It is now two millennia since
the Security Seraphims were withdrawn
and the Gates of Eden reopened
to the General Public.

Free Admission
to all children,
(before their parents succeeded
in banning them).

Free Passes
to those adults
who agreed to leave their baggage outside
(as strongly recommended by JC)
and successfully passed
the Camel’s Eye of a Needle Security Check.

This will detect even your bikini
and any other thoughts
left over from heavy addiction
to the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

It is surprising and chastening
how few (excepting children)
have availed themselves of this
Once-in-a-Lifetime opportunity,
especially as it is rapidly approaching
its Expiry Date.

Outside the gates
are innumerable camper vans
over-flowing removal lorries
and the charred remains
of dead animals (holy sacrifices),
together with a jostling crowd
of fashionably robed Bishops and priests,
some of them artificially bald
some of them with original designer beards.

They are selling genetically modified,
original cuttings from the Tree of Knowledge
together with heavily translated
instruction manuals
each with its individual Stamp of Infallibility.

These guarantee they will give you
instant and privileged entry
via a back door (with donation box)
to the Garden of Life
(as soon as you are safely dead).

Once the Expiry Date is reached
(determined by when Planet Earth
can no longer cope
with man’s inhumanity
to man and nature),
the killings by man
will be replaced with
the cullings of man,
controlled, systematic cosmic.

Then the Gates of Eden
will be closed once more.
Seraphims will be reinstalled
with suicide bombs (pick your own),
missiles and drones
instead of flaming swords.

The discarded cuttings from the Tree of Knowledge
will grow up into a concealing forest
peopled by a race of test-tube originated primates.

And God will try again elsewhere.


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NEW REVIEWS of BLONDIN Collected Poems by Brian Taylor

If you have been enjoying the Blondin poems you may be interested in reading two new reviews – the first from a newcomer to the Blondin poems. The second from someone who has been reading (and re-reading) the poems since publication of the First Edition in 2006.

A first time reader review:

“I was given a copy of Brian Taylor’s poetry anthology, “Blondin”, and asked to write a review. I hesitated. Brian is a friend, neighbour, and a fellow refugee from the 60s. I’m a thick skinned ex-journalist and part-time poet myself. I’m also a confirmed atheist, so when I hear the word, “spiritual”, I reach for my pistol. Knowing Brian’s strong Buddhist faith I feared the worst, so I was pleasantly surprised when I began burrowing into his poems.

Blondin” is a substantial collection of verse. It’s like a large box of tasty organic delicacies, which you dip in and out of at your leisure- not something to be attempted at one sitting. The poems deal with many facets of life, from glimpses of the cosmic, to the scent of the breeze on a local Cornish lane. Whatever your taste- whether it be wit, insight, or the Tao, you’ll find something to engage you.

When you lift the lid and start eating, you’ll be sure to find something to calm your bluebottle mind.”

– Anthony Ginn, England, August 2019
Review after many years of reading Blondin poems:

Blondin opens with an image of a man crossing Niagara on a tightrope – symbolising Everyman’s precarious journey through Life from birth to death.  

Blondin above Niagara,
the rope begins to sway.
The rocks below are grinning.
Every step is Judgement Day.

And the opening poem is short and enigmatic:

“The Sun shines
  in a bucket of water
  and doesn’t

The book is made up of three collections of poems which all shine an impersonal seeing on the mundane to the extraordinary, the humour and tragedy, the light and the dark of Everyman’s life. The subject matter ranges from Oxford with its colleges, rivers and ghosts to the Far East with its monks and Buddhism.

Each poem in its own way is a pleasure to read, brightens the mind and has a wise point. No words are wasted. Each poem is different, yet all home in on the transiency of things and seeing the world from the same centre as the Poet at the time the poems were written.  Humour and catastrophe side by side, good and evil, rich and poor, the beautiful and the ugly, the livingness of the present moment and the deadness of clinging to the past or a future.  

Poetry begins with pain
(like any other kind of birth)
but though it breeds and feeds on earth,
it aims at not becoming back again
and reaches to the root of things
in search of the eternal springs.

Though Blondin ends with the same short enigmatic poem as at the beginning there is now emphasis on the something unchangeable that has been underlying all the poems. Above the poem, a grim cartoon of the moment before death – combined – they can elicit a flash of the Deathless!

