Classroom Politics OR Extinction Rebellion, Getting Real

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

OVERHEARD in a local Supermarket: 

MAN: “Don’t talk to me about climate change. If you ask me, it’s a load of rubbish. Youngsters, today, huh! Never happy unless that can find something to whinge about. Take this Extinction Rebellion lot, a bunch of troublemakers if you ask me...” 

WOMAN: “I’m not so sure. I mean, well, what do any of us actually know about what’s causing such high temperatures in Greece, wildfires in Australia, worsening weather conditions all over...?” 

MAN: “Oh, well, the planet’s here to stay for a good while yet, so time enough to worry when and if the time comes, that’s what I say...”

When and if the time comes...? Better to be safe than sorry, surely? The sooner we all start doing our bit to save the planet, the better its chances of survival... and ours. That’s what yours truly says, thinks, and tries to practise what I preach as best I can...

The poem below was written over twenty years ago, and my inner ear told me even then that young people were already beginning to express various Green and Climate concerns. They are much older, now ,of course, ad it is good to see the next generation actively expressing much the same concerns...

CLASSROM POLITICS or EXTINCTION REBELLION, GETTING REAL

Murmurs in the classroom
smack of revolution

Stuck in front of a television,
well able to tell fact from fiction,
the problem being,
where on earth to draw the line
between what we love
to watch over endless cups of tea
while and rejecting
whatever it may be giving us cause
to suspect our sense of pleasure more than
a shade unhealthy

Murmurs in the classroom
smack of revolution

Made to sit back and watch
our home planet being set upon;
little if any regard for nature
whose best interests are ill-served
by those of Big Business
despite any public relations exercise
performed by Fat Cats
keen to exploit media attention,
all the better to disguise a hidden agenda
of mass destruction

Murmurs in the classroom
smack of revolution 

Copyright R N. Taber 2001; rev. 2021

[Note: This poem was first  published in my collection, Love and Human Remains, Assembly Books, 2001; it has recently been slightly but significantly revised, August, 2021.]

 

Between Friends OR Mind-Body-Spirit, Shades of Light and Dark

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber4

Covid-19 has been stressful for everyone, no less so for young people, free spirits who feel trapped by various degrees of lockdown imposed around the world. While most young people find creative ways of dealing with stress, tragically some turn to drugs.

This poem first appeared on the blog in 2014, and can still be found in my gay-interest poetry blog archives.  Although feedback suggests that few straight readers visit my gay blog, yet again someone  who describes himself as a “regular reader of all three blogs” has asked me to post a poem here that he found there while browsing. It appears that this reader's brother died from an accidental drug overdose only a few years ago, after being encouraged by a group of ‘friends’ to try a heroin fix; he was just 21 years-old.

I once had a friend who became a heroin addict in his late teens and died from an overdose in 1967. 

My friend was 22 and happened to be gay, but same sex relationships were illegal in those days and the stress this put him under was almost certainly a contributory factor. Drug abuse is a tragedy for too many young people - gay, straight, male, female, from all kinds of backgrounds - and there is still an element of 'taboo' preventing them accessing help. Now, I can’t say I'm particularly enamoured with old age (I will be 75 later this year) but I make the most of each day as it comes, and am glad to be alive to tell the tale.

I felt compelled to write this poem years ago, in remembrance of a great guy who took a wrong turning and was found lying in a gutter one day ...

Tragically, there are still those to whom taking hard drugs is socially acceptable, a trait encouraged by a drugs-friendly celebrity culture frequently in the media spotlight and setting an appalling example.

