In the Blood

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

 

Today’s poem-post first appeared on the blog in 2016; it has since been (slightly) revised and given a new title.

 

What do you do if you’re gay and belong to a culture that is intrinsically homophobic?  This poem is based on a heart-warming conversation I once had with a gay Muslim man and his straight boyhood friend.

 

It is good to know that platonic love is still alive and kicking even in the face of the kind of socio-cultural-religious homophobia that has plagued us for centuries, and will continue to do so until LGBT issues are discussed in the classroom, opinions invited, compared and subsequently taken on board so that young people grow up familiar with the ultimate Fact of Life in so far as our differences do not make us different, only human; like it or not, we are all part of a common humanity and there  is no excuse for prejudice. As for those who object to their children having an all-round education on any socio-cultural-religious grounds, children are not fools nor do they deserve to be treated as such; better, surely, that they learn to respect human differences than be spoon fed bigotry and hate?

 

Yes, of course it matters what people think of us, but what matters far more is what we think of ourselves. Whatever our religious or non-religious views, we only have one life as we know it now, and it is our life no one else's.  Is it really so selfish to live it the way we want to live it, especially when love is our guiding light...and loving one person doesn't mean we need to leave anyone else behind... unless their take on love happens to be set in tablets of stone, in which case, so be it, their choice.

 

Many gay people are raised (as I was) to think the worst of the whole LGBT ethos so when they begin to personally relate to that same ethos themselves, they experience a crisis of conscience,never easy to deal with, and some of us never do. I did, but not after some very painful times with family and (some) friends. It took a nervous breakdown in my early 30's before I found the self-confidence to trust my own instincts and hold my head high for being gay. To my shame and regret, I even rejected a good friend for being gay during those early, fearful years. In my 70's now, I have tried to compensate for being such a coward then, but my closet days, they haunt me still.

 

No one chooses an LGBT orientation; we identify with it or we don't. Either way, the choice lies in what (if anything) we do about it.  Those who continue to oppose and demonstrate against LGBT issues amongst others on any school curriculum need to ask themselves if anyone has the right to deny anyone else the right to be themselves... and give due consideration to what Education is all about.

 

G-A-Y, IN THE BLOOD 

 

Out walking in the park,

saw someone who looked like you

pause to watch clouds drift by

like fluffy bits of snow, nowhere

to go and nothing better to do

than haunt us with memories, good

bad, happy, sad, and needing

to be saved to a desktop or lost

in that system commonly known

as the human condition

 

Out walking in the park,

someone who looked just like me

came right up to a friend,

wanting to know where he stood

on life, love, humanity,

‘taboo stuff’ like sexual identity…

and why shun a best mate

for being true to conscience,

before socio-cultural-religious ideas

that put people in boxes?

 

Out walking in the park,

someone who looked just like me

spoke up for being gay,

could understand concerns

about gossip and guilt

by association (yes, only too well)

but still had no regrets

about telling everyone his secret

about being buried alive in a closet,

body, mind and spirit

 

Out walking in the park,

on a day when a hostile gathering

of clouds were never inclined

to take my side, I failed miserably

in helping you come to terms

with my world, the likes of which

someone just like you

could not see was but an extension

of the friendship we had both known

since we were children

 

What happened, I wondered

to the best friend I'd looked up to

and adored for years,

as my eyes misted over with tears

for times shared, innocence lost,

doubting (then) he'd ever understand,

sharing his visible pain already,

a hard rain falling as if to obliterate

any tears as we went our separate ways

into the same sad world?

 

Out walking in the park,

saw someone who looked like you

pause to watch clouds drift by

like fluffy bits of snow, nowhere

to go and nothing better to do

than haunt us with memories, good

bad, happy, sad, and saved

to the desktop for posterity or deleted

by socio-cultural-religious interpretations

of what passes for humanity

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 2020

 

[Note: The title is taken from an interview given by James Baldwin to mark the 15th anniversary of Stonewall; it is about being gay in America, but sadly still rings true among families/ communities worldwide: https://www.villagevoice.com/2018/06/22/james-baldwin-on-being-gay-in-america/ ]

A Gamesman's (live-in) Apprentice

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

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

Here in England, the hospitality industry will be open for business again from tomorrow. Have fun, everyone, but be careful out there because the Covid-19 coronavirus has not gone away. 

I have met many people who feel their past is somehow preventing them for having a future, be it a criminal record, a history of mental illness, or quite simply an honest mistake that had unforeseen consequences of the worst kind. Having suffered a BAD nervous breakdown in my early 30’s - among other examples of social mud inclined to stick, not least my being gay - I know only too well where they are coming from.

However, I don’t believe in good luck, bad luck or… whatever. We make our own , and where good people come forward to help, there has to be something within us as well as within them to make them want to help...or not, as the case may be.

When things go wrong, whether or not through any fault of our own, we invariably need help to get back on our feet, take a positive perspective, make amends for our mistakes as far as amends may be possible, get real rather than feeling sorry for ourselves and abdicating responsibility for our future to a world that appears to ‘have it in’ for us. 

True, help is not always on hand or if it is it's not always obvious; more often than not, we have to seek it out and want to seek it out. No, not an easy task, but always well worth the effort.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”  - William Shakespeare

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This poem is a villanelle.

 A GAMESMAN'S (LIVE-IN) APPRENTICE

M-E spells how it is, and likely always will be,

the past ever catching out what its future brings,

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny'

I love to act judge-jury over tea and sympathy,

reluctant to concede any conscience’s redeeming;

M-E spells how it is, and likely always will be

Once the past a prison, all hope of breaking free,

but a dream for one who, (upon a rude awakening)

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny

Bad-done-good often thought beyond the ability

of even the creative mind’s more positive thinking;

(M-E spells how it is,and likely always will be?) 

