The Defiant Ones

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

Now, feedback suggests that some readers are offended by my posting poems from my gay-interest poetry blog here, so if you are likely to feel offended by this entry, no apologies, just ignore it...

Unfortunately, Blogger does not change the date of post-poems published as and when I (often) revise them.  Several readers have emailed to say they find this frustrating as they may well not chance to view the blog archives and read any revisions for themselves. I have therefore deleted the original post on which the poem below was first published (on my other poetry blog) and am reworking it as a ‘new’ post together with the revised poem (the second one below) so readers can compare, may even feel it’s worth browsing the blog archives sometime after all...? I am posting it here because I have probably revised more general poems, but little feedback suggests that the thinking behind this is, as one reader puts it "What's the point of browsing archives...?"

As it happens, I chose a gay-interest poem to make my point, and as I am not well these days, it took me ages to re-word and explain what I am trying to do, and I don't feel up to repeating the process with what some readers might consider a more appropriate poem for a general blog. Besides, in 2012, while I felt the same way about being gay as the revised poem suggests, feedback at the time suggested that it would not be welcomed by the majority of readers here. I am delighted, therefore,  to say that later feedback suggests a good many readers of this blog now dip into both, as much out of curiosity as a feeling for poetry. Hopefully, at the same time, it may even change certain stereotypical perspectives in the minds of bigoted heterosexuals that continue to pursue LGBT folks worldwide to this day. 

The 2012 post included a link to a video on my YouTube channel relating to a poem about Oscar Wilde: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxcbIozftcE&list=UUSdhLgPQOsng2Xz8n5m0ViQ

[To go directly to my YouTube channel for other videos:

https://www.youtube.com/user/rogerNtaber/videos

As regular readers will know, I publish my collections under my own imprint because it would appear that poetry publishers are not happy with poems on a gay theme appearing alongside poems on other themes. Yet, poetry does not discriminate so why should we (or they?) Besides, I feel it would be hypocritical for a gay man to publish a collection of poems and ignore his sexuality. As I have often said on the blogs, as far as I’m  concerned, a poem is a poem is a poem and no theme is or should be taboo.  

Now, some readers may be interested to know that the original post in 2012 was published especially for ‘Enrique and Salvo’ who had been in touch to say they recently came out as partners to friends and family and ‘despite a few problems to start with, everything had settled down and they are “very happy.” I have heard from them again since; they are still together and “deliriously” happy.

THE DEFIANT ONES (first version, 2010)

When I enter you and we are joined as one,
a fine spirituality embraces us,
centres us in a womb-tomb of earth, fire
and water, where we become as nature
intended, taking us into a vast eternal NOW
we feared until our sexuality confirmed
its identity

No longer afraid but glimpsing those ends
where new beginnings are made
to answer to the ghosts of childhood with wisdom,
where ignorance would prey on lovers
expected to lie down and die for each other

just as we lie here, you and I, chancing
a power of love far greater than the dictates
of religions, promises of politicians,
rhetoric of personal ambitions citing the prose
and poetry of a common humanity taken
from a a well-thumbed page in its history, praising
colour creed, sexuality and age,
coffin makers worldwide anxious to spread
the word that you and I would die for each other
than surrender to a lesser power whose lessons 
in glory but give the lie to our love story

If our bed be a coffin, better to die here and now
than with a lie on these twin lips we’ll kiss,
this flesh we’ll devour, its blood turned to wine,
our bodies as one

willing the world move on
and leave us alone

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This earlier version of the poem below first appeared in my 6th collection, On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010 and subsequentlyo0n the blog in 2012 only to be significantly revised (see below) June 2021,]

THE DEFIANT ONES (Revised version, 2021)

It's as we make love and are joined as one,
a fine spirituality embraces us,
centres us in a womb-tomb of earth, fire
and water, where we become as nature
intended, taking us into a Here-and-Now
that we feared - until (finally) sexuality
confirms its spirituality, showing us a love
that is our eternity 

No longer afraid but glimpsing those ends
where new beginnings are made
to answer ghosts of childhood with wisdom,
where ignorance would prey on lovers
expected to lie down and die for each other
just as we lie here, you and I, chancing
a power of love far greater than the dictates
of religions, promises of politicians,
rhetoric of personal ambitions citing the prose
and poetry of a common humanity taken
from well-thumbed pages in history, praising
colour, creed, sexuality, gender and age,
coffin makers (worldwide) anxious to spread
the news that we would die for each other
before caving in to worldly powers whose bigotry
but gives the lie to our love story 

