keep the air (and us) flowing as freely
as possible while mulling
a shared past-present’s failings in living up 
to its future 

Given a misting over windows
on the heart all but making us prisoners,
any finger messages
haunt us like ghosts played out in all shades
of light ‘n’ dark
if only for a peace and love their promises
challenged us to make or break
as the case may be, with the happy-sad poetry
of humanity

Night falls, Apollo’s turn to haunt us,
try to lighten our heavier loads, taking us
through the motions,
encouraging us to attend to the world’s evils,
demanding we rise above them,
(win some, lose some) even as a Darkness
called Death sheds light enough
on all living history to form the kinder landscape
of our eternity

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[Note: This post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today, given that feedback suggests many LGBT readers do not visit both blogs.] RNT

The Story of a Life

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Although I am 75 years-old, I remain at heart much the same person I was as a child. Hopefully, I have learned enough from various life-experiences not to dwell on the many mistakes I have made, but take sufficient strength from all they have taught me to keep looking on the bright(er) side of being human. 

The pandemic has given us all much food for thought, not least for a growing sense of isolation. 

Relatively few people have such confidence in themselves that they rarely need to share their thoughts and ideas, especially with those friends and/ or family members whose opinions matter most to us, if only because we can be sure they will be frank rather than just kind. 

The need for social distancing has been kind to no one, often leaving only the inner self to fall back on, not the most objective confidante to share our concerns. Even so, the self is all of who and what we are, and we need to trust it to give mind-body-spirit all the encouragement it may need. 

As a child, I would take my cue from the spirit of Happy-Ever-After tales, however questionably they might have ended. As an adult, I guess I still do. For better or for worse, it has seen me through good times and bad, and I can but hope it will continue to do so…

THE STORY OF A LIFE 

Listen, I am near
poised to bid a heartfelt farewell
to winter’s darker ways,
mind-body-spirit eager to re-engage
with joie de vivre,
for growing younger, its sunlit days,
a timely reminder,
though whether humanity any the wiser
remains a brain-teaser 

Listen, I am here,
seek me out and you may well hear
whatever the head
seeks to know, while loath or unable
to break down
a heart’s closed door lest it reveal
it was but a dream,
the love for whom you dared hope to be
another’s one-and-only 

Listen, and be sure
to hear of what songbirds are singing,
that joie de vivre
we would all engage in for homing in on
people and places
we can always rely on to fill the heart
with happy thoughts,
inspiring all mind-body-spirit to go for gold
put aside growing old 

I am much the same favourite bedtime story
that’s the stuff of all live-and-let live history

 Copyright R. N. Taber, 2021

[ Note: This post-poem also appears on my general poetry blog today for those readers whom feedback suggests only access this  blog. After all, a poem is a poem is a poems, regardless of either teader or poet's sexuality.]

 

 

 

Hello from London UK

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

Hi Everyone,

Sorry, no poem today, but I am working on one so... hopefully, soon.

Hope you are coping as well as any of us can in the middle of a pandemic. Me, I do try to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life, and manage to do just that most of the time, but - like everyone else - I have good days and bad days. On a good day, I can usually complete a poem to publish here, and that always lifts my mind-body-spirit.

A new reader appears to have taken offence by my suggesting that religion has no monopoly on spirituality. No matter, we will just have to agree to differ.  The same reader also disputes that I can have a sense of spirituality without believing in God as according to any religious agenda. Again, each to their own, surely? 

As I have said before on the blogs, also at my poetry reading on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square, back in 2009 (my contribution to Antony Gormley's "One and Other" project that ran for 100 days) I see myself as a pantheist; I still do in so far as I see God as nature, not its creator. The reader clearly sees this as blasphemy, but I could never get my head around the idea of a personified God, even as a child; when I discovered pantheism, I could relate to it instantly. Besides, religious bigotry is not uncommon and - not least as a gay man - I find bigotry in any shape or form as distasteful as it is indefensible.]