  

BETWEEN FRIENDS or SHADES OF LIGHT AND DARK

Under a halo of sudden light,

a familiar figure beckons;

looks, sure to win the Devil over;

designer gear any angel would give

their wings for

Laugher lines in the classic brow,

enigmatic poise teasing me

even now as into the clinging dew,

I run barefoot,

hug anew this pouting saint

to a sobbing breast…

Laughter, through tears for years parted,

broken hearted…

Catching my breath, no nearer it seems

to this golden-haired god

in jeans I’ve borrowed times before,

reaching out a hand,

indulging me a bitter-sweet smile

that means so much I’d give my all

to touch…

Lark into dawn skies, vanished;

a bitter-sweet song,

no listener (ever) left unpunished;

lives as fresh and hopeful as spring rain

till you tried heroin

[From: Love and Human Remains (under the title, Between Friends) by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2000]

Boy on a Rocking Horse

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

Todays poem first appeared on the blog in 2012; I recorded it on You Tube at the time:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0gU5W8OQ2I (direct link to Video)

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtabe (for my You  Tube channel)

‘Powerless Structures is the beautifully created figure of a boy on a rocking horse and was the latest art work to grace the 4^th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square.

The poem I have recorded over the video unfolded in my mind the more I considered what the sculpture meant to me personally. The rocking horse that stood by my bedroom window when I was just a boy provided an escape from the harsher realities with which, as a child, I was poorly equipped to cope. My imagination would let fly and take me into magical realms of fantasy, fairy tale and legend as regular readers of my blogs and/or collections know. .

Hopefully, video and poem complement each other in such a way that where the poem is a fairly personal take on the sculpture, the video leaves plenty of space for the viewer to bring his or her own take to this bronze figure of a boy on a rocking horse and latest art work to grace the 4th plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square. 

In line with the existing iconography of the other statues in the square, the child is elevated to the status of a historical hero. However, where they acknowledge the heroism of the powerful, this work celebrates the heroism of growing up. The image of a young boy astride his rocking horse encourages observers to consider the less spectacular events in their lives, which are often the most important.

Danish artists Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset are widely reported as saying it was “up to the public to love it or hate it, but hopefully not ignore it."

Never ignored, that’s for sure.

BOY ON A ROCKING HORSE

Boy on a rocking horse,

rocking to and fro,

are you part of a happy family,

and do they love you so?

As a child in my bedroom,

I used to rock to and fro,

looking out of my window

at the garden below …

One day, at my window,

rocking to and fro,

a swallow settled on the sill

and said, ‘Hello.'

‘Don’t you ever get fed-up

just rocking to and fro

when there’s so much to see,

scores of places to go?’

‘There’s far, far, more to life

than rocking to and fro.

Fly with me and see the world,’

said the swallow.

If I had been happy enough

rocking to and fro,

now I longed to see the world

like the swallow

I became, oh, but so excited

that I rocked to and fro

so hard that, suddenly, I took off

through the window;

at first, flying was a terrific thrill

(after just rocking to and fro)

seeing how people, places, animals,

make up the world we know 

Then I recalled my little room

where I’d rock to and fro,

believing my folks would miss me

and how I loved them so.

‘Please, swallow, take me home

where I can  rock to and fro,

feel I belong, be part of a family

if only because I miss it all so.’

The swallow then took me home,

to just rock to and fro

by a window, looking on a garden

in a house (still) haunting me so

as any child who ever dreamed

while rocking to and fro

on a safe, friendly rocking horse

will, oh, but surely know

I know you, Boy on a Rocking Horse;

we met years ago, in a looking glass

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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]

Mind-Body-Spirit, Learning Curve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MIND-BODY-SPIRIT, LEARNING CURVE

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2018

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

The Wrestler

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

Poems on the blog are read world-wide and some readers have asked if translations of my collections or any selections of my best poems are available. Sadly, the answer is no. Apart from the fact that I cannot afford the services of a professional translation service, poetry requires that a translator is able to enter into the spirit of a poem, not simply translate it.

Meanwhile…

Whenever I say to parents that any education about sex and relationships should include gay sex and gay relationships, the are either horrified or agree in such a manner that I know they are against the idea and are merely paying lip service to so-called 'political correctness'. (For all that the latter was brought in for all the right reasons, it is abused to the extent that it has a lot to answer for all the same.)

Do any parents honestly believe there are no gay boys and girls at their child’s school, and if there are they present a threat? More to the point perhaps, how can they be sure their child isn’t gay? The last person most young people will confide in about such matters is a parent, however close they may be.

