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)

Tongues of Fire

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

A friend once commented that it's no good expecting to just fan the flames of love; we have to be prepared to jump right into them. True enough. (Gay or straight.) Firstly, though, we need to find someone to help get them started.

As Jean-Paul Sartre once said, 'We must act out our passion before we can feel it.'

TONGUES OF FIRE

Whenever we make love,

the heat of its passion brands

our names on the heart,

lips parting to kiss, receive

tongues of fire, conspire

with nature’s finer beauty

to reignite its spirit in the poetry

of our lovemaking

We burn, mindful of witches

once burned at stakes  

for daring to repudiate status quo,

be true to the inner self,

no matter how the outside world

may (more often than not)

bury heads in sand rather than
let its naysayers stand up

and be counted, content to deny

countless centuries of lying

to children about graffiti sprayed

wherever bigotry lifts

its ugly head, and loves to claim

the moral high ground

Let us be joined together

in ecstasy, make peace

with a world too busy turning

on its own pretty rhetoric

to see that love means (far) more

that being or appearing)
oh, so socially, culturally, religiously
 'politically correct’

Meanwhile, gay lovers the world over

(still) made to run for cover…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2015

[Note: an earlier version of this poem appears as ‘Pyromania’ in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004; revised edition in e-format in preparation.]

Hold the Dream

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

For the benefit of any new readers, I have been living with prostate cancer for 3+ years now.  However, there is no cause for alarm, as hormone therapy continues to prevent the cancer becoming aggressive. I am sharing this news with readers because so many men over 50 live in such fear of prostate cancer that they ignore early warning signs. Never feel embarrassed or fearful about seeing a doctor if you are worried about anything. The earlier these things are treated, the better the chances of survival. Better a false alarm than an opportunity lost.

While I feel fine most of the time, sometimes I feel quite stressed and so tired that it is an effort even to write up the blogs. Ah, but I do so like to say ‘hello’ to everyone. Besides, we all need to rise above tears now and then. Oh, but tears are healthy. Dear me, yes! And don’t let anyone ever tell you different. [That goes for male readers too.] Even so, there are times when a clown’s mask is hard to remove, especially for those whom we don’t wish to burden with our worst fears. We should remember, though, that loved ones and close friends would want us to share them just as we would expect to share theirs. [If we would rather not, our relationship falls a long way short of the true spirit of love and friendship.]

Never keep your troubles all bottled up inside until you are ready to crack or you will, yes, crack, just as I did many years ago and suffered a severe nervous breakdown from which it took me some years to recover.

Love asks that we talk to each other, not at each other.

Meanwhile…

This poem happens to be told from a gay perspective, but gay or straight [in Greek myth, Apollo was said to be bisexual] and whether or not you have met that special someone to share your life, be sure hold the dream. Never give up on it. Its inspiration will always be a force for good in your life and those whose lives you touch. If some dreams never come true, know that one beautiful dream will invariably feed another, helping to create hearts and minds with a capacity for letting peace and love come into their own.

Sharing someone's home may be a common enough experience, but sharing their heart...Now, that's really something.

HOLD THE DREAM 

Met at a dance,

drifted into romance later,

full summer moon,

misty as a priest’s glass eye;

voices in the wind

found us laughing or crying,

till morning stars

reminding us as we part

that life goes on

World ceasing

to turn, moment supreme;

voices in the wind

sighing 'Yes' to our first kiss;

never a night like this,

Earth Mother like a parent  

with certain reservations

about our intentions, a rush

of mixed blessings  

Come dawn, applause,

a tumble of clowns ringing

in the ears, we’ll take

our places in the Circus of Life,

to play down its worst fears,

acknowledge any unshed tears

while turning deaf ears

to voices deriding our choices  

for being ‘out of sync’

Find Apollo, love’s embers raking

for sleepyheads waking

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poem edition appeared in an anthology, A Loving Grace, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2002 and in my second collection, First Person Plural the same year.]

Spontaneous Combustion

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

The Regent’s Park is one of London’s several major parks and not far from where I live. After strolling on Hampstead Heath, it is my second favourite pastime to walk along the Regent’s Canal towpath, pass by London Zoo’s aviary and over the bridge into the park. Besides acres of beautifully cared for grass and trees; there is also Queen Victoria’s rose garden (splendid in summertime) and a lake that nurtures all kinds of wildlife including beautiful black as well as white swans. 

Ah, but that it is not the only reason I love the park for chance can be a very fine thing indeed...

SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION

I was out in the Regent’s Park, seeking

an ice cream man for a toffee fudge cone,

when I saw him in a window of a café,

his face a rosy hue, baseball cap all askew, 
knew I just had to try my luck with him,

maybe even find out (in time) why a light

in his eyes shone so dim, as if peering

through a sunny haze, seeking something

or someone, perhaps a reason for living?

