Roger N. Taber: aspects of a gay man's life in verse

12:57:33 o'clock BST
Feeling Betrayed

Jealousy is such a sad thing. Yes, it can be cruel and destructive, especally self-destructive. But, above all, it is so sad, such a waste of positive emotion and energy that could be put to far better uses.

 

I have only just discovered that someone I thought was a friend and also posts gay-interest poetry on the web posted a nasty poem about me on a poetry site. It has since been removed but makes me wonder why he did it? We have  exchanged emails for some years but never met. Could it be, perhaps, because his poetry is not well-published and mine is? True, I publish my collections under my own imprint but that is only because no publishers would touch the gay input (all have a gay section) and they pay their own way, although sales pay for new print runs & editions so there is no profit. (Who writes poetry for profit anyway?)

 

More than 500 of my poems have appeared in poetry publications worldwide since 1996 and that does not include poems that only appear in my own collections. While I always encourage wannabe poets, I doubt if this man’s poetry  would make it to a toilet wall! Meow!  

 

Oh, well, not to worry…life is too short.  Besides, if you worry, you die and if you don’t worry you still die- so, why worry?

[Note: As a result of this recent betrayal, I have taken my poems off most websites other than my own web pages. The best way to view them is here.  Please forward the URL to anyone you think may be genuinely interested. While it is not interactive as such (too many clowns about) I always reply to emails as most of you will know.  For signed copies of any of my poetry collections (at a discount inc. shipping until the end of 2008) contact: rogertab@aol.com ]

 

JEALOUSY

 

Greener than grass

in summer rain;

bluer than ice

on Arctic plain

 

On spurious wings,

its own heaven made,

circling corn rings

like fool’s gold

 

A sure-killer pit

of dragon scales

more cruel than fit

for fairytales

 

Love’s adversary,

its own parody

 

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

 

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12:03:21 o'clock BST
Feeling Rebellious

This poem is for lovers everywhere (gay and straight) whose love has to strive to win the support (if not approval) of well-meaning friends and family as well as those religious, cultural and natural bigots who love to strut the public arena. 

 

THE DEFIANT ONES

 

When you enter me

and I am joined to you,

a fine spirituality

embraces us, centres us

in a womb-tomb

of earth, fire and water,

where we become

such as nature intended,

taking us into the vast

eternal NOW we feared

until our sexuality

confirmed its identity

 

no longer afraid

but glimpsing those ends

where new beginnings

made to answer the ghosts

of childhood with wisdom

where ignorance would prey

on the innocence of lovers

expected to lay down and die

for each other, just as we lie,

you and I, taking a chance on

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 well-thumbed page

in its history, praising colour,

creed, sexuality, gender

and age,  its coffin makers

across this world anxious

to pass the word that you and I

would die for each other

than surrender to a lesser power

whose lesson in glory is but

to give the lie to our love story

 

If our bed be a coffin, better

to die here 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,

leave us alone

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

 

Note: This poem will appear in my next major collection scheduled for publication in 2010. [There are still first editions of my poetry titles available at a discount. Contact: rogertab@aol.com ]

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09:40:22 o'clock BST
Feeling Determined

As we were there then, so we will be wherever and whenever…

 

 

STAYING THE COURSE

 

Gay folks won’t run away

though some have us leave;

we’re here to stay

 

Let bigots have their say

(worn clichés up the sleeve);

gay folks won’t run away

 

Born, come what may,

to laugh, cheer, love, grieve;

we’re here to stay

 

Let pious pretenders pray

for all they dare not forgive;

gay folks won’t run away

 

Where cultures prey,

they but themselves deceive;

we’re here to stay

 

Let history seize the day,

its worst home truths believe;

gay folks won’t run away,

we’re here to stay

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

 

PS Back in September, folks. Take care, keep well and - be happy!  If you enjoy the poems, please send the URL to others who will, hopefully, enjoy this and archive postings. [I also have another blog - for everyone, not just gay readers - at: http://rogertab.blogspot.com/ ]  So keep the emails coming (to rogertab@aol.com ) but please frogive any delay in replying over the coming weeks.

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09:06:19 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet

Time passes and we grow older, even old. Yet the spirit of youth never dies but remains an integral part of whom and what we are.

 

No wonder then that sometimes the mind’s eye catches a glimpse of someone much younger than the person whose company we are enjoying.

 

Some people say of gay men and women (especially men) that we are too preoccupied with the physical side of life (could they mean sex, I wonder?) and that is why we fear growing older and losing our looks. In my experience as a lively 63 year old, many gay men (older as well as younger) are inclined to sneer at we oldies.

 

Alas, there is nothing we can do about getting older. There is, however, plenty we can do to keep the spirit of youth alive in all we say and do…rather than give way to cynicism, even despair. We can (and must) prevent ourselves becoming grumpy old bores. There can be few aspects of life less attractive than a boring person, however easy on the eye his or her physical attributes.

 

Keep the flame of youth alive, my friends whatever else nature has in store for us…

 

MARKING TIME

Youth, with dreamy eyes
and wind in the hair,
soaking up heaven’s store
of tears, all earthy cares
heaped on slim
shoulders;
Like a sapling in a breeze,
see it bend, never break;
Watch leaves bud and grow
such greens, reds and gold
each mortal breath
we take;
Nor shall its season cease,
grown older, stronger;
Within a bold heart beats
the seed of Being, creation
of Mother Nature,
made for giving;
Spirit of a tree, proud and free,
a living part of earth’s
finer tapestry, sheltering those
who mean no harm, though
they carve their name
on your arm;

Forever, tall and beautiful
in the mind’s eye;
Though lashed to winter skies,
released, finally, by egg cries
to a history of summer joys,
autumn prime

Marking time

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

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09:20:43 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet

We can’t help who we fall in love with and sometimes love gets complicated. Even so, it has to be the greatest of life’s blessings, if a mixed one at times.

