A Feeling for Spring

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

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” - Mark Twain

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” - Martin Luther King Jr.

“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.” - Harriet Beecher Stowe 

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

Reader A. D. asks why I am “… so preoccupied with inter-communication between people, so-called ‘agreeing to differ’ and engaging in discussion even about personal issues where there are clearly radical differences of opinion. “Better for everyone, surely,” he or she suggests, “to let sleeping dogs lie?”  Well, we must, indeed, agree to differ, say so and shake on it. In my experience many if not most such 'sleeping dogs' are badly in need of a wake-up call; being left to sleep on,  thereby likely to inflict such damage on human relationships as not easily mended.

One of the greater tragedies of human nature is the inability or reluctance of many people to confront those against whom they may hold a grudge, invariably for fear of having to endure a bitter exchange of insults, commonly referred to as ‘home truths'.

Both parties are usually to blame, to some extent for broken relationships, but it takes only one to make a start on a healing process.  Many of us, including yours truly, have no idea how to make a start, whether it be with a family member, friend or neighbour, often for fear of being accused of simply making excuses for what has been perceived as unforgivable behaviour, but may well have been a misunderstanding due to circumstances left unshared. 

The longer any misunderstanding or genuine excuse remains silent, refusing to engage in any healing process, the longer any grudge will fester, mind-body-spirit, turning a deaf ear to whatever heart-and-soul is constantly mulling, even grieving over.

True, some broken relationships cannot be mended, but not for want of trying. Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all, though, surely? The problem remains, though, that some well-meaning efforts may well be misinterpreted, taking us back to square one. Even so, an aggrieved heart-and-soul may yet find a welcome measure of peace for having dispended with the futility of harbouring grudges.

A FEELING FOR SPRING

I am so much the sweeter taste
and fragrance of life, just for having
shed those darker senses
keeping heart-and-soul from engaging
fully, openly, positively
with a mind -body-spirit struggling
under the growing weight
of  ill-judged expectations or responses
plunging knives into You-Me-Us

Having been given no opportunity
to put my side of things as misunderstood
and left to fester, bad feeling
getting the better of any finer senses 
of fair play, never spoken,
kept hidden in recesses of heart-and-soul
feeding on bitterness,
happiness left to but make the best it can
of the contrariness of being human

I am as that first full kiss or spring,
come to relieve the pain of such wintry days
as we have felt obliged
to endure, no hint of  choice, no voice
for having been unable
to penetrate certain defences, both yours
and mine, now worn down 
by tears for such likely misunderstandings 
as deserving of happier landings

I am Forgiveness, making time for a fresh start,
finally come to flower in the human heart

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2022

Anthem Played on a Grass Harp

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

Some years ago, the children of friends of mine married without the blessing of their parents because both sets of parents disapproved of the match because is a lot older than her. Neither could accept their grown-up children’s choice of life partner. As it is, they have missed out on all the pleasures of being grandparents and seeing their grandchildren grow up.

Among all prejudices, ageism is often seen as the ‘poor relation’ but it can devastate lives as much and as needlessly as any other form of prejudice, whether it be based on the colour of a person’s skin, the nature of their sexuality or... whatever.

The couple in question had celebrated their silver wedding anniversary and were very happy until the younger partner died in a car accident. Only then did the families rally round and try to make peace “for the sake of the grandchildren...” Better late than never, I suppose, but so much time wasted, so many golden opportunities missed.

Prejudice in any shape or form doesn’t only eat away at a person’s mind-body-spirit, however much he or she may resist and rise above it, but can destroy families, even communities that are the chief losers in a human equation that will never quite add up until certain people see sense and recognise that all good people have a right to live their lives as they see fit, whether or not it quite adds up to what others might prefer.

I have seen prejudice drive people to crime, even suicide; such a waste of human potential. Whatever happened to respecting and making the best of our loved one’s choices for the good of everyone concerned? Driving home a point from a which misplaced pride refuses to let us budge can so easily make losers of us all.

