Applause, a Majority Verdict

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

Another (new) tree-related poem today. I was in my late 30’s before I finally came out to the world as a gay man; it was no easier then than it is now for many gay men and women around the world. To many families and friends, it makes no difference, they love us no less for being “different”. 

As I have said many times on the blogs, our differences do not make us different, only human. Most people get that; sadly, though, many never will. Bigotry seems to be a way of life with some people, whether it is homophobia, racism or whatever; they cannot see that one of the wonders of the human as well as natural world is its diversity, without which its common mind-body-spirit would have seen nowhere near the progress it has made over centuries of narrow mindedness and narrow vision. 

We can blame a socio-cultural-religious-political upbringing and we might well not be far wrong, but it is no excuse for narrow mindedness; it is up to us all, each and every one of us, l to assert ourselves as bigger and better than that, accept that every person is unique and respect him or her for that instead of homing in on what we choose to see as their flaws and weaknesses. (Let’s face it, we all have our share of those.) 

Many people will not admit to bigotry, of course, if only because it is not ‘politically correct’; it is not what we say that counts, though, but how we feel and what we do about it. 

APPLAUSE, A MAJORITY VERDICT 

I could hear a voice screaming
begging for aid, to be let out, go free
from whatever trap it was in,
and I would have turned a deaf ear
to its pleas, far too close
for comfort, demanding I attempt
to answer its calls, no mind-body-spirit
deserving any prison walls, my heart aching,
for it just as dawn breaking 

From my window, I could just se
a pattern of light among the branches
of a splendid old tree
that had been so good a companion
for more years than now
than I care to recall, a pattern shaped
much like a skylark singing
a cheerful greeting, the anonymous prisoner
still in pain, and screaming 

As the lark sang, the leafy pattern
of light began to assume other features,
skylark still a felt presence
if conveying less joy than pain, and then
I saw that lark and prisoner
were one and the same, nature playing
a cruel game with me;
in no time, I could put a name to the leafy face
and the prisoner’s voice 

Sure enough, image once complete,
I saw myself, trapped in an alien persona,
no idea what to do or where
to turn for aid, only able to scream over
and over again, of a lark no sign,
only this pathetic specimen of humanity,
its very mind-body-spirit
refusing to rally, raise the alarm, give me a break;
Apollo, yawning, but half awake 

I reached within myself, daring to go
further than ever before, needing to know
what's happening to me,
my image at the heart of a tree screaming
to be set free, could it be
I was unhappy with my lot, refusing to see it
for what it was, but a pretence
of being happy, and suddenly, it’s as clear as day;
I need to tell the world I’m gay 

True, the world may not want to know,
and there will always be some who choose
a bigoted agenda for reasons
best known to themselves, although excuse
enough provided by this religion
or that cultural tradition’s setting itself
apart from a common humanity,
for being a shade better, such is the folly, vanity,
and diversity of human nature

Years on, it’s but a lark’s sweet voice I hear singing,
Apollo applauding, humanity (still) debating

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Wise to Ways of the World

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

A reader writes that “My partner and I love your tree poems, and always find them a comfort and inspiration. Can we have another please? Well, many thanks for that, and it’s my pleasure to oblige.

I only discovered later that the reader and his partner are gay; they have since been in touch again to ask me to post the poem here as well as on my general blog. 

When I first started the blog, feedback made it clear that readers welcomed the idea of a gay-interest poetry blog, and there seemed to be relatively little interest in my general blog although I have always made a point of posting gay poems there as well from time to time. I am pleased to say that, 10 years on, more gay readers seem to be dipping into both blogs now; even so, it is clear that many don't, which saddens because a poem is for everyone. It is true to say, of course, that much the same applies to general blog readers as feedback suggests few ever dipinto my gay blog. 

Poetry should be breaking down socio-cultural divides, at least that was my hope when I started the poetry blogs back in 2010; feedback suggests that hope has been realised in part, but just as in societies around the world, we still have a way to go yet; even so, some progress is better than none.😉

Whatever, I can only hope and many if not most of you, will enjoy this new poem that  has taken me down the sunny side of Memory Lane and helped restore flagging spirits; I can always rely on nature to engage with and rally the latter, even when I cannot get out and about to enjoy it  for real. Yet, no less real is the presence of nature in any of us if we will but let it in; no way does the creator-performer in any art form have a monopoly on nature unless in so far as it is their raison d'être to provide food for thought.

