No Comment OR Silent Witness

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

Someone once asked me why people hold grudges. From personal experience, I would say it is because many would rather suffer in silence than risk … what? Being made to look, foolish or small-minded for one thing, proven wrong for another; the possibilities are endless and invariably negative. 

So, what of the positives like clearing the air, preventing estrangement, staying friends … - a shorter list, perhaps, but far more important, surely, to achieve the better result? 

I have said before and will almost certainly say again, in the course of a post-poem, how fortunate, indeed, are those with families and friends willing to talk any differences through and agree to differ rather than burn good bridges. (Let’s face it, none of us are perfect, most of us far from it.)

Whoever emerges winner of the U.S. presidential election, it is clear that America is a very divided country' we can but hope that Democrats and Republicans will start talking to rather than at each other and find common ground in healing rather than deepening its divisions. (Not, as a rule, the nature of world politics perhaps, but in everyone's interests,surely, not least its own?)

NO COMMENT or SILENT WITNESS

I love festive occasions,
am invariably at the centre of things,
places all but brimming over
with joy, enthusiasm, peace, love,
and no reason to suspect
such goodwill cannot last for years
(or hours, at least);
everyone made welcome who’s at mine
for the feast 

Made only too often aware
of flaws in human nature by tête-à-tête
leaving nothing to imagination,
I can’t help but overhear, left wondering
what on earth is going on
between mother and daughter, father
and son, brother and sister,
as best friend to another, and how on earth
will it all end? 

Although I rarely chance to see
beyond my surrounds, I’m of two minds
whether or not I really care;
all human life is here, and I no judge, juror
nor executioner, if tempted
(frequently) to bang heads together, make
people see the hurt they cause
by taking in third party rumour as and when
they choose

Me, I’m but a table, no say in, just looking on
at what passes for civilisation

Copyright R. N. Taber 
(Nov. 5th, 2020) 

[Note: his post-poem appears on both poetry blogs today as requested by reader A. J.] 

 

I'm a Poem, Get me Out of Here OR Closet Voices

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

I once managed to extricate myself from a contract with a poetry publisher with which I became more and more unhappy as time passed; a member of its editorial team even asked me to shorten some longer poems to fit the page. I responded that a poem becomes a living organism as soon as a reader engages with it, and what they were asking was tantamount to an amputation.

I well recall how, many years ago, my English teacher, 'Jock' Rankin asked the whole class (of teenage boys) to write a poem for homework. "It doesn't have to include any  rhyme," he added for the benefit of those of us who were under the impression that rhyme was compulsory for all poems.

Yours truly rose to the challenge, but few others submitted anything, complaining along the lines of "I don't have a poem in me, sir, it's just not me." The same cry could be heard again after some poems were read out in class later in the week, and Jock expressed disappointment in relatively few people having made the effort. "There is a poem in all of us," he insisted, "We just have to tap into that aspect of ourselves which is especially meaningful to us, and the chances are there will be a poem there champing at the bit to get out. Come on, you sporty types, let's have a sporty poem from you or any of you with hobbies you love, let's see what you can do.

The response this time was an eye-opener as everyone managed to write a poem, even the more bullish and macho among us; indeed, they were the proudest and more boastful of their achievement. Gone forever was the notion that writing and enjoying poetry was 'a girly thing'.

"You see," said a well-pleased Jock, "...there are as many subjects for a poem as there are people, each one with something different to say. We may like, dislike agree or disagree with what it has to say, but that's life, each to their own points of view. Whatever, that poem or point of view struggling to get out of us deserves to be free to say its piece, right?" "Yes, sir"  everyone  yelled at once.

Poetry, no more or less than prose, has a million voices; if you haven't yet found yours, why not choose a collection of poems when you next visit your local public library and I bet you'll find at least one that not only stirs the imagination but that suffocating silence within that's desperate to break out  into words and feeling, and find an audience; an audience of one is often more than enough to ignite the flames of much-needed communication.