ANTHEM PLAYED ON A GRASS HARP

Watery sun dripping through trees,
leaves sparkling like jewels in a crown
where we’d wander, my love and I,
ears pricking up at a chick’s first cry,
looking out for others flapping their way
on first flights through dawn rainbows
till gliding with ease as nature meant
for us all, although less so among humans,
a species well known for thinking they
know better than Earth Mother, wishing
them ill (and Hell) who resist straitjackets
and persist in walking tall

On a magic carpet of many colours,
among daisies passing for fairies
in a palace of dreams, we’d go free,
where all prejudices and bigotry
mean less than a fair breeze in the face,
Earth Mother’s caress in the hair,
reminding us how we are, one and all,
as nature intended, no one creature
any more or less precious than another,
each, in their own way, a ‘live’
testament to mind-body-spirit and a history
lending meaning to eternity

We arrived where the carpet
tuned into stone, where no sun shining,
only Shadows, a gathering of forces
preparing to take humanity on and win
any fight it may choose to pick,
no matter rights and wrongs (or alternative
points of view); for them, a certainty
that the world has no place for men, women
and young people whose sexuality
offends a majority choosing to make stand
on a Ship of Fools in a gale force wind, set on
making sense of humankind

Oh, but spring in our hair like jewels in a crown
Love takes for its own!

Copyright R.N. Taber 2010; rev.2021

Note: This poem has recently been significantly revised since first appearing in my collection On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Book, 2010.] 

Waking Up to Love

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As I have pointed out many times on the blog, love comes in all shapes and sizes in both natural and human worlds, nor less natural in the latter for its being of an LGBT persuasion; sexuality is not a choice, but one of many elements of life and love that comprise the mind-body-spirit that makes us who we are.

In the past, many LGBT folks have been despised and become victims of prejudice and hate, not unlike many from ethnic minorities, albeit for reasons of race rather than sexuality, but no less horrible for that.

Even within similar arenas, prejudice has been (and still is) known to spread like a pandemic with which millions of people have been infected over centuries, relatively few given so much as a mention by name in any history book... even as history continues to write us up as its authors see (or don't see) its bigger picture.

As regular readers well know, I also have a gay-interest poetry blog which, like my fiction blog, can be accessed from this one. Tragically, such is the level of prejudice against LGBT folks in various societies,  communities and families worldwide that some dare nor risk accessing any such material that might 'incriminate' them; a tragedy, yes, because no one should have to live in fear or who (yes who, not what they are) as they struggle to make a life for themselves.  

The good news is that more LGBT folks across the world are having to struggle less to make their voices heard; the bad news is that far too many are still left struggling, not least due to the sheer hypocrisy of world religions that preach love, but only as recognised by their own criteria; anything else is seen as something to be condemned, as if any religion has a monopoly on spirituality.

If one person can learn to respect another person for who they are (whatever their faith,  or colour of their skin) why can't everyone?  Whatever happened to agreeing to differ?

Oh, and yes, this poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today so daresay I will be receiving the usual troll emails...which I will, of course, ignore. 😉

"I imagine one of the reasons people cling to hate so stubbornly is  because they sense, once it is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain." - James Baldwin

WAKING UP TO LOVE

There's a tree in a field
that sings me a love song
every time I'm sitting
when, where it rises from the ground;
listen, and you'll hear...
the words of a love song hanging
on a dream lost and found

By a tree in a field,
we wrote our first love song,
bodies entwining
as we lay there on the ground,
sharing with the birds
such joy, such passion, hanging
on a dream lost and found

There's a tree in a field
that watched us kiss and part,
not daring to believe
as we lay there on the ground
how gay love might yet
survive a world left but hanging
on dreams lost and found

To a tree in a field,
we returned to live a love song,
bodies entwining
as we lay there on the ground,
sharing with the birds
such joy, such passion, a waking
dream lost and found

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012; slightly rev. 2021

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012.]

Past-Present-Future, Chameleon on the Doorstep

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

I well recall the father of a friend, way back in my childhood, relating how much satisfaction he took from giving local puppet show, “not only in making kids happy, but being in control, manipulating his puppets towards that very end. Sometimes,” he added with a wry grin, I feel like a god out there, pulling the strings..."

The tragedy is that the attraction of power and the potential opportunity to ‘play God’ attracts too many in the adult world for all the wrong reasons...

Terrorists are probably the best examples of such people, convinced they are acting with the best intentions, albeit (literally) as a devil in them drives, but they appear in all shapes and sizes in most if not all areas of modern life, wherever the better part of human nature is inclined to lose its way, often without even realising it.