If our bed be a coffin, better to die here and now
than with a lie on these twin lips we’ll kiss,
this flesh we’ll devour, its blood turned to wine,
our bodies as one, the world embracing us
as of its own, not as stereotypes would cast us,
(‘freaks’ of nature but one) LGBT folks 
but asking to see the world move on in its time
end (all) hate crime

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, rev. 2021 

[Note: Another reader asks why I post poems here only to revise them at a later date? I will try and answer that by way of a prose entry tomorrow.] RNT

The Anniversary

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

Today’s poem first appeared on the blog in 2015.

As the UK - along with the rest of the world - continues to cope with the Covid-19 coronavirus and the subsequent stresses and strains it imposes on our everyday lives (as if there aren't enough of those in modern times anyway) crime continues to flourish, not least on our streets where tensions boil over and express themselves in a terrible violence. 

There are no excuses; reasons, yes, but no excuses for allowing the kind of pressure most if not all of us are under to get the better of common sense, not to mention common decency and respect for human life. Killers ultimately destroy their own lives as well as their victim's. As for pleading 'justice'; it is not for any of us to play judge and jury to the extent of taking the law into our own hands, much as we may well be tempted.

[Update: January, 2020]: Official figures released in April 2019 reveal that knife crime has surged to the highest levels since records began in England and Wales; worse, it continues to rise.] RNT

Memories are precious and love never dies. But let’s face it; it can never compensate for not having our loved ones with us and watching them get on with their lives.

Today’s poem is for families and friends left behind when a loved one dies. It is especially for parents who have lost sons and daughter; no parent should have to bury their child. Whatever the circumstances, death is always a tragedy for those left behind, but what can be worse than to be left with the image of a loved one meeting a violent end or never even knowing what really happened or having no body to bury…?

All knife and gun crime, but especially hate crime, and particularly among young people must stop.

While many parents, teachers, social and youth workers take every opportunity to lead intelligent, sensitive, debate so these killers realise they are not just killing a person but amputating the limb of a vital, living network of family and friends that will never be quite the same again.

There is nothing ‘cool’ about street crime. Young people who think it takes carrying a weapon to achieve street cred or even as a means of self-defence should bear in mind that someone could get so easily killed or suffer serious injury…and it could well be them.

Nor is time spent in prison anything to boast about. I once spoke with a young man who had spent time in prison but chose to turn his life around. I asked how it was in prison. He said unhesitatingly, ‘There wasn’t a day I didn’t wish I was dead.’ Thankfully, he is alive and getting on with his life in a very positive way. 

Every killer has a choice. Tragically, victims killed in the course of violent crime on our streets have no choices left. (I read somewhere that most killers regret their actions, but as my mother used to say, regrets are cold comfort in any language...) Meanwhile. family and friends are left struggling with what-might-have-been...

THE ANNIVERSARY 

No grave to tend, but a street corner

to leave flowers, recall

how here it was where last we'd 

laugh off our being so much in love

as if it were child's play

Leaves, scattered over paving stones

where once we children

loved to play, I-n-n-o-c-e-n-c-e

like the tail of a kite in a feisty breeze

all but free to go its own way

Come twilight, more haunting shadows

marking time before darkness

effects its cover-up for humanity,

half the world sleeping, the other dying

for a chance to have its say

No grave to tend, but a street corner

where anniversary flowers

can but hope to message passers-by 

how sick minds think it could well be fun 

to stick a knife in someone...

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2018     

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

Children of No Lesser God

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

Today's post/poem is copied from the archives of my gay-interest blog for September 2013.

[Update: March 25 2018]: A young gay man recently emailed me to ask how he can live with himself for being gay when his religion also means everything to him?  Well, i am not a religious person myself but I am no fool, either, and only a fool would honestly believe that God is a homophobe. Whatever a person's religion, its Holy Books preach peace and love, not bigotry. I have also had emails telling me I am naive to think this way, but we must agree to differ. To any young man or woman who knows, at heart, they are gay. I say don't let your religion prevent you from living your life as you want.need to live it. God is not your enemy, no matter how hard religious dogma may try to persuade you otherwise. I only know this young man as 'Michael' and do not have an email address for him as he made contact via the Comments box but please feel free to get in touch again should you feel the need. As regular readers well know, I don't post comments, but always read them and will always reply if you include an e-address; mine, as the blog heading is rogertab@aol.com.]