Learning from our mistakes rarely comes easily,

where he or she who sets gossip tongues wagging

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny

Call human nature a fickle creature for essentially

choosing to feed (or not) on a rare bent for forgiving;

M-E spells how it is, and likely always will be,

apprenticed out to a gamesman called 'Destiny'

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016; 2020

Mind-Body-Spirit, Learning Curve

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

A slightly different version of today’s poem first appeared in an anthology, The Scene is Set, Poetry Now (Forward Press) 2002, CC&D Scars Publications, U.S.) the same year, and subsequently in my collection; it also appeared in Ygdrasil, a Journal of the Poetic Arts (an on-line monthly webzine) in 2005.

I spent many years working as a librarian in public libraries. Young people would come in to do their homework and I would ask them how they were getting on at school. Their responses would vary from politely indifferent to openly hostile towards the school environment as they saw it. I would nod, smile, and try to sound encouraging. It was hostility, though, that would invariably trigger memories of my own schooldays when homework would inevitably get me thinking about matters other than what I needed to be getting on with for school the next day.

Homework taxes the brain and sends all kinds of messages into the mind, not all of which are directly relevant to the matter in hand; a stressful process, yet curiously liberating. It isn’t healthy to close our minds to what is going on (at any age) either in the world at large or, more importantly, within ourselves.

I used to wonder sometimes if teachers and parents understand how scary homework sessions can be. It would strike me that few do or they would be helping us answer more questions about life and human nature than any regular hypothesis considered suitable (by whom, I used to ask myself?) for homework.

Among my teachers at junior and secondary schools, there were a few who taught me more than a relatively narrow curriculum allowed. I may not have been able to articulate on this particular learning process for years, but especially as a teenager - it sowed seeds of thought embracing mind, body and spirit that I sensed required nurture. By way of their many throw-away comments and occasional voiced opinions about all sorts, I accessed aspects of philosophy of which I would otherwise have been left ignorant, helping me to develop an affinity with various life forces providing lasting food for thought that has influenced, guided, helped and supported me through good times and bad all my life.

While all the rest made me feel much like a caged bird anxious to be free, this was a real learning curve, one which university would expand upon and help clarify way beyond the relatively limited scope of academia, truly an education for life…one which, of course, never ends.

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, LEARNING CURVE

Photos by the bed,
posters on the wall, press cuttings
on a chair likely to hit the floor
if someone opens the door,
so the door stays shut,
while anxious faces (rightly) debate
prejudices, pollution,
nature conservation, education,
immigration, religion,
traffic congestion, political correctness,
safer sex, drugs, always having
to stay alert or be put down
by a clamour of everyday voices
kicking what passes
for an agenda for life (theirs, not ours)
like a football on a field
of play according to whatever rules,
conventions or dogma
happens to be match of the day,
conscience scoring an own goal as often
as not, but keeps quiet

So many questions, few answers, lies,
half lies, part truths,
and home truths like moths flummoxed
by a light bulb

Please, someone,
open the door (not meant to stay shut)
and let us out
to have our say, play our part,
prove the world
has a heart, beating behind closed doors
because children are meant
to be seen not heard
and teenagers don't have a clue
even though they always think they do.
(Oh, and says who...?)
Everyone has a voice, deserves an ear,
put right if wrong,
always up for discussion if only
to understand  the need
for whomsoever to understand the what
and the why, who's likely
to gain and who's as likely to lose
in games grown-ups 'betters'
so love to play ostensibly to save us
from ourselves

So who's kidding who, we would all
so love to ask and be told,
if we could but bring our classroom voices
to the outside world?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2018

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'Homework' in First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002.]

Mentor for a Learning Curve

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

Several readers have emailed to ask why I do not use social media to promote my poetry. Well, I no longer use social media because I got fed-up with stupid trolls taking up my digital (and personal) space.

One reader asks if it is because I fear criticism. On the contrary, I thrive on genuine criticism, for better, for worse. Similarly, I do not publish comments on the blog although I read them all and will reply if readers include an email address.

I am 73 now (since the winter solstice) and have known better days, but always looking on the bright side of life. Even so, I don’t socialise much now so enjoy exchanging emails all the more as it helps me feel in touch with the world beyond my own four walls. (Spammers beware, though, as I have learned the hard way to spot whether or not an email is genuine …)

MENTOR FOR A LEARNING CURVE

I will take your hand

through good times and bad,

help dry your tears

come happy days and sad,

lend a shoulder whenever the need

never knowingly intrude

You have my ear

should you ever want to offload,

confide any fears,

or doubts about which road

to take whenever the way ahead a blur,

mind-body-spirit unsure

I but ask for your trust

whenever needs must we share

the consequences

of doing this, going there,

as advised against by family and friends,

conscience justifying ends

Let us reason with any need

so confronting the human mind

that the human heart

feeds on desires of a kind

it once thought well and truly risen above

if never (quite) left behind

I am Discernment, come to teach you how

to best grapple with any Here-and-Now

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Witness for the Prosecution

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

This is a poem about the darker side of London. Tragically, it could equally apply to just about any major city or large town in the world where we pause and look around sometimes, despair, and demand not only answers but also action.

Glossy tourist brochures may like to pretend otherwise, but most places, like most people, have a dark side. Perhaps we should open our eyes to it more often?  Yes, we should enjoy exploring these places. London and other great cities across the world have much to offer the discerning visitor. At the same time, is not forewarned, forearmed...?

WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION

I’ve seen all ages on a city's streets
beg coins for bus fares or worse,
even steal a blind woman’s purse,
mock a one-legged man’s affliction
then yell “Persecution!” at passing
coppers for trying to do their duty
by some council estate community
suffering daily from the traumas
of kids without conscience, let alone
good manners (fat chance!) bent
on leading the locals a rare dance,
skipping school, drinking, smoking
this ‘n’ that, setting themselves up
as victims of society once caught out,
 all the more pitiable for having slipped
through Propriety’s safety net

No matter ethnicity, gender or creed,
this new breed of street urchin
whose familiarity with Human Rights
racism and other discrimination
would be admirable but for their using it
(more often than not) to turn tables
on any decent citizen resolved to support
law, order, and everyday commonsense,
though as likely to receive rough justice
from the law courts as back streets…
Knives - and guns - not unfamiliar sights
so no wonder fewer of us willing to say
what we may well have  heard or seen out
of fear for family and friends being made
to pay, no hold barred where any criminality
pitted against social responsibility

Oh, and what do the mayors and PM make
of all this? Oh, plenty to say, a limitless
supply of token gestures as we city dwellers
grow ever more anxious for answers

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[This poem has been slightly revised from the original version as it appears under the title 'Witness for the Prosecution' in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]

Predator, Invisible Enemy

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

It being National HIV Testing Week, it seemed a good idea to drop by with this poem from my gay-interest blog archives for March 2013...

Gay or straight, there is no room for complacency regarding HIV-AIDS. We all owe it to ourselves and any potential sex partners to be responsible about sex and use a condom.

It might help if HIV-AIDS were not still something of a taboo subject with many people...

Education has to be the key to raise HIV-AIDS Awareness, in which context I wholeheartedly support organisations like DAMSET whose volunteers created a mural for people who have died of AIDS across Dorset; it involved going into schools and talking about HIV-AIDS. The tiles on the mural were designed by schoolchildren.

I would love to see similar projects worldwide:

http://damset.co.uk

[See also:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKzi9VRjuq0 on my You Tube channel OR search for 'Autobiography of a Beach' on the blog where the video accompanying it is also available.)

PREDATOR, INVISIBLE ENEMY

I have no need to look far for prey,

just follow footprints in the clay

where careless minds feed on a heat

in the blood as if it were for water,

rice or bread, answer to an everyday

need; no problem for a seasoned

tracker such as I, descending upon

bodies nursing what surely has to be

the world’s worst inhumanity

Unable to tell where my axe will fall,

some convince themselves I am

no real threat at all, rather something

akin to a bogeyman, hardly a figment

of the imagination but best consigned

to a cosy corner of a mind less likely

consider why so many get so careless

in the first place. Besides, who wants

to look a bogeyman in the face?

Men, women and children cannot run

from me unless privy to such ways

of the world even I cannot pin down,

kill slowly or, for a while at least,

subject to slavery; every act, thought,

bought with their sweat and tears,

save for those who have the measure

of my intention and can readily access

the means of best protection

In the blood, tracking footprints any size,

I, the predator, who am HIV-AIDS

[From: On The Battlefields Of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Inside-Out

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

This poem appeared on my gay-interest blog in September, and I have been asked by a teenage reader (not out to family and friends) to post it here as well.

Every now and then, a young person emails me to say they are gay, in their teens, and have no idea what to do or where to turn. Many are convinced parents and peers will turn against them. Believe me you are not alone. When I think back to when I was 14 years old and realised I am gay, the whole closet ethos threatens to overwhelm me all over again.

In many areas, in many countries, there are support groups that did not exist when I was a teenager in the 1960's; search the Internet and try and make contact as this will enable you to meet other young people in the same situation. As for parents and peers, they may well surprise you, they may even  have observed for themselves that you might be gay and have been waiting for you to talk to them about it, not wanting to raise the subject themselves for fear of being mistaken; if not, yes, they may be hostile at first, but this could be an initial shock reaction. Remember how long it took you to come to terms with being gay and allow them,too, time to get used to the idea.

Never underestimate the power of love and friendship.

Sometimes, of course, family and friends refuse to accept gay people, even within their own family circles. This degree of rejection is incredibly hard to bear, but we need to build on the same strength of willpower and character that brought us out of that awful closet in the first place. Believe me, there is a life to be had and enjoyed out there, and there are many good people who gladly take others as they find them whether they be gay, straight, transgender...whatever. We are stereotyped by many, and it is often the stereotype that is vilified, not the person. Whatever, it is we LGBT folks who are so often made to suffer for that ignorance and bigotry.

To LGBT people around the world, I say this. Never, but never let anyone else put you down or make you think any less of yourself for your sexuality. Where staying in the proverbial closet is necessary, for now at least, confide in someone you can trust wherever possible; this may be a close relative, friend or perhaps a teacher less likely to be judgemental than most. Failing that, and failing the availability of any known support groups in your area, be guided by your better instincts and plain common sense until such a time as you can see your way clear to put closet days behind you once and for all, as I did, although, in hindsight, I should have done so years earlier.

No escape from the closet, for whatever reason?  There is an LGBT grapevine in every environment, so keep an ear out for it if only because a closet shared is a crisis halved. I was a psychological mess for years, but listening out for the grapevine and being part of a closet community probably saved my sanity while I wrestled with all the other issues - good,bad and ugly - with which life tests us at any age, but especially when we are young, emotionally inexperienced, and so often made to feel out of our depth.

INSIDE-OUT

His finger brushes mine
across the desk we share in class
and I can feel his gaze
on me out of the corner of an eye
but cannot, dare not
meet it, for fear someone might see us
and guess the turmoil in me

Can it be that he's gay
this classmate I'd joke with about
all sorts, and our laughter
would spread right through me
like fizzy lemonade
on a hot day, its bubbles applauding us
as we sail through the air?

Can it be that I'm gay too,
but how do I know, and what to do
if his finger means business
and he wants to take our friendship
beyond such felt horizons
as assailing  bleary, but half closed eyes
come some know-it-all dawn?