PAST-PRESENT-FUTURE, CHAMELEON ON THE DOORSTEP

I come in peace, a force for good,
yet am often abused, ill-used by those
unable to channel the full force
for better rather than worse, opening
personal space to private ambition,
Time left to make of what it will,
if not any final say, given all history’s
various ways with words, not to mention
measured invention

I bring hope where weaker forces
sure to fail, yet so easily misunderstood,
misled even into enemy territory,
where mixed feeling would threaten
to confuse issues, take control
for illicit purposes harbouring agendas
comprising a measured tissue
of lies that will, to all intents and purposes
tick all the right boxes

I offer stability wherever promising
enterprises are in danger of foundering
along with all invested interests;
at the same time, I am easily tempted
to play the hero, persuaded even
by my own convictions that any potential
for universal gain has to come
before settling a lasting peace and happiness
upon my personal space

I dress the bones of history with flair,
who am that old chameleon, Power

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2012; rev. 2021

[Note: The original version of this poem was written in 2009 and was first published under the title ‘The Designer’ in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer, Assembly Books, 2012.] RT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello again, Everyone

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

Hello again, Everyone,

I am still working on a poem here, but hope to finish it soon. In the meantime, we can but all do our best to be safe, keep well and nurture a positive mindset.

Another “new reader” writes that it is ‘…unfair to talk about religious bigotry.’ He or she is entitled to their point of view, of course, but - not least as a gay man - I have been on the receiving end may times. Most religions are homophobic and always ready to quote from one religious text or another to justify the unjustifiable. Religion is far more than dogma, though, and that is often interpreted to best suit the accuser.

Many Christians, for example, are quick to quote from the Old Testament along the lines that "lying with a man as with a woman." (Leviticus 18) is an abomination rather than the New Testament’s assertion “do into others as you would have them do unto you” (Mark 12).

The New Testament also suggests “Love thy neighbour as thyself” which is a hypocrisy of which many Christians are guilty but choose to ignore, especially in the larger towns and cities where many single people - both sexes, all ages - are left to fend for themselves, even in the midst of a pandemic, no neighbours checking now and then to see if they are ok.

That’s life, of course, as full of complications and contradictions as human nature itself.

In my experience, the best religious-minded people will always put other people before religious dogma, in whatever they feel it is the right course of action, knowing in their hearts that no God would have them do otherwise, however much any fellow Believers might feel obliged to have their say, and argue to the contrary.

It well may be that most if not all of us are guilty of neither physically nor emotionally supporting others where we could and should, for whatever reason, but we don’t all hide behind religion to justify our inaction; how any human conscience may deal with us, though, is something else altogether.

The same “new reader” claims to enjoy some of my poems and is “genuinely sorry” that I will go to Hell when I die. Since I believe that any hell lies in what we make of life in the Here-and-Now we must agree to differ, but…  who knows, until we are beyond reach of all human consciousness or conscience?

Take care, folks and I hope to complete a new poem today, disorderly thought processes (more than a little out of sync with bardic aspirations) notwithstanding.

Many thanks for dropping by, much appreciated,

Do try browsing the archives in my absence as, when and if the whim takes you… for better or worse.

Hugs,

Roger

[Note: This poet also appears on my gay poetry blog today.]

Eyes Wide Shut OR Stereotypes, Identity Fraud

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

For those readers whose feedback suggests they feel it is 'inappropriate' for me to be carrying over some poems from one blog to the other, I am working on a new poem for this blog and a new poem for my gay-interest blog appears there today. Feedback also suggests that some previously less than gay-friendly readers have started to dip into the latter now and then; while the jury appears to be out on any verdict, it has to be better than any rushing to judgement...doesn't it?

Today's pom first appeared on my gay-interest blog in 2014.

Now, it took me years to shrug off the worst stereotypes (still) perpetuated by the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority.

One day, a straight friend accompanied me to a gay bar because he ‘wanted to understand gay people’. Later, I asked him what he had learned. He shook his head and replied,’ What can I learn from a bunch of clones?’

I was angry and upset, but began to wonder if I wasn’t - at least in part - replacing one set of stereotypes with another…?

