Spirit of Autumn

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

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

Looking Out for Christmas, Anyone

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

Today's post/poem first appeared online in my general postry blog, November 2013 and can still be found in its archives.

So who's looking out for whom at Christmas, the world needs to ask itself, whatever socio-cultural-religious ethos we may or may not subscribe to...

Yes, Christmas will be with us in less than a month. However, not everyone enjoys a happy Christmas. For homeless people and others down on their luck, it is a time much like any other time...unless we can somehow make it special for them too.

Years ago, I met a homeless gay man who had been physically ejected from his family home on Christmas Day after his father discovered he is gay. This Christmas, I know of a couple on the run from their families who disapprove of their relationship because they are on opposing sides of the same religion. [If God doesn't mind, why should anyone else?]

No matter what religious festival is being celebrated at whatever time of year, a little understanding goes a long way. It is, after all, part of the pact we make with love. And what worth any religion without love in it? I am told that the God in whom so many people believe is a God of Love. Take love out of the prayer and ritual and all I imagine He sees is someone enjoying an ego trip.

We can't always expect to understand those we love and may not always agree with them, but that doesn't (or shouldn't) mean we love them less. It has always been one of humankind's greater tragedies that too many of us let socio-cultural-religious traditions dictate how we live, even love.

At the heart of every religious celebration is (or should be) love in all its shapes and forms...or what is there left that any God would have anyone celebrate?  

LOOKING OUT FOR CHRISTMAS, ANYONE?

Come, hear the bells of Christmas

though lost, alone, in the snow,

recalling times past when we’d leave

a card for Santa, hot cocoa

and a mince pie, try to sleep while

listening out for reindeer hooves

pounding across the sky, a cheery cry

ringing loud and clear for children

everywhere to hear, know (for sure)

that we are loved, no matter who

we are or how our lives shaping up,

whether or no we’re finding signs

of Christmas or much the same cruelty

(or worse) than the day before

Peering ahead down an endless road,

lost souls, alone, no place to go

till time (at last) to reclaim gifts of love

and peace, count blessings, let bells

speak for us, echo high and low, anxious

to share out the joys of Christmas,

fearful for lost souls looking for refuge

from a bitter-sweet winter snow
where no pretty flowers able to grow
yet nurtured out of sight and light
by Earth Mother, chief carer for a world
beyond even mind-body-spirit,
where all the odds stacked high against
mutual understanding or trust

Copyright R. N. Taber 2003; 2013

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared in Christmas Remembered, Anchor Books [Forward Press] 2003 and subsequently in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

Oh, but Santa's running So-o-oo Late

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

This poem was written in 1996. In many societies and communities, attitudes towards gay people have changed for the better, but many remain bigoted, a carbuncle on the face of human nature. Yet, we are a common humanity driven by a common desire for love and peace…so where, oh, where did humanity lose the plot?

Religious festivals, Christian or otherwise, acknowledge the power of peace and love so if we all seek the same goal, why can’t we put our differences aside and put spiritual aspiration into practice across a world that still has much to learn…?

Many gay people enjoy family life, but many others find themselves rejected by family simply because even love is not enough to overcome old prejudices. Family should be all about love and peace...should it not? (Mind you, mine hasn't for years, as much my fault as theirs,) 

Religion, too, is frequently found to contradict itself, not least by being somewhat selective as to whom it offers 'universal' peace and love since one invariably needs to be of the same persuasion for it to be meaningful in either spiritual or practical terms. 

Oh, there are exceptions to every unwritten rule, and bless 'em all, the irony being that coming together in peace and love  has long been recorded in those very Holy Book from which world religions profess to take their cue.

OH, BUT SANTA'S RUNNING SO-O-OO LATE

Christmas, a special time of year,

thoughts of home deserve a special tear;

loneliness, greater than a fear

of nights and days, maze without end

(it seems) in worst waking dreams;

whatever creed or need, here's hoping

for the strength to endure, ways

to be sure that - for all our pain - we’ll get

to laugh, find peace and love again

Kisses flaunted on Queer Street, 
one for each chair left haunted each year,

along with with evergreen comfort and joy
just for being there

Ah, Christmas! Dreamy yearnings

of the heart, wistful thoughts like mistakes

on a fire; flames risen higher

and higher as we pile on self-blame,

calling out in Someone's name

to restore us, cool and clean - to a world

that needs must hang its head 

in shame no more or leave us for dead

at some mindful spirit's door

Who to wipe our tears, calm our fears, 
rewrite history, let us hold our heads high
while we negotiate (blindly) a festive maze 
of bigotry and hate?

Oh, but Santa running so-o-oo late...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2016 (Rev. + new title, 2018)

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared under the title 'Crisis at Christmas' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000.]

A Singular Take on Rush Hour

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

A reader contacted me to ask if I have any more ‘story’ poems. Well, I like to oblige where I can…

Like many of my poems, this one is based on a conversation I once had with a delightful gay couple in a predominantly straight bar, at a time when I was feeling (and probably looking) very fed-up after a BAD day, all of which only goes to show how life is full of surprises; we never know what positive possibilities may await us around the next corner unless we just…turn it.

I do so love a happy ending, don’t you? We may not always find one, but we can have a great time trying, and one unhappy ending doesn't make a lifetime...

It's important, too, to remember that a happy ending may not take the form we would like. For example, I did not expect to be spending the latter years of my life on my own BUT I have some GOOD friends, am in sufficiently reasonable health to get out and about...and, of course, I have you, my readers. SO...no unhappy ending either and I remain a Happy Bunny, always looking on the bright side of life...well, most of the time. 