Years ago, I’d sometimes engage in friendly wrestling matches with a boy at school who was very mature for his age (the same as mine) and always won hands down. I never really minded if only because I fancied him like hell although I was careful never to let my feelings show. Ours was a boy’s only school and there were plenty who would have made my life a misery. As it was, my friend never suspected. [At least, I didn't think so at the time…]

‘You’re stronger than me,’ I once accused him ruefully.

‘Not at all,’ my friend replied with a knowing grin, ‘I’m just better than you at playing mind games.’

True. Ah, but it would be a few years on before I fully grasped what he meant.

This poem is a kenning.

THE WRESTLER

More than once I’ve leapt
into a ring and wrestled Father Time
even though I know
he will best me in the end while
daring to hope Earth Mother
will spare me long enough to find
and hit a nerve designed
to let me off the hook till reconciled
with outward appearances

I know him for what he is;
no kind father, Time, rather a beast
in a body resembling a man,
but closer to the animal kingdom,
protective and destructive
at one and the same turn of identity
tipping the scales of reason,
wrestling with me to wild applause
for settling old scores

Education, the only antidote
for societies still obsessed with crime
against so-called morality
committed in shadowy corners
or shrubberies of the mind
that so-called decency would never
tread…for fear of being
caught out by me (to whom history
is fickle, it has to be said)

Call me Shame, up for fixing any game,
ever wrestling Time to clear my name

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

Witness for the Prosecution

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

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

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

WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2007

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

Children of the Willow

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

This poem appears in my gay-interest poetry blog archives for February 2011.

Update (October 2013): I have added poem and video to my You Tube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIovJI_lQGc

[If the link does not work, go to my channel and search under title at:

http://www.youtube.com/rogerNtaber 

Another young reader who tells me he (or she?) attends a Faith school (I don't know of which persuasion) has asked me how I can be sure that same sex relationships are not a mortal sin. All I can say is that my instincts tell me so. I have to trust my instincts (don’t we all?) or I’d almost certainly revert to the psychological and emotional mess I was as a teenager many years ago when same sex relationships were a criminal offence here in the UK. [I am 65 now, having survived more 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' than I care to dwell upon.]

Each and every one of us must make our own choices, trust our deeper instincts and make our own way in life. It can be a lonely journey sometimes.

While the support of family and friends cannot be underestimated, it isn’t always there and then the going gets really rough. It may be small comfort to my young reader but reassuring perhaps to say that tens of thousands of gay (and straight) people world-wide are frequently daunted by the maze we call life. Few of us find the centre. The trick is to have as much fun as possible while looking.

Regular readers will know that, while I respect anyone’s Faith, I have no faith in religion. It is my choice and I am convinced it would have been even if I were not gay. Non-belief deserves respect too, doesn’t it? No less so, sexuality. These are, after all, expressions of a person’s individual identity. As I have said on previous posts, we are not, thank goodness, a race of clones...yet.

Until there is open, intelligent, unbiased discussion of LGBT issues in schools, many young gay people will continue to anguish over their awakening sexuality. It is high time  Head Teachers (not only in the UK but worldwide) saw to it that ' education' lived up to its name; it is not all about preparing for examinations. Human Rights must have a place on the curriculum, surely?


CHILDREN OF THE WILLOW

I can hear a songbird calling me
far, far away,
in the bosom of a willow tree
where we used to play;
the songbird, it reminds me
how far, far away,
we children of the willow tree
grew up scared and gay;
the songbird, it’s assuring me
though far, far away,
my love waits by the willow tree
where long ago we lay

The willow tree, it’s calling me
far, far away,
the shackles of world bigotry
all but cast away;
the willow tree, it reminds me
of all we (finally) dared say
to enlighten friends and family
about love, pure and gay;
the willow tree, it’s assuring me
we shall win the day
where songbirds sing of liberty
for lovers scared and gay

A world, the poorer for its bigotry,
is ignorant of nature’s way;
on a learning curve, every society
whose lovers straight or gay,
for somewhere there’s a willow tree
far, far, away,
w here a songbird is singing sweetly
for lovers scared and gay;
may they, like us, find sanctuary
and the words to say,
such is nature’s take on spirituality
it is no sin to be gay

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

Inside-Out

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

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

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

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

Never underestimate the power of love and friendship.

