In Love and War

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

“Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.“ - Carl Sandberg 

“The same spirits which make a white man drunk, make a black man drunk too.  Indeed, in this I can find proof of my identity with the Family of Man.” – Frederick Douglass

“We all carry inside us people who came before us.” – Liam Callanan

“[On speaking of family secrets:] I don’t know how you heal a wound and not let it get some air.”- Barbara Neely

“There’s always another story. There’s more than meets the eye.” – W. H. Auden

The poem below relates to  a friend's  complaining about an elderly maiden aunt’s dour disposition. “She has as much sensibility as a cadaver,” he would say. A few days after the same maiden aunt’s funeral some years ago, my friend visited me to share the contents of a bundle of letters found tucked away at the bottom of a trunk in the old lady’s attic. They inspired an insatiable interest in genealogy that led my friend, several years later, to track down and surrender the letters to the very love child to which they refer.

Now, I loved my maternal grandparents, but never thought of them as extraordinary in any way until my mother told me how her father had deserted the Royal Navy during the war and joined the army under another name. A family secret, indeed, only revealed when my parents decided to marry. Only then were they told that they were not only the offspring of old family friends, but also first cousins...

IN LOVE AND WAR

Clearing out the attic
after a maiden aunt’s funeral,
found a cardboard box,
tied with string, under a pile
of old newspapers,
a bunch of letters inside,
a war diary of sorts, glanced 
at one, soon reading on more attentively,
reworking my family history

Love letters, exchanged
between a dour, but near relation 
and Joe, an army private;
outpourings of passion and desire
addressing such fears
as have accompanied wars 
for centuries, all the tenderness 
and poetry of lovers among war’s horrors,
dreaming of kinder tomorrows

One letter revealed
a pregnancy, the language of love
excelling, shared hopes
shining through every war-torn page,
littered with crossings-out,
and underlines highly charged
with mixed feelings,
every heartbeat, a near-miss bomb exploding,
love’s defences notwithstanding

Later letters voiced
a birth and death, victims of war, 
messengers of love, hope 
and peace, meaningless to a mother
made to give up her daughter
to a better life than she could offer,
give mind-body-spirit
a fighting chance to discover Happy-ever-After
amongst the aftermath of war

Finally, a faded photo 
of a woman to whom her family
only rarely referred,
a family of which both she and I share
a past-present-future 
beyond a dusty death among archives
testifying to the lives 
of ill-fated lovers this mad, mad, mad world over,
Family of Man, deserving better

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022 

[Note: Useful UK) websites:  https://www.sog.org.uk (Society of Genealogists)   https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/history-and-heritage/london-metropolitan-archives  (London Metropolitan Archives]

Bits and Pieces

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

“For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.” -  Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Let us not look back in anger or forward in fear, but around in awareness.” – James Thurber

“Bitterness is kike cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns all clean.” Maya Angelou

“Where once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other, everything seems to widen the breach.” – Mary Elizabeth Braddon

“Nothing is as good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” – William Shakespeare

Now. kith and kin fall out all the time, often the closer for falling back in again. But something and someone has to give, at least try to put bits and pieces back where they belong. Easy enough, when everyone shares the same insight, but insight can become worn, even flawed if left in bits and pieces for too long. 

The old saying goes that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ – but like many old sayings, is little more than wishful thinking, depending on why the absences, whose hearts and just how much it matters to all concerned in terms of peace of mind.  Sometimes we don’t try hard enough to secure the latter, or our efforts are discouraged and/or misinterpreted. 

I guess, there’s more wisdom in old sayings than aspires to meet the eye or move the tongue, such as:  ‘There’s no point in crying over spilt milk,’ – but that, too, depends on where spilt, how much, and are we prepared to wipe it up ourselves of leave it to whom we assume responsible?

No easy answers, but if it’s a question we are asking of ourselves, the chances are we need to put our personal space to rights, one way or another, the sooner the better.

BITS AND PIECES

We parted long ago,
haven’t crossed paths for years,
you, assuming why
I fell so short of expectations,
making assumptions, always safer
than asking questions

Ask not, fear not
any answers that might close in
on certain home truths,
best avoided in case tempted
to look to closely at a you-me-us
left in bits and pieces

Blame me as much 
as you will, but it requires two
to dance a tango,
watching others wondering 
why we don't care to take the floor,
nothing there anymore?

Nothing comes of nothing, nor could,
but for asking why we never did

Copyright R. N. Taber 2022

Hello again from London UK

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

I posted the greater part of today's entry on my gay-interest poetry blog yesterday. A reader who is apparently a Catholic and estranged from his gay son wants to re-engage with him so has asked that I publish it here today as well..