Ice cream forgotten, I went and (discreetly)

sat down at his table, politely asking

if I may, an ice cold orange juice in solitary

splendour on a large oval tray, pleased

when he nodded, although he did not say

a word, merely continued to look out

of the window (at a world passing him by?)

And who was I, a stranger to enquire?

Oh, how the pucker of his brow, green eyes

and full lips, set my entire being on fire

in a way that had happened only once before,

thought never to strike twice in a lifetime;

yet, here was I, blushing like a teenager, just

for trying to make conversation with a man

who may even turn out to be straight, although

I doubted that (don’t ask me why or whose

need the greater) but we got chatting by and by

(no easy task, I have to say, but got easier)

Many a day since, especially after a falling out,

we’d sulk (separately) in the Regent’s Park,

but invariably make up again, come what may,

at that same café where our lives took off...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2011

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'If The Cap Fits' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Spanish Eyes OR Gay on the Costa Del Sol

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

Today’s poem was written in 2004 and appeared on the blog some time ago at the request of ‘José’ for his partner Luis (both Catholics) who found it in my collection and enjoyed it. I have since made some changes and tried out the revised version on both men who have been in touch to say they approve and still love the poem. I can but hope other readers will too.

Some years ago, I met a Spanish tourist in London who has to be the mst straight-acting gay guy I have ever met. If we hadn't started chatting in a well-known gay bar, I probably would not have chanced a second glance his way. Oh, but the thrill of a holiday romance that would have us shedding inhibitions as sure as sunshine after rain, inviting us to go with nature and…enjoy!

SPANISH EYES or GAY ON THE COSTA DEL SOL

The rain in Spain, it kept falling,

holiday plans gone astray,

beaches all but deserted, wicked blue sea

turned an ugly grey by a killjoy sky,

summer waves crashing around the ears,

bars filling up with others like me,

alone, trying local tequila till someone

taps me on the shoulder

and I find myself being sucked

into his eyes, floundering

in his head, in the flow of his blood,

adrenaline rising like a flood,

wondering if there‘s an escape route

without (ever) really wanting one

In a stranger’s head, mulling home truths

I’d confronted, but never dared

act upon because it's not the English thing

to do, going against the grain,

fancying men while coming on to girls

with macho pals, giving the lie

to chat-up charms, longing to fall

into another man’s arms,

feel his kiss. Yes, just such a man as this,

now asking if I’ll teach him English,

blue eyes penetrating my last defences,

stripping me naked, rescuing me

from a closet childhood’s take on morality

to (finally) go free, and be myself

Earth Mother on cue, sun in a patch of blue

chasing dark clouds away just for us

Copyright R. N. Taber 2004; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in 1st eds. of The Third Eye, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]

Precious Moments OR G-A-Y, Skating on Stars

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

I love Paris. Being partially deaf, I don’t have an ear for languages, but people there don’t seem to mind and even warm to my schoolboy-like efforts to speak French.

In this, the (early) winter of my years, I don’t get to visit Paris as often as I would like, not least because I can’t afford to stay in hotels for more than the occasional weekend. 

Ah, but in the spring and summer of my years …

While some holiday memories blur with time, others are as vivid as favourite dreams that have taken on reality…and won. Oh, their victory (in real terms) may well have been short-lived, but remain no less sweet for that.

Written years ago, I rediscovered this poem only recently among a pile of old papers I was throwing out and (slightly) revised it.

PRECIOUS MOMENTS or G-A-Y, SKATING ON STARS

We met in old Paris,

my dreamtime lover and I,

crossing the Pont Neuf,

about to pass each other by

when the moon, it fell

in the water, and we both paused

to stare, and that was the start of our gay

love affair

Rain pouring down,

a cascade of shooting stars;

the sky in the Seine,

couldn’t believe our eyes;

his hand grasped mine,

hearts beating fast, total strangers

no more, and that was the start of our gay

love affair

City, taken us to its heart

we skated on stars in galaxies

only dreamers know

for dodging myriad umbrellas

in streets where even rain

is a treasure the world’s lovers get

to share, and that was the start of our gay

love affair

We went to his apartment

and I still didn’t know his name,

re-working ‘mad’ and ‘sane’

against a backdrop of Caillebotte

copycats brush stroking into

our every moment, time enough

to spare, and that was the start of our gay

love affair

We made love in a four-poster

as if le demain was but a password

only we two ever knew,

and would never say out loud

for fear the dream fade;

hours later, vacation over, rain starting

to clear, a rainbow all that’s left of our gay

love affair

[Paris, April 1986.]

Copyright R. N. Taber; 20013

[Note: Caillebotte (4th stanza, line 4) is a reference to Gustave Caillebotte (1848-1894), a French artist perhaps best known for his painting, Paris Street; Rainy Day  (1877). Incidentally, many of his other paintings and drawings are of male bodies, often with their faces concealed, conveying a homo-eroticism that has given rise in more recent times to speculation that he may have been gay.]