 

A greater blessing still, the captive heart that dares to seize the freedom of earth, sky and water...

  

THE CAPTIVE HEART

 

Feeding on Nature’s skin,

exploring our sexuality;

captive within

 

Trying, anxiously, within,

for a new reality;

feeding on Nature’s skin

 

Seeking inspiration,

a kinder morality;

captive within

 

Surpassing expectation,

risen to ecstasy;

feeding on Nature’s skin

 

A sense of valediction

on our mortality;

captive within

 

A lasting benediction

on love’s complicity;

feeding on Nature’s skin,

captive within

  

[From: A Feeling For The Quickness Of Time by R. N. Taber, 2007]

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08:26:47 o'clock BST
Feeling Romantic

We can do a lot worse then let the spirit of love guide us through life…

 

INITIATION

 

There is a bend in a river

where the willows bow down low

and I kissed my first lover

many years ago

 

I had never kissed a man,

was so thrilled, yet frightened too,

found what only lovers can,

with kingfishers flew

 

Under that willow tree

our lovemaking was as if in a dream;

acknowledgement of our sexuality

immortalised in a hymn

 

Loudly, grasshoppers sang

as proudly we rose above our fears,

while birds and bees rejoicing,

willow drying its tears

 

All my life since I have felt

the hand of Earth Mother guiding me

just as when, at your body, I knelt

at the altar of its poetry

  

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

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08:36:15 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet

Every poem tells a story. Some are inspired by wishful thinking while others…

 

EXORCISM

 

You brushed past me in a corridor

and I froze;

when I looked, you were looking too,

scratching your nose;

eyes firing questions at each other

found no answers

(none we cared to probe too closely);

We went our own ways

as wemeant, although not quite,

for haunting each other’s

every move and thought for days

on end

 

Did I perhaps want you for a friend,

I kept asking myself?

(trying to put you out of my mind)

or was there more,

desire of another kind coursing me,

heating my blood,

pumping heart and pulse faster

than ever before?

I’d tell myself I had a fever that

would pass…

but it dogged my every footstep,

grew worse

 

You brushed past me in the corridor

on another occasion;

We paused, unsure how to establish

a reason;

You licked your lips and I licked mine,

tongues frozen,

alter egos debating  our sexuality

head-on;

We shook hands. Your palm plied mine

with passion,

thythm of your name exploding in me

like an orgasm

 

Colleagues, we still haunt the corridor;

lovers, afraid of ghosts no more

 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2008

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07:35:10 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet

Ah, the sheer sensuality of breaststrokes in a summer sunshine - or at any other time for that matter. Depends who you’re with of course…

 

EARLY MORNING DIP

 

He lay next to me

breathing quietly;

Pecs under his tee

like crests of wavelets

on a balmy sea;

Blue shorts, teasing me

like summer skies

fluffing up for rain

maybe

 

Hairy legs, tickling me

like a summer breeze;

Flesh, a comfort

of hot sand on

my belly, as I snuggle

close - and we

let the sea

take us

 

Breaststrokes, before

Breakfast

 

[From: First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002]

 

[Note: Many thanks to all those who have emailed to ask about Sacrilege that is Book 2 of my Laurence Fisher trilogy - Blasphemy – Sacrilege – Redemption.  Sadly, the publishers of Blasphemy have introduced a policy requiring authors to pay for the first 500 copies as well as parting with half of any royalties. I have no problem with the second point but will not agree to the first. So, yes, I have finished the book but, no, I don’t have a publisher…yet... WATCH THIS SPACE.  In the meantime, anyone who wants to take a look can get a (free) preview of Chapter 1 of Blasphemy at: http://www.glbpubs.com/blas.html from where the e-edition can also be downloaded. A print edition is available from book stores in the US & UK or amazon.com / amazon.co.uk and many (UK) public libraries stock copies]

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08:20:26 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet

Hold the dream, my friends, hold the dream!

  

LOVE IN THE AIR

 

Sworn to ride a dragon

across the world – chasing

swallows, home course

preferred, winging our way

across skies a cloudy grey

for the sun, joyfully - however

fearfully our seasons run,

whatever damage done

by Nature or Man

 

Let winds blow, rain gnash

its teeth at us, cyclones crash

into our defences, smash every

window, door, send cars flying,

leaving us sole recourse - to

native initiative, a need to trust

basic instincts, mind over matter

where hearts strive to disprove

the cynic, the doubter

 

Voice of a nightingale lights up

the darkness, a comfort to

loneliness. Come dawn, song

of a lark at the edge of history

homing in on us, filling our

emptiness, risen on angel wings,

promising everything - but

be sure, nothing comes easy,

I’ll see to that and more

 

To myth, legend, fairy tale,

love brings its own reality

 

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

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07:46:15 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet

No, not that Sex and the City...

 

SEX AND THE CITY

 

Shabby bed-sit, creaky bed;

Underground trains running though

the head and floorboards shudder

even as we reach out

to each other

 

Seagulls screeching, miles

inshore, vying with the city’s

ceaseless roar – for

attention, birds

of a feather

 

A long, thin smoke trail

sneaking through cracked windows

soiled grey, coiling around us,

contributing to stains

on the duvet

 

Somewhere a radio joins in

the day’s throbbing, although

nothing but nothing can

spoil the joys of our

lovemaking

 

Nor shall sirens shrieking

in the street distract lovers

(gay or straight) though

next door’s cat

detect a rat

 

[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]

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