Sorry, folks, no poem yet, but I am working on one.. I'm having to deal with a lot of health issues (not Covid-related) and once you hit mid 70's, there's less chance of coming out on top. 😉

A “new” reader, ‘E S’ asks why my Wikipedia entry describes me as a ‘gay poet’ as “...you appear to write mostly general poetry...”.

Excuse me for being a little confused here. Why should I not write general poetry because I am gay? Poetry is an Open House, anyone and everyone welcome who may be interested.

Regular readers will know that, from time to time, I post the same poem on both blogs. I would have preferred not to have two separate poetry blogs, but it seemed the more sensible thing to do at the time. Many gay readers are not ‘out’ to family and friends while using shared computers.

Yes, I have a gay poetry blog which would only be of interest to LGBT readers, although some diehard heterosexual family members seem to find it interesting, especially those who may be having difficulty coming to terms with a loved-one’s sexuality.  I started the gay poetry blog as much for them as for any LGBT person feeling trapped in the proverbial closet and made to feel ashamed of their sexuality... as I was, myself, from my early teenage years in the 1950’s until my early 30’s. Thankfully, attitudes have changed for the better since then, but there are still far too many people inclined to rush to judgement on another person’s sex life; the latter, of course, applies especially to those whose religion is interpreted as suggesting same sex relationships are a form of blasphemy. 

Given that there are LGBT folks around the world, from all walks of life (and religion) it isn't hard to imagine how hard it must be for some of us even in this s0-called 'progressive' 21st century of ours.

I have to say I don’t much like being referred to as a ‘gay poet’ and would prefer just to be known as a poet who also happens to be gay. While I am not ashamed of being gay, nor do I make a point of introducing myself as such. As and when appropriate, I will drop it into the conversation and my companion/s can make of it what they will. These days, most people express polite surprise followed by genuine interest; not always polite, though, needless to say...😉

While I am always happy to chat about what being gay has meant to me, personally, I would not presume to speak for anyone else, although my gay-specific poems are as much based on observing and talking to others about their experience of being gay as my own.

E. S. also asks if I have any regrets about being gay. Not now, no, although I cannot deny there were times in my younger years when I wished I was a ‘normal’ hotblooded heterosexual, if only to be free of the burden that being ‘closet’ imposed on me. Essentially, I was a coward, afraid to speak up for fear of... whatever. There was a lot of “queer-bashing” going on in those days and my schooldays were difficult enough without being subjected to any of that, either verbally or physically.

It took a nervous breakdown and subsequently re-reading several gay-interest novels and poems by famous authors I had discovered on library shelves and while exploring various bookshops, to give me the courage to tell the world I am gay and let them make of me what they will. Mind-body-spirit had been urging me to do just that for years, of course, but I had turned a deaf ear.

It wasn’t just cowardice on my part. There were tensions enough in my family, invariably and not always unjustifiably blamed on me. I was reluctant to add fuel to the flames if only for my mother’s sake; she would have taken it in her stride, but I doubt if that could have been said for my father and brother, not in those days anyway. Besides, it wasn’t the ‘done thing’ for boys and men to discuss their feelings then; sadly, it still isn’t for many. 😉

Finally, E. S. and others who have enjoyed past poems in the blog, I will be 77 years old this year and have been doing battle with prostate cancer, subsequent broken sleep and other health issues for some years now. Not least, the fact that I am sexually inactive these days doesn’t help to inspire gay or LGBT specific poems Even so, I will try and pull something out of the proverbial hat before too long. Meanwhile, please do explore the blog archives as I am sure you will find some poems there to enjoy.

Finally, many thanks to reader J. K. who has emailed to say that “I am a gay man and have enjoyed your gay blog in the past (my sister, too, who is also gay.) We have recently started dipping into your other poetry blog more now and enjoying many of the poems there...”

Take care folks, keep well, stay safe and let’s all do our best to nurture a positive thinking mindset, whatever life throws at us. 😉

Love ‘n’ Hugs,

Roger x

Hi, folks, from London UK

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

Hi folks,

A reader writes that he cannot get into the blog: "When I click on to a title, I just get HTML. 

I had the same problem when I first logged on to the blog this morning. It appears that Google have made changes. To access the blog on a pc or laptop, clicking on 'view blog' in the left hand corner, should bring up the post-poem in the usual way. Hopefully, this will solve the reader's problem. (At the bottom of the page, you will see ways of accessing the blog on a tablet or smartphone.)

Whatever, readers have to remember that I am in my mid-70's now and have difficulty using Internet technology these days. not least after years of hormone therapy for my prostate cancer; it plays merry hell with thought processes and memory to such an extent that I often feel as if my whole identity is gradually being eroded. 