Sadly, poetry is not considered commercially viable, poetry on a gay theme even less so even in this s0-called Age of Equality and Freedom of Speech; it is also an Age of Capitalism, of course. Yes, dear readers, I will almost certainly be self-publishing my next collection, if only out of interest to see how well (or badly) a few hundred volumes will sell  Later, as I have said before, all my poems will be available online as I suspect my blogs will disappear once yours truly has gone walkies with the Grim Reaper. wry bardic grin 

I'M A POEM, GET ME OUT OF HERE or CLOSET VOICES

Why any heartbeat

demanding mind-body-spirit

free it from its closet,

left to go wherever it will,

no slave to hypotheses,

but deserving better,

not least to find a voice,

and ways to make itself heard

by the poet within

What is this sound,

like the cry of a lost child

negotiating its way

all but blindly along frantic

highways and byways

whose names but posturing

as spelling lessons

in its past-present-future eager

to make itself felt?

What is this presence

calling on inarticulate reason

for expression, as clear

at first as dawn mist reluctant

to let any sunshine

into a persona grown frantic

for a comfort zone,

offering as close a sense of safe

and sound as any?

Why this falling apart,

now closing any yawning gaps

in a consciousness,

weathering mist and murk,

only to find itself

burning bridges across rivers

of rising passion,

anxious to find release in at least

explaining the smoke?

No end in sight - lost;

left to others to find and help me

if they can, or have time

to let a poem give self-awareness

a clear heads-up

for negotiating the complexities

likely to characterise

any literal or existential soundings

taken from a human heart

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

P-R-E-J-U-D-I-C-E-S, Cultural Hangovers OR Gay in Hanoi

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

A reader from Vietnam has asked me to repeat a poem that has appeared on the blog before in support of LGBT people there who are made to feel second-class citizens and often disowned by their families for being brave and principled enough to leave that proverbial closet which may well have been their home for years.

‘Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) persons in Vietnam may face legal challenges not experienced by non-LGBT residents. Both male and female same-sex sexual activity are legal and are believed to never have been criminalized in Vietnamese history. However, same-sex couples and households headed by same-sex couples are ineligible for the legal protections available to opposite-sex couples. Although homosexuality is generally considered taboo, awareness surrounding LGBT rights has risen during the 21st century. Reports of discrimination against LGBT people are not uncommon, however, with about 20% of LGBT people reported being beaten by family members when coming out.’   - Wikipedia

It remains one of the twenty-first century's tragedies that there are millions in much the same position around the world, invariably due to socio-cultural-religious bias if not plain old-fashioned bigotry. 

P-R-E-J-U-D-I-C-E-S, CULTURAL HANGOVERS or GAY IN HANOI

To all appearances safe and sound;

the law, not anti-LGBT;

on the whole, though public opinion

much divided, most families

rejecting members daring to leave

the proverbial closet,

give human rights, equality, humanity

(and loyalty) a stronger voice

in the wider community, send ignorance

and inhumanity on their way

City of Peace, bitter divisions within

its ever-growing populace;

some applauding changes of attitude

from prejudice to support

for its men, women and young people

struggling with sexuality

against a backdrop of bigotry and hate

in this ‘Paris of the East’

where tree-lined boulevards give the lie

to a city at peace with itself

Brave are they who march for Pride,

asserting the rights of sexuality

to respect among equals, deserving

better than mere tolerance,

(especially where it masks hostility)

better to know your enemy

than feel sufficiently safe and sound

to Come Out, only to be left

seeking sanctuary among other rejects

who made the same ‘mistake’

Find mind-body-spirit waiting on the all-clear

wherever inhumanity would see gay folks live in fear

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

[Note: I have revised the original alternative title since the poem last appeared on the blog.]

Spring, Blueprint for Life OR Never, but Never Say Die

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

Spring may well be some way off yet here in the UK,but yesterday I spotted my first daffodils of 2020, and experienced a deep sense of relief that winter is all but done with us... for now, at least, although a winter of the heart is something else entirely.

