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Brian Taylor has been a Poet and Philosopher in Cornwall, England and the Far East.
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Tag Archives: death
TOI ET MOI
is the eternal dancewhere those who lovefind one anotherand, taking their chance,reach up to highest Heaven aboveand down to deepest Hell. There is no higher happinessthan loving true and well. Toi et Moi sailtheir fragile boatwith single eyefrom birth to … Continue reading
Posted in Gnomonic Verses
Tagged birth, bliss, death, eternal dance, Giraudoux's play, happiness, Heaven, joy, love, memories, mortal, Ondines, pain, single eye
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PYRAMIDS AND SARCOPHAGI
Why did they spend so much time therein the anteroom of death?What could they prepare?Paper possessions as light as breathwere too heavy for their dead to bearaway from the fire.Why did they keep their eyeson pyramid, tomb and funeral pyre?Even … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged breath, Brian Taylor, dead, death, dreams, eternity, funeral pyre, identity, light, mind, pyramids, sarcophagi, tomb
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IN A FLAT
In a flatyou thinkyou could scream yourself to deathand not be heard.Pressing your cheekagainst the cool of the sink.One breathupon another breath.No wordfor that. In a room,you sufferinside door,walls, ceiling, floor.You could shout,you could walk out,it’s not a tomb. In … Continue reading
OLD WOUNDS
The landscape itselfis cracked and pitted.Quarries gouged out of the rock face.Concrete jungleswhere forests grew.A million species drownedby hydro-electric schemes.Roman grain bowlsbecoming the Sahara desert. And the figuresthat pass through this landscape,four-footed, two, or nonewith scar of tooth and clawof … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Blessed One, Blondin, Brian Taylor, death, epidemic, forgive, germ, mind, Prospero, Shantih, species, tooth and claw, torture, Upanishad, vengeance, virus, wounds
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UP TO DATE AND READY TO GO
It may not be the bearded manwho smiles at you and explodes.It may not be the errant tyrethat slides on the icy roads.It may not be the scaffolding plankthat bounces on your head.It may not be pneumoniathat smothers you in … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Blondin, blood, brain, breath, Brian Taylor, death, fever, nothing, pneumonia, Ready?, scaffolding, up to date
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FREEDOM TO OR FREEDOM FROM?
Power aimsat Freedom To;finds itselfon a collision coursewith all the other Freedoms Tothat inhabit gods and men and beast;storm and drought and pestilence;sickness, old age and death. Wisdom aimsfor Freedom Fromdiscovers that all the competing Freedom To’sstruggle within the stadium … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged breath, death, drought, freedom, freedom from, gods and men, Life, no death, old age, power, sickness, storm, wisdom
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YOGA
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
FULL MOON DAY
One candle is a light unto itself.One hundred candlesilluminate a room.In a room,one candle isa light unto itself. Uposatha Day at Wat Krathum,seven old ladies and one old mantaking eight precepts for a dayto keep the fires of Hell at … Continue reading
Posted in Bamboo Leaves
Tagged abbot