Barely attending the lesson,
the farthest corners of our eyes engage,
attempting to read between lines
blurred by mixed feelings for years,
given our having been raised
to believe one step beyond male bonding
a step too far, the Devil's work

I look away, and so does he,
eyes wide shut, if seeming to look ahead
at our teacher, her lips moving
but any sound coming out drowning
in a sea of intimate images,
and such cries as could easily be of ecstasy
as for help from poor swimmers

Final bell, school's out, mates
on the way home, chatting about nothing
in particular if only to steer clear
of all we need to coax out into the open
from a suffocating closet,
too close for comfort, too real for fantasy
feeding on a vulnerable innocence

Taking a shortcut down an alleyway
we've walked every day for years, turning
to me in tears, giving me a hug
and I hug him back, not a word passing
between us, our first kiss
when it comes, winging us across s history
that once dare not speak its name

A companionable silence descending
as we emerge from that alleyway, bonding
in a new sense of togetherness
transcending our Here-and-Now in ways
defying poetry, prose, gesture,
any spoken word or 'live' art to even attempt
lending expression to its intimacy

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Nature Boy

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

This poem, and much of my introductory preamble is taken from my gay-interest poetry archives for October 2017.

Maybe it was the aspiring poet in me or simply because I have always been partially deaf, but even as a child I was easily contented with my own company, especially with my head in a book or communing with nature. While my mother was OK with this, my father was critical of what he considered to be unbecoming for a boy. Thankfully, my brother was more ‘masculine’ so that took the heat off me a bit. Needless to say, my relationship with my father was never a good one; there was no father-son bonding, probably due his being a product of a generation scarred both by war and even more misguided stereotypes than my own would see. Children, of course, only come to understand such things in time. Meanwhile they can but rely on adults to point them in the right direction; what is right for them, that is, not, the mentoring adult. Fortunately, my mother was cut from a very different cloth to my father and I survive to tell the tale.

I grew up with very mixed feelings about how I should approach the world, family life and (not least) myself. Perhaps that is why I love everything about the natural world; for all its unpredictability, it exudes relatively less than its human counterpart. On the whole, nature  also suggests a greater sense - for me, anyway - of being on one’s side ; at least, not against anyone simply because he or she has a mind-body-spirit of their own that may not be in sync with some socio-cultural-spiritual ‘norm’. Having been raised to think being gay was terrible because it was ‘different’ I was never more glad of the sense of spirituality nature has always inspired in me. While my mother could not have cared less, the same could not be said for the rest of my immediate family or even some I looked upon as friends.

As a gay man In my 70’s now, I am SO glad attitudes towards homosexuality continue to change for the better in many countries and even among some intrinsically homophobic cultures; often too slowly, yes, but any progress has to be better than none at all. There is, of course, no room for complacency; more education is needed about how - whatever our race, religion, sex sexuality, age, political persuasion etc. - we are all part of a common humanity and all, each in our own way…different.

Legislation to re-enforce Equal Opportunities and Political Correctness may well be steps in the right direction, but you cannot legislate for bad attitude which, in turn, invariably stems from ignorance of the issues involved (making the case for education) and/or a point-blank refusal to enter into any points of view other than one’s own; therein lies the beauty of human nature, and its flaws.

As for my scepticism, that remains part of who I am, too, and most likely always will. At the same time, I am also a very positive thinking person; a contradiction, some will say, but then what’s one more contradiction in a world whose elected (or self-appointed) spokespersons contradict themselves for much if not most of the time…?

NATURE BOY

I’ve heard folks say I should get real,
and I do, as needs must…

Yet, I love to talk to flowers,
let them know I am here for them
and care whether they live
or die, much as I would have someone
care for me, watch out for me
as I make my way through passages
of time and space among crowds
jostling to be first in line for whatever
best is yet to come as rumoured
by those assumed to be in the know
if only because it would appear
they have the ear of Someone said
to really count for something
in a greater scheme of things high
on promise, short on detail,
scarcely a mention of any Plan B
as a better option if likely to adversely
affect profits

I’ve heard folks say I should man up,
and I do, as needs must...

Yet, I love to spread wings, fly
among (all) birds over cities, towns,
and dreary suburbs top heavy
with killer-by-stealth pollution,
escape to the countryside,
take off with ducks, swans and the like
on its waterways, nature’s answer
to frantic airport runways…
comment on city carbuncles, enthuse
about country cottages, get angry
about global warming, especially where
powers-that-be in denial refusing
to put it on various agendas just in case
they lose votes (or face) among any
who couldn’t really care less so long as
they don’t miss out on rewards of a (very)
pecuniary nature

I’ve heard folks call me a born sceptic
and they could well be right...

Yet, I’ll believe a sunset’s promise
of sunny or stormy days in the wings
before I’ll trust a politician’s word
that the shape of things to come is safe
if not (quite) secure in party hands,
prefer to take my cue from such cloud
and bird formations as nature inspires
from time to time by way of suggesting
we make due preparation, less need
for reparation such as any powers-that-be
might have us make for what turns out
to be their (only human) mistakes
and ours for listening to what we’d prefer
to hear rather than what any mind-spirit
might undermine for being less out of step
with the commoner (if only human) failings
of contemporary society

A dreamer, me, perhaps, though some folks
see only that I'm gay....

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

No Voice in the Classroom

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

I have been asked to post today’s poem by a young gay reader who writes, “… if I had been taught in school that being gay was not the sin my parents sincerely believe it is, I would not be the psychological mess I am now…”  I, too was a psychological mess once for much the same reason, and it took me years to become reconciled with my sexuality; I would not wish that on my worst enemy.

This was in response to a poem I posted on both blogs in July - 'When all's Said and Done' - pointing to the fact that many people across the country are objecting to legislation due next year making the teaching of LGBT issues compulsory in schools. I also received several emails upholding parental and religious views that that this is not a matter for schools, although most imply that they agree it is a matter of education.