Oh, my, how time flies! Scary, yes, but (as regular readers will know) I for one take reassurance in the fact that spring always follows winter…

Renewal, of course, includes reconciliation, not least with ourselves and consequently (hopefully) with each other and Earth Mother, both having a nasty habit of seeming to turn against us as winter proceeds, often harshly and uncaring, spreading discontent at every turn.

The genesis of this poem appeared in my secondary school magazine. I was aged 11 years at the time. (Are we really in 2020 already, and will I really be 75 later this year?) Oh, well, time waits of no one and we must make the best of what time we have, each in our own way, whatever our circumstances. 

Spring, too, may well rescue a human spirit in free fall; nor does religion  have a monopoly on spirituality since the human spirit may well choose a different path which we should attempt to understand before rushing to any judgement, especially given that our differences do not make us different, only human. (As good a reason as any for this poem appearing on both poetry blogs today.)

So what am I saying? Well, you'll have worked it out, I'm sure, but in case you are left in any doubt ... no matter what life forces are getting you down, never, but never say die. 

Yes, we do die, all of us, but, like nature all around us, we live on, and will return ... in the hearts and minds of others, a posthumous consciousness that may not be equal to the real thing, yet is just that in many ways; whenever we need a comfort zone or are mulling things though, we are most likely to turn to those whose opinions we value the most, whether they be alive or dead.

We all have our wintry days - at any time of year - we can but turn to the heart's ever-present springtime of happier, kinder memories ... for inspiration, hope, and regeneration.

SPRING, BLUEPRINT FOR LIFE or NEVER, BUT NEVER SAY DIE

In the air, a sense 

of renewal, everywhere,

bluebells ringing out 

their message of peace, 

love and rebirth,

imaging a passage of seasons,

(shortcut to Eternity)

where every human heart

dares share its secrets

with Earth Mother for all

Time will (as likely as not)

cajole us to forget

Oh, but listen, listen

to a global consciousness

forever intoning rites

in the wind, summoning

all ghosts of love

and peace to haunt our dreams,

revisit their seasons, feed us 

hopes laid low by winters

come and gone, restored to life

by the Spirit of Spring

urging us to enjoy its scents,

and follow, follow...

Humanity, unequalled

in the art of shadowing nature,

ever anxious to pass on

its secrets and discoveries

in theories, treatises, 

stories and poems generations

will tell, retell and embellish 

(as likely as not) in its archives, 

revealing a hint (at least) 

how taking advantage of nature

saw an unforgiving Earth Mother

seeing off its future

Spring, all things bright and beautiful,

blueprint for human potential

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002

[Note: Subsequent to its appearance in my school magazine at the age of eleven, the genesis of this poem also appeared under the title 'A Hymn to Spring' in an anthology, The Joy of Spring, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2001 and later in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Time Enough for Tears

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

I will be 75 this year, but it’s not so many years (well, maybe, but doesn't seem so) since I enjoyed spending time with a charming young man (29) from India. Needless to say, he made the first move as I was already becoming more than a trifle self-conscious about my age and looks. There was not only a physical attraction between us but also a genuine affinity. It turned out we had a lot of common in both our past and present lives. We continued to exchange emails after he returned to Delhi until he wrote that it was ‘too risky’ for him to continue as he had been ‘persuaded’ by his family to marry a woman he ‘quite liked’. I often wonder how he is now and how he had adapted to married life.

As a result of living with prostate cancer since 2011, and being treated with hormone therapy, I am no longer sexually active. Even so, gay or straight, male or female, you’re never too old for physical affection, whether it expresses itself in sex or just a friendly hug...and never let anyone tell you otherwise.

It is love, in all its shapes and forms, that nurtures the body-mind-spirit triumvirate in each and every one of us. We may grow old(er) every day, but - gay or straight - never a day passes without love in it...one way or another...unless we let it.