Whatever the rights and wrongs of the argument, I began to realise that I was not (as I’d thought) reasserting my personal identity, but going along with a social identity that threatened to take away the personal freedom I had longed for after years of growing up in a gay-unfriendly environment. Sexual expression is only a part of who we are, and I was risking the rest of me.

Now, I am not knocking the Gay Scene; it gave me some good times, none of which I regret. At the same time, it was a learning curve for me, and in the end I turned to it less and less. I am a gay man, yes, but I do not need to make a public statement about it; at heart, I am just an everyday Joe who also happens to be gay and people (gay and straight alike, whatever their socio-cultural-religious persuasion) are as free to accept me or reject me as I am free to accept or reject them. In recent years, no small number of gay men and women have expressed much the same sentiment.

Life is about being who not what we are. We cannot expect everyone to accept or even like us any more than anyone can or should expect others to accept or even like them simply because of what or whom they represent. We can, though, respect others for who and what they are and for whom and what they represent. We should be celebrating a diverse human nature that brings a whole spectrum of personalities, ideas and passions to the global stage, not attacking any with which we may take issue for whatever social, cultural or religious based reasons.

Well, shouldn't we, and if not, I suggest we need to ask ourselves why not, and on a global conscience be it.

EYES WIDE SHUT or STEREOTYPES, IDENTITY FRAUD

I met a (very) ugly man

in a trendy gay bar, and confess

I wondered what on earth

he thought he was doing there,

but we got chatting,

and after a while I realised

he had a lovely smile,

his voice (a dreamy lilt)

returning me to days long before

I lost faith in love songs

He offered a firm hand

and told me his name, his touch

sending electric shocks

through me as (shyly) I gave mine;

his conversation was fun,

no dull small talk or the usual

chat-up lines although…

he grinned (winking) as he asked

if I’d care to come back to his place

for a coffee, or whatever

Later, sex as pure art form

filling my sad self with a passion

I’d never known before,

this ugly-beautiful man I met

in a trendy gay bar,

sense and sensibility colluding

with feisty frog-princes,

re-working happy endings,

and reminding me why I so missed

listening to love songs

Eyes wide open closed all self-programs,

and ran a virus check for malware

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2014

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

Listening to Love

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

Today's poem first appeared on my gay-interest blog in 2013 with 'Listening to Love' as an alternative title. To read the preamble I posted then, you are welcome to take a look; simply type the title in the subject field of my other poetry blog: 

https://aspectsofagaymanslifeinverse.blogspot.com

I wrote this poem while recovering from a severe nervous breakdown for which having been made to feel something of a freak for years because of my sexuality was partly responsible. Writing has always been a form of creative therapy for me; it contributed considerably to my recovery as did my resolving, once and for all, to stop playing Jack-in-the-box with my sexual identity.

Meanwhile, here's wishing everyone that inner peace and love which, for many of us, remains sadly elusive. Whatever, we must rise above the naysayers of our time as best we can, take each day as it comes, resolve to look on the bright side of life and enjoy whats on offer; wherever the latter found significantly wanting, we can but focus on and work to effect change for the better, each in our own way, however long it takes.

Did I say it was easy? But we can do it. You only have to look how much public opinion has changed for the better towards LGBT issues - in many a socio-cultural-religious environment - since the Stonewall riots in New York, 1969.

LGBT relationships have existed behind closed doors for centuries; there will always be bigots who know no better, but we owe it to the next generation to make sure the more positive attitudes towards sexuality are not made to do an about-turn by any less discerning influences; every society has those, too, of course, not least amongst its more vocal socio-cultural-religious lobbies whose only concern is self-interest in one form or another.

LISTENING TO LOVE

Love gave me flowers
that faded away;
Love gave me kisses
that faded away;
Love told me any doubts
would fade away

Love did not mind
we’re gay

People took your flowers,
threw them away;
they scorned our kisses,
called us names;
the same people warned us
we’d rue the day

Some people mind
we’re gay

The language of flowers
speaks of love;
the heat of your kisses
speaks of love;
our love asks but people put
their doubts away

Copyright R. N. Taber 1982; 2012

[From: Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012]

Taking the 'y' Out of Gay

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

I often receive emails from gay-friendly as well as straight readers who point out that it was my 'choice' to be gay, and as with any choice we make there are invariably  'consequences'.

