I wrote and performed this piece for a Valentine’s Day public presentation on the theme of ‘Love’ given by Writers Without Borders, 14 February 2015 at the Library of Birmingham.
In this world there’s a love that still dares not speak its chill name
yet is still spoken freely by those glinting in dull or dubious fame,
yes there’s renting of cloth and the odd muffled cry
but it’s mostly all bluff when you look deep in their eye.
History rich has its queens but acknowledged only after…
they are dead and then couched just above the bear bater.
But in these decades, pseudo modern, where man’s closet should be open
he’s still akin to a sleeping dog that’s only safe for not pokin’.
Pink triangles which when worn to the gas chambers horrified…
the world but what lessons did we take, most are lost or now nullified.
Be it culture, religion a personal preference or just nature
what’s so bad with being us, to make a man’s man turn into a hater.
In the gloss of god-fearing fervour some rules do get adjusted
but attrition still sees bodies bashed and sweet heads bloody and busted.
The laws may have changed but who sticks to the rules,
and like witches of old, some would have us still, drowned in deep dark pools.
Life in the world of the many, amongst the plain and the dull
it’s a much different take where, if you feel like fighting for a full…
life if still shrouded in shadow, it’s more often the fear
that a misguided comment will mark you unacceptable, a dirty queer.
People tell you they don’t mind, if you’re light on your toes
as long as they aren’t asked to be sat next to ‘one of those’.
‘Keep your backs to the walls lads’, the air’s freely washed with your shame
for being locked in a love that still daren’t speak its bone chilling name.