A Mug's Game

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

Most if not all of us fall out with someone at some time or another and regret it, but wait for the other person to make the first move.

It can be a long wait…

A MUG'S GAME

We split and I missed you,
wanted to tell you so, but pride
got in the way

I missed our teasing banter,
the cosy intimacy and sensuality
of a couple in love

I sought sanctuary (in vain)
among friends, burning candles
at both ends

Love, though, refusing to stay
in some dark corner of my heart,
sought the light of day

Time and again, I willed myself
to pick up my phone and call you,
but pride got in the way

All attempts to turn a deaf ear
to body, mind, and spirit, failing
oh, so miserably

Before and after sleep caved in
to need, I’d reassure a wet pillow
I would call tomorrow

Day after day, I gave you a hug
and kissed you at favourite haunts
on Memory Lane

Yet, nothing could ease my pain
or begin to fill the black hole in me
but being with you again

Fearfully, I picked up my phone
and called you, and within minutes
you were on your way


Copyright R. N. Taber 2015

Autumn Leaves OR Mind-Body-Spirit, No Stranger to the Fall

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

A new poem today, taking shape in my head as I looked out over a garden covered with fallen leaves, recalling another time,another place, another you-me-us...

We all get angry sometimes, even take it out on loved ones who resent  harsh words they do not deserve while we, in turn, resent their giving as good as they get.

Life is too short and love too precious to slam the door on reconciliation as, sadly, so many of us do...until we feel a pressing need to open the damn door, only to discover we have left it too late and pride really does come before a fall ...

AUTUMN LEAVES or MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, NO STRANGER TO THE FALL

Autumn leaves,
like love letters on my lawn
reminding me...
you're gone, never to return
since we parted
with angry words, duellers,
swords drawn

Autumn leaves,
like tears on the same pillows
we once shared...
where now I but toss and turn,
yearning for you,
for our lovemaking sublime,
dream come true

Autumn leaves,
like dreams in a blustery wind,
as if telling me
to my face, what a fool am I
having let you go
without letting you know
I need you so

Autumn leaves,
like a shower of confetti on us
in celebration
of paradise regained, our love
declared a winner,
anger, self-confessed loser,
duel over

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019; 2020

Chameleon

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

Some readers may be interested to know that I have posted Chapter 1 of a new serial, Catching Up with Murder on my fiction blog. 

Hopefully, readers who enjoyed Predisposed to Murder will also enjoy meeting up with many of the same characters and discovering how they first came together.

Catching Up with Murder is available in paperback from amazon and could well be described as a black comedy in parts; it is not a gay novel as such, but has a strong gay storyline that becomes clear and takes off in Act II:

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/catching-up-with-murder-chapter-1.html

Meanwhile…

It has always struck me how curious it is that some words used to describe human nature can mean different things to different people in exactly the same circumstances.  Not surprising, though, since everyone's take on life (and people) is different depending on how various socio-cultural-religious, age, economic and political factors conspire to directly affect our personal lives, and therefore our opinions. (Whatever, we need to be wary of rushing to judgement and/or being fooled by a sweeping take on stereotypes; there is much to be said for 'judge not lest ye be judged.')

This poem is (another) kenning or 'Who-am-I?' poem.

CHAMELEON 

I'm not always where I should be

and there are times you will find me

wearing the face of human cruelty,

lashing out at anyone who dares

stand in my way, stamping on them

as if they were but vermin, ready

to excuse, even glorify any choices

I make to mask feelings of inferiority
(indeed, the more fool, me.)

Rarely assuming parts conventions 

would have me play in the world 

or in such corners of the human heart

open to anyone to view who cares

to curry favour with me if only to be

rewarded in turn, with such gestures 
of rank or position as best serve 

anyone at listening in, hoping to learn

how not to be duped again

I'm not always a villain of the piece,

now and then accepting applause, 

with due modesty, ever taking credit 
for acting beyond any call of duty,

such as openly acknowledging 
my sexuality or services to humanity 
as nature intended me to provide, 
rejecting a darker side that I confess
lurks just below my surface

Call me chameleon, for good or bad,

walking tall, running scared

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010. a later version that appeared on the blog in 2013 has since been revised again.] RT

Red

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

Some readers may be interested to know that I read today's poem among others on the 4th plinth in London's Trafalgar Square in July 2009 as my contribution to Sir Antony Gormley's One and Other 'live sculpture' project. (That summer 2,400 people were randomly selected to do their 'own thing' for one hour, 24/7 over 100 days.):

http://www.webarchive.org.uk/wayback/archive/20100223121732/oneandother.co.uk/participants/Roger_T [For now, at least, this link needs the latest Adobe Flash Player  and works best in Firefox; the archives website cannot run Flash but changes scheduled for later this year may well mean the link will open without it. Ignore any error message and give it a minute or so to start up. The video lasts an hour. ] RT 3/18

Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, wherever… war and various conflicts world-wide make most if not all of us see red…not only for the loss of life and those left psychologically scarred but also because the politics behind them is invariably suspect, to say the least.

On Home Fronts, too, find bigotry and prejudice creating various socio-cultural-religious divisions within world societies.

If politics can be a dirty business, there can be none so dirty at the Politics of Red.