This Life

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

[Update) (August 26/2016): Sometimes I post photos with my poems and several readers have complained that I include photos of gay men kissing. One reader writes, ‘I am OK with gay people and quite enjoy many of your gay poems (I am not gay) but find photos of gay men kissing offensive.’ In other words, the reader has no problem with gay men so long as they are discreet and out of sight. Sorry, but this attitude makes me see red. Similarly, some religious leaders claim that it is OK to be gay so long as we don’t ‘do’ anything. Such attitudes are absurd in this day and age and very hypocritical (but not uncommon) among those who claim to be ‘OK’ with sexuality. What can I say other than, get real and grow up?

Now, whether or not this life is all we have, it is all we have as we know it so ... let's make the best of it, yeah? Even in countries where same sex relationships remain a criminal offence (to their shame) there is room in our private space for love in all it shapes and forms so let's not make LGBT relationships an exception ... and maybe, hopefully, there will come a time when they are acceptable everywhere. There will always be socio-cultural-religious bigots, of course, if only because the old saying is so true; you can please some of the people some of the time, but you can't please all the people all the time. 

[Photo taken from the Internet]

THIS LIFE

That first time you touched me, I found myself,

but it took your kiss to acknowledge it

That first time we made love my heart took flight

to a sunny heaven once as dark as night

That first time we lay, spent, in each other’s arms

I heard Pan’s flute, seduced by its charms

That first time we quarrelled and resolved to part,

I experienced the sorrow of a broken heart

That first time we spilled sexuality's loving cup,

we shared the sheer ecstasy of making up

That first time we tested the world’s prejudices,

I felt so proud to be gay, and forever yours

Once lost, and no one quite understanding why.
now found, and embracing this life till I die


Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2018

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

Yesterday Man

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

A beautiful day here in the UK! My thoughts stray to summers past and...

Well, knows what the future holds, even for someone my age? There is, after all, a creative phenomenon commonly referred to as positive thinking ...

YESTERDAY MAN

I'd wonder sometimes if I’m gay

till I saw him on the beach one day,

blond hair bleached by the sun,

blue eyes laughing at everyone, a smile

that ran up and down my spine,

lips I’d rather taste than any wine,

body trim and tight, love at first sight

and it felt so ... right

Oh, but I had a hard on every day

that holiday. At night, we made love

in the wildest dreams,

bodies joined with such warmth

and passion, I couldn’t believe

a conversation I overheard at a bar

about ridding the world of poufs, pervs,
fags and queers ...

I contrived to crash into him,

let his beauty bring me to ecstasy

like a fruit flavoured condom,

his voice seduce me out of my shell.

Hadn’t I been in hell for ages,

taunted by a questions of sexuality?

Now here was a god in the flesh come
to answer me ... Oh, fantasy!

Yet, I took him to be straight,

and wouldn’t have dared say a word.

Besides, I was scared.

One day, in the water, he accused me

of staring and I blushed

to the roots of my hair. He laughed

and made a sudden grab for me, arms

pulling me down, no letting go

I thrashed and fought like a fish

caught on a line, but he very quickly

calmed me down with a grin,

though but I all but panicked again
as his arms pulled me closer,
waves crying "Yes!" as both of us

wanting more than a race to the shore
found us sharing our first kiss 

Seems like only yesterday, I'd wonder

if I’m really gay ...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2019

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised since it first appeared on the blog and an even earlier version that appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Tea For Two OR Pink Underwear

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

Although 600+ poems have appeared in various poetry publications worldwide (not including my collections) few of these have been on a gay theme. Today's poem is one of the few, first published in an anthology So Starts A New Beginning, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2001 and subsequently in my collection the following year.

Chance meetings of a romantic nature are comparatively rare. But, oh, the thrill and adrenaline rush when a special someone steps out of a daydream into our lives for real. It may or may not be the start of something big, but ...who cares?   GO FOR IT.

TEA FOR TWO or PINK UNDERWEAR

Stirring my tea, brooding
about my life,
wishing things different;

less angst and despair,
more hope, love and peace
on Earth, everywhere

Suddenly, a hand took mine,

“I say, you’re spilling

your tea!” I looked up, glaring

and found myself

staring….into eyes as blue

as a picture postcard sea,

and all I could do was grin
(somewhat foolishly)
and try to ignore…nipples
pricking his shirt,

making ripples down

my spine, bringing a lump
to my throat, full lips
teasing mine…with a smile
like a burst of sunshine

on a cloudy day set on chasing
the world's cares away

I let him wrap me in velvet,
pocket my dreams

in his jeans as we left,
still chatting away
much as old friends will do,
and seizing the day

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002

[Note: This poem first appears in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

Pulp Fiction OR Flirting with Imagination

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

[Update: (Feb 4 2018]; Several readers have asked me ro reinstate 'Blasphemy' to the blog as they have been unable to access it via Google Play. I will start posting again in serial form later this week.]