LGBT folks do not have a choice, except in so far as we either choose to look the world in the eye or remain in the proverbial closet; we are as nature intended, and nature, unlike some human beings, does not discriminate.

The poem below was posted on both blogs in 2014, but I removed it from this one after a nasty, threatening email. I ignore abuse, but threats are another matter entirely, although I have to say that most feedback was very supportive. Three years on, I am repeating it here, not least because a reader has asked me to, but also because latter feedback suggests that my intention to continue posting gay-interest poems on this general blog from time to time, has not only been far more kindly received that  I could have hoped or expected given the response in 2014.(Fingers crossed...)

Incidentally, readers often ask why I write fiction as well as poetry. Well, why not? Regular readers will know that I've suffered regular bouts of depression all my life; writing in any genre is not only an enjoyable pursuit, but also a lifeline by way of creative therapy. Having anyone read what I write is a nice bonus:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.com/

The first novel I serialised on my fiction blog was Dog Roses, a gay-interest story about a young man and his family coming to terms with his being gay; another, Like There’s No Tomorrow is about a woman who returns every year to the hotel in Brighton where her daughter disappeared without trace some 20+ years earlier.

Meanwhile...

Yes, when I was young, I’d frequently ask myself why I was gay… until I realised it did not matter. All that mattered was that I got on with my life and learned to let my sexuality play its part. It’s my life, after all. My lasting regret is that I only came to this conclusion in my 30's following a severe nervous breakdown for which agonising over my sexuality since a teenager must take its fair share of the blame. The penny finally dropped, though, and I saw that my sexuality is no more up for being dictated to than my sense of spirituality although, as regular readers know, I do not subscribe to any religion, preferring to see myself as something of a pantheist. I feel fortunate to have learned in time how to relate to both with a passion I try to convey in many of my poems. In this respect, I owe little or nothing to the so-called 'education for life' I received in the classroom. Sadly, even these days, gay issues are rarely if ever discussed in British schools; indeed, across the world, although here in the UK  new legislation due to come into effect next year will (hopefully) address LGBT issues head-on. in both primary and secondary schools. (Oh, and why not, especially given that children and young people are among the least prejudice people in the world... until or unless persuaded otherwise?

If ever anyone needed support and reassurance regarding their sexuality, it is during our teenage years.

Sexuality is universal. We all have a gene that identifies our sexuality, thereby partly identifying who we are. Nor is sexual identity any less an integral part of the whole person that his or her social, cultural, religious or political identity. It is a mystery to me, therefore, how even the less enlightened among the heterosexual majority really believe there are no young gay boys and girls out there who will develop and grow into their sexuality as responsible adults with no less integrity or capacity for love and compassion than anyone else?

There are homophobes in all echelons of all societies, and of all socio-cultural-religious persuasions; some are out, others prefer to stay in their stuffy closets for fear of being called  'politically incorrect'. I have marginally more respect for the former, although it’s anyone’s guess why these foolish people insist on displaying their ignorance of the human condition for everyone to see. I guess we can but do our best to encourage them to overcome this blindness of the inner eye in respect to LGBT men and women worldwide before more lives and societies are made to suffer for it.

This poem is a villanelle.

TAKING THE ‘Y’ OUT OF GAY

We’d meet after school every day,

go to our secret place

learning to take the ‘y’ out of gay

We took our time, found our way

through love’s maze;

we’d meet after school every day

Two teenagers with plenty to say

about spots on society’s face;

learning to take the ‘y’ out of gay

A brave maturity, come what may

(some say gay is but a phase);

we’d meet after school every day

At each parting, so longing to stay,

but homework setting the pace,

learning to take the ‘y’ out of gay

Years on, we came true to our clay,

where others taking our place;

we’d meet after school every day,

learning to take the ‘y’ out of gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: I am often accused of being 'too personal'; in my poems. Well, I do often write from personal experience, although in my use of the first person singular, I attempt to embrace a third person plural to which anyone is invited to relate if they so choose.]

The Ballad of Neighbour Joe

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

Back in 2010, I posted the poem below ton my gay-interest blog, G-A-Y in the Subject Field. I have been asked by reader H R, who has only recently discovered that his eldest son is gay, to post it here today because “…it puts being gay in the context to which it belongs, that of a common humanity. Needless to say, the whole family love my son no less for his being gay, and I am proud of him for having the guts to say so…”

Well, thank you for that, H R, and I am sure most f not all readers will join me in wishing your son and the whole family love and peace.