Where better to educate than in a school, where teachers are impartial (by the very nature of their professional training) while children have to be among the least bigoted people on the planet?

At home or in a Place of Worship, these same children will be given a biased account of LGBT issues, which may or may not stay with them for the rest of their lives, unless they discover a sexuality other than that which they have been tagged since birth; never a choice, but one of many aspects that contribute to the human condition....whatever our socio-cultural-religious environment.

I posted the post/ poem below on my gay-interest blog in 2013. Sadly, it remains relevant, if not more so, six years later.

………………………………………………

I read recently that homophobic bullying is on the increase among young people. I see no end to it, especially in a multicultural society, until parents face up to the fact that there are gay people out there and a child of theirs might even be one of them.

Here in the UK we have gay-friendly legislation, but relatively few parents will entertain the prospect of any classroom discussion about gay issues. Until they get real about the world we live in, gay people worldwide will be deprived of a voice in the classroom where perhaps it most needs to be heard;  our children and young people deserve better than that. Education is a broad church and students need to be taught how life IS, not how various socio-cultural-religious groups would like it to be.

As a teenager, I agonised about being gay because I had been taught at home and church that it was unnatural and a sin. I would not wish that on any young person. If I had learned that there are gay people from all walks of life around the world, it would have made a huge difference and I would not have spent what should have been among the best years of my life feeling  confused, ashamed, angry ... and scared of family and peers discovering my sexual identity. Anyone objecting to homosexuality being included in any school curriculum should feel ashamed of themselves for failing to give their children a more complete view of life as it is.

NO VOICE IN THE CLASSROOM

We were fighting for real
when suddenly he kissed me
passionately on the mouth
and I lashed out confusedly
at my impotent alter ego

My body thrilled to his kiss
(so unexpected though it was)
but my mind flatly rejected it
for I had been taught only this,
that gay is ugly, dirty, sinful

My fist crashed into the face
I so longed to cup in my hands
and be spirited (safely) away
into corners of time and space
free of judgemental inhibitions

In a smoky mist, I saw him flee,
unable to call him back, my feet
(like my tongue) stuck fast…
his kiss continuing to engulf me
in the sheer ferocity of  its heat

That night I felt the two of us
making love with such intensity
there was no room for shame
as I braved giant waves of reality,
surfing desires denied for years

The next day I waylaid him,
stumbled over a tearful apology
as gently, warily, he drew me
into his arms, joy in our sexuality
letting all conscience go free

It was a time of stereotypes
feeding off society’s prejudices
so we never dared go public,
any world for schoolboy lovers
kept waiting on its education

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013

When all's Said and Done OR L-o-v--e, (Human) Rights of Way

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

Ignorance is a darkness from which we can only hope to be rescued by the dawning of enlightenment’ the irony being, that relatively few of us recognize ignorance when it is staring us in the face so will not accept that they need rescuing. My parents were of a generation brought up to believe the worst of same sex relationships, and passed these stereotypical sentiments on to me. I, hated the closet darkness imposed, but lacked a mentor to show me that these sentiments were simply untrue and I had no need to feel ashamed because I am gay. The dawn of enlightenment was a long time coming for me, and I did not come out to the world as a gay man until my mid-thirties.

The Department of Education here has finally seen the light too, and any school curriculum (from 2020) will need to include LGBT issues in a sensitive but realistic context of teaching education, even at primary school level. I would hate any child to go through what I went through so I applaud this step in the right direction. Sadly, many parents are demonstrating against this, at various school gates, on religious grounds.

One parent recently put it to me that it was wrong to put ideas into the heads of children “as young as five, for heaven’s sake!” My answer to that was “Never underestimate a child’s feelings or assume, as a parent, you know all you need to know about your own child. Even at 5 years-old, I loved dressing up and pretending I was a fairy or princess in a fairy tale. No, I did not grow up to be transgender, but I was - albeit unknowingly – touching base with sexuality; getting in touch with my feminine side would eventually help me understand that sexuality is not the prerogative of heterosexuals and, in time, would see me emerge as a gay man. The parent in question, insisted “that’s all very well, and I’m no homophobe, but what is a young child to make of being read stories around gender orientation or same sex relationships?”

I know lesbian and gay partners who have adopted children, not least to give them a loving, caring upbringing as opposed to the well-meaning but necessarily detached atmosphere of a Children’s Home. These children will go to school. One of the wonderful things about children is that they are entirely without prejudice…unless it has been passed on to them in the home. It is perfectly feasible that a five-year old with two mums or dads will be mixing with and chatting away with other children; the latter may well be fascinated, even excited to discover that such home situations exist. How sad then that ignorant parents are likely break up such friendships without giving them a chance to flourish. Some of my best childhood memories are of children with whom I used to play, including those from the only black family in our street; any adult prejudices simply went over our heads.

LGBT relationships have existed in societies worldwide since the beginning of time, albeit often behind closed doors; human nature, like nature itself, is – and deserves to be – an open door through which anyone is free to enter, regardless of culture, religion, ethnicity or sexuality.

‘How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said.' - ‘Victor Hugo (Les Miserables,1862)

“Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern.” 
- Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray. 1890)

This poem is a villanelle.

WHEN ALL'S SAID AND DONE or L-O-V-E, (HUMAN)  RIGHTS OF WAY

Home truths will have their say,

make themselves known,

enlighten us, come dawn of day

Where prejudices holding sway

in the name of (any) religion,

home truths will have their say

Listen, play deaf, come what may,

history will see its tides turn,

enlighten us, come dawn of day

No God to whom Believers pray

would have cast the first stone;

home truths will have their say

Human rights, too, deserve a say,

to make themselves known,

enlighten us, come dawn of day

To love, alone, all rights of way

wherever its seeds be sown;

home truths will have their say,

enlighten us, come dawn of day

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019

Posthumous Consciousness, Inspirational

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

Emails from several readers in the past have gently mocked what they see as my unhealthy preoccupation with ghosts. Fair enough, but we must agree to differ.