Other readers with prostate cancer - and other health issues that they find increasingly difficult to rise above and get on with their lives - get in touch from time to time, mostly asking how I manage. Well, with difficulty, I have to say, especially as I also have to cope with several other health issues at the same time, as many of us do. I try to take it all in my stride, make the most of each day as it comes along, and hope for a good day. 

How do I cope with bad days? Again with difficulty, but finding ways of distracting myself from whatever part of me is playing up the worst... always helps. In the absence of a garden, writing up the blog, dusting off and watching a favourite DVD or tuning into a the next episode of  favourite TV series... all these things help, but only temporarily.  Seeing friends is the best therapy for lifting flagging spirits, which is, of course, one reason why the pandemic has been so hard to bear; being unable to see family and friends as often as we'd like, sometimes not at all.. 

Tragically, some of those closest to us have died during the  pandemic, so how do we cope? Yes, with great difficulty. It is hard enough on families who have lost loved-ones without being able to say goodbye, but no less tough, either, on those who live alone as I do. Fortunately, I remain in touch with my best friend and 'bubble partner' by phone and email, and we get to meet up from time to time. Some people, though, feel very isolated and lonely, especially some old people who are not Internet savvy and perhaps cannot hear well on the phone. Sadly, not all neighbours are good neighbours and some people find it increasingly hard to cope.

So let's all try and be good neighbours, yeah? And keep an eye on - better still befriend - any neighbours we suspect of struggling to get by on a daily basis, at any age, for whatever reason, especially in the big cities and certain suburbs, well-known to be less friendly or neighbourly than more rural areas.  (So we risk getting  the brush-off, so what?  That's their problem. At least we tried...)

My stomach is now telling me it's high time I got myself something to eat, and I never give my stomach the brush-off... 😉

Take care everyone and be sure to keep looking on the bright(er) side of life.

Back with a poem soon,

(Digital) Hugs,

Roger

Boy on a Rocking Horse

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

Todays poem first appeared on the blog in 2012; I recorded it on You Tube at the time:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0gU5W8OQ2I (direct link to Video)

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtabe (for my You  Tube channel)

‘Powerless Structures is the beautifully created figure of a boy on a rocking horse and was the latest art work to grace the 4^th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square.

The poem I have recorded over the video unfolded in my mind the more I considered what the sculpture meant to me personally. The rocking horse that stood by my bedroom window when I was just a boy provided an escape from the harsher realities with which, as a child, I was poorly equipped to cope. My imagination would let fly and take me into magical realms of fantasy, fairy tale and legend as regular readers of my blogs and/or collections know. .

Hopefully, video and poem complement each other in such a way that where the poem is a fairly personal take on the sculpture, the video leaves plenty of space for the viewer to bring his or her own take to this bronze figure of a boy on a rocking horse and latest art work to grace the 4th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square. 

In line with the existing iconography of the other statues in the square, the child is elevated to the status of a historical hero. However, where they acknowledge the heroism of the powerful, this work celebrates the heroism of growing up. The image of a young boy astride his rocking horse encourages observers to consider the less spectacular events in their lives, which are often the most important.

Danish artists Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset are widely reported as saying it was “up to the public to love it or hate it, but hopefully not ignore it."

Never ignored, that’s for sure.

BOY ON A ROCKING HORSE

Boy on a rocking horse,

rocking to and fro,

are you part of a happy family,

and do they love you so?

As a child in my bedroom,

I used to rock to and fro,

looking out of my window

at the garden below …

One day, at my window,

rocking to and fro,

a swallow settled on the sill

and said, ‘Hello.'

‘Don’t you ever get fed-up

just rocking to and fro

when there’s so much to see,

scores of places to go?’

‘There’s far, far, more to life

than rocking to and fro.

Fly with me and see the world,’

said the swallow.

If I had been happy enough

rocking to and fro,

now I longed to see the world

like the swallow

I became, oh, but so excited

that I rocked to and fro

so hard that, suddenly, I took off

through the window;

at first, flying was a terrific thrill

(after just rocking to and fro)

seeing how people, places, animals,

make up the world we know 

Then I recalled my little room

where I’d rock to and fro,

believing my folks would miss me

and how I loved them so.

‘Please, swallow, take me home

where I can  rock to and fro,

feel I belong, be part of a family

if only because I miss it all so.’

The swallow then took me home,

to just rock to and fro

by a window, looking on a garden

in a house (still) haunting me so

as any child who ever dreamed

while rocking to and fro

on a safe, friendly rocking horse

will, oh, but surely know

I know you, Boy on a Rocking Horse;

we met years ago, in a looking glass

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

Apprentice to Nature

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

Today's poem first appeared on the blog in 2016.