It is interesting that H R thinks it takes guts to admit to being gay. Sadly, yes, it often does take guts…but it shouldn’t. We are living in the 21^st century, for goodness sake! Besides, our sexuality is our own business, no one else’s, so who are others to judge? I shouldn’t have to write a poetry blog especially for gay readers, but there are still a lot of straight poetry lovers out there who would have no interest in reading a gay blog… for poetry or whatever. The irony is that whenever I post a Gay Awareness poem on this general blog, not only gets well read but I also receive few (if any) emails to complain, in latter years at least; it was a very different story when I began publishing the blogs 10 years ago.

Mind you, I have to say, too, that there are a lot of gay readers out there who only read my gay blog because “…it addresses gay people as ordinary people, not freaks of nature.” – as one reader put it back in 2010.

It really shouldn’t matter whether people are gay or straight. We are all part of a common humanity, after all. Who is anyone, subscribing to whatever religion, native to whatever culture, friend, work colleague or next door neighbour to argue differently?

Well, aren’t we?

THE BALLAD OF NEIGHBOUR JOE 

I hate queers, neighbour Joe

once said to me, they’re perverts,

don’t you agree?

Not really, I had to say, especially

as I’m gay

He stared, glared, eyes wide

as saucers, lost for words although

his expression said it all;

at last, he managed to get a grip

and curled his lip

Queers deserve to be shot,

he snarled at me, and decent folks

would agree;

I took you for decent, I have to say

but you’re…gay?

I nodded, said conversationally,

so you’ll be getting a gun to shoot me?

He shook his head.

You’re a nice enough person, he said,

I don’t wish you dead

Tell me, he wanted to know,

what it’s all about, this being gay?

Sounds sick to me…

I was taught to loath and despise

(he whispered) ‘sodomy’ 

You have a bad attitude,

I felt inclined to tell him straight,

I’m a top man, me…

but it’s my job pays the mortgage,

not my sexuality

Why should what my partner

and I choose to get up to in bed

matter to you so?

He shook his head, rubbed his jaw,

finally admitted…

I’ll be damned if I know.

You’re right, said neighbour Joe,

it’s none of my business;

blame it on that old song and dance

called ignorance

We shook hands, went on our way,

good neighbours to this day

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

Getting it Together, a Moral Tale OR Upside Down, Come Right Side Up

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

As regular readers know, I was in the proverbial closet for many years, when attitudes towards LGBT people were largely ignorant, bigoted and intolerant to say the least. Eventually, I overcame all that, and told the world I'm gay; if the world didn't like it...too bad.

We have pro-LGBT legislation here in the UK, but homophobia remains as alive and kicking as ever; nor is being bisexual or transgender much easier than it has ever been if only because you cannot legislate for human nature. Having a go at others because they are 'different' seems to be something of a blood sport for some people; one of many reasons I steer well clear of social media. I am not afraid of trolls, but have better things to do than even have to think about them.

I have always posted the occasional gay-interest poem on both blogs, and my having done so with several poems lately seems to have gone down well with those readers who - for whatever reason - only ever access one or the other; this poem, too will appear on both blogs.

I guess we all need to get it together from time to time, and make decisions that will have a huge impact on our own lives as well as the lives of others. Sitting on the proverbial fence never got anyone anywhere fast.

GETTING IT TOGETHER, A MORAL TALE or UPSIDE DOWN, COME RIGHT SIDE UP

Once, an Ordinary Joe
was in pieces, in a so-frantic town,
wanting to look a world
in the eye that was upside down
try hard as O J might,
a growing self-consciousness
refused to put things right

Upside down worlds
make a mountain of everyday life,
its anti-heroes ever struggling
with the consequences of daily strife
reinforcing divisions,
disputing multiple points of view
on its politics and religions

Upside down mountains
offer no more than a distorted view
of some hellish landscape;
no beauty here, not so much as a clue
as to the intentions
of Earth Mother, last seen weeping
multiple carbon emissions

