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

Homing in on Priorities

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

Even in countries like the UK that now permit gay marriage, coming out is not necessarily easy, especially to people close to us who think they know us through and through but to whom it has never occurred we might be gay.  Now, coming out may or may not be tough on us, but we should always remember it can be tough on family, friends and colleagues. too, so we may well need to give them time to get used to the idea, not automatically feel rejected and misunderstood simply because they don’t always react positively at first. Religious-minded people, especially, often find it hard to accept the existence of a ' gay gene' that is passed on from generation to generation, sometimes missing a few but invariably resurfacing eventually. 

Now, I never give advice, but will always give an opinion if asked. Only (very) recently, a reader e-mailed to say he cannot live without his (closet) boyfriend but neither can he face being openly gay. What should he do?  Well, no one can make that decision for him, but hopefully, today’s poem might help him to make up his mind and acknowledge where his heart lies.

[Photo taken from the Internet]

HOMING IN ON PRIORITIES

He said we must part
because I would not come out
of my safe (if scary) closet and say
this is me, I am gay

I was afraid of exposing
my all  to the world’s stark light,
laying myself open to sentiments
parading its ignorance

I should ignore the bigots
he would say and I had to agree,
but even our passion fuelled my fears
fed on unshed tears

At the parting of our ways,
I cried and begged him to reconsider
the only demand you ever made of me,
no more closet sexuality

He kissed me goodbye
and walked away, leaving me alone
to endure a dark, so-cold pit of misery, 
all my senses numbing

I tried to hate you for that,
but rage never (really) stood a chance
against needing to love, be loved in turn,
reconcile with being born

So I told the world I’m gay,
not (quite) as hard as I had imagined
at the moment I contrived that we’d meet,
and kissed you in the street

Now, we share words of love
anyone might overhear, and respond
for good, bad, or not at all... so who cares?
Not our problem, but theirs


Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

You-Me-Us, a Safekeeping

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

I am retired now and have lived on my own for many years. I have some good friends, but would often go to a pub for a few drinks after work in the hope of finding someone to chat to rather than head directly home to an empty flat.

At such times, I would usually avoid gay bars so guys would not assume I was trying to chat them up, and a predominantly straight but gay-friendly bar I knew was always a favourite option. Sometimes, I might well find myself attracted to someone after chatting for a while. Then of course, I would have to try and work out if he was gay and whether he might even be similarly attracted to me. Invariably, I’d just enjoy the company and leave it at that rather than risk making a fool of myself. Yet, every now and then I’d consider the risk worth taking …and take it.

 ‘Win some, lose some.’ ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ All the old clichés conspired (with several pints of ale) to persuade me…

YOU-ME-US, A SAFEKEEPING

We had only just met
in a crowded, gay-friendly bar
(I liked him a lot)

He had views, opinions,
a very open-minded sort of guy
(how time did fly!)

Bar closing, time to part,
and he invited me to his place
(to share his space?)

I could not even be sure
He liked me much the same way
(was he even gay?)

He was so dressed to kill,
and I was in old jeans and a tee
(did he really like me?)

Bar closing, time to choose
if going back with a total stranger
would put me in danger

He seemed a genuine person,
and the evening had gone so well
(I so fancied him like hell)

I’d take my chances and agreed,
enjoying the ride in his so-cool car
(still no hint of…whatever)

Later, we chatted over a coffee,
and I managed to turn conversation
Into homo erotic speculation

He laughed.  I thought I should go,
got to my feet, resigned to losing out
(but, oh, so glad we had met

I thanked him for a nice evening,
and expected we’d just shake hands
but found myself in his arms

We kissed and it was all so natural,
just like our getting together had been
(my idea of seventh heaven)

One night stands may come and go;
love, its beautiful dream left sleeping
till waking in our safekeeping

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015; 2017

Closet Lives

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

Years ago, I had a fling with an Austrian guy called Günter. He was not openly gay in Germany, but enjoyed being so with me here in London. (I have lived in London 30+ years.)  We had a great time, seeing London - including a few gay bars, most of which have since closed down - and getting to know each other better.  The affair only lasted two weeks, and then he returned to Austria. We kept in touch for a while, but there was no Internet then and neither of us was good at writing letters. (Post-Internet generations are so lucky in as much as it is so easy to keep in touch with people by e-mail, even Instant Messaging.) 

I have often wondered if Günter ever took the plunge and came out to family and friends as he was very unhappy about not telling them. He asked me what I thought he should do, but I never give advice, only express an opinion. If he was unhappy, I said, he needed to do something about it. He agreed, but seemed doubtful so I often wonder…

It is a curious phenomenon, unhappiness; hard, near impossible to put aside, but can and needs to be superseded by a life focusing on sufficient satisfaction if not joy to keep it in the shade where it belongs. Like many trite sayings, there is much truth in ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ More often than not, the way is neither easy nor plain sailing, especially in the shorter term.

Whatever, it is always a good start, achieving peace of mind, in one sense if not another…and who knows what lies ahead?  Nor is it so different for gay people coming out of a dark, lonely, closet than for heterosexuals harbouring secrets they would prefer not to keep but fear the consequences of breaking their silence?  