Since the Covid-19 coronavirus struck earlier this year, I have made many references to the fact that – especially as I live alone – writing up the blogs and working on a new collection of poems (albeit more slowly than I would like) has been a (very) welcome distraction and very therapeutic in the sense that it has saved me from getting too depressed and going into freefall. 

Several readers have emailed to say how attending to their gardens has worked for them in much the same way. I guess few activities beat actively participating in the growth of living things, whether it be a plant of a person. Me, I do not access to a garden, but look over one surrounded by trees, so can enjoy watching the birds and other life forces from my kitchen window.

One reader writes, “I live alone and do not have a garden, but I have a small dog and pot plants that help keep me sane. If I had to focus only on myself, I would be in dire straits by now …”

While the pandemic is a nightmare for everyone, dare I say it I so much worse for those people living alone are having to focus on themselves in the absence of much support from family and friends who may well not be able to visit; contact by telephone and/or video sessions help, but can make us feel so much worse once the sessions ends and the harsh reality of being alone attacks our senses with a vengeance. If ever there was a global need for

positive thinking, it is now as some countries like the UK emerge from lockdown while dreading a return of the coronavirus before a vaccine can be found.

My mother loved gardening. She saw herself as foster mother to the plants, flowers and wildlife she took under her wing. "It's much like bringing up a family," she once commented wryly, "they give far more pleasure for pleasure's own sake than by way of any compensating for what's best forgotten..."

Audrey Hepburn is often quoted as having said, 'To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.'

Now, I have always been a Hepburn fan, not least because I, too, discovered years ago that positive thinking will see us through just about any of the negatives life throws our way or puts in our heads; we just have to believe in tomorrow. (Did I say it was easy...?)

Stay strong, folk, and think positive.

This poem is a villanelle.

APPRENTICE TO NATURE

Proudly, much like a lover,

a flowering of its time like no other,

creating an evergreen border

Watching it grow, mature,

as per laissez-faire of Earth Mother;

proudly, much like a lover

Every second, minute, hour,

dreams to share in, store and nurture,

creating an evergreen border

Mixed emotions undercover

yet rising to every occasion (whatever)

proudly, much like a lover

A pupil-apprentice to nature,

the best part of any past-present-future,

creating an evergreen border

Humanity, common gardener,

marking the fruits of selfless endeavour;

proudly, much like a lover,

creating an evergreen border

Roger N. Taber 2016

[Note: If you ever want to contact me - rogertab@aol.com - please put 'Poetry' in the subject field or it will be ignored. All non-spam emails will receive a reply although there may be a short delay as I have various health problems at the moment.]

Engaging with Veterans OR Questions left Hanging on (Family) Trees

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

“We admit that we are like apes, but we seldom realise that we are apes.”

- Richard Dawkins, A Devil's Chaplain:Reflections on Hope, Lies, Science and Love

“To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.”
- Thomas Hardy, Under the Greenwood Tree

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."

- William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida

From my window, I can easily make out two trees, facing each other across a road; no imagination can fail to respond to nature, and mine is no exception. Among their leaves and branches, heads emerge closely resembling apes.

During the UK lock-down, I have engaged with these head shapes; as the wind blows, I is as if they are engaging in conversation and my muse frequently enjoyed listening-in. Could this be   because I live alone and missing social interaction with friends, I ask myself, or am I losing more than my share of marbles? We only have to read history books to discover that so many questions are left hanging … or listen in to tree apes.

ENGAGING WITH VETERANS or NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE, QUESTIONS LEFT HANGING ON (FAMILY) TREES

Something about certain shapes in our trees

against a lively backcloth of sky

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Life forces everywhere, aping personalities

not unfamiliar to the human eye;

something about certain shapes in our trees

Eyes, noses, mouths, courtesy of arty leaves

lends imagination a reality by and by,

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Earth Mother, mulling on human ingenuities

(among them, the bare faced lie);

something about certain shapes in our trees

Humankind, all but bringing nature to its knees,

whisperings in the wind’s weepy sigh,

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Enter, humanity obsessed with potential enemies

(more power to the elbow than any sky);

something about certain shapes in our trees

suggests a Planet of Apes lasting centuries?

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2020

Note: Composed May 1^st  during the UK  lockdown]

Helping Hands at Cliff Edges

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

Regular readers will know that I am having a hard time dealing with various health issues at the moment. No matter how aware and /or reminded we may be that there are many people out there a lot worse off than ourselves, it is small comfort in the circumstances and does little or nothing to ease our own distress. Selfish? Probably, yes, but I suspect it is human nature to see little further than our own problems from time to time.