No one has to embrace the religious beliefs of others to respect them, and I do, whatever reservations I might have, so how about this reader’s respecting mine…?

Another reader asks how I am coping with various medical issues, not last the prostate cancer with which I have been living since 2011. Again, good days and bad days, and the same with others problems.  Stress has a nasty habit of making us feel worse regarding just about anything likely to prey on the mind, even at the best of times; I dare say I am as prone to coronavirus stress ( hovering at about 80 on a sliding scale of 1 to 100) as anyone else! All we can do is take each day as it comes, for better or worse, and keep telling ourselves that life can only get better. Never easy, but do we have a choice?

Yet another reader is unhappy about my poems and preambles that suggest that my regular reference to ghosts as the personification of a posthumous consciousness indicates “an insultingly casual approach” to the death of loved-ones. Believe me, there is nothing ‘casual’ about it; it is a subject dear to my heart. I am 75 years-old, and those I have loved, as friends or more, are with me always, so great has been the impression they have made on me; impressions and precious memories that have helped me through good times and bad as well as exposing my flaws and showing me - not least by shining example - how to recognise and (hopefully) overcome them as needs must in the course of a lifetime.

Few if any of us are perfect. Others are as likely to take issue with what we consider out strengths as with any flaws or weaknesses, seeing them in a different light altogether. (How we come across to others is never easy to work out unless they tell us, and then it can sometimes come as a shock to mind-body-spirit. At the end of the day, though, I suspect it is how we see ourselves and what, if anything, we choose to do about it that counts, certainly in so far as managing self-confidence, self-consciousness or that old standby conscience is concerned.

Many thanks for dropping by, folks, always much appreciated,

Take care, be safe, and let's all try to nurture a positive mindset, whatever... 

Hugs,

Roger

PS New readers might like to take a look at poems in the blog archives now and then; they can be accessed on the right-hand side of any blog post.

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

High Hopes OR Personal Space (All Rights Reserved)

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A new year dawns, and the world gives a huge sigh of relief just to see an end in sight after what has been a 2020 that will never be forgotten by any of us fortunate enough to count ourselves among its survivors. Yet, at what cost?  The physical, mental and economic strain experienced by everyone, in whatever shape or form is likely to make itself felt for years to come. Nor are we out of harm’s way yet, of course, regarding the coronavirus itself. Even so, there is a light enough at the end of the tunnel; we can but follow it, and trust we will survive long enough to see it set us free to move on… the awful events of 2020 notwithstanding. 

“The moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.” - Omar Khayyam 

Here’s wishing everyone a Happier New Year, not least for Covid-19 being all but consigned to history and vaccinations on the way… 

Hugs, 

Roger 

HIGH HOPES or PERSONAL SPACE (ALL RIGHTS RESERVED)

 New year, new start
for those of us who have survived
a coronavirus
attacking the world on all sides
with a vengeance
throughout 2020, and continuing
to cause pain and grief,
only emergency shots in the arm helping
to keep higher hopes alive 

We can but struggle on
in a seemingly alien environment
with access to family
and friends, even neighbours,
limited as never before,
while many among the elderly
and those living alone
waiting on phone calls to help compensate
for a lack of computer skills 

Humanity, likely to escape
annihilation by the skin of its teeth
although, for how long
any lessons learned yet to be seen,
as human nature
resumes a sense of normality;
daggers (still) drawn
without or within this society, that community,
injurious fingers moving on 

Though humanity tell and retell its history as it may,
it’s (each) human heart will have the final say…

Copyright R. N. Taber
[January 1^st 2021]

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

 

 

 

 

Alone at Christmas OR Flowers of Peace Revisited

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Poet on the mend here, slowly but surely, while Muse insisting I keep looking on the bright(er) side of Christmas 2020. Muse, though, is not averse to a little cheating, hence an old poem revised only today.

Now, Christmas - like all religious festivals – is a time for coming together. Sadly,  it can also be a time when divisions become more clearly marked than ever.