On the whole, my ghosts inspire me.  (Doesn't everyone have a few that would drag us down rather than lift us up?) There is my late mother, of course, as well as my old English teacher, ‘Jock’ Rankin from whom I learned considerably more than in the course of any curriculum-set lessons about clause analysis.  My old school captain, several former landlords and landladies as well as a work colleague, Val Berry, a wise old bird whom I visited until she died not so many years ago … all these people, to name but a few, have taught me a lot about life, death, and making as much as possible of each new day instead of whinging about (among other things) how time flies and leaves us trailing in its wake.

In the course of writing this poem, I found myself revisiting my favourite ghosts, and continuing to learn from them. I’d had several bad nights with the prostate cancer, was feeling pretty low, and not a little sorry for myself. Ah, but not anymore, though, which says a lot for creative therapy. For me, of course, it’s writing, especially poetry, but one person’s meat is someone else’s poison, and we have a veritable spectrum of options; the arts, walking, gardening, looking after animals and/or pot plants … anything that gives us food for thought and distracts us from the slings and arrows that daily life so loves to let fly in our direction from time to time.

Ah, but for a creative consciousness to inspire us and (hopefully) others along the way, it, too, needs to find inspiration; that's where our favourite ghosts come in, only ever a heartbeat away, as ready and willing to help us out in death as in life ... if only we will let them.

POSTHUMOUS CONSCIOUSNESS, INSPIRATIONAL 

Need to stay positive

when all positive thinkers

have gone to ground,

left me feeling desperate

for a lifeline

A positive outlook

too often seen as the stuff

of wishful thinking

in the face of any reality

under threat

Advised to get a grip

on what’s what, run a mile

from pretending

the worst not happening,

face it head-on

Now, looking the worst

in the eye, frantically trying

to make sense

of some dark, anonymous

senselessness

All but giving up on it all,

mind-body-spirit losing heart

given no one

offering a lifeline but Job’s

comforters

Suddenly, out of nowhere,

a posthumous consciousness

telling me off

for caving in far too easily

to circumstances

I can hear my late mother

demanding, am I man or mouse

to even consider

caving in to prostate cancer,

no fight left …?

Denial on my lips, diverted

by home truths having to admit

she had a point;

now sensing an upbeat heart

re-asserting itself

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Shades of Contemporaneity

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

We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive. - C. S. Lewis 

'If history repeats itself, and the unexpected always happens, how incapable must Man be of learning from experience.' - George Bernard Shaw

'Technological progress has merely provided us with more efficient means for going backwards.' - Aldous Huxley

Years ago, when I was still at secondary school (I am in my 70’s now) I was only vaguely aware of a hearing problem that led to my often failing to catch all of what my teachers were saying, and making a fool of myself when asked to comment. On one such occasions, my English teacher, ‘Jock’ Rankin, put it to hoots of laughter from classmates that it’s making and learning from our mistakes that maps out our progress from ignorant to less ignorant to worth listening to … adding’ almost as an afterthought (which it clearly wasn’t) that any learning curve needs must leave us sufficient personal space in which to engage with what has to be (surely?) the most basic among human rights, agreeing-to-differ. 

I well recall thinking at the time it was as good an agenda for life as any. 50+ years on, I continue to find myself thinking along the same lines … although how far that constitutes any measure of my progress through life is for others to say and me to but speculate on (at best) an open verdict …

As every generation must discover for itself, life is a learning curve. We all make mistakes, given that we are but human, and we can learn from these or not; better, though, to consciously move up-down-up on it than let egocentricity get the better of us and turn a blind eye... surely? 

SHADES OF CONTEMPORANEITY

Humanity regenerating
mind-body-spirit, struggling 
to keep pace

Love comes, passes,
a posthumous consciousness,
upbeat heart

Upbeat hearts, tearing
at cloth ears for light at the end
of tunnel vision

Love-hate relationships
refusing to be redefined by ties
that conjoin

Nature and human nature
consigning past-present-future 
to the classroom

Life, death, a passing on
of files confessing to fake news
and stereotypes

Personal space abandoned
at the edge of reason where hope
lies bleeding

Endangered species
clinging for dear life to last straws 
of human conscience

Humanity regenerating
chips off tablets of stone recycled
in time and space


Copyright R N Taber 2019

Walls, among 'live' Metaphors

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

We often hear talk of moral courage, and it is to be applauded, but standing up for what we believe in is not always the same as standing up for the rights of everyone in the same corner we are fighting. The recent shutdown of the U.S. Government over funding for a wall across the border with Mexico, the continuing impasse at Stormont in Northern Ireland and the Brexit fiasco in the British Parliament are but a few examples of how our so-called ‘betters’ should not lead by example.

Meanwhile ...

Parents in West Yorkshire, UK, came up against another such wall only recently.  Kirklees Council debated the supply of non-stun halal meat to 43 schools. in West Yorkshire; this, after receiving a petition of almost 8,000 parents expressing concern over animal welfare. Various councillors - including  Green Party members who voted with Labour colleagues - sided with the pro-cruelty lobby on the grounds that it supports diversity. Perhaps they can explain what diversity has to do with either animal welfare ... or freedom of choice, such as so far denied the schoolchildren concerned?

In most if not all cases of intransigence across the  whole spectrum of issues plaguing various societies worldwide, where there's a will there is invariably a way; it is called compromise. Sadly, where compromise means having to agree to differ and act for the better of all rather than some (or self) this puts 'will' in a position too many of our so-called 'betters' are unwilling to accept.

This poem is a villanelle.