I have often said that various forms of creative therapy can save us from going into free fall; the arts have a central role here, but so, too, do crafts, gardening etc. For me, of course, it has to be poetry, and – for better or worse (for the reader, that is) – I practise what a preach. 

We all know, and it goes without saying (doesn't it?) that, in the absence of Apollo, and as someone’s family member, friend or neighbour we all have a supporting role to play from time to time in their lives … well, don’t we?

HELPING HANDS AT CLIFF EDGES

Hanging on,

wanting, needing to let go

but for old habits

kicking in where life instinct

ever made itself heard

even to deaf ears, mind-body-spirit

older than its years,

risen above its tears for fears

of living nightmares,

fingertips clinging to cliff edges

above an indifferent sea

Hanging on,

wanting, needing to let go

but for happy times

in the company of loved ones

haunting me;

cinema of mind-body-spirit providing

private viewing

intended to kill tears for fears

of living nightmares,

lend fingertips at this cliff edge

a helping hand

Hanging on,

wanting, needing to let go

though an old stand-by

making its presence felt yet again,

climbing up my spine;

no nasty creepy crawly thing, this,

but bent on killing off

tears for fears of living nightmares

with positive thoughts,

lend fingertips at any cliff edge

a helping hand 

Hanging on,

wind turning southerly now,

as if anxious to prove

a kindness exists beyond any stormy gusts

as buffeted me here,

reminding me that hope springs eternal

and love never dies

in a mind-body-spirit up for more

than alien sentiments

bent on sending it to The Edge

ever bargain for

Safe, if shaken,

but still on dry land for taking

Apollo’s helping hand,

up for a marriage of mind-body-spirit

with a past-present-future

acknowledging errors, working on any flaws

of (human) nature,

taking heart in playing its part

(however small)

in keeping a kinder perspective,

resist free fall

Copyright R.N. Taber, 2020

Friendship, Life Force OR Reciprocity, a Shared (Personal) Space

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

Many people seem to take love and friendship - including family relationships - for granted, always expecting the other person to keep in touch. As I grow old, I find I have less patience with this attitude. (I will be 75 this year.) 

I have nothing in common with any surviving members of my family; there is no point in pretending otherwise, and I simply don't go along with the idea that 'family is family', whatever it takes. On the other hand, we actively seek out, select and bond with friends so it can be hurtful when they appear to care less about us than we do about them. (Could we have been reading the wrong signals from the start? Invariably, not...)

I care about my friends and they care about me, but a no significant few always wait for me to phone, email,  or suggest meeting up and/or going somewhere. A friend may be ill, and if there is any reason I cannot visit, I will always try to keep in touch and offer at least moral support if no other. Personal experience has taught me just how much a phone call (especially) or text, email, a card even...just knowing someone is thinking of you and wishing you well can uplift the worst of flagging spirits. Sometimes, though, what two people see as a potential friendship doesn't quite have what it takes, and whether it becomes lopsided (one-sided?) or simply drifts into the mists of time, we have to be philosophical about it.  A meaningful friendship, however, will always last if only because those concerned make time to communicate and iron out any problems or misunderstandings that may well arise along the way. 

Any friendship worth having is always worth trying to save, and if both parties are of the same mind, saved it will invariably be... so long, that is, as someone is prepared to make the first move. Alas, otherwise, all may well go pear-shaped.

Oh, but friends are only human, and we all live busy lives. Even so…a little thought really does go a long way. Could it be that someone is dialling my number right now?  (Oh, what the heck? Reaching for the phone...)

This poem is a kenning.

FRIENDSHIP, LIFE FORCE or RECIPROCITY,  A SHARED (PERSONAL) SPACE

I am the tear that lingers on the eye,

as peers through the mirror of its days,

and cares not for all it sees,

blots out dark clouds and acid rain,

settles joy once again

on a heart gladly given to another

in happier times

freely embracing me for its sharing, 

and (like love) enduring 

I am the tear that lingers on the cheek

having expected to receive dawn’s kisses,

but left smarting instead

from a slap by the cold light of day

in return for deeds played out

with best intentions but resulting

in such livid recriminations

as give rise to altercation that defies

either logic or justification

I am the smile that lingers on the lips

after apologies gladly accepted, if rather

late in the day, but better by far

than stubbornly corroding a mind,

anxious to recover all it has lost

if never appreciated till certain fingers 

reaching for the phone

hesitate to dial my number, and my life

risks going pear-shaped

No less certain than dawn to rise or sunsets dip,

the language of love and friendship

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012, rev. 2020

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'No Appetite for Pears' in Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Messaging Christmas Day

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

This entry is from my gay-interest poetry blog archives for Christmas Day 2014.