Most if not all of us tell lies sometimes, but we are kidding ourselves to suggest it does no real harm. Oh, yes, we tell truths too.  The trouble is humankind tends to have different versions of each. Most lies - and just as many home truths - invariably hurt someone, somewhere. Better then to develop a greater affinity with truth, and be less judgemental even if it doesn't happen to coincide with our own version of it?

CLOSET LIVES 

Shadowy stalker,

haunting you day and night,

however hard you try

to put me out of your mind

with various distractions,

given that even the human spirit

(easy prey to convention)

sees me as a tough adversary,

never easily defeated

Whatever fine strategy

you may devise to put me down,

I come up with another,

and we lock horns, you trying

to beat me at my own game

while I play dirty, reminding you

of all you stand to lose

if you so choose to give the heart

its straining head

Yes, I play dirty, and well,

teasing inner selves with scenarios

that would have any victory 
of mine a petty, piecemeal affair 
compared any peace of mind

my silence offers, whose riptide 

ever closing in as you run

for cover, having known no better

than secrets and lies

Playing hide-and-seek in your space,

I am Conscience, its saving grace

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Thinking Outside the Box

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

I once asked two gay guys how they first got together, and this poem is – in effect – their story. It is one to which I, too, can relate if not quite in the same way, which is probably why it is a long poem. I found myself wandering Memory Lane and wondering whatever happened to a long-ago good mate of mine…

As some of us struggle with our sexuality, it is only too easy to imagine we are the only ones facing trial by conscience; a conscience moulded into shape over formative years when we had neither the experience to understand the implications nor the articulation to ask the right questions. Our elders and betters knew best, end of story.

As we grow into ourselves, strive for a sense of personal identity, we may well start to wonder how much of that identity comprises the real self and how much is the result of well-intentioned brainwashing. We ask of ourselves the questions we never thought to ask, often struggling with the answers our experience of the world so far feels inclined to offer; not just gay people of course, but many if not most of us who begin to question what we had been raised to believe was unquestionable. 

For gay men and women, the consequences can (not always) be traumatic…until we make a decision as to whether or not (and how) to move forward or slip quietly, unobtrusively, back into our comfort zone. The trouble is, the chances are it will no longer offer anywhere near the same the degree of comfort, no matter how conscientiously we address the task of playing hide-and-seek with human nature. 

THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX 

A mate (among others) for years

kissed me out of the blue

and I sent him flying, left him lying

in a bloody heap on the floor,

ran to the door and into the street,

telling myself I was so angry I could cry,

and, yes, I did, but (much) later

After that, I ignored him for weeks,

satisfying the intense curiosity

of family and friend with a pack of lies

everyone seemed to swallow,

urging that we kiss and make up

quite oblivious to the irony of that phrase,

well meant, but like a knife in me

I missed him so much, the hurt in me

sent my mind rapidly spiralling

into dark places I had not been before,

yet among faces I easily recognized,

mouthing words I had only ever heard

in the school playground, on street corners,

folks taking the piss out of queers

How had I never guessed he was gay,

this good mate of mine for years,

with whom I had enjoyed doing the things

mates do, even chatting up girls now

and then (what on earth was he thinking?)

all the time, holding out on me, living a lie,

hidden feelings I could barely imagine

Imagine, though, I did as time crawled by,

dragging half-forgotten memories

into a pattern of sorts I had either missed

(or chosen not to see?) - revealing

as much about me as my former mate,

uneasy nights and restless days haunting

every move I made, ever word I said

I called at his house one rainy weekend,

much as per usual in the old days,

and his mother was so pleased to see me

I felt guilty for having stayed away,

feet dragging on the stairs as if leaden

as she showed me up to his room, his pain,

like a scar across his face, plain to see

What to say, where to start? I had no idea,

Having struggled with my feelings

to reach a (very) piecemeal understanding

of why I’d said and done what I had

and couldn’t undo or unsay so let instinct

have its way, let my senses run free wherever,

gave him a big hug, hoping for the best

He asked me nervously why I had come.

and it was only then I knew

why his loss had left me so empty a shell,

and how to fill it, mind and spirit

embracing a body hungry for such dreams

as I’d thought impossible, going there anyway,

much relieved he was kissing me back

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Closet Fear

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

Here in the West, it has been my experience that many gay people take freedom of sexual identity for granted.  True, there is no denying that homophobia is still alive and kicking. Yet, I have listened over the years to chilling tales of how it is to be gay in countries where same sex relationships remain a criminal offence (Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia and various African countries among many) punishable by a public whipping, prison or worse. I have learned to count my blessings…even during those low points in my life when they may otherwise have seemed too thin on the ground for much comfort.

The heart is a free country, not a prison; wherever its every beat expresses fear of exposure under pain of punishment, even death, that's more than an abuse of Human Rights, but makes any of any religious dogma advocating it the greater abuse or sin against humanity by far. Religion is meant to be an expression of love; no God of Love would condone hate crime in any shape or form. I left my local Church Sunday School for this very reason at the age of ten years, four years before I realised and acknowledged (to myself at least) that I am gay. 