Where family and friends do come together, those who are and/or made to feel excluded can feel terribly alone and isolated. Birthdays, anniversaries, special moments we long to share with family and friends, these are times when not being able to share them, for whatever reason, can make us feel physically sick with the intensity of exclusion.

Anyone made to feel excluded because they don’t meet the expectations of others, but made their own way in life, deserves better than pity. Indeed, it is high time some people realised that, much as we may want the best for family and friends, we have no right to tell them how to live their lives; we should respect the decisions they make instead of harping on about how they could and should have done things differently. Nor is turning to socio-cultural-religious traditions any excuse for making people feel guilty about how they choose to live their lives...or rejecting them for it. [Multicultural societies will never work well until more of its leading lights get real and bring their followers into the 21st century.]

Let those of us who fare better, wish all those who are alone and unhappy a peaceful time over a particularly tough Christmas this year, and always.

 Peace of mind may well play hard to get, but it is there if we look hard enough; it involves keeping faith with ourselves as well as, if not more than, with each other. Gay, or straight, male or female, we all need to believe in ourselves and can but trust others will come to believe in us too, albeit it may take time for some to accept us for who and what we are.

At the end of the day, there are always loved ones to keep us company, whether or not they can be with us in person.

For those who are  lonely or unhappy, for whatever reason, there is always much comfort to be found among our kinder ghosts and the felt presence of loved ones and friends whenever unavailable in person.

ALONE AT CHRISTMAS or FLOWERS OF PEACE REVISITED

Never (quite) alone at Christmas
for memories kept close to the heart
among flowers of peace full grown

For errors made, we can but atone
(join a common humanity for a start)
never (quite) alone at  Christmas

Let the world see past a tombstone
in whose memory beats many a heart
among flowers of peace full grown

Recalling wise words writ n stone
(keeps us close, though made to part)
never (quite) alone at Christmas

But revisit past kindnesses shown 
and rejoice with all mind-body-spirit
among flowers of peace full grown

Summon doves of time long flown,
taking comfort and joy in their return;
never (quite) alone at Christmas,.
among flowers of a peace full grown

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; 2020

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

Smiling Through

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Years ago, while walking along the banks of a river, I met a young man with whom I struck up a friendship that would blossom into love. We lay chatting in the bosom of a weeping willow tree and it was all but love at first sight.  Gay people were much despised in those days – as by some, we still are – so we kept our love a secret. He was killed in a road accident barely eighteen months later, and I bitterly regret that particular secret. As it was, neither of us were openly gay, and I even made excuses not to attend his funeral in case the extent of my grief betrayed us; something else I will always regret

.Years later, wandering along that same river bank. I saw two young men emerge, laughing, and holding hands, from the leafy bosom of that same weeping willow. They paused to share a long kiss, then continued on their way towards me, smiling both warmly and defiantly at me as they passed. Needless to say, I smiled back. Any defiance faded instantly, and all I saw was warmth.  How I envied them, less for being young (I was already in my 60’s) than for a sexuality they plainly felt free to express. 

As regular readers will know, I was 30 before I began coming out to the world as a gay man.  Happily, for many gay people it is much easier now. Sadly, for as many others worldwide, it is as hard as it ever was. Bigotry has to be one of the world’s greater human tragedies, worse because it invariably exists behind smiling eyes that are as closed doors to those who support Human Rights in case they are called out for their hypocrisy. 

So, what is a gay-interest post-poem doing on both blogs? As I have pointed out many times, a poem is a poem is a poem, open to readers whatever its theme; no less so, a person is a person is a person whoever, wherever, and whatever their sexual persuasion. There is more to a poem than meets the eye, just as there is more to any of us than our sexuality.