Woke up one morning
to a lark' song celebrating its freedom
of the skies, even with pit folk
so often assumed deaf, blind and dumb
to a right-side-up world
letting the worst of human nature
all but have the last word

Now, a new lease of life
for Earth Mother's messaging humanity;
ignored by the local bully
packing a knife, enjoying a notoriety
egging him on to stab someone,
only to end up on the receiving end
in some hellish prison

Better, by far than that, am I,
as human as any in the cold light of a day
that would deny me taking pride
in embracing a 'me' that's openly gay
as friend, mentor, lover...
in a world that's finally come right-side-up
for my getting it together


Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

A Word to the Wise

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

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

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

A WORD TO THE WISE

Where did they all go,
days of childhood, where freedom
kept its word, any concerns
easily distracted by an enthusiasm
for new thing, new people
new avenues of thought less littered
with a narrow-mindedness
all too often found characterising
adulthood found wanting?

Where did they all go,
those days of emerging maturity
less fettered by the cares
and concerns of everyday survival.
still in the welcome grip
of curiosity, a sense of adventure,
an idealism tested
and found increasingly vulnerable
in as so-changing world?

Whatever happened
to halcyon days of early adulthood,
few leftover laurels
seen floating floods of opposition,
rejection and humiliation
touching base with needy conscience
and self-awareness, inciting
a rebel consciousness to explore ways
to make itself felt and heard?

Whatever happened
to that rebel in me, thinking to change
a world whose imperfections
are glossed over by a well-meaning
global consciousness, yet out
of touch with a common humanity
increasingly sensitive
to its much-divided politics and religions
all claiming to have answers?

No prescribed wisdom ever made less sense
than in any Here-and-Now


Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

[Note: This poem also appears on my gay-interest blog today.]

Lines on last-ditch Damage Limitation

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

Better late than never, humankind appears to be finally waking up to its responsibility to preserve as much of the natural world as it can, given the damage already inflicted upon it in the name of progress.

Let us not kid ourselves, though. Time, always determined to go its own way regardless, is not on our side. If we want to save the planet and all manner of species that have known no other habitat, we all need to pull together now;   each and every one of us doing our bit to save energy, lower carbon emissions drastically if not entirely, think Green instead of relying on others to do so, thereby easing conscience and any sense of responsibility (providing we concede either) … and, yes, we might just save a world worth living in for future generations.

Our young people and their descendants deserve better than the kind of apathy so many people in the Here-and-Now continue to exhibit towards such issues as conservation, regeneration, improving air quality and cleaning up our rivers, seas and oceans - to name just a few. As I see it, quality of life is more important than life for its own sake, and if we don’t all start showing the natural world greater respect now, future generations will be seeing red, not green, and blaming twenty-first century apathy, greed, and an egocentricity beyond belief.

I had a conversation along these lines with someone in a shop recently while queuing to be served. This person took the view that “at least old people like yourself have no cause to worry about what might happen. Even if the worst comes to the worst, you’ll be long gone.”

But I do worry, and so should we all, regardless of who we are or where in the world we live or there may well come a time when it will be too late to worry about what might happen because it already has …

LINES ON LAST-DITCH DAMAGE LIMITATION

In a world top-heavy with pain and grief,

it takes but a butterfly caught in a ray

of sunshine to remind us that Earth Mother

is on our side, each and every minute

of each and every day, ready to give us

a hug when we need it most, remind us life

may be but a fleeting thing yet beautiful

and all the more precious and worth savouring

every moment for that

In a world top-heavy with pain and grief,

it takes but the laughter of a child

running to its mother across home ruins

war, terror or an angry Earth Mother

may well have tried to get across a message

invariably ignored by forces intent only

on making themselves heard above any calls

for peace, love, reconciliation, agreeing to differ

in a so-divided world

In a world top-heavy with pain and grief,

it is good to wake to a dawn chorus,

provided by its birds among trees acting

as Guardians of the Earth since birth

if poorly served in return by we saboteurs

of the natural world so accustomed

to putting our needs first that we forgot

humankind needs see to co-existing responsibly

with nature or pay dearly

Listen. Hear (all) species of land, sea, and sky

demanding we live and let live … or (all) die

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

A Meeting of Minds at the Last Chance Saloon

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

One of my favourite subjects at school some 50+ years ago was History, not least because we had a teacher who made history come alive in in the mind’s eye. I well recall Mr Vickers - fondly known as ‘Chopper’ by generations of schoolkids - telling the class to bear in mind that History hates to lose face. He went to comment along the lines that, just as many if not most of us are inclined to be less than honest when reflecting on home truths, so it is with history. Consequently, he added with a characteristic chuckle, history is paved with excuses. 