Meanwhile...

Some time ago, a gay friend and I were chased by three young homophobic thugs on our way home after a pleasant evening out. We escaped unhurt but I could so easily be telling a very different tale.

I have met many gay men who have been scarred for life (physically and/ or emotionally) by homophobic attacks. It is worse than being mugged, although the results can be as bad. The reason I say this (having been the victim of both) is because a homophobic attack is so much more personal. A mugger is after what we have by way of cash, etc. but a homophobe actively hates his (or her) perception of who we ARE.

Although we cannot always avoid the various slings and arrows of the world’s homophobes, we dare not let these pathetic specimens of humankind get the upper hand… nor will we, though they be found in all corners of all societies.

Those readers who email from time to time to ask why I am living in a time warp would do well to remember that in some societies being gay is still punishable by imprisonment, even death.

As for the free(er)West, a person's freedom to be openly gay invariably depends on whether or not not he or she happens to be living in a gay-friendly home/school/work environment. This blog tries to encourage all gay men and women, boys and girls, to feel GOOD about themselves.            

"For why is all around us here
As if some lesser god had made the world,
But had not force to shape it as he would?"

Alfred Lord Tennyson [Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur]

CHILDREN OF NO LESSER GOD

It was the hour of midnight cats;
out of the shadows they came,
waving bottles and baseball bats,
homophobes by any other name

We ran. No sanctuary in the park.
Frantic calls on mobile phones,
aware of the chilling dark poised
to rake over our flesh and bones

They caught us, brought us down
on wet grass spewing up a din;
bats, boots, cheers and flick knives
raking a terrible pain over the skin

Help arrived so the thugs ran away,
their hoots of laughter in the wind
a drumming in the ears come to play
another of life’s battles to its end

The homophobe fights a greater fear
than attacks gay people world over,
long hidden scars as sure to reappear
as a vulnerability gone undercover

Poor fools, attacking human sexuality
for fear of relating to its humanity

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2019

[Note: This poem has been slightly revised (2013) from an earlier version as it appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; revised ed. in e-format in preparation.]

A Gay Bashing

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

This post/poem has been available on my gay-interest blog for a few years. I am repeating it here at the request of an overseas reader whose best friend was beaten to death by gang of homophobic thugs only last year. No witnesses have come forward so the perpetrators have not been identified.  To date, no one has been charged with the young man’s senseless murder.

Meanwhile, I know of at least one closet gay reader who has participated in n attack on another gay man because he did not want to lose face with his so-called 'friends'. (What is it with some societies that they continue to impose pressure on LGBT people to play chameleon rather than look the world in the eye as they are?)

Now, it is one of the many tragedies of modern life that there are (still) people and groups of people that are so screwed up as to want to see an gay or transgender person hurt, even dead.

Politics, religion, a common humanity…all have their part to play in getting the message across to certain pockets of society that gay and transgender folks are just ordinary people who want to be left to go about their daily lives in peace. How we like sex and with whom is our own business.

Does a perspective on how (or even if) we like sex loom large in our appreciation of society as a whole? Did I hear you answer, no? So why should it matter if a person is gay?

Gay people are not irreligious monsters, although some religions would (still) make us outcasts…or worse.

It is also a myth that gay people are paedophiles. Historically, the vast majority of paedophiles are screwed up heterosexuals.

So come on, you holier-than-thou brigade and you others too busy playing lip service to political correctness to see the wood for trees…give us gay people (among others, worldwide) a chance to prove our worth, yeah?

What’s that? Gay people have never had it so good, did you say?

In 76 countries, gay relationships are still a criminal offence and punishable by death in six. 

As with all forms of prejudice, the expression it takes is likely to turn on the socio-cultural-religious/ home-school-work environment in which people live…in a century that still has one hell of a lot to learn about love, peace, and a common humanity.

Gay bashing is not the only form of hate crime of course; none should be tolerated by decent people, local communities or countries worldwide.

 A GAY BASHING 

Found him late at night, bleeding 

in a street gutter, near dead

His fine features an ugly sight, 

white shirt turning red...