A SINGULAR TAKE ON RUSH HOUR

Looking
for love in all the wrong places;
cruising bars.
misreading faces that seemed
interested in me
only to discover as we moved in
on each other
these were only masks, ghosts
without substance
except in eyes of desire looking
for more, far more
than a one night stand, but living
in a fantasy land

Looking
for love in all the wrong places;
catching eyes
in turn-on, quick, turn-away faces  
less interested in me
than in feet, all sizes, pounding
frantic streets
for all manner of everyday meets
about as likely
to measure up to expectation
as wishful thinking
about a sexy lead in a new drama
on television 

Looking
for love in all the wrong places;
dressing to kill,
trying to thrill, excite, make out
I’m all that I’m not
because so unhappy with all I am
without someone
to need me, want me for more
than sexuality
demands we must satisfy this way
or another
given mind, body and spirit at odds
with each other

Thinking
of love in the most unlikely places,
even day dreaming 
on the 7:15 carrying me through
the hustle and bustle
that’s an everyday commute to a job
I’ve come to hate,
not least because it’s all repetition,
nine to five
and never (quite) alive at start or end
for being on my own
at waking, playing, even (mostly)
sleeping alone

Not looking 
or even thinking of love, but chatting
to a stranger
while waiting for train running late
one dreary day;
it turned out we had much in common
and it mattered less
about all the pushing and shoving
on the platform,
frantic rushing for a seat once the train
(finally) arrived;
we laughed companionably, thankful
to have survived

In time, friend and lover to each other
without (at first) looking for either …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016

A Dream Come True

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

Some gay people acknowledge their sexuality only to themselves and become accustomed to a closet life, even convincing themselves they prefer it to all the daunting complications that  accompany getting real…until someone come along to make the damn closet a far less habitable place, and all the complications of an alternative reality far less daunting …

A DREAM COME TRUE or AN ALTERNATIVE REALITY

An end-of-tether night

out on the town, stuck in

the closet

You were sitting alone

with a beer, green eyes

everywhere, sunlight

in reddish hair like sparks

from a winter fire

that lit a flame in my heart

from the start

I wanted to speak

but did not dare in case

you sent me packing

with a flea in my ear - so

I hung around...

and tried to pretend

I was with a friend;

you glanced my way,

piercing my heart,

played with a button

on your shirt…

I glimpsed a tawny hair,

a twinkle in each eye

beckoning me near

We chatted awhile,

your erotic smile arousing

such heat in me

that you were a part of me

long before you finally

invited me back to yours

for a coffee…

A getting-it-right night

in with a chance, got out

of the closet

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002, c2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the tittle 'Burn-out' in my collection First Person Plural, Assembly Book, 2002.]

Oasis OR The Agony and the Ecstasy of Wishful Thinking

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

How do we know if we can make it to what we see as our main goal in life or is it just a mirage?

Ah, but is that a trick question? If so, I could it not be that the trick is never to stop looking for answers?

Who knows? We might even be pleasantly surprised at what we discover. Take world peace for example, not to mention our own peace of mind…

As for me, not only a poet but also gay, what can I do but run with Apollo, and love it? For Apollo, the sun god, was not only a source of light and warmth but also bisexual, according to myths and legends that were oases in a hostile, concrete desert to a young Roger T.

OASIS OR THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY OF WISHFUL THINKING

I have risen with Apollo

and strolled among hanging gardens,

each smelling of its season,

bursting with colour, filling the eye

with those that thirst,

and fall on their knees at an oasis

that beggars belief

I have run with Apollo

among bodies strewn like careless litter,

each smelling of its season,

caked in blood, filling averted eyes

with tears as useless

as grains of sand around an oasis

that beggars belief

I have paused with Apollo

and looked back at where high noon

has taken no prisoners,

each grave smelling of its seasons

to those of us who thirst,

risen above tears to defend an oasis

that beggars belief

I have retreated with Apollo

from the battlefield, without conceding

to a huntress moon

any victory of sorts since she selects

her prey at no less a whim

than those of us thirsting at an oasis

that beggars belief

Poor humanity, left reeling from its brief

to thirst at oases that beggar belief

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2013

A Feeling for Fantasy OR Nature Onside

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

A whimsical poem with a serious message today, requested by Imogen for her partner Jayne. It appears that, like me, Jayne has always loved fantasy fiction.

From the age of about ten, I, too loved to explore the world of myth and legend and would head directly for that section in my local public library even before trying out the delights of children's fiction.

My penchant for fantasy has found its way into many of my poems, poorly disguised as metaphor. In some ways, it as much escapism from a harsh reality now as it was for me all those years ago.

Some readers might enjoy my 'Mamelon' fantasy novels serialised on my fiction blog; the blog includes gay and general fiction of which Mamelon, though, is the latter:

https://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html

A FEELING FOR FANTASY or NATURE ONSIDE

Strolling by fields of barley, wheat and rye,
my love and I sought lasting rest and peace;
twin spirits hungry for sanctuary,
weary of a world always judging us

We reached woodlands alive with leafy song,
a sonata for lovers everywhere,
paused to ask a tree nymph for its blessing,
keen to turn our backs on urban despair

The nymph warned it was born of the country,
bound by the countryside’s own moral code,
had only heard tales of urbanity,
a Grim Reaper harvesting swathes of road

Such peace here! “For us, too, a gay couple?”
“Ah,” says nymph, “that depends on people.”

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