Now, whether you celebrate religious festivals like Christmas or not, alone or with family and friends…may the most important wishes on your wish list will come true.

Yes, this poem is another villanelle.  As regular readers will know, I love villanelles and have written nearly 200. Readers have asked if they are available in a collection but the answer is, no. I have approached a few poetry publishers but none were interested, partly because villanelles are considered old fashioned in poetry circles these days and partly because some are on a gay theme. 

I suspect you would be surprised how many poetry publishers and magazine editors won’t accept gay material ... yes, even in the 21st century.  Some 600+ of my poems have appeared in various poetry publications world-wide since 1993 (excluding any that have only appeared in my collections) yet barely 2% of those have been on a gay theme. 

Let’s hope next year will not only be the year the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority grow up and get real about gay boys and girls, men and women…whatever their socio-cultural-religious background...but also a few poetry publishers/editors too.

MESSAGING CHRISTMAS DAY

What else is there left to say
but to wish peace and love to all,
in messaging Christmas Day?

May lonely people find a way
out of free falling in a Black Hole;
what else is there left to say?

Listen to the homeless as they
may well be making Hope's last call
in messaging Christmas Day

May the world, its fears allay
that a War on Terror not see it fall;
what else is there left to say?

Let peace-and-love have its say,
wake the world with its rallying call
in messaging Christmas Day

May young and old ever say 'nay'
to denying Human Rights a lead role;
what else is there left to say,
in messaging Christmas Day?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009; Rev. 2018

A Christmas Blessing

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

Here's a Christmas poem/post from my gay-interest poetry archives for December 2010.

A reader has emailed to say I should not post Christmas poems because I am not a Christian. Indeed, I do not subscribe to any religion, yet I enjoy  a strong sense of spirituality that I take from nature; religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality. The human spirit is innate; what we do with it is down to us, our responsibility, no one else's. Moreover, I accept that Jesus of Nazareth was an historical figure, and his message of love and peace sets an example we would all do well to follow as best we can within the complex confines of human nature and certain self-perpetuating nemeses such as prejudice and hypocrisy, to name but two...

People often make wrong assumptions about older folks. [I’m getting on a bit now and people seem surprised that I can use a computer!] I will never forget how, some years ago, an elderly couple in their 80's were very kind to me when I was the victim of a homophobic attack; they were devoutly religious and knew I was gay but all that mattered to them that I needed help.

The point of this poem has little or nothing to do with Christmas, and was inspired by a true story told me by a friend some years ago. These days, many people’s attitudes have changed…but not all. In some countries, even here in the West, there are gay men and women too frightened to be openly gay for all sorts of reasons. Yes, I know I have said this many times before. But as my late mother used to say, if a thing is worth saying, it’s always worth repeating.

Those of us whose family, friends, school friends and workmates help us feel relaxed about being ‘out’ should not be complacent or assume it is the same for everyone. It is probably hardest for gay boys and girls still at school. I well remember the torment of having to come to terms with being gay on top of all the usual teenage angst, and sometimes wonder how on earth I managed to survive to adulthood at all!

Some ignorant people will always try to give gay folks a hard time. For my own part, I always like to point out that’s their problem, not mine. [That usually shuts them up.]

Yes, tragically, homophobia is alive and kicking. So whatever happened to Peace on Earth and Goodwill to all humankind? Nor is it just Christmas but other religious festivals, too, that are found wanting. Religion may well be about faith, ritual and prayer. But what is all that really worth if it loses sight of its humanity?

A CHRISTMAS BLESSING

They said it didn’t matter I’m gay,
seemed glad for me when I found you,
accepted us as a couple, for who
and what we are - and we were happy;
days, months, passed and nothing
happened to spoil our idyll although
as autumn slipped into winter
we noticed a subtle change in people
as hearts and minds began to focus
on Christmas – or did I only imagine
they looked away? I knew better
but put my faith in love to win the day

Suddenly, it seemed everyone was asking
everyone else what they had in mind
for Christmas except us, no one meaning
to be unkind, of course, but assuming
'that sort' would not expect an invitation
to any family celebration

Whenever we would venture to suggest
this or that, all we’d hear was,
‘Oh, we’d love to have you, of course
but, sorry, a full house this year;
Besides, you know how some old people
feel about gays and we don’t want
to spoil grandma’s Christmas do we?’
(said most sincerely.) So we anticipated
a quiet, loving time, just the two of us
till, days before Christmas, a phone call
from your grandmother just to say
she was looking forward to seeing you

‘Oh, and your partner too, of course.
Sadly, it was all very different in my day;
few people then found the courage
to walk tall, heads high, and openly gay.
You are truly blessed, for what it's worth
(as much to us as Peace on Earth)

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2010

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

Ghost in the Mirror or A Rage to Live

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

This poem first appeared on my gay-interest poetry in March 2015.