Oh, and on the subject of friendship, I have met up with several readers (gay and straight, male and female) from all walks of life since I started the blogs and we have become friends although, sadly, none live in the London area. I live in (fairly) central London and am always happy to meet up with readers for a chat over a meal/ coffee or a few beers; feel free to email me - rogertab@aol.com - if you happen to be passing through.


TIME ENOUGH FOR TEARS

In the autumn of my years
we lay on summer grass watching clouds
drifting on by...
the sun’s twinkling eye caressing your skin
as you dropped your jeans,
pulled off your tee, lay down so intimately
under cheeky clouds,
laughing at us (but wryly, not unkindly)
the sun’s, wicked eye
melting my hands as you stirred beside me,
now unbuttoning my shirt,
unzipping my fly, loosening my belt...
our smouldering desire
metamorphosing us into a mind-body-spirit
transfiguring time and space,
awarding out posthumous consciousness
pride of place, first among equals

Again, I lie there with you,
watching other cheeky clouds passing on by,
chucking companionably,
Apollo expressing sheer, unreserved approval
to see us bare all...
one long summer of love's moans and murmurs,
cooing doves favouring us
with a fly-past, a sycamore’s heavenly cheering
ringing in our ears, sounding out
promises freely made, broken, kept, reworked
untiringly for centuries,
lifetimes spent challenging a flawed status quo,
humanity failing to see
how nothing and no one has any right to claim
a monopoly on love
while urging passing clouds  to save heir tears
for the winter of our years,
to live and let live in loving memory


Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in  The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

A Christmas Truce

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

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

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

Christmas is no exception for many of us.

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

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

A CHRISTMAS TRUCE?

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

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

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

The Hurt Garden OR Dreams, Turning Us Over

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

This poem is taken from my general blog archives for February 2015. 

So far, feedback suggests that most readers appreciate being given a sense of how both blogs share more than those readers inclined to read just one or the other may have realised, often for having been influenced - knowingly or unknowingly - by misleading if not exaggerated stereotypes. 

Such is the complexity of human nature that some if not most of us are too often and too easily encouraged by various socio-cultural-religious forces - active in all parts of the world - to rush to a judgement that is not ours to make; an opinion, yes, we are all entitled to that, but rather than judging others, should we not be content to unite in agreeing to differ than divide...?

Most if not all of us have a hurt garden where we prefer not to go in waking moments. Sleep, though, invariably has other ideas…

Dreams may well leave us confused, but mind, body and spirit have a way of making make more sense of us there than any waking moments; it sounds depressing, perhaps, but I see it as part of a healing process in the making rather than breaking of a common human spirit, able to rise above the worst human nature can throw at it and which, if slowly but surely, will find its way into our waking consciousness, whoever and wherever we may be, if we but let it.

Did I say it would be easy...?

THE HURT GARDEN or DREAMS, TURNING US OVER

Blades of grass

tossing to and fro in the wind

like restless sleepers

trying to make sense of a kind

where logic and reason

have no place, square up to facts

of human nature

from which its indigenous hosts

would run away

but nature will ever have its say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Stems of flowers

swaying to and fro in a breeze

like drunken crowds

on losing their heads to whims

where logic and reason

have no place lest they make more 

of human nature

than excuses its indigenous hosts

from home truths

put aside, inclined to have a say

in dreams, struggling to make sense

of us

Dead leaves

drifting here, there, everywhere

like lost children

looking for a place called ‘home’

where logic and reason

concede its predilection for love

of human nature,

lend its indigenous hosts access

to life forces

in denial, ever finding their way 

to us left struggling to make sense

of dreams

Birdsong,

signalling a love of life and nature

to practised ears

in the market (for a guide of sorts)

where logic and reason

have a place, but are never enough

for human nature

whose indigenous hosts ask more

of its humanity

than dream litter left in its garden

on the assumption they will clear up

the mess

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015 

The Guardian

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

Today's poem last appeared on my general blog in February 2011; for the original post, see the archives for that blog (on the right hand side of any blog page.)