It is a tragedy for the West that many if not most immigrant families bring their religious dogma with them, forcing their gay young people into the kind of closet public opinion forced me into years ago; one which resulted in a mental breakdown in my early 30's and a suicide attempt. Even now, I bitterly regret not coming out to family, friends and work colleagues, whatever their take on homosexuality,  until my early 40's.

CLOSET FEAR

No one can know we’re lovers,

(everyone sees us as good friends)

nor any peace of mind, given a love

that's taboo

No one can know we share a bed

whenever I stay over at your place,

taking each day as it comes, for good

or ill

No one can know we’re gay men

playing hide-and-seek with shadows,

one mind-body-spirit no less deserving

of nurture

No one must guess our secret,

war weary of judgmental stereotypes

dragging us down even as we recharge

its batteries

No one must catch a single look

between us that even hints at a story

that dare not be told though reworked

for centuries

No one must guess we’re lovers;

many would have us publicly stoned

to death to satisfy an inhumanity baying

for blood

Yet, we will lie, bodies entwined,

away from prying eyes and loose talk,

make love among far kinder hypotheses,

dream on…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

  

Homing in on Moon Craters (Day or Night)

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

Now and then, readers of one or other (even both) my poetry blogs  - all ages, both sexes, gay and straight - email to say they are in London or coming to London and would like to meet up for a chat (about anything and everything) over a few drinks or a meal. I always enjoy these catch-ups, have met some very interesting people and keep in touch if only by email. So feel free to contact me any time, even if a meet-up is never likely to be on the cards. While I don’t allow comments on the blogs, I will always reply to emails; a lively exchange of views and opinions is always fun.

My mother used to say that if something was worth saying, it was worth repeating. So, yes, I often comment on the blog how sad it is but true that many gay people still find it hard to be openly gay, more often than not because they happen to live in a gay-unfriendly home and/or school and/or work environment.  We may well be attracted to the same sex, but whether or we do anything about it can be the toughest decision some of us make in course of our entire lives. There are always consequences, of course, good and less good. We need to consider likely scenarios and ask ourselves how or if we are up for handling these. Doubts will persist until a decision is taken, but is a half-life of keeping up appearances a workable alternative?

In some countries, of course, gay relationships remain a criminal offence punishable by prison or even death.  Gay people have little choice but a closeted sexual existence in which case, better the human self in a closet than a cage…or worse. Even so, it is possible to be true to the self while paying lip service to everyday survival tactics.  I discovered that for myself as a youth and young man. It is stressful, yes, but sometimes necessary; those of us who can be freely, openly gay need to remind ourselves of that sometimes.

As regular readers will be only too aware, I was in and out of the closet for years before finally leaving it as an openly gay man in my late 30's. To this day, I am l haunted by those long-ago closet days. We should never presume to judge or condemn someone for NOT coming out, for whatever reason; it is a very personal choice.

Instinctively, during a crisis of self-awareness, we feel in dire need of a comfort zone, putting inner chaos in perspective with someone whom those same primeval instincts tell us is wrestling much the same crisis of  self-esteem, self-consciousness and, yes, sexuality.

Oh, but there is something particularly intoxicating about discarding inhibitions, giving sexuality (or imagination) its head with someone special among moon crater, as visible in sunshine as on a clear, starry, night … if we choose to look, and see.

HOMING IN ON MOON CRATERS (DAY OR NIGHT)

Moonlight at the window

like pale lips on a wine glass,

sipping without tasting,

teasing,  pleasing, as if enjoying

good company…

A tinkling laughter of wind bells
floating through

a half-cocked ear encouragingly,
no hint of mockery 

What are you thinking?

Are you wondering, could I be gay

and (if so) what to do,

come over and chat…or what?

Here we are, wallflowers

at some charity ‘do’ wrestling

an intimacy and affinity
with nature for a complete stranger,
no mere passer-by

Oh, but light music enough

to stir a body to mimic spring flowers

in parks and gardens

swaying in a breeze, sending out

mixed messages
hard to read through the misting-up
of one beer glass
after another, hoping (finally) to be rid
of a closet sexuality

Alas, chased by a cacophony

of muffled sounds, making an escape

through French windows;

a mercy, could well have been

so embarrassing…

Better like this, on the edge of time

and personal space,
making-believe I'm in a better place,
no matter the loneliness

Safer, more anonymous

than ever here, outside everything

and (almost) everyone,

no copycat reflections demanding

I circulate, chat, or opt out,

although of what, exactly, unable

to (quite) articulate,

as aware of your presence behind me,

an opening of swing doors

Earth Mother, killing doubts
and fears, insisting no time for tears,
(get my act together)
deafening all mind-body-spirit

with pin-drop silences

as together (if not quite together yet)

we go where passionate kisses

like garden scents invite us to make love

 among moon craters

Copyright R. N. Taber. 2004; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Feeling for Moon Craters' in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004.]