Tag Archives: birth
How old was Jesusat his Birth?At the Crucifixionshining all his worth?Or Resurrected –God connected? Who can sayhow old they are?Even in the Elysian fieldsvirtues’ flowers to withering yields.Thousands of years on,Death still follows what’s born. Gods and ghosts,Denizens and animal … Continue reading
“Empty-handed I comeand lo!The spade is in my hand.” In the illimitable VoidAll is destroyed(and Nothing is lost!) Everything appears anew:good seeds flourish(and evil too). They said to the Poetat his birth,“Go! Love!Without the helpof anything on Earth.” A naked … Continue reading
In the search for thornless rosesand the perfect apple pie,many a question posesand 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 … Continue reading
Watching the flowof middle-earthas all things gofrom birth to birth.Here, one can knowwhat it’s all worth. An empty tideof rise and fall.Nothing outsideis mine at all;nothing insidenor large nor small. The mind reflectsvague shadowy drifts.The mind connectsblank mists with mists.The … Continue reading
Mind moveswith the breathwhich fuels this articulated dollfrom birth to death. What starts out as routine maintenancefor a puppet with entangled stringsdevelops to a share in the danceof the dragon that eternally sings. But, first, the intention,clear and well definedfor … Continue reading
We crawl our way from earthto starnor calculate from birth how farour tiny feetwill take usbefore the karma that we meetwill break us;and cast us adrift on an outgoing tide. While those onshore mutter simply,“He died!” Ding-dongFay’s goneLife longDeath waits … Continue reading
Every man is Blondin.Every lifetime a rope,finer than a spider’s thread,sharper than a sword,stretched between birth and death(breath and breath)across Niagara. .
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 roots of thingsin search of the eternal springs. .
Everyman is Blondin. Every lifetime a rope, finer than a spider’s thread, sharper than a sword, stretched between birth and death (breath and breath) across Niagara. Brian Taylor