Even today, LGBT people are still referred to by the less discerning as 'freaks of nature'; the idea is, of course absurd. We are not only a common humanity, but not least because we are all Children of the Earth. It was feeling close to nature that saw m though the worst of my closet years from the age of fourteen until my thirties. (I am in my 70's now.) Besides, we are all born of a mother's womb, and what can be more natural than that, I ask you?

Regular readers will know that where religious-minded people like to think God is watching over us, I prefer to put my trust in Earth Mother,my chosen mentor.

Both points of view deserve respect, surely, since none of us can know for sure, whatever our native  culture, religion, ethnicity or sexuality...besides age and politics, of course. Oh, but we are a diverse humanity, and rightly so, for are we not as nature intended, for goodness sake?

If only more people would agree to differ instead of fighting over who is right and who is wrong, the world would be a far happier and peaceful place!

Give peace a chance, yeah?

Image taken from the Internet

THE GUARDIAN

Where snow is falling snow on snow,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in white shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where acid rain defies flowers to grow,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in tears shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where summer breezes gently blow.
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in green shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Where autumn makes a splendid show,
and the world is a lonely place,
a woman in gold shall softly go,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Once loved ones gone, we ask to know
why the world is a lonely place?
It’s a woman called Hope tells us so,
and were we to see her face,
we would know she comes for us

Look where she comes and see her face;
let this world be a less lonely place

Copyright R. N. Taber 1973; 2009

Note: This poem first appeared in Life's Simple Pleasures, Forward Press, 2011 and subsequently in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Friends Reunited

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

Today's poem appeared on my general blog back in December 2010 and, yes, it is relevant to either blog, but relatively few readers accessed both blogs in those days as, for that matter, do now.  I once asked a gay friend why he showed no interest in my general poetry. He shrugged and admitted, "I'm not really into poetry, but it makes a change to read about gay stuff in a poem so... Besides,..." he added, "It's the principle, isn't it...?" What principle, I can't help wondering, as he did not elaborate?

True friends care about each other and show it, through thick and thin. It is a rare thing, these days, friendship. Too often we think we have a good friend until he or she not only stays away when we need them mos,t but also manages to put the blame on us for the fractured friendship.

Sometimes we may call a friend for a chat and they may be busy or just not in the mood; it is so unfair to take offence for catching someone at the wrong time, yet sadly so many people do just that.

Friendship works both ways. Too many people are so wrapped up in themselves they only see it as a one-way trip.

Sometimes a friend may be depressed or feeling so low they have no room in head or heart for anyone else while the condition lasts. As good friends, we need to be there for them no matter what…or how can we expect them to be there for us?

The selfish view some people take, that if a friend has not been in touch they won’t make the first move either, is not what friendship is all about. Among its most important values is that friendship can and often does unite people across a whole world of differences Yes, my cue for saying it yet again - our differences don't make us different, only human. As a common humanity, do we not owe it to each other to build bridges to reach one another, and rebuild as and when necessary? Invariably someone has to make the first move...

FRIENDS REUNITED

I knocked at the door,

again, again, and yet again;

no one came

Eventually, I turned away,

drifted lonely as a cloud - and

then returned

I banged on the door

again, again, and yet again;

no one came

Angrily, I turned away,

ran until exhausted - and

then returned

I yelled at the door

again, again, and yet again;

no one came

Sadly, I sat down

on a step wondering - why

no one listening?

I called at the door

again, again, and yet again

till someone came

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

A Word to the Wise

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

Some parents, especially mothers, so love their friends' children to be the best of friends. Mine was anxious to know why I had all but ignored a friend's son - a fellow pupil at my primary school - during a recent visit to their house, not far from where we lived. I recall shrugging and putting it to her that the other boy and I had nothing in common, unlike our respective parents. "I don't dislike him," I tried to explain, "... so much as, well, he's so different from me.We like different things and have little if anything in common so...what's the point?" "It's up to you, of course," my mother conceded, "...but there's a lot we can learn from each other's differences. Unfortunately, it's our differences that make the world the way it is rather than any willingness to learn from them." I shrugged off those words at the time, but they came back to haunt me at bedtime and have haunted me ever since.