RED

Shades of red, as colouring world religions,

writing political agendas

When I open my heart, I see red - the colour

of your courage

When I open my eyes, I see red - the colour

of my pain

Red, too, shades of our last sunset before you

left do your duty far away

Red also, on the flag that covered your coffin

as a band played you home

Red, these eyes, that have no tears left for us

but must see their way clear

Red, these lips that will never kiss yours again

but must reassure generations

When I open my heart, I see red - the colour

of your blood

When I open my eyes, I see red - the colour

of my rage

Shades of red, as colouring humankind’s boast

of a common humanity

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

The Gatekeeper's Song

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

While we are all sitting on fences, tearing them down or maybe even trying to mend some, I wonder what The Gatekeeper thinks about it all...?

THE GATEKEEPER’S SONG

They turned their backs on me

or was it I who ran away…?

Memory, it so likes to play tricks

on us, rather than let us see

what really takes place in corners

of the heart we rarely seek out,

for fearing what we may find

in holiday snapshots and behind

words in letters read in anger,

birthday cards left unsent, never

recognising the danger of years

passing so quickly till we’ve only

such poor excuses and regret

as conscience cares to permit shine

in darkest corners of the mind

where, yes, we’d so return a while,

have love take us that last mile

where stubborn feet still refuse to go

though heart and soul never left,

and would set us free, let us see all

the heart deserves to know

No, not free from nature's finer ties

(never that) but, rather, set out

in tablets of stone, supposedly less

likely to break than any we shape

in a clay that may please human eyes

for moment in time, but hardens

(not as we imagined) to a perspective

on dark corners where sometimes

pain seeks solace, yet finding none

in unused icons of human hearts

left but to gather dust like old photos

Better, surely, to air home truths

(even after years of running away)

if only to deny the world its pleasure

in exposing us along tired lines

of letting live but to die another day,

no matter where any blame let lie

nor we (or they) be straight or gay?

Time to open the gate before it’s too late

to live to love another day…

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010, 2019

[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears in On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010; slightly but significantly revised, 2019.]

England, My England, Three Cheers for St George

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

A reader has emailed to say he was surprised to discover I had another blog that I write especially with other gay men and women in mind. He was even more surprised to discover that he 'quite enjoyed reading it. and will do so again.' For anyone else who may be interested, follow the link:

http://aspectsofagaymanslifeinverse.blogspot.com/

I am proud of being an Englishman and sick of being told I shouldn’t be by the so-called ‘politically correct’ brigade. During the World Cup some households have been flying the flag of St George ... but some people have complained, suggesting that it will offend people from ethnic minorities ... as if they don't have teams participating as well as England. Given that St George is also known and respected by Muslims only serves to underline the ignorance of some people.

The poem does not appear in any of my collections so far. It has already provoked some protest emails, one from a Muslim man who implied I am racist and complained that English nationalism makes people like him feel excluded. Well, I don’t think that is anyone’s intention and it’s certainly not mine. As for my being racist, regular readers will know better. I have Muslim friends and others whose culture of origin is homophobic but who have no problem with either my sense of national pride (they cherish their own national/cultural identity) or sexuality.

Regarding social exclusion, I'f say gay people have known our share. Yes, things are better now than they used to be ... for some of us. Even so, I, for my part, resent the kind of socio-cultural-religious homophobia I frequently encounter from people who choose to live in the UK because it offers them a better deal than their own country yet persist in complaining about our ‘liberal’ way of life; these may well be in a minority, but it is a significant and (very) vocal minority. Sorry, but if they don’t like how we do things in the UK (or the West generally) no one will stop them returning to their own country.

ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND, THREE CHEERS FOR ST GEORGE

England, my England, where are you now?
Once, I ran in green fields, played conkers
in the school playground with friendly peers
who hadn’t even learned to spell, let alone
discover the meaning of prejudice, bigotry,
racism and homophobia

England, my England, where are you now?
Once I’d shop for sweets in a corner shop
that’s an ugly, costly apartment block now
among other carbuncles that have sneaked
into High Streets and side roads like thieves
in a corporate darkness

England, my England, where are you now?
Once you offered safety in numbers that now
would gobble me up like a swarm of locusts,
forcing an entry to trains, planes and buses,
making it their business to expose my bones
to political scrutiny

England, my England, where are you now
that let ambition get the better of humanity
and now must pay the price for aspiring
to a supremacy sure to be brought down
for its sheer audacity, while (still) declaring
an empathy with globalisation?

England, my England, where are you now
that sucks up to hawks where once it flew
with eagles, leaves crumbs out for doves
where it feasts on cake and caviar, deceiving
itself and all of us who eagerly devour
the latest opinion polls?

England, my England, where are you now?
Falling apart, a unity bought with the blood,
sweat and tears of centuries, even politics
caving in to those who shout the loudest where
this or that smooth tongued religion assumes
the moral high ground

England, my England, my love, pride and joy;
let the locusts feed on me, my spirit dare take
its cue from a bold re-working of our history
into a 21st century that may yet see its crumbs
shared out evenly, a divided humanity declared
its own worst enemy

Where now, once my England, in a world
that’s lost its way?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009