Raining Stones

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

I have always tried to keep abreast of significant world events and record at least some of them in my poetry. As I compile e-editions of my collections - containing revised poems as they already appear on the blogs - I am adding any poems here that are not currently accessible and may be of interest. 

On 19 March 2011, a multi-state NATO-led coalition began a military intervention in Libya, ostensibly to implement United Nations Security Council Resolution 1973, in response to events during the Libyan Civil War. 

Muammar Gaddafi, the deposed leader of Libya, was captured and killed on 20 October 2011 during the Battle of Sirte. Gaddafi was found hiding in a culvert west of Sirte and captured by National Transitional Council forces. He was killed shortly afterwards. 

The poem below was written as civil war raged in Libya, rebels losing ground to pro-Gadaffi forces...while the rest of the world debated whether or not to intervene; it appeared on the blog at the time, but was later removed due to lack of interest; it appears in my collection, the following year. 

At the time, and being gay myself, I also posted the poem on my gay-interest poetry blog since LGBT Human Rights have long been repressed in Libya. Indeed, since the fall of Gaddafi's regime in 2011, the status regarding homosexuality in Libya remains unchanged. It is high time world societies and communities got real and came to terms with the fact that a common humanity embraces all human nature of which a person's sexuality is fundamental? LGBT folks mean no harm to anyone, deserve better than many stereotypes circulating for years suggest, and simply ask to get on with our lives in peace, just like anyone else.

RAINING STONES

The cry goes up for deliverance,

for humanity’s sake,

from a tyrant’s stony arrogance

Pride plays Lord of the Dance,

(wheels of diplomacy creak);

the cry goes up for deliverance

Across Libya, thousands chance

their very lives to break

from a tyrant’s stony arrogance

United Nations looks on askance

(arguing what action to take);

the cry goes up for deliverance

Dare justice make an appearance,

freedom’s hold re-take

from a tyrant’s stony arrogance?

Oil politics drives Europe’s stance,

(U.S. up for a stake);

the cry goes up for deliverance

from a tyrant’s stony arrogance

[London: March 10^th 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: This poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]

A Christmas Blessing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A CHRISTMAS BLESSING

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2010

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

Dead Cool, Macho Man

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

Overheard on a bus:

TEENAGER 1: It’s all very well for people to say don’t carry a knife or a gun, but what do they know, yeah? It’s dead cool, right? Besides, you gotta protect yourself. F**k the do-gooders. What kind of world do they think we live in? You gotta get real, yeah?

TEENAGER 2: What if someone gets hurt, killed even?

TEENAGER 1: So it ain’t gonna be me, right?

TEENAGER 2: I dunno…

TEENAGER 1: (Rising to leave as bus stops) You dunno know f**k all.

An elderly lady sitting next to me shook her head, "He’s right about one thing. What do we know about the world they live in? And whose fault is that, I wonder...?"

I said nothing. What could I say?

There is nothing either cool or macho about carrying a knife or a gun even if (potentially) in self-defence, and who's going to care anyways if you end up dead?

This poem is a villanelle.

DEAD COOL, MACHO MAN

Finally, managed to get me a gun

and spreading the word,

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

At first, life was a buzz, good fun,

but all that disappeared;

finally, managed to get me a gun,

Needed to prove I was someone,

get me some street cred;

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Shouting at just about everyone,

but no one ever heard;

finally, managed to get me a gun,

Joined a gang, mustn't let 'em down,

show I was shit scared;

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Got into a street fight, shot down
dripping with blood...

Finally, managed to get me a gun,

didn’t ask who’ll carry my coffin

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010; 2015

Christmas At The Going Rate

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

This poem was written in 1997 and first appeared in a poetry magazine based in Canterbury before I included it in my first poetry collection.  I wrote it after shopping in the West End of London and being shocked at seeing so many homeless people huddled in sleeping bags in shop doorways, on the steps of theatres, even churches and other religious institutions.

Years on, London, like so many big cities around the world, continues to be haunted by its homeless. It is a sad reflection on the 21^st century, in particular its finely rhetoric-tuned, comfortably-off world leaders in politics and religion/s world-wide. [Does anyone really believe they put the interests of the everyday man, woman and child in the street before their own?]

Although I am not a religious person, I have no problem with (any) religious celebrations although I have to say they often strike me as more than a shade hypocritical  where giving thanks to God often appears to play second fiddle to one-upmanship among family, friends, and neighbours who share the same religion.

Please give as generously as you can afford to charities that help homeless people. 

It has to be said that giving money to homeless people can be a mixed blessing as they will often just use it to buy drugs or alcohol. Most, though, appreciate someone to talk to who can not only sympathise with their plight without being patronising, but also offer constructive advice such as where to go for help. [The nearest public library, for example, will have a wealth of information. During my years as a librarian in public libraries, I often looked up useful addresses that I would then call and hand the phone to a homeless person seeking help.]

CHRISTMAS AT THE GOING RATE

Starling on the snowy bough,

where will you go now 
as you stir your weary wings to fly 

across this sorry sky?

Better off than I, stuck here,

sitting pretty enough

in a world dishing up pity

to its cardboard men…

I pause and you disappear, bells

ringing out Christmas cheer

to celebrate the Church's share

in a saviour for all seasons

who taught the heart needs not reasons

to care about another, rich or poor,

saint or sinner. A local tramp passes.

Good souls pause…

Wiping glasses, hedging bets

on Judgement Day,

doling out a sweet reprieve

of misery, and all for 50p.