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

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

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

INSIDE-OUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2019

Nature Boy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NATURE BOY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2017

Prelude to a Coming of Age

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

Today's poem appeared on my gay-interest blog in 2014 after a teenager emailed me to say he thinks he is gay, and asks how can he be sure? Five years on, and another young person, still at school, has  asked the same question.Well, it isn't rocket science. Anyone more physically attracted to their own than the opposite sex is almost certainly gay; it only gets complicated if we are convinced family and friends will turn against us for various socio-cultural-religious reasons.

I wrote this poem when I was 14 years-old, and beginning to come to terms with being gay; it would be another 40+ years, though, before it appeared in print. Although I enjoyed a sex life of sorts, it was like engaging with shadows until my late 30's. In hindsight, I wish I had come out to family and friends years earlier, but same sex relationships were a criminal offence in those days, and I was afraid people I cared about would think ill of me. Here in the UK, there is pro-LGBT legislation now, yet here is someone in a cosmopolitan city like London facing much the same dilemma as I did all those years ago. [Incidentally, he specifically asks that I continue to post gay-interest poems on this blog from time to time "... because parents and the like need to people like me dare not a access a gay blog as I share a computer with the rest of my family."]

One of humanity's prevailing tragedies is that we cannot legislate for human nature.

All I can say is that if it feels right to come out to family and friends, GO for it, and if it doesn't, bide your time. Trust your instincts. Friends and family may well have guessed anyway, and are only waiting for you to raise the subject. Whatever, they may need time to get used to the idea, just as we do ourselves. A true friend and close family will always be there for you. Never mistake an initially negative reaction for outright rejection. Sadly, though, rejection is a risk we take.

Those adults, especially parents, inclined to assume that children and young people don’t know their own minds regarding sexuality (and much else besides) need to think again, and think through what it means for a young person to acknowledge he or she is gay.  

As for parent-child relationships, gay or straight, is it not, after all, no more or less than a question of love?

Those who condemn LGBT relationships. especially for religious reasons are hypocrites, given that religion is meant to be predominantly about love.While Ido not subscribe to any religion, neither can I conceive of any God as being homophobic. Sexuality and religion should not be mutually exclusive, and anyone embracing both, even if it remains pragmatic - dor whatever reason - to stay in some proverbial closet, should not think badly of themselves for it. Closets are real, though, and can be cold, lonely places; religious dogma and socio-cultural conventions have a LOT to answer for, as do those who would 'out' someone before they are ready, a despicable act.

As I have said so often on the blogs, and will continue to do so, our differences do not make us different, only human, and no less deserving of respect for our place in a common humanity than anyone else.

PRELUDE TO A COMING OF AGE

Saw a boy and girl kissing

under a blossoming cherry tree,

and wished it were me

I longed for such an embrace,

to hear words of love in my ear,

and wiped away a tear

Oh, for those lips on mine,

fuelling this frantic desire in me

to be yours, to be free…

They made a fine couple,

pink confetti blowing in a breeze

driving them to their knees

I could only turn away,

but imagine a lovemaking divine

and wish it were mine

Saw a boy and girl kissing

under the blossoming cherry tree

and wished she were me

Copyright R. N. Taber 2010

[Note: This poem appears under the title 'Acknowledging Sexuality' in On the Battlefields of Love [poems] by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010.]

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.]

Entries in a (Human) Nature Diary

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

Many people - even some in high places who should know better - continue to insist that climate change is scaremongering, fake news or a ploy to distract the path of progress from serving certain business interest enabling  the rich to get even richer while the poor are left struggling to survive for being unable to afford either a healthy diet or take advantage of some brilliant health project to save the world. but likely to cost the earth.

There is scientific evidence- not to mention a rising human death toll -  that global weather patterns  are changing, yet still we hear views along the lines of "That may well be the case, but there's nothing much I can do about it. Let someone else take responsibility, politicians for example.They are elected to serve out best interests so...let them get on with it and see us all safe rather than sorry."