GROWING WISE TO WAYS OF WORLD 

Once, I had a friend
that would always listen
to my worst concerns,
ease the troubled mind
of a child who didn’t yet understand
the ways of the world

Once, I had a friend
that always knew just how
to cheer a sad heart,
bring light to any darkness,
company to ease a growing loneliness
for ways of the world 

As the child took on
the seasons of life, it learned
to take each as it came,
the good, the bad, the ugly,
let the heart sing even as it would weep
for ways of the world 

Now and then, the child
would return to bond yet again
with its old friend
in dreams if not reality
save a mind-body-spirit close to free fall
for ways of the world 

Though a time must come
when death us do part, old friend,
your spirit lives on
in all who care to engage
with an ages-old wisdom being passed on,
generation to generation 

Whenever ways of the world would defeat us,
find new life forces to be had in its trees

Copyright R. N. Taber 2020

Take care, folks, and be sure to nurture a positive thinking mindset,

Hugs,

Roger 

 

On with the Motley OR Nature

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

Today's poem first appeared on my general poetry blog in 2014. A gay-friendly straight reader has asked me to repeat it here " ... for a workmate who only reads your gay-interest blog ..."

The closest I come to any religious sense of spirituality is in considering myself a Pantheist. While the idea of a personified God is an anathema to me, I can envisage God as nature or even Earth Mother; for a start, a mixed gender God is more likely to have our spiritual survival at heart.

As a gay man, I resent various socio-cultural-religious groups arguing that I cannot possibly nurture and treasure the sense of spirituality I hold dear. For my part, I would argue that no religion has a monopoly on spirituality since the human spirit generates its own, regardless. Moreover, a bond with nature, for as long as I can remember, both confirms and nurtures this sense of spirituality in me that I once sought but never found in religion. Besides, I cannot envisage any God that would reject anyone on the grounds of their sexuality, not because I am gay, but because God has to be bigger than human ... well, doesn't He or She, whom I once read or heard  somewhere referred to as "The Torchbearer."

As each day closes for a night of preparing for dawn - and vice versa - we hopefully anticipate the next performance; and so it goes on with life, death, love and nature tracking The Torchbearer across time and space ...

ON WITH THE MOTLEY or NATURE AND  HUMAN NATURE, IN THE ROUND

See late evening clouds billowing

bulbous folds of a Big Top

Leafy shapes performing in trees;

trapeze artistes in sequins

Spring breeze rippling through it all;

old gods and new, laughing…

Sun’s last blushes on a white dove;

paint on the face of a clown

Lovers in best complimentary seats

enjoying candy floss kisses

Faces shutting down (show's over),

parading back into their cages

Nature poetry, playing ring master

to the greatest show on earth

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2018

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since first appearing under the title 'On with the Motley' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Into the Light OR Half Sick of Shadows

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

I rediscovered (and slightly revised) today’s poem a couple of years ago having written it in  2003 after seeing and admiring a painting by John William Waterhouse while visiting the City Art Gallery in Leeds; it captures the moment in Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem The Lady of Shallot when the Lady turns her head and sees Lancelot riding by. (See below.) I was in Leeds to give a poetry reading at nearby Headingley Library.

Incidentally, The Lady of Shallot is one of many ‘story’ poems my mother used to tell me as a child; she could recite them all by heart and would do so with all the dramatic effectiveness of a born storyteller.

“I am half-sick of shadows!” said the Lady of Shallot...

Oh, but I know how she felt! During my closet teenage years and early manhood when gay relationships were a criminal offence here in the UK, I seemed to spend half my life among shadows; in the twilight world of gay cruising. Even after decriminalization in 1967, attitudes were s-l-o-w to change and I continued to live half in and half out of those same shadows for far too long before finally coming out into the open once and for all.

Tennyson himself is known to have loved a young man named Arthur Hallam whom he met at Cambridge University. The poet was devastated when Hallam died, officially of a stroke although speculation since suggests suicide. Tennyson then began work on ‘In Memoriam’ that was published anonymously some years later and would scandalize most Victorian readers once it became generally known it was penned by Tennyson; they had assumed it was a love poem written by a woman to her soldier husband.

Those who remain gay-unfriendly for various socio-cultural-religious reasons might care to give some thought as to how they might react if a son or daughter were to admit they are gay, and how they might feel about all the pain their beloved children must have endured while feeling bound to keep their sexuality a secret for fear of rejection.

We don’t ‘become’ gay, but are born this way. There is no shame in it. Besides, don’t parents have a duty of care to those they bring into the world, and shouldn’t love override any socio-cultural-religious dogma?

INTO THE LIGHT or HALF SICK OF SHADOWS

I walked in shadow,

scared to show my face

in case anyone

should read between the lines

and guess why

I ran with shadows,

scared to lift our faces

to the light

in case Apollo tell the world

the reason why

I kissed shadows,

too scared of petty minds

persecuting us

to heed any wistful pillow talk

of coming out

I lay with shadows,

scared petty conventions

hounding us

might spot secrets in our eyes

and ask, ‘Why?’

We were but shadows,

yet love made us stronger

than the sum

of its worst fears, now insisting

we demand, ‘Why?’

We quit shadows,

accepted Apollo’s challenge

to come out

and let the world read our faces

as it will

Wherever gay lovers

among the world’s shadows,

may its humanity

call upon an open mind and spirit

to bring us…

Into the light

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011