Called an ambulance, did all I could

to comfort, help ease his pain,

but it seemed a long time coming,

and he but barely breathing

as I struggled to speak, anxious

he stay awake, so scared 

for him that he close his eyes

never to hear a human voice again,

feel its warmth spread over him 

like my overcoat, not yells of abuse

chasing him down centuries,

spilling their ignorance and hate 

on streets much like this one

with more horrendous tales to relate

for any who care to listen

A light rain began to fall like tears

(a God of Love empathising?)

I, too, wept that he might even die

believing the world against him

and siding with its sick homophobes

even though a part of me knew

it was already too late - for them

as for him - given a world 

barely even paying lip service 

to LGBT folks in parts,

hearts sporting logos set in tablets

of stone, fronting public roles

that embrace liberality and equality

while inwardly egging on

the sheer bestiality of any criminality 

seen as justified wherever LGBT

spells SCUM, deserving no less,

no matter if (supposedly) we all of us

share a common humanity

Left near drowning in a sea of sirens, 

we'll yet draw strength from straws

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]

Finding Neverland

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

This poem was written while I was recovering from a bad nervous breakdown in the early 1980’s. I found it buried under various documents for which I no longer have any use, and thought some readers might be interested.  Writing - especially poetry - helped me through that breakdown to a new job nearly 4 years later, one that would take me to retirement in 2008.

FINDING NEVERLAND

Oh, to ride a cloud

out of Nowhere, carrying me

Somewhere

Somewhere,

all varieties of plant and animal

in harmony

Somewhere,

no acid rain or polluted oceans,

only beauty

Somewhere,

no hint of war or double dealings,

only peace

Somewhere,

no hate crime grabbing headlines,

only love

Somewhere,

no socio-cultural-religious dogma,

only humanity

It’s cloud nine

to Somewhere, only ever dumps us

back Here

Here, there…

round trip to Neverland where hope

springs eternal

Copyright R. N. Taber 1983; 2018

New Kids on the Block

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

A slightly different version of today’s poem was published in various anthologies and poetry magazines (1997-2001) before appearing in my first major collection.

I have made numerous revisions to various poems over the years, some minor others major. While most revisions appear on the blogs, I hope (eventually) to publish revised editions of each collection in e-format.

Now, at first glance, nothing seems to have changed much in 20+ years, especially in the sense that a significant proportion of children and young people seem to be having as raw a deal as ever. (Oh, but haven't I said that before once, twice, maybe even a thousand times?) We must encourage our young people to believe in themselves and trust their own judgement a learning curve some young people miss out on altogether ... and whose fault is that ... partly their own, yes, but society needs must accept its fair share of the blame also, and society is you-me-us.

Could it be perhaps that if we all try harder to keep our own little piece of the world clean, safe, and a good place to be, all the other pieces may yet come together in a more bearable, worthwhile  whole…for everyone? 

So many people, rather than act on what their inner self is telling them, prefer to take their cue from the Scarlett O'Hara character in Margaret Mitchell's epic novel, Gone With the Wind. The heroine is always telling herself, 'I'll think about that tomorrow.' It is a common human tragedy that, for some of us tomorrow, never comes...

NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK 

Gone shopping,

kids left running wild,

trolley rage mums

all smiles (dad’s at the pub);

dog mess everywhere,

kids busy shooting pool

at late-night venues

when not hanging out

on street corners

On the pavement,

collide with some kid

on a bike (my fault

of course, forgot to look);

knives out

in the playground,

acid in the park,

kids chasing death

for a lark

Cops in their stride

(‘Come on, let’s get even.’);

kids on a joyride

to Heaven, street siren

screaming, ‘Amen’;

Mum’s off her trolley,

Dad’s on the booze,

angel on the sideboard,

yesterday’s news …

Copyright R. N. Taber 1997; 2015

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in Love and Human Remains by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2001.]

Reflections on the Darker Side of Human Nature

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

[Update (Sept 4, 2016) A perceptible rise in hate crime against EU and other migrants in parts of the UK since the Brexit vote is as disturbing as it is appalling; another modern tragedy perpetrated by a significant but vocal minority along with racism and homophobia. Even intolerance of elderly and disabled people is not unheard of in this sorry world of ours While some prejudices are ingrained in certain socio-cultural-religious conventions, others merely service a warped ego; all need to be weeded out, and will be, but not in my lifetime, I fear.]

From time to time (or perhaps more often these days?) stress rears its ugly head and tempers become frayed. We can try and recognise the signs and stay calm, but that's easier said than done. 