Nothing you or I can do about it? On our own, no, but if people were actively encouraged to play their parts, this sorry world of ours just might be in with an even chance of surviving the worst. Don't we owe it to future generations to make sure they have a future, for goodness sake? I hear religious people saying we should not worry because, whatever happens, this or that dogma assures us God will see us right. Wrong. While I do not subscribe to any religion, nor can I envisage any God seeing humankind right for (largely) choosing to justify its own wrongs along the lines of "Oh, well, that's life."

Me? I do what I can, and yes, it is nowhere near enough, but if everyone did what they could that would make a real difference. As it is, many people don't even bother to recycle properly even where their Local Authority provides the means. Car engines are left running, while their owners shop at stores within easy walking distance from where they live. Whatever happened to walking, by the way, just for the pleasure of it? As someone with mobility problems so need a walking stick, I really miss it. Mind you, the stick appears to be invisible to the push 'n' shove brigade whether I am walking or using public transport. Or maybe they are right, after all, who tell us - that's life...?

Hamlet battles with his conscience in the famous soliloquy, 'To be or not to be...'. Dare I suggest, Do or Die, that is the question with which the human race needs must wrestle with its conscience?

Oh, but enough said, I suspect, if not more than enough of a rant for one post...

ENTRIES IN A (HUMAN) NATURE 

Subtle changes in autumnal light
are closing in on gardens countrywide
as the hands of its clocks
signal the passing of a lovely evening
into multifarious shades of grey

Less subtle, sounds of trudging feet
as the homeless seek a place to rest awhile
(perchance to sleep)
as clocks in the head tick off another day
of someone's battling to get a life

Darker shades of grey, closing in
on gardens countrywide, signal its birds
to sleep, leave nightingales
singing of peace and love take the strain
of falling on deaf ears

Gone black now, shades of autumn
surrendering to the dark of night, no stars
in the sky nor even a moon
able to penetrate a thick blanket of cloud,
heavens closed for repairs

No shelter available a homeless man
other than the grubby porch of a shop left
empty for several years,
profitable enough once, till business rates
demanding an unfair cut

Ah, but moon and stars forcing an entry,
not to be put to shame by such street lights
as have escaped vandals;
the homeless man being led out of the cold
by volunteer charity workers

Such unsubtle changes in day and night
as closing in on wildlife habitats worldwide,
guide the hands of its clocks,
signal a need for change, home and abroad,
before time runs out for us all

Will you take us in, old moon-with-a-grin,
make way for a new tech copycat Noah's Ark
long, long before then?
Dare a world where progress is everything,

risk being left with nothing?

Subtle changes in autumnal light close in

on gardens worldwide, the hands of clock faces

covering human eyes

that will not see, any ears that will not hear,

for fear of having to do or die

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019

Blood on the Bread OR No Street Cred, Only Shame

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

[Update 1/1/2018): Here in London during New Years Eve and early on New Years Day, four young people have died in unrelated knife attacks! More wasted lives, more families left grieving...]

[Update 21/2/2018: Two more young men, victims of knife crime, died yesterday near where I live in Kentish Town, London NW5. So tragic, and senseless!] Two more families and their friends left to grieve.

The villanelle below was written on June 29th 2008. On the previous day, another young person had been fatally stabbed on London’s streets. Tragically, the poem is even more relevant now than it was then.

Official figures released by the Office of National Statistics (ONS)  in April 2017 showed a very significant increase in violent crime across the UK, much of it gang-related. Knife crime alone had increased by 14 per cent year on year by 2016 to levels not seen since 2011; a leap from 28,427 knife offences to 32,448.

The greater tragedy is that gang-related violent crime remains prevalent on the streets of many countries worldwide; such a waste of human lives where, more often than not, contemporary society fails to provide constructive alternatives offering potential solutions.

Whatever, these people commit violent acts by choice and the buck stops with them. If they have a conscience at all, they need to come to terms it, start steering a kinder course through life before they, too, become just another fatality statistic... and what kind of footprint is that to leave behind?

Society as a whole needs to be less complacent, more judgemental and remember hat actions speak louder than words; it is no time to be treading on eggshells for fear of offending the many high profile socio-cultural-religious bigots among us.