I have since come to understand how it is invariably in the light of these excuses that events are recorded, re-recorded and often ‘adapted’ to reconcile with contemporary opinion according to this or that point of view.  

Fortunately, I also had an excellent English teacher at the same school [ 'Jock' Rankin] who taught us how to identify elements of bias in both factual and fictional writings as well as various media presentations. There is nothing wrong with bias, he would say, so long as we recognise it as such and make up our own minds.

On the whole, I hated my schooldays, but looking back I see now how, as an Education for Life, they excelled. Even so...50+ years ago, and what's really changed?  Well, not human nature, for a start...

A MEETING OF MINDS AT THE LAST CHANCE SALOON

Should global warming kill us all,
even Earth Mother may not survive
but as one among stars poised fall;
among its remains, nothing left alive

They say humankind fails to consider
that nature might turn and retaliate
for killing off trees, failing to nurture
respect for bird or beast until too late

We hear much talk of saving habitats,
ending world poverty, famine, wars,
as the poor grow poorer to feed fat cats,
old gods and new, settling old scores

Oh, but there’s politics, sure to save us  
from worms haunting its mass graves,
last-ditch rhetoric for wannabe saviours
still burning its oil in midnight's caves

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2016

Shades of Mythology at the Cliffs of Time

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

Let us hope history will not judge the entire 21st century by its poor beginnings, certain world societies and socio-cultural-religious groups within them paying lip service to the basic human principles of mutual respect and understanding.

Yes, there are many good things going on and good people making them happen, but from where I am writing this sorry world of ours has not made a good start to the new millennium and badly needs to get its act together.

Can it be that leaders from all walks of life need to give less thought to their own egos and more to the ordinary man, woman, and child in the street to whom, invariably, relatively few can even begin to relate?  It may well be the way life is and history is made, but that does not make it right or mean things cannot be done differently, hopefully for the better, before it is too late and irreparable damage done to planet and  human condition alike.

Maybe, one day…

Meanwhile, humankind keeps busy creating  new mythologies that distant future generations will probably gloss over as metaphor - for what, exactly? 

SHADES OF MYTHOLOGY AT THE CLIFFS OF TIME

Dark angels attacking from the sea,

only to hover defiantly between a misty

earth and sky, like bats put in cages,

choice specimens to admire, touch even,

without fear (or real appreciation);

we are safe enough since they can’t fly

in our faces like the world’s vices,

invite us to turn a blind eye or join in

the euphoria, excusing themselves

(and us) with fine rhetoric, no matter

we prefer to look eyes closed, innocents

playing fast asleep

Now, all quiet. Now, a rush of wings

depriving even the inner eye of light along

with harsher cries at ears listening out

for warning sounds, hints at reassurance

(of course, what else?) urging we visit

nether regions of the spirit, view dark angels

with awe if only for drawing our attention

to some patched-up failings in personal space

where we can but watch warily, afraid,

long since repressed by adopted criteria

for a ‘civilized’ life brooking little empathy

with its conscience

Marked for having made bad choices,

(like flying with bats, safety in numbers?)

in a frantic rhythm blithely imposed

by Earth Mother, composed by artists

inspired by passion’s adventurers,

content to leave all sense and sensibility  

to its own accountability and Apollo’s 

predilection for shadow play among rocks

and hard places of a maturity eroded

by time, forever vying with Omnipresence

for a place in history, human nature sticking

to its guns

New mythologies, last spotted breaking

into old Poseidon’s lair;

twenty-first century in denial,
affecting to get real about climate change

even in the face of pleas
from Earth Mother; icecaps, glaciers,
all creatures great and small
carrying the can for its complacency
beyond belief in turning
a blind eye to happenings in a world
where it makes itself a priority second
to none,

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007; 2013

[Note: An earlier version of this poem under the title 'No Strategy for Surrender' appears in Accomplices to Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007.]