Needless to say, we became good mates, that boy and me and, yes, we did learn a lot from each other even if it did take us awhile to agree to differ about (many) things without getting personal. We were never best friends, but always enjoyed each other's company. Indeed, when I finally came out to family and friends as a gay man, he was one of the first to say it made no difference, even quoting yours truly in so far as our differences do not make us different, only human.

A WORD TO THE WISE

Where did they all go,

days of childhood, where freedom

kept its word, any concerns

easily distracted by an enthusiasm

for new thing, new people

new avenues of thought less littered

with a narrow-mindedness

all too often found characterising

adulthood found wanting?

Where did they all go,

those days of emerging maturity

less fettered by the cares

and concerns of everyday survival.

still in the welcome grip

of curiosity, a sense of adventure,

an idealism tested

and found increasingly vulnerable

in as so-changing world?

Whatever happened

to halcyon days of early adulthood,

few leftover laurels

seen floating floods of opposition,

rejection and humiliation

touching base with needy conscience

and self-awareness, inciting

a rebel consciousness to explore ways

to make itself felt and heard?

Whatever happened

to that rebel in me, thinking to change

a world whose imperfections

are glossed over by a well-meaning

global consciousness, yet out

of touch with a common humanity

increasingly sensitive

to its much-divided politics and religions

all claiming to have answers?

No prescribed wisdom ever made less sense

than in any Here-and-Now

Copyright R. N. Taber 20194

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

A Window on Christmas

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

There is nothing sinful, criminal or wrong with the love between two gay men or women. Others will always disagree, and sometimes we might even feel sufficiently put down by various socio-cultural-religious bigots among the heterosexual majority to start doubting the deeper truth and wisdom of our own feelings.

In my experience, something (or someone) always happens along to restore our faith in ourselves, in human nature and in a greater good that does not exclude the gay ethos in its ringing endorsement of human love.

A WINDOW ON CHRISTMAS

I could hear cock robin’s song in the air;
at a window I watched first snowflakes fall,
missing you so, wishing we could share
that gift of love at Christmas meant for all

Your religion forbids our kind of love,
you feared rejection by family and friends,
so we kissed farewell under stars above,
forgetting that true love's dream never ends

In the distance, I could hear bells ringing
tidings meant to fill lonely hearts with cheer;
at my own front door, an angel singing
about love. peace and goodwill everywhere

Caught in a window’s wintry reflection
I saw a tearstained face raise a sunny smile,
broken hearts mending, moment divine,
snowflakes reminiscent of a wedding veil

I rushed to my front door, flung it open wide
to fall into your arms, our first Christmastide

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'First Christmas' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Winter Wonderland

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

.We should never underestimate the lasting power of true friendship. Yes, some so-called friends are shallow and easily offended, especially when they are nursing a hurt ego, while others may well need time to understand that a hurt ego needs nursing back to health, and not left to fester. (Yes, I know I have said much the same thing many times on my blogs, but, something worth saying is always worth repeating.)

It can come as a shock to some family members and friends when a gay man or woman flings open his or her dark closet and lets in the sunlight. Sunlight can be blinding sometimes.

Years ago, when I was just a boy at school, a teacher asked why I had fallen out with my best friend. I can’t remember over what we had argued, but I do recall it was something that seemed important at the time, but with hindsight was trivial. The teacher made a comment I have never forgotten, to the effect that a friendship worth having is always worth saving, whatever it takes.

Over the years, I have fallen out with lots of people for various reasons (as most if not all of us do) and I always ask myself this question, does it really matter?  Sometimes, the answer is an unequivocal ‘yes’ in which case I will always do my best to patch things up with that person.  Where the friendship is strong, I always succeed, and if it means swallowing a little pride, it has always been worth it.