‘His [Jack's] mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.’ - William Golding [Lord of the Flies, 1954]

  

BLOOD ON THE BREAD or NO STREET CRED, ONLY SHAME

Don’t carry a gun or knife,
a young friend said;
show more respect for life

I want a career and a wife
(and a four-poster bed)
don’t carry a gun or knife

Let years of pain and strife
stand peace on its head?
Show more respect for life

Though gang rats run rife,
and blood on the bread,
don’t carry a gun or knife

Let me look, dress how I like
if it makes me feel good;
show more respect for life

Streets of fear, tears of grief,
saw him shot him dead;
Don’t carry a gun or knife;
show more respect for life

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008; 2017

[Note: This poem first appeared under the title 'Blood on the Bread'' in Poetic Expressions, Poetry Now, 2009 and subsequently in my own collection, 'On the Battlefields of Love' - Assembly Books, 2008.] 

Utøya, Paradise Profaned

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

Albeit necessarily selectively, I try to keep a record in my poems relating to events of particular significance and/or tragedy (as well as celebratory events) worldwide. On July 22nd 2011, there was a bomb blast in Oslo, Norway, and related massacre of nearly 70 young people at a summer camp on the nearby island of Utoeya by a lone gunman. Sometime afterwards, a reader contacted me and asked me to repeat the poem - a villanelle - that I had written.

The reader says, ‘When a loved one dies, every day is an anniversary of happy times that will never come again. The world, too, needs to remember…’ The reader asks, 'How can we move on when every day brings as many tears as the day before...? I have no answer for that. I only know, from my own experience, that moving on does not mean leaving anyone behind. Do we not owe it to loved ones we have lost to live our lives to the full, as much for them as for ourselves?

Sadly, remembering does not always mean the likes of such tragedies will not strike again… just about anywhere around the world in these troubled times. All the more reason, surely, to make the most of our life and be sure to make time for those happy memories that may yet help see us through its darker moments? No two words in the English language cause more pain than, 'if only...'

Bergen architects 3RW's intervention, The Clearing, was created as a memorial for the events that took place on 22 July 2011. Gunman Anders Breivik opened fire on members of the Workers' Youth League (AUF) camping on the island, after detonating a bomb outside a government building in nearby Oslo, which killed a further eight people.

The Clearing memorial (Photo from the Internet)

UTOYA, PARADISE PROFANED

Stark images of death and terror
(alien to any aspiring paradise)
stalked young people on Utoya

A dream blasted into nightmare
in any decent person’s eyes;
stark images of death and terror

Poison masquerading as a flower
(reason warped by prejudices)
stalked young people on Utoya

Grief, disillusion and fear torture
all victims of world injustices;
stark images of death and terror

Be it son, daughter, sister, brother,
a sick inclination to terrorise
stalked young people on Utoya

Long may a humanist ethos endure
in Norway and all democracies;
stark images of death and terror
stalked young people on Utoya

[London: July 23rd 2011]

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011

[Note: I included this poem in my collection, Tracking the Torchbearer by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2012; rev. ed in e-format in preparation.]

The Yellow Balloon

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever, indeed, happened to playtime?

THE YELLOW BALLOON 

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2009

Tapping into Social Conscience OR Shaking Up Society

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This poem is a kenning.

TAPPING INTO SOCIAL CONSCIENCE or SHAKING UP SOCIETY

I’ve run the gauntlet

of love, life, fun, and tears,

trying to make the best

of things rather than complain

about the worst years,

struggling to rise above

the pain human beings

inflict upon each other time

and time again

I turn to nature

for comfort and brief respite

from a daily torture

humanity asks me to endure

with all the dignity

and stoicism of someone

always expected to put

other people’s needs before

his or her own

I lie awake at night

wondering who or what

is wrong or right

amongst all that’s been said

and done in the course

of whatever merry chase

mischievous Apollo

and outcast Cassiopeia care

to lead us on

I am that heartbeat of humanity
embracing its own vulnerability

Copyright R. N. Taber 2011