WALLS, AMONG 'LIVE' METAPHORS

At a wall dripping blood and tears
find world democracies' sins well-met,
live metaphor for the world’s fears

Where true democracy disappears,
political ambition refuting its social debt
at a wall dripping blood and tears

Wherever love-and-peace, it veers
away, find agents conspiring to thwart;
live metaphor for the world fears

Divisions perpetuated for years
driven further apart since last ill-met
at a wall dripping blood and tears

Where time’s kinder mist clears,
discern guards with orders to shoot on sight;
live metaphor for the world’s fears

It's Freedom’s fair head that rears,
to debate any socio-cultural-religious tenet
at a wall dripping blood and tears,
live metaphor for the world’s fears

Copyright R N Taber 2019

Pictures in an Exhibition

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

A reader from Switzerland has emailed me to ask - as people often do - why a poet writes fiction. Well, there is poetry of a kind in fiction too. I needed to try my hand at writing novels, partly because I knew I would enjoy it (as I did) and partly because i suspected it would bring me closer to an understanding of human nature...as it has; as, indeed, do all the arts, each in their own way. Take fiction; it is not all about plot, but creating characters, good and bad. The writer needs to explore the various interrelationships of mind, body and spirit. Hopefully, this has also made me a better poet... but that, of course, is up to you, my readers, to decide.

Most of my novels - published and unpublished - remain in serial form on my fiction blog. Each serial is preceded by a separate synopsis post. It wa my original intention that as each complete novel  would be published to Google Play in e-format and removed from the blog. but a number of readers have emailed to say they cannot access Google Play. For this reason, I will be publishing my gay-interest crime novel 'Blasphemy' to the blog again while continuing to make it available on Google Play. All my novels on the blog are listed at:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/news-updates-fiction.html 

It seemed a good idea to publish today's poem here (see below) at the same time as answering a number of queries about publishing my novels (and poetry collections) as e-books to Google Play over the next few years, thereby, making those that have only ever been on sale in the UK available to readers worldwide. UK sales were not too discouraging; first (and only) print runs sold quite well. Even so, I am definitely more of a poet than a novelist, although I enjoy writing fiction, and sheer enjoyment has to be as good a motivation as any.  [Few publishers have shown much interest in my fiction and not all those serialised on the blog have been published in print form; copyright to each, though, remains exclusively mine.]

A librarian in public libraries most of my working life, it would both amuse and sadden me to see hot-blooded heterosexual readers hovering  near the counter until no one else was waiting before presenting any gay-interest items (a novel,  DVD, biography of a gay icon etc.) to be issued or discharged. Many libraries have now installed issue/discharge machines that will spare them any such embarrassment. Yet, why be embarrassed?  Imagination is an Open House. I can only put it down to human nature’s preoccupation with a ‘guilt by association’ ethos and habitual inclination to jump to conclusions.

I wrote this poem while thinking about writing my first novel, ‘Dog Roses; a Gay Man’s Rites of Passage.’ The book was never published except on the blog. No publishers were interested, but that did not matter. By the time I had finished writing it, I realised why I had so needed to write it in the first place. Putting aside aspirations of fame and fortune (just as well) I needed to stop thinking about exploring human nature through fiction as with poetry, and just get on with it, give it my best shot. I have no regrets; it provided no less as rewarding an experience as poetry but via different routes and from different angles. (As for so much as a hint of talent, well, that’s something else altogether…and up to you to form your own opinions.)

I used to regret not being able to paint, draw, compose or play music... until it came home to me how all the arts share a common source; the writer, composer, painter, whatever. needs must get as close to human nature as any gardener or farmer to the very soil we feed and which, in turn, feeds us. How far the analogy can be carried, of course, depend as much on the nature of the soil or genre as that of any of us reaping its rewards; reader, listener, observer, all have no less a part to play than whomsoever's hands planting whatsoever seeds.

This poem is a villanelle.

PICTURES IN AN EXHIBITION

Exploring the human condition,

its good, bad and ugly

life forces stranger than fiction

Any flaws demanding attention,

(for all a subtle simplicity)

exploring the human condition

Nature, its greater contribution

side-lined by humanity;

life forces stranger than fiction

Exposed, a common retribution

(reasoning a moral propriety)

exploring the human condition

Satirised, a political observation

of this life’s tragicomedy;

life forces stranger than fiction

Society, pictures in an exhibition

for whomsoever cares to see;

exploring the human condition,

life forces stranger than fiction

Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2016

The Yellow Balloon

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

Children across the world are expected to take its worst tantrums in their stride, but for how long…?

For the many caught up in its conflicts, the world must often seem a bleak place, any worthwhile future, for them at least, an all but impossible dream.

Of course, it is not all doom and gloom, but children should not have to snatch at happiness as and when they can; it should be the greater part of growing up. Yes, even playtime has its ups and downs, good times and bad, but that’s life, a learning curve for all of us at any age. 

True, the world today is a dangerous place, but children need to be reasonably prepared for, not scared of it. Besides, is not having to deal with parental and peer pressures enough without having to contend with being made to feel they are a disappointment for not fully participating in someone else’s second hand life or, far worse, struggling to survive a war zone? 

Whatever, indeed, happened to playtime?

THE YELLOW BALLOON 

Children
playing with a yellow balloon,
mothers calling   
back home, as a mocking wind 
snatches it from tiny fingers,
dispatching it to drift mottled skies
weepy with satire?