“The Sun (still) shines
  in a bucket of water
  and doesn’t

The insight in the Blondin poems of Everyman’s one step after another (one breath after the other) across the tightrope of Life – is into the Unconditioned State.  Everywhere is the contrast between the teeming multiplicity of life and the utter freedom of the Unconditioned State that runs like a crack through the Universe.

Brian Taylor’s collection of poems in Blondin is a rare work of Art and Insight. The poems entertain and sharpen awareness but also serve as a good friend and wise companion on the journey of life to Everyman. Each poem is as fresh to read again and there is joy in awakening to the Truth that the poems point to.  

– Linden Brough, England, August 2019

This priceless book of poetry is presently at a low price on online bookstores*. May the Poems and Reviews encourage you to purchase a copy! Please consider leaving a review on Amazon and share the treasure with others! You can also request a REVIEW COPY via the publisher’s contact page HERE

*BLONDIN Collected Poems by Brian Taylor at and free delivery worldwide at BookDepository


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The Serpents dance hypnotically
and fill the Void with Thought
and in their game of wish-fulfilment
the Sons of Man are caught.

Slaves to their Dream Creations,
enflamed by Hot Desire,
craving ever-new sensations,
singed by the Ancient Fire,
they sink from brightness into embers
from cinders into dust,
with which they fashion ever-new contenders
for their never-cooling Lust.


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God sees with the same eye
you see with, says Meister Eckhart.

Do you live your life,
Or does Life live through you?

Do you breathe
to stay alive,
Or does the Life-breath
breathe you?

Life lives and blossoms
through Nature
and thus Nature can heal itself.

Man tries to live his life
and opens wounds
that even Nature
struggles to heal.

Who lives man’s life
and is it any more than
what we have come to call the Ego?

Is Ego any more than a bundle
of thoughts and feelings
spawned by an insatiable quest for more?

A pinpoint of Desire,
smaller than a globule of blood,
that has flooded into an ocean
of craving and passion,
which parches the tongues
of those who drink from it.

When you say “my life”,
who is I and what is this life?
Is “I and my life” any more
than an intruder
that slipped in between the sheets?
A tapeworm fitting snugly
between your food and you?

When I ask you how you are,
your tapeworm answers,
He has been answering on your behalf
for so long that you take him for
your true abiding Self.

See him for the interloper that he is.
Let him slide out
as long ago
his proglottidof eggs slid in,
unnoticed and unremarked.

The ego slides in
between your divine eye and what you see
like the rose-tinted lens
between your fleshy eye
and your world.


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In the search for thornless roses
and the perfect apple pie,
many a question poses
and many reasons why.

Seedless grapes are on the plate
(though cloudless summers have to wait).
They’ll cut your leg off without pain
(though Abel still meets brother Cain).

There are as yet no snake-less Edens;
and the Heathens kill for God
(though only the House of Islam
does not find this odd).

They tattoo your arms with Saxon runes
and give you Chinese eyes
and blow your breasts up like balloons.
 And yet, still, everybody dies.

The sun shines from the heavens.
The shadows fall on earth.
It may be, as the Greeks said,
“Avoid, at all cost, birth!”


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A boy carrying dead body of his little brother to a cremation pyre, after the atomic bombing of Nagasaki on
August 9, 1945.

The antique fowling piece
reveals the skills
of the gunsmith
and forges his link
with the blood stained feathers.

Einstein’s equation (E = mc2)
made the atomic bomb
theoretically possible.

Szilárd’s fission using uranium, 
made a nuclear chain reaction possible.
“I never thought of that!” said Einstein.

Einstein signed the letter to Roosevelt.
This put the fowling piece in the Hunter’s hand.

“I made one great mistake in my life…
when I signed the letter to President Roosevelt
recommending that atom bombs be made;”


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Our creditors are coming
coming with all due speed
and what they want is everything
we thought we’d ever need
in full and instant payment
for our each and every deed.

And though we cannot bribe them
to make them go away
we might put on a brave face
and meet them now half way.

Stop World War Three before it starts.


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When the fires are raging,
don’t add fuel
and the two worlds
(the inner and the outer)
subside into their natural state.

When the dogs
of dissension and desire
are sleeping,
don’t wake them
and the world is already cool and quiet.

(from Gnomonic Verses)


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