Too often, we say things we don’t mean in a temper or, if we do mean them, we probably shouldn’t have said them. If the worst comes to the worst, all we can do is apologise and try and make peace. As my late mother used to say, if your head is too big to apologise, your mind is too small for it.

With some people, of course, the damage done is irreparable but that isn’t always a bad thing. Having let rip with anger, it can sometimes bring a welcome sense of relief, especially when it targets those among us with whom it is impossible to talk things through. If it gives the person with whom we have lost our temper food for thought, so much the better and we should accept any genuine olive branch gracefully. However, some people are too self-centred to concede that it takes two to make a quarrel and two to make it up. They prefer to hug their grievances to them, relating them to all and sundry as a means to gaining an invariably undeserved sympathy vote.

By the way, I speak from personal experience. When I was younger I would put up with ‘friends’ (and family) treating me badly because I knew they didn’t necessarily mean it. Even so, most would run a mile rather than sit down and talk things through. Once I turned sixty, I decided life is too short and time too precious to waste on people like that.

“Angry people are not always wise.” - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

This poem is kenning.

REFLECTIONS ON THE DARKER SIDE OF HUMAN NATURE 

I watch you, though from shadows,
and you know I am there yet choose
to ignore me, hoping I will go away
but it’s my choice to stay, observe
the way you walk, talk, seeing how
you react to what others do or say,
assessing your hurt by scratch marks
of the queerest designs you pass off
as laughter lines

I follow you about wherever you go
and you would be rid of my company
yet dare not face me with all the facts
I have gleaned over years of grooming
you for my own ends. Any resistance
is futile, though I grow apprehensive
when you mix with others who would
usurp my place, take you for their own,
share love’s crown

Years pass, and now we walk together
and you dare not say ‘no’ to passing
into the shadows with me for have I not
watched over you as I would a child?
Where can the light of the world take us
but among regrets and betrayal, along
tracks made by paper tigers that belong
here, where only leafy skies have shed
tears for centuries

I hold the hand writing history’s next page,
and am called Rage

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2018

[Note: This poem first appears under the title 'The Savage' in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; rev. title 5/18]

(Other) Casualties of War..

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

A number of blog readers have expressed a wish to read some of my poems again, but don’t have access to my collections or time to browse my blogs. I have therefore started up a Google Plus site linking to new and historical posts/poems on booth bogs. The preamble to some posts may well be out of date, of course, but recent feedback suggests it doesn't bother anyone. Besides, readers can always skip the preamble and go straight to the poem.:

https://plus.google.com/118347623673930289606/posts

Now, much of human nature is about love and hate, finding peace and making war with ourselves as well as if not more so than with others. 

Among many wounds we inflict upon ourselves - and far too often leave to fester - I suspect that by far the greater are words spoken in anger that can never (quite) be retracted and words of love never spoken at all. More often than not, blame lies with a failure to communicate properly between the parties concerned; ironic, in a twenty-first century where communication has never been easier if also (perhaps for that very reason?) more vulnerable to misunderstandings and/ or misleading assumptions invariably down to expressing ourselves poorly or not at all..

When was the last time you told someone just how much you love and/or forgive them?

This poem is (yes, another) villanelle.

(OTHER) CASUALTIES OF WAR

So many words unsaid

on this life’s battleground,

comrades left for dead

False hopes seeing red,

warned not to make a sound;

so many words unsaid

Misgivings hastily shed

where love’s tears confound;

comrades left for dead

Truth but to history fed,

as better sought than found;

so many words unsaid

Honest mistakes misled

for hurt pride to compound;

comrades left for dead

Nature, by nurture misled

costs peace the upper hand;

so many words unsaid,

comrades left for dead

[From:  On the Battlefields of Love: poems by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

Extracts From A Prison Diary

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

Listening to a group of youths chatting amongst themselves on a bus, I was appalled to hear how they all but revered one of their friends who had recently been jailed for a knife attack on someone. 

I bet they wouldn’t think prison was so good for street cred if they were there, locked up for much if not most of the time and deprived of their freedom all the time...

The majority of young people are decent, hard working, good people. The tragic irony is that the relatively few bad apples in the proverbial barrel have the same potential if only they would acknowledge the common sense in getting their priorities right, the courage to resist peer pressure from the wrong parties and make the most of that potential instead of whining about how the better opportunities never come their way.