For any gay person who feels, for whatever reason, that he or she cannot be openly gay, it is a terrible lie to live and burden to carry whatever their socio-cultural-religious environment. I lived that lie for years as a youth and young man (I am in my 79's now); it not only saddens but also horrifies me that in this 21st century there are still gay boys and girls, men and women worldwide, who feel they cannot be openly gay but must give the appearance of being heterosexual. Those responsible, whether within family and/or religious and/or cultural circles should hang their heads in shame for their intolerance and inhumanity. 

Lies, like ghosts, are inclined to haunt us, but not necessarily in a bad way; they can, in truth, drive us towards a kinder reality or at least one likely to invest the inner self with greater integrity than any so-called ‘reality’ we may have been led to believe (for whatever reason) is all there is…

Reality for the human being comprises a multitude of differences; differences that make people not different, just human, and deserving of respect for their humanity regardless of colour, creed, sex or sexuality. If we cannot respect each other’s differences, what chance of finding common ground on which to build a worthwhile relationship as a family member, friend, lover, colleague or whatever...?

The young, closet man I once was would confront lies in mirrors  and shop windows daily. ashamed that I hadn't the strength of character to look the world in the eye. Among the lies, though, were greater truths such as passed on by generations of LGBT people working against intolerable odds to create a better, kinder world for the likes of me; it was for them as much as for myself that in 1985 I flung the closet door wide open (rather than toe it occasionally ajar) at the ripe old age of 40. Even now, though, I sometimes see that tormented closet self in the eyes of passers-by, fellow passengers on a bus or train...and am truly thankful to be free.

GHOST IN THE MIRROR or A RAGE TO LIVE

I told myself a lie,
lived that lie for years
till (inevitably?)
a day came I broke down
in tears,
and through my tears
I watched the lie
come for me out of a mist
like a ghost

The ghost revealed
the lie had run its course
till (inevitably?)
it was breaking me down
in pieces,
and among the pieces
I caught glimpses
of consequences slowly
killing me

Pieces all in place,
I saw the bigger picture
that (in spite of me)
had haunted my other self
for years
as through the years
I had given fiction priority
over reality

Reality, taking pride
of place, if better late
than never..
casting off excuses made
for years
bout wanting to spare
family and friends any tears
over me

I admitted the lie,
I‘d hid behind for years
and (inevitably?)
a day came I broke down
in tears,
and through my tears
I walked free,
embracing truth, world,
and sexuality

The ghost, it stayed,
a reminder of those years
and (inevitably?)
it rages now and then
in my ears
how it was until (finally)
I found a way
to hold my head high
for being gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Family Ties

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

This poem is from my gay-interest poetry blog archives for August 2009.

A reader asks why I should encourage people to dip into both blogs on the grounds that "What straight person would be interested in a load of homoerotic poetry?" Yes, there are some poems there that might be considered mildly homoerotic, but I started the blog for two reasons: (1) to encourage  any gay people to feel good about themselves wherever they feel put down by those in the home and/or socio-cultural- religious environment simply for their sexuality and (2) to educate those who insist on putting us down for our sexuality into a better understanding of the whole LGBT ethos and how misleading stereotypes give a false impression of what it means to be gay to a gay person. I have said it many times on the blogs and will say it again; we are all part of a common humanity, and the keyword should be mutual respect.

Whatever happened to respect, I ask you! A person only has to adopt a different point of view these days to be verbally and/or physically abused. World religions preach love and peace, but many religious people are disrespectful to anyone who follows a different religion or (like me) subscribes to no religion at all.

A cleric once said to me that family is at the heart if any religion. "religion is a family," he said, "and we should love and respect one another as we would our immediate family." yet I have met numerous gay men and women  disowned and cast out by both their immediate and religious 'families'; if that isn't a 'sin', it is an attitude or dogma that deserves less respect than any LGBT ethos. Fortunately there are many religious (and other) people in this world who have open hearts, open minds and will take anyone as they find them without rushing to judgement; sadly, these are relatively few. My gay-interest blog targets such bigots among us as well as LGBT readers.

Now, regular readers will already have some idea how my father was jealous of anyone who - as he saw it - came between him and my mother. That included his children. It was one reason he and I had an appalling relationship from my early childhood into adulthood that never improved.

