Fairy


When I was quite young, in grade school, homosexuality was invisible and mute and shrouded in a cloak of secrecy. Most children my age understood it not at all. Only very rarely, would an adult refer to a putative "not-quite-right" character as a “Fairy.” In my mind at the time, fairies frolicked with the brownies and the leprechauns through verdant forests and meadows.

Later, when I attended middle school, at which time sexual awareness became manifest, homosexuals were heartily reviled, the objects of scorn and hostility--the “other.” If a child of that era were mentally defective--labelled at the time as retarded--he was often subject not only to bullying, but to malice and isolation as well, and was called “Queer,” which was a catchall word for the disaffected.

When at last I reached high school, during the 1960s, the term “fag” came into vogue and was levied by boys and girls, athletes and non-athletes (the freaks) alike. Girls who would not put out were lumped into the “Lezzy” dustbin of life. Clearly, it was thought, there must be something very wrong with these sexually stunted young girls.

In college, (the 1970s) the liberal, enlightened teachers and their student acolytes often advocated for these alienated persons and heralded the newly christened “Gays” as quite upstanding men and the “Lesbians,” their female counterparts, as exemplary as well. This was not the mainstream attitude toward these individuals; to many, both outside and inside the walls of academia, homosexuals remained queer or faggot or even worse. Little attention was paid to the gradations of sexual reality; everything was still discussed in terms of male and female. Cis and dysphoria were far in the future. Which of course left many people out. A presumptive intellectualism was bestowed upon them. “Rubyfruit Jungle” found itself on college reading lists in 1973, followed by “Tales of the City,” “Dream of a Common Language” and others.

But one time, at my university, a wide spectrum of sexual “others” gave a public forum on their sexual identities and the undercurrent of discrimination against them. It was a courageous effort. The panel was heatedly assailed by an array of mostly African American women who discounted any bias the others had suffered, as just. When a transsexual said that he was in a homosexual relationship, one woman screamed, “Why don’t you make up your mind?” Another shouted, “I like dick!” to thunderous applause from the audience. Okay, so not everyone at university was enlightened.

After graduation, now free of the regimentation and bureaucracy of school, I explored the regimentation and bureaucracy of the world of employment. I witnessed discrimination, by both management and labor, against both male and female non-heterosexuals. Homosexuality was not generally given as the reason for the discharge, though everyone knew the truth. It was not until well into the 21st century that it became illegal to fire an employee based on the issue of sexual identity (June, 2020). Like any other segment of society, sex-based minorities have had to fight for their rights.

I have had many LGBTQ associates, acquaintances and friends, housemates, fellow students and colleagues over the course of the last 60 years. And I admit that my own attitudes toward LGBTQ individuals, in terms of their rights, responsibilities and merit, have evolved. Society at long last has embraced the efforts of LGBTQ people to attain the rights and recognition so long denied them. My experience, by definition, has been only anecdotal, but I likewise stand behind the LGBTQ community in attaining their long overdue respect and self-actualization.

 

London’s Ramp



He still has

London’s 

Doggy ramp,

He’s not

Sure why

He hasn’t 

Been able 

To let

That go.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May.

Alkada and his men rode hard and adamantly, circumventing Captain Hammer about two days back in the Barren Canyons. It took every ounce of discipline Alkada possessed not to confront Hammer and settle up on owed blood. However, catching up with NoLove and the Mob took precedence at the moment. Shyne loyalty must be upheld, he thought to himself when he made the decision. Besides, they were hot on their quarry’s trail by not even a half day's ride behind. 

Alkada reached out to Skully. Vexed by what he saw, he signaled for everybody to stop. "They're already in Freedom Compound," Alkada announced. "Are you sure? The trail is still fresh," countered StreetLife, pointing down at the newly made hoof marks on the ground. "Yeah, I'm positive, and there's a lotta activity goin’ on. People are movin’ all about there. But I'm not sure how this is gonna play out if we gotta rock the bells." 

"So, let's post up here and wait them out," StreetLife suggested. "No, that's no good. Whatever has brought them here has brought many others from all around. I guess that meeting the soldier told us about is pretty big. So, I'm sure our arrival won't be a total surprise. 

Besides, waiting here may go from laying on three enemies to being greeted by a battalion, and having Republic soldiers at our backside don't sit proper with me. Not to mention, I don't believe Baron Black will take too kindly to us jus’ kickin’ grass so close to his compound. He and my father go way back, and that alone will warrant me payin’ him the respect of a visit. And it's a good bet we're bein’ watched right now." "Rahhhhh," Skully screamed overhead, confirming Alkada's statement. 

Alkada reached out to the bird with connection and awareness and saw that several sentries from Freedom Compound were watching them. A moment later, Alkada snapped out of the connection he harbored with the bird. "Yeah, we're bein’ watched. But, right now, it’s just curiosity as to why we are clustered here talkin’ without proceedin’ to the compound. So many others have passed through here recently. We're just one of many, but it won't be much longer before mild curiosity turns to violent interest." 

About Avery Brown

Avery Brown is a native of Brooklyn, New York currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia.  As a first time author, Brown was inspired to write this story due to the passing of a dear friend at the hands of police. The Blood Sagas came about in hopes of keeping the memory of his friend alive for generations to come. He understands the beauty and passion necessary to create a space in which characters can explore complex issues in a fantasy world. He is now currently working on his second book in 4-part the Blood Sagas series. Passionate about his craft, Brown is also hard at work on his next project, Manimal, a fantasy thriller, that illuminates the magic of the Indian Nations. 

More about the Blood Sagas on Avery Brown's website. 

Birds die faster than dots in poetry
The necks of letters are much longer than the necks of birds

Birds, like poetry, do not know how to beg
Birds die, but so do poems


***
The air left the composition of the sadness of the stomach
Wooden night covered the dead
Iron worms sewed up limbs with immobilization

What street is this? Why is it so dark in here?
And this is not a street, this is life and death


***
I want vegetables to die and not one child to suffer anymore at a diet dinner.


***
The meat screams at the pennant with red silence
Worms crawl out of coffins to the surface
Minced meat crawls out of the meat grinder
Corpses crawl into eyes and ears
The world around is destroyed in the pupils of the shot man
What can world poetry talk about besides war?


***
The cat tears up the mouse just for fun
A grenade tears a child apart because it has to be done

The sky moves and the clouds float forward
Mom cooks breakfast like no one is dead


***
Worms crawl underground
After the rain worms crawl to the surface

We read the letters of the rain on our faces
We crawl in a pool of blood without limbs

Winter is beginning
It's nuclear winter


***
Snow will forgive the grass everything
We'll all fall asleep in the snow and grass
We will be buried in snow and grass
But we won't have children anymore
Who will bury us?

Nuclear stations are growing like mushrooms
The forest turns white as a mouse

The ashes fall asleep
Ashes in the snow


***
Light for the blind


***
no one 
died 
in the cemetery 
again 


***
the trees are silent like the dead
before they are cut down


***
sound conservation
a bird reads a blizzard with a glance


***
cemetery without grave
almost like a church without parishioners
love without lovers
mountain without a bottom
god without religion

distorted sounds 
in the front yard
black feathers

leg pulling
at the end of the bed
a lingering spirit

cat meows ...
a half eaten quail
in the garden

bedtime
a dark entity zooming 
through the doors 

midnight vision
in the bedroom corner
a headless woman

Vernon Frazer’s most recent poetry collection is MANTIC PANDEMIC,  a C22 publication.

C22 will publish Frazer’s Voyage in Port in July 2024.