I guess there is nothing like falling out with someone to make us realise whether or not we really want that person in our life. If we do, we just have to hope they feel the same way, and wherever the friendship runs true, an olive branch will (nearly) always do the trick. Someone, though, has to make the first move...

WINTER WONDERLAND

The first snow of winter falling,
as I walked in woods alone,
I heard a familiar voice calling,
asking where I had gone

I'd seen nothing of you for ages,
since we’d argued one day
over filling time’s blank pages
with graffiti for my being gay

Suddenly, I heard a robin making
the case for your defence, 
our friendship up for the saving,
no matter what odds against

You said I should have been open
about my being gay;
I'd raged, hurt by your reaction,
ignoring all you had to say  

Calmer as the snow began settling,
(my feet, minds of their own)
I faced demons I’d been wrestling,
resolved to put them down

At your front door, I rang the bell,
wondering if you’d answer;
when you did, a big hug said it all,
the best of friends forever

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2015

With a little Help from Nature

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

Now and then, I find someone to chat to in a bar and now and then people tell me stories that set off a poem in my head…

Such a time was one evening recently. I met two gay guys who have been partners for years, and they told me how they first got together. I commented how they had been through a lot together, bad times and good. One simply shrugged and pointed out, "If it's out of our past we shape our present, it has to be out of our present we shape our future, right? It takes a positive thinking ethos to find any of us in good shape at the end of the road...or why bother?" He grinned, adding, "Besides, we love each other and you don't get more positive than that, do you?" 

It struck me as a timely reminder of how acknowledgement of and reconciliation with the inner self can move mountains...

Oh, but I do so love a happy ending, don’t you? History is full of them, of course, but for some reason human nature tends to focus more often on the unhappy ones. (Could it be they make for a more interesting conversation?) Whatever, we should celebrate happiness as the foundation stone of life not simply an aspiration. Think happy, be happy. Oh, and why not...? It has to be better than think sad, be sad... doesn't it?

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM NATURE

I asked the wind if you loved me,
but the wind could not say;
I asked the trees for a love poem
but the trees stayed quiet
and still, till I began to despair
that you might ever truly care for me
as I (so) cared for you

Two rabbits, a fine pair they made.
scampering openly in a glade…
Envied them a freedom if only brief,
enjoying the autumn sunshine
as I would with you, only I had yet
to trust your heart might ever see me
as more than a playmate

Closet ways, tearful days, loneliness
clawing away at all of me;
body, mind, and spirit now caving in
to desire, on fire, desperate
for an embrace, everyday masks
tossed aside, now, a fearful welling up
inside of anxious sexuality

You, too, were in the woods that day,
and chance would have it
we should meet, and we were different,
you and I, as if conjured up
like rabbits out of a hat, mindful
of a gentle wind urging ages-old trees
to help us find our voices

Nor does love have any need of words
to make itself known, heard;
all it took was an accidental-on-purpose
stumble against each other
and a clumsy, intimate, helping hand
transcended into an embrace for gay love
to prove to us it has a voice  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Reconciliation OR To Hell and Back

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

The pressures on any relationship from critical outsiders can be harsh, even heart-breaking; sufficiently so sometimes to weaken even the ramparts of love.

There are bound to be times when one or other of us in a relationship cannot withstand these pressures.

Breaking up is tough on anyone. We need to be strong, and man up. Not always easy.

Oh, but the joy of reconciliation once we join forces and prepare to repel all invaders threatening our shared private space where (gay or straight)...Love rules OK.