SMILING THROUGH

Willow tree, willow tree,
well may you weep for me
that saw the start
of a love that gave my heart
cause to beat faster
for having found just cause.
no more pretending
all was well in my world, nothing
and no one missing 

Willow tree, willow tree,
you took us in a leafy embrace
when others looked
the other way, wishing us both
in another place
for being gay, and determined
that together we’d stay,
letting our true feelings express
our love and happiness 

Willow tree, willow tree,
well may you weep for our being
scorned and rejected,
even though accepted by others
for being a vital part
of who we are to the human race,
given that love
wears as many faces as humanity
poses questions of equality 

Willow tree, willow tree, within each tear,
a smile for every day we stay together

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spirit of Autumn

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Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2014. 

I will be publishing fewer posts/poems on the blogs for some time while I concentrate on updating previous editions of my collections and preparing a new one. Again, I will Having been unable to interest any publishers/ agents in a mix of general and gay -interest poems, I will probably self-publish the latter but only have 200 or so copies printed; new editions of previous collections will only be available online and I will le everyone know when they are available to be uploaded. 

People often tell me they find autumn a sad month because it means winter is closing in, but as I have often pointed out on my blogs… after winter, spring.

Better, surely, to look forward to spring than dread winter? 

In the meantime, let us enjoy autumn for all its glorious colours and the sense of eternal optimism these are surely meant to inspire in us, an optimism that well may fail us from time to time...but, as my late mother once said, there is an eternal springtime of the loving, hopeful heart sure to inspire and help us through all the seasons of life, even the hardest of its winters...if we will but keep faith with it. When I pointed out that I was not a religious person, she simply responded to the effect that no religion has a monopoly on love and hope since we are all born with a potential capacity for both. How far we choose to apply it, she would argue, has more to do with human nature than religion. (My mother was a Christian, but like all the more remarkable religious-minded people, whatever their religion, she closed her heart and mind to no one.)

SPIRIT OF AUTUMN

Autumn leaves ...

Drifting by my window

like dreams I have nurtured

with love and care

in the garden of my life

where some flowered

in their season while others

were battered by wind and rain,

never to be seen again

Autumn leaves ...

Whirling by my window

like dervishes in a frenzied

dance of life and death,

sustained by a rage to seize

the day, come what may,

on the battlefields of my life

where I have risked all to prove

a born capacity for love

Autumn leaves ...

Clinging to my window

as Apollo clings to the last patch

of blue before sunset,

bids nature and human nature

rest easy on hard won laurels,

so-brief enough reprieve before

more rude awakenings to a world

falling on its sword

Autumn leaves ...

Ripped from my window

like pages of memory best left

to whims of wind and rain

while I enjoy each dreamy leaf,

petal and blade of grass

found in the garden of my life

whose choirs heard singing each day

of my pride in being gay

Autumn leaves, tears of Earth Mother

for any that cannot see beyond winter

Copyright R. N. Taber 2014; 2020

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

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)

C'est la Vie

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

The COVID-19 pandemic is at or nearing its peak here in the UK. Social distancing is of paramount importance if we are to slow the spread of the virus and eventually defeat it. It doesn't take a coronavirus to bring social distancing into play, though, as LGBT folks are as well aware as anyone, if not more so ...

While I am complying with social distancing at the moment, fond memories of times past helps to ease a growing sense of isolation .... and keep me sane as this mad, mad, mad world of ours continues to send mixed messages to a diverse population. 

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life; it goes on." - Robert Frost 

C'EST LA VIE

I got chatting

to a guy at a nightclub bar,

happened to mention

in the course of conversation

that I’m gay

to which he said he needed

a pee, left the bar stool,

turned his back on me, walked away,

(never saw him again …)

I got chatting

to a guy at a soccer club bar

discussing our team’s

chances of promotion, given

a promising season,

agreeing it stood to reason;

he asked if my girlfriend

liked the game, to which I said I’m gay,

(end of conversation …)

I got chatting

to a macho guy in a bus queue,

wondering if ours

would ever come as we’d stood there

a good half an hour;

it was getting late. Do you have date,

he asked with a grin?