News Update (June 21, 2016): My (slightly revised) gay-crime novel 'Blasphemy' (2006) is now available as an e-book on Google Play:

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Roger_N_Taber_Blasphemy?id=mNlsDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB

NB My novels (including gay-interest, crime and fantasy,  published and unpublished) will continue to appear in serial form on my fiction blog. I am grateful to those readers who have been in touch to say they have enjoyed my novels and why those as yet unpublished (Dog Roses, Mamelon, Predisposed to Murder and Like There's No Tomorrow deserve to be. The fact remains, though, that I was never able to find one and found myself concentrating more and more on my poetry.

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/

I hope to announce any e-editions of my poetry collections and subsequent new collections (in e-format) as I upload them on both general and gay-interest poetry blogs; each collection will continue to include both general and gay-interest poem just as my fiction will embrace both general and gay-interest storylines.

Meanwhile,...

Now, if you enjoy writing in any genre and despair of having writer’s block, you are not alone. I, for one, know the feeling only too well. Ah, but believe me, there’s nothing like a spot of ‘live’ pulp fiction to stir the imagination ... 😉

PULP FICTION or FLIRTING WITH IMAGINATION

He got on at Leicester Square,

sat opposite me, heading for Edgware;

between dripping sardines

our eyes met. (Rain on the face

or beads of sweat?)

I chanced a friendly smile

and mouthed, “Hello.”

He flung me a dirty look - so

I returned to my book although my heart

yearned for his beauty,

let it comfort my despair. (Oh, to burn

my fingers on the sparklers

in his hair!) Patched jeans smouldering

like the heart cowering in my shirt,

I risked a second glance. His eyes bore

darkly into mine...

Hooked! Starkly, we swam

a glorious ocean...

Our lovemaking done by Camden Town,

he left the train

I never saw him again

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

[Note: Camden Town is a district of North-West London, about 15 mins travel on the Northern Line from Leicester Square.]

Journey to the Centre of the Earth OR Home, Sweet Home

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

The link below is to a poetry reading I gave on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square back in 2009. This was my contribution to sculptor Antony Gormley;s 'live sculpture' project, One and Other, during which 2400 people were invited to do their own thing for 1 hour; the project ran 24/7 for 100 days and the entire web stream (as viewed worldwide at the time) is now archived in the British Library,.

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

While this post first appeared on Valentine’s Day, I like to think that every day has the potential for romance...for everyone, regardless of age, colour, creed, sex, sexuality and, yes, even politics. 

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”

― James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

Wishing you all love and peace always,

Roger

JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH or HOME, SWEET HOME

Love, it was, led me to the edge of a darkness;
love, it was, brought me back into the light

Love, it was, had me running around in circles;
love it was, let me pause, rest in its craters

Love, it was, let Apollo’s kisses scald my flesh;
love, it was sung me a lullaby to ease my pain

Love, it was, set its dogs on me, all muzzle-free
love, it was, found me peace in a rose garden

Love, it was, created a space on the fourth plinth
so all art’s demons might yet be acknowledged

Love, it is, lets roses grow where weeds untended
but for its sweeter voices tempering any anger

Love, it is, helps me to cry poems rather than tears;
love, it is, underwriting Man's faith in humanity

Love, it is, sees me to the edge of a world darkness;
love, it is, always sees me safely into its light

Love, it is, let me rage at the sky albeit a south wind
reminds me how we met, and what drove us apart

Love it was, once took your body and made it mine;
love it is, enters my sleep, and makes forever ours

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Holiday Snaps for the Photo Album

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

Although not written until 2000, the occasion today’s poem celebrates took place in the 1980's. There was still a lot of homophobia about here in the UK in those days (significantly less in your face now, mostly driven underground by Political Correctness!)

Years ago, a sunny weekend in Blackpool turned out to be a refreshing change in more ways than one …

HOLIDAY SNAPS FOR THE PHOTO ALBUM

Side by side, we met the tide,
plunged into the sea
and swam with the fishes;
now dipping, diving, risen again,
my love and me

Hand in hand, we crossed
the sand, smiling
at everyone; nudge-nudge,
wink-wink on our backs, hotter
than the sun

We stayed just long enough
to gather up our stuff
and stroll the daily gamut,
pausing for a kiss - to oblige
the local press

We hit page three, you and me;
Breakfast  was strained
at the B and B till one guest
declared, a fine pair we made,
and the rest cheered

Over greasy eggs and bacon
and mugs of stewed tea,
we grinned happily, enjoying
a grand vacation, my gay love
and me...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2014

[Note: An earlier version of this poems appears under the title 'Wish You Were Here' in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]