Prevention is better than cure. True, luck can play a part in whether or not opportunity knocks at our door, but mostly we have to take a good look around, see what there is to be had that we want and is worth wanting, and ... 

GO FOR IT.

Did I say it was easy ...?

EXTRACTS FROM A PRISON DIARY

A neighbour slipped out to buy bread

and…was shot dead;

Hoodies cheered, one waving a gun;

(Who’s next? Could be anyone...)

I thought I knew that hood inside-out

till I heard a devil yell, “Shoot!”

A face in shadow, but I knew the voice;

what happened next, my choice

Mates say guns are a must (gang culture),

a necessary feel-good factor;

suddenly, blood on my designer shoes;

heads cops win, tails I lose

Emergency sirens blasting at my head,

(Like it was me shot someone dead?)

I knelt by the body and called out a name;

the only answer, howls of shame

I was told to wear a white shirt, black tie

for the funeral, but it was a lie;

what difference if I’m dressed up smart?

Better jeans, hood, a caring heart

Later (crying in cuffs) taken back to prison,

old mates, some hoodies, looking on;

Drugs, booze, skipping school, what matter?

It was my finger on the trigger

The idea of prison hadn’t bothered me

(I’d seen cool shows on TV);

the reality? I am as meat in a lion’s den

only…torn to pieces by men

Oh, to be a schoolkid again, a wiser one,

who would never carry a gun…

nor would I mistake everyday life for dull,

but get an education, enjoy to the full

Like bile on the tongue, every word written

for tears and fears I keep well hidden

or drown in each lonely day’s angry swell

crashing down on this, my life, my cell

[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

How long Before the Next Bus? OR Fear on the Streets

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

Although this poem was not written until 2003, Stephen Lawrence loomed largely in my thoughts as the death toll among young people subjected to violent, sometimes fatal attacks in London continued to rise; it is still rising. The awful irony is that all the while knife crime remains prevalent, the more young people feel it is necessary for their own protection to carry a knife. 

Stephen Lawrence was an 18-year-old sixth form student. The black British teenager from Eltham, South-East London was stabbed to death while waiting for a bus on the evening of 22 April 1993. It is only recently that two people have finally been convicted of a murder believed to have been racially motivated.

Racism, like homophobia and all hate crime is invariably fuelled by a prevailing gang culture and/or those less discerning socio-cultural-religious bigots among us without whom societies worldwide would far better served. Education is the key; in  schools, colleges and universities, but first and foremost in the home. Tragically, it is far too often the case that education is found wanting in all of these.

As a gay man, I cannot help but get the feeling that homophobic crime is rarely afforded the same high profile as racism among the press, police, politicians or parents. Oh, and why is that?  Does a person’s sexuality make him or her less of a human being than the colour of their skin? Whatever, discrimination in any shape or form is unacceptable in a civilised society.

HOW LONG BEFORE THE NEXT BUS? or FEAR ON THE STREETS

Blood on the pavement where a body lay

and later someone knelt to pray for the soul

of another youth struck down violently
long before his time; utterly senseless crime,
harsh indictment of a society as inclined
to pass by on the other side as rush to the aid

of anyone being attacked, since it could be
for the sake of not being able to buy some acid,
coke, crack, weed, designer gear, the colour
of their skin, a suspect sexuality or even simply
getting kicks out of attacking, maybe killing
someone, given the chances are some in-crowd
says it's 'cool' to look good, act big enough
give old ladies a heart attack, snatch a blind man's
stick for a (sick) joke. Why tempt fate. risk
pitting ourselves against wolves in sheep's clothing
for any of that?

Years on, the pain still tearing at modernity's 

flimsy fabric, as hate ripped a young man's jacket

whose blood at a bus stop tells its own story,

plaque meant as a memorial but also recalling
the vainglory of a fraternity never properly brought
to book, justice gone to ground so we'll never,
walk down any street without a fear shadowing us
that’s persistently perverting its course; no peace
in a sad world likely to stab us in the back any time,
no matter our ethnicity, creed, sex or sexuality,
(easy targets for the perversity of cowardly thugs)
on a street that could easily be mine or yours,
leaving yet another mother, father, sister, best mate
left grieving us, missing us, forever questioning
the ethos of contemporaneity, feeling abandoned
by a society, left watching anxiously for the next bus

that never comes

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in A Feeling for the Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2005.]