Children
chasing after a yellow balloon,
father calling
back home, but they play deaf
among innocent cries
inciting adventures, welcome respite
from secrets and lies

Children
trying to catch a yellow balloon
beyond either reach or ken,
no sense of direction, quickly
consumed by angry skies,
menaced by cloud figures waving
smoking guns

Children
observed in tears over a balloon
burst by a phoenix
rising from its everyday ashes
to heavens where sunlight
last seen glancing off shrapnel
slowly killing them

Children, in near and faraway places
picking up the pieces…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

You-Me-Us, the Ultimate Selfie OR Partners for Life

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

It is not only gay people who have a problem with other people's approach to their sexuality; given that given that part of its whole happens to be sex, it is not uncommon for people to be wary, even afraid of sex, especially if they happen to have been have been raised - intentionally or not - in a sex-unfriendly environment. In some homes, sex and sexuality remain ‘not in front of the children’ issues so what are children, especially the early teens, supposed to make of that? Children are not fools; they are frequently more intensely aware of what goes on around them than many parents or even teachers appreciate.

Sex is fun, and in the context of human love can also be a very spiritual experience; there is nothing wrong with having fun, and no spiritual experience deserves to be put down simply because it does not necessarily relate to any religious experience.  As I have often said on my blogs, religion does not have a monopoly on spirituality; of all the parts comprising human nature, a sense of spirituality is one that deserves nurture, but is all too often neglected where religious or cultural identity have a lesser or no role to play.

Some people, of course, simply have no real interest in sex and that’s OK. Others may well be confused by various socio-cultural-religious attitudes towards sex and sexual identity.

Could we all not benefit from being better educated about sex and sexuality other than as prescribed by various socio-cultural-religious conventions? (Yes, I know I am repeating myself and probably will again.) Certainly, there would be far less denial, confusion and bad attitude regarding either if more schools would only discuss it with classes in a manner appropriate to the ages of the children and young people in them. No easy task, I agree, given how many children and young people will laugh and make jokes, as is the nature of people everywhere when someone touches on a nerve. Would they perhaps be less inclined to do so, though, if we adults encouraged them to discuss the subject - in all its aspects - sensitively and intelligently instead of suggesting it’s really a matter for the birds and bees?

In many cases, by the time any birds and bees get in on the act, most children have an idea in their heads about what sex and sexuality involves; that idea needs to be expanded, clarified and discussed.

Since many parents find intimacy if not love too embarrassing a subject to raise with their own children, a family member can be called upon or someone to whom the child or young person can relate and for whom they have affection and respect. All too often, though, this does not happen just as far too many schools also shirk the task of educating their students about where sex related issues fits into the complex jigsaw that is a life comprising love, pleasure, consideration and respect for others (and ourselves) among a gamut of emotions, not least a sense of spirituality. In my case, as regular readers well know, I take the latter from nature, but taking it from religion should not mean intimacy - as an expression of love and/or desire and/or the need to be physically close to someone for whatever reason - becomes demeaned in any way. In many cases, of course, it isn’t, while in others it most certainly is.

Colour, creed, sex, sexuality, these are part of a whole; it is the whole that counts so the greater our understanding of and respect for that, the better person we are likely to become; better equipped, too, for surviving the jungle that is human nature.

This  poem is a kenning.

YOU-ME-US, THE ULTIMATE SELFIE or PARTNERS FOR LIFE

I am that you-me-us

calling on love and peace

wherever they go,

whatever path they take

through life,

trudging sadly, skipping madly

or taking wary steps

across minefields scattered
like leaves of dogma

I am a good friend,

proving a good companion 

on life’s journey,

even beyond halcyon days

and nights committed

to memory, transcending

any regret for times past,

inspiring a lasting spirituality

independent of dogma

See me for what I am,

rooting for the natural world
to beat human odds;

on your side if sometimes 
agreeing to differ,

trusting love to win through;

my brief, to rise

above any contentiousness

perpetuated by dogma

Only, acknowledge my integrity

who am called Sexuality

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Tapping into Social Conscience OR Shaking Up Society

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

Few people set out to deliberately hurt others. It’s just a sad fact of human nature that some  are so blinkered to any if not all home truths that it’s just the way they are; we can take it or leave it. More needs to be done, especially in schools, by way of educating the blinkered among us to the harsher realities of life, an how we can combat them.

With several people who have played a significant part in my life, it took 20+ years before I finally decided to call it a day. Since being diagnosed with prostate cancer in February 2011, I have written off more fair weather friendships. 

There was a time I’d have been philosophical to the extent of being stoical and simply accepted the situation, telling myself I was being selfish and others had their own lives to lead and resuming the friendship once this or that crisis to which I had been subjected and they preferred to turn a blind eye had passed. Not anymore though. Since turning 60 (born in 1945) I decided that enough is enough, and time is too precious to waste on such people. .

So why do I feel so guilty about it...?

It is easy enough to jump to wrong conclusions or fall prey to false impressions passed on and further distorted by gossips, hackers and the like. I guess we need to give people - especially family and friends - the benefit of any doubt; it works both ways, though ... doesn't it?

[Update 2/2016: I still feel much the same way if not more so. Having spent nearly eighteen months learning to walk again after smashing up my foot in a bad fall during the summer of 2014, I now know for sure who my real friends are. I was housebound for five months during which relatively few so-called friends could be bothered to even pick up a phone for a chat, which would have meant a lot. Oh, I haven't given up on all my fair weather friends, but our association is much the worse for wear and I will see to it that I spend far less time with them than in future.]

This poem is a kenning.

TAPPING INTO SOCIAL CONSCIENCE or SHAKING UP SOCIETY

I’ve run the gauntlet

of love, life, fun, and tears,

trying to make the best

of things rather than complain

about the worst years,

struggling to rise above

the pain human beings

inflict upon each other time

and time again

I turn to nature

for comfort and brief respite

from a daily torture

humanity asks me to endure

with all the dignity

and stoicism of someone

always expected to put

other people’s needs before

his or her own

I lie awake at night

wondering who or what

is wrong or right

amongst all that’s been said

and done in the course

of whatever merry chase

mischievous Apollo

and outcast Cassiopeia care

to lead us on

I am that heartbeat of humanity
embracing its own vulnerability

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011