Now, let's hurry, we'll be late;

carols at eight (or is it nine?)

Thinly drawn, a twenty-first century’s

cardboard line

Copyright R. N. Taber 2001; 2012

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

Chain Gang OR Doing a Runner

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

I am happily, openly gay. But it wasn’t always that way. As regular readers will know, I am still haunted now and then by dark, cold, closet years when I was afraid to tell anyone. Throughout my youth and in the early years of young manhood, gay relationships were illegal here in the UK. Yet, after these were decriminalised, I was still more in that damn closet than out of it.

Part of the reason I hesitated to be openly gay was that I had such trouble shrugging off all the offensive stereotypes with which I had been burdened for years. Another reason was that I could rely on no support from family or friends for much the same reason. In many areas there are support groups available now; there is also a LOT of support available on the Internet that includes access to gay forums. [Always keep your wits about you when chatting to people on the web, though, as not everyone is as genuine as they may seem.]

Much has changed for the better since those dark days some 30+ years ago. Many of the stereotypes still exist but are countered these days by supportive (rather than just defensive) arguments, and in some parts of the world gay men and woman can turn to Equal Rights legislation.; in other parts of the world, though, there is none of this and gay people, especially young gay people, are suffering much as I did all those years ago.

It has to stop. Societies whose leaders support anti-gay legislation must be made to see sense by more enlightened societies; political pressure must be brought to bear and seen to be brought to bear.

All the blame for the continuing suffering of all LGBT people, often struggling with their sexual identity and in need of support and reassurance, does not always lie at society’s door. Support and understanding starts in the home. Even in the so-called liberal West, many gay boys and girls, men and women, are (still) living in a gay-unfriendly environment.

Wherever you look, and closer to home than you may think, various socio-cultural-religious anti-gay pressures are being brought to bear on gay people. Bad in the southern hemisphere, yes, but no better in some parts of the northern hemisphere either.

As I keep saying and will keep saying, the key to supporting gay people in home, school and workplace lies in educating, family, friends and work colleagues into just what it means to be gay; dismantle all those same stereotypes and arguments that kept me in the closet once and for all. Parents and teachers worldwide must start taking responsibility for this and societies’ less enlightened leaders must start taking responsibility for taking a lead.

Those readers who get in touch to tell me I am being a dinosaur, things have changed and gays have never had it so good should take a closer look at what is happening in Uganda and many other African countries, for example, also in Russia where gay people amongst others must be aghast at Putin’s re-election as president.

CHAIN GANG or DOING A RUNNER

Shovelling lies, bundles at a time,
though wore my hair long and sang,
making out I didn’t give a damn,
breaking my back on a chain gang

Yes, thought about breaking loose,
though rarely let it tease me for long;
couldn’t face ever having to choose
between alter ego and the chain gang

For long hours, days, weeks, years,
I slogged on, never putt a foot wrong;
no one ever saw me shed any tears
for making a career of the chain gang

I knew the politics, chapter and verse,
yet still kept singing the same old song,
ringing changes, for better for worse,
and more new faces on the chain gang

One face lingered in my mind’s eye,
wry grins sure to catch me responding,
couldn’t ignore, even though I’d try
‘cause it just ain’t done on a chain gang

Too scared to come clean and get real,
told gay love ungodly so must be wrong,
but how could I argue with a smile
that lets heaven shine on a chain gang?

We got to know each other better daily,
mindsets more than merely getting along,
office gossip machine churning madly
(for our not doing right by the  chain gang)

We did a runner one day, my love and I,
got a life, determined to do our own thing,
happier at work (even happier at play)
just two gay people getting on with living

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

[Note: Any LGBT or LGBT-friendly readers may like to visit my other blog 'G-A-Y in the subject field'. Why do I write both ( fiction blog too)?  Well, a poem is a poem is a poem just as a person is a person is a person; there is more to all of us than out sex or sexuality.]

The Maze (Open All Hours - Disabled Access - Only Carer Dogs Allowed)

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

Apart from its divisiveness, the main reason religion offers me nothing is because I can’t stop asking questions. Quite simply, Faith is a full stop I cannot get my head around. Besides, many socio-cultural-religious leaders are bullies and I hate bullies. It has little or nothing to do with my sexuality.

This doesn’t mean I have no interest in or respect for religions of the world. Indeed, I do. As regular readers will know only too well, I have nothing but contempt for those who not only choose to interpret but also preach from the various Holy Books to suit and/or camouflage their own ends. Yes, bullies. You will know the type. I dare say you will have come across a good few of them. Ah, but yes, they interest me greatly, these bullies. Why do they behave the way they do? What drive them? It certainly isn’t compassion but nor, surely, is it entirely self-interest...or is it?

Questions, questions and more questions; as or finding any answers, we can but look.

This poem is a villanelle.

THE MAZE (OPEN ALL HOURS - DISABLED ACCESS - ONLY CARER DOGS ALLOWED)

Who seeks meaning, dares a maze,
its walls of evergreen
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

It is a place folks fear and praise
where ghosts often seen;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze,

See Apollo wink to shine his rays
where lovers steal unseen,
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Watch Diana’s bold hunters graze
on passions dark, serene;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze

Chance on trails time artlessly lays
(true, false, in-between)
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Look out for humanity, learn ways,
to its heartland, rarely seen;
who seeks meaning, dares a maze,
harbouring life’s finer mysteries

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

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