My mother fretted about my relationship with my father. In latter years, she told me not to tell my father or brother I was gay as it would only make things worse. [If they guessed, I daresay I will never know as my father died in 1985 and my brother and I have been estranged since that year also]. We were never a close family although my mother liked to think so.

My mother’s anxiety regarding my sexuality dragged on my nerves and conscience for years. It was not until a few years after her death (in 1976 ) that I finally came out as a gay man and stayed out (I had been selectively in and out, here and there like a jack-in-the-box for years).

Much as I still miss my mother - a remarkable woman in many ways and to whom I was very close - it was (and still is) a good feeling to be free of all that parental angst. I have always envied families who are close and where, in spite of whatever differences individual members might have with each other, mutual love and respect will always win through.

Most parents want the best for their children but should remember and respect the fact that their children might have different ideas as to what is best for them.

It is a wise parent who will let a child find his or her own way in life while letting them know their love is unconditional. They should not impose their own desires and/ or go the way of emotional blackmail as many do. Parents should be role models and mentors, not jailers (intentionally or otherwise). The latter is nothing less than a form of mental cruelty…from which the scars are slow to heal and some never do.

Family ties should be a joy, not a ball and chain.

This poem is a villanelle.

FAMILY TIES

How I long to be free
(in a world usurping Nature's crown)
of maternal anxiety

And I would assuage paternity
though not for me, ambition's clown.
How I long to be free!

I seek good company
to lift the heart, ease the kindly frown
of maternal anxiety.

A gay inspiration fills me
(or in paternal conflict, surely drown)
How I long to be free!

Father, will you walk with me?
Any jealousy (just for once) no clone
of maternal anxiety…

What matter, the stains of history
on a much cherished christening gown?
How I long to be free
of maternal anxiety...

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2000; 2018

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised (5th stanza) since first appearing in Love And Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000; poetic licence with the use of 'clone'.]

Where Freedom Keeps its Word

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

Today's poem first appeared on my gay-interest blog in June 2012; anyone interested in the original post is welcome to visit that blog's archives (listed on the right hand side of any blog page.)

Same sex marriage is about to be legalised in Northern Ireland, having lagged behind the rest of the UK for about 5 years. Catholics will not be happy, but surely Freedom of Choice should be every person's right?Similarly abortion in N. I. is being be decriminalised; it is every woman's right to know and choose what is best for her own body. The Democratic Unionist Party (D.U.P) have maintained throughout the shambolic Brexit debate in Parliament that nothing should be signed up to that makes N. I. different to the UK, but there have been differences for years.

Family should provide sanctuary for all of us, but this is not always the case. Love should not be a hiding place from family and friends, but something we are proud to share with them.  Nor does being unable to enter into such pride mean being ashamed; too often, it simply means being scared and/or unwilling to light a slow-burning fuse of confrontation that can only end in tears and worse.

I well recall how, years ago when anti-gay legislation here kept me in a cold, dark, closet; a love far removed from any feelings for family and friends was the only sanctuary on hand. Gay or straight, if we choose a partner of whom our families disapprove - for whatever reason - it can and does cause so much heartbreak for everyone concerned. We may well disapprove of another's choice, that is our prerogative, but it is really none of our business so we can at least respect it and do our best to be reconciled to it...surely? If we don't, can't or won't...that says more about us than anyone with whom we might take issue on...whatever.

Half a century on, I am estranged from my remaining family and have very different friends. It isn't a question of playing any blame game either, just the way it is. In some parts of this mad, mad world of ours, little has changed as far as LGBT rights are concerned; in law, yes, but while there may be  legislation for bad attitude, certain prejudices and hate crimes -  among them, homophobia and racism - remain alive and kicking even in so-called 'civilised' countries.

WHERE FREEDOM KEEPS ITS WORD

We’d hide in craters of the moon

so no one would see our tears,

make love in craters of the moon

where no one could hurt us;
what eyes can't see, hearts less likely
to fret over

We’d surf the Milky Way on stars

empathising with our history,

welcomed by old gods and heroes

who had seen it all before,
saddened to see so much of humanity
as divided as ever

We’d come to Earth now and then

but found no comfort there,

humanity (still) refusing to engage

positively with its prejudices lest it lose
the argument

The day came, we quit the sanctuary

of night skies for high noon,

let the world know all we’d learned

from old gods and heroes, let ourselves
be seen and heard

Reassured by Apollo’s ready smile,

we showed the world our tears,

shared secrets about moon craters

where none could hurt us but in our own
hearts and minds

Be sure, time will return us to space,

where Freedom keeps its word;

humanity (still) refusing to engage

positively with its prejudices lest it lose
the argument

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010