RECONCILIATION or TO HELL AND BACK

In the water, ugly face looking up at me,
bags under the eyes, tramlines on the brow,
mouth crooked (the queerest expression)
firing questions that passed over my head
to join songbirds providing a free display

of nature’s grace and splendour, yet cannot
move me to tears of joy where but wistfulness,
confined to a hell of mind-body-spirit

In the water, a told-you-so sun mocking me,
bags under its eyes, reeling from a freak storm
that struck without warning as a beast might
stalk and surprise its prey. Shivering now despite
the afternoon’s clammy heat. Scared, yes,
paralysis inviting the beast to circle and tease,
whites of its eyes curiously familiar, threatening
the worst, but move on, leave me alone

In the water, your face smiling up at me,
bags under the eyes, tramlines on the brow,
mouth crooked (the queerest expression)
putting answers to me that whirl in my head,
join seabirds in a free display of nature’s
grace and splendour, a feisty summer spray
in my eyes depositing its passion on my tongue,
lyric of an all-time favourite love song

Reconciled, we strolled a lake’s leafy shore,
scared of being gay and in love no more

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2005; 2013  

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'Reconciliation' appears in 1st eds. of A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.] 

Second Chances

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There are night moves and more night moves, but there are no moves quite like lovers homing in on each other to make up following a lonely, soul-destroying separation, especially after a quarrel …

Even some gay-friendly readers have asked why I write gay love poems. There is no such thing, of course; there are only love poems. Besides, I am a gay man and the love of my life, too, was gay; tragically, for both of us, he died in a road accident many years ago.

Writing about love galvanises its flickering flame in me to flare yet again, and makes me feel good (as he always did) especially when I am feeling low. 

The poem is partly wishful thinking in so far as the love of my life and I will never be reunited other than in a posthumous consciousness, and partly in response to a reader, Rob, writing in to say he has just been reconciled with the love of his life and both are 'deliriously happy'. Congratulations, both of you, and enjoy ...

SECOND CHANCES

Fast asleep, foetal position,

I did not hear the seventh stair

that would always creak

even when sly tiptoes trying

to sneak, unheard ...

In a dream, as always, I stirred,

reaching out for you,

making believe we hadn’t parted

the way we did, lashing out

with cruel words, each wanting

to hurt the other more

(it was like committing suicide);

Now, your body pressing

against mine, this dream-self

responding, oh, so eagerly

with passion, hot lips relishing

your tongue, entering caves

of loneliness, teasing me

with the happiness I cast aside

that night we died

What’s this?  A kiss, surely

meant to restore a lifeless heart,

let the blood course anew

through a body all but ready

for a coffin, for all willpower’s

attempting to find its way

pretences at of everyday living,

taking where it can,

giving precious little in return,

unable to feel anything

for longing to taste your lips

again, again, our sexuality

awakening to the rising heat

of a true reality, nor any words

(ever) necessary

Day and night, you haunt me

taunting me with images

of your naked body, loving arms

holding me closely, tightly,

as once they had before I happened

to hear gossip among those

I took for friends, workmates too,

and openly denied you-me-us

because I was weak, needed to be

one of the lads, though it meant

we’d part, no matter mind-body-spirit

likely to be sent into free fall,

by loneliness, emptiness, despair

for its not defending and clinging on  

to all it holds dear

My eyes fly open

and you are here, no mere vision,

but a whole new love affair,

You-Me-Us, redefined, ‘live’ metaphor  

for second chances 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears (under the title Seeing is Believing) in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.] 

A Summer Storm

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Every relationship has its ups and downs; gay relationships are no different from any other. Such is life, love, and human nature...

A SUMMER STORM 

Spirit as heavy

as clouds hanging

dark and low;

body struck dumb

by lightning flashes

of disillusion

Rain on the face

reminiscent of tears

for a world all but 

giving up on us,

and my storming off

without a word

Your kisses, honey

on the tongue of one

who’s like a bee

looking to the hive

for reasons to weather

a summer storm

Heading for home,

wretched, frightened…

Suddenly, sunshine,

birds singing, a world

shouting joyfully if only

because it can

I see you waiting

on the step, drenched,

shoulders hunched;

Storm over, still raining,

but ready to pull together

for a new beginning

Time enough later

for questions, answers,

and finding words…

For now, seeing nature

working its magic for us,

we gay lovers

Copyright R. N .Taber 2001; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem first appeared in an anthology, In the Summertime, Poetry Now (Forward Press), 2001 and subsequently in  First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]