I answered, “No, and by the way, I’m gay,”

(expecting confrontation …)

“Me neither,” grin broader, “so, fancy a beer?”

Bus came, passed us walking on together

Copyright R. N. Taber (2020)]

(London, UK, Good Friday.)

[Note: I wasn't happy with the original title, and feedback suggests that neither were many readers, although most enjoyed the poem. Many thanks, therefore to the reader who suggested a simple but appropriate replacement.]

Sometimes, Love asks too many Questions OR Harvest Home

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

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

A Life in the Day of an Armchair

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

Regular readers will know that I am not well these days, although a positive thinking mind-body-spirit prevails.  When we are young, we think we are invincible, but life invariably proves us no less vulnerable to its eternal ups and downs than anyone else. I guess, the secret of any upbeat heart is to keep focusing the inner eye on the ups and let the downs go into free fall. Easier said than done, of course, as a feisty youth passes into an uncertain middle age, yet one we can continue take no small pleasure in rising above if not outmanoeuvring more ups and downs. Then, one day we wake up and realise we not only growing old, but all the more vulnerable for that.

We all have to find our own way through life, and old age is no exception to that golden rule; whether we are fortunate enough to have loved ones with whom to share it or not. Some people look back with anger, others with an increasing bitterness for feeling that their future offers so much less. Neither attitude helps anyone, least of all ourselves. Oh, there will be moments, yes, and plenty of them, when we find the winter of our years darker, for whatever reason, than we anticipated; we may even feel cheated, deserving better. Whatever, there is much to be said for the old adage - 'There’s no point in crying over spilt milk.' What’s done is done, what’s past is past, and it is down to us to make the best of the Here-and-Now, rather than dwell on the worst. Never easy, especially if you’re lonely, poor, unwell,hospitalised or homeless…but there is another old adage that has served me well since my recovery from a mental breakdown many years ago – 'Where there’s life, there’s hope.'

Lose hope, and that may well be the beginning of our end, yet I say to you from personal experience that human nature is full of surprises, and can help us turn our lives around as and when push comes to shove... if we let it; not perhaps immediately, but that’s not only life for you, that’s time, too, its partner in crime.

Now and then readers and other associates ask me if I regret being gay. I ask them, in turn, how does anyone reconcile themselves to living a life that does not draw upon who we are rather than whom anyone else would have us be, no matter how well-meaning? The bottom line is that we are responsible for ourselves as well as looking out for others; at the very least, honesty demands we accept that responsibility, sooner or later...does it not?  Certain judgemental societies and individuals worldwide would do well to keep that in mind.

Sadly, not all LGBT folks can be open about their sexuality for various socio-cultural-religious reasons in certain countries and communities around the world, including here in the UK. Closet life is tough, closet love even tougher, but we should never underestimate the power of the human spirit to help us make the best of the good times and take the bad times in our stride. The bigots among us may win many battles, be be sure that we will win the war.

A LIFE IN THE DAY OF AN ARMCHAIR

The world, it’s passing me by;

though time slow enough for me to ask questions

about the whys and wherefores

of life, it only answers me with more questions,

demanding I look closer to home,
ask of mind-body-spirit how and why
it has brought me to this
dismal failure of expectation and imagination
if ever there was one

So, what is ‘this’ that I find harder

to bear as memories assail me (good, bad and ugly),

now offering comfort enough

to bring a smile to my face, now torturing me

with errors that, unmade,
may well have seen latter days kinder
than a tearful armchair
failing to empathise with a mind-body-spirit
finding itself wanting

My window on life misting over;

a splatter of raindrops reciting poems, calling to mind

faces, voices, seeing me through

all my whys and wherefores, their being on hand,
answers in themselves
to any questions I may well have asked
of mind-bod-spirit
had I envisaged then any such Here-and-Now
as, this, even as I speak

Ah, but where inclined to look back on this life in tears,
find the sum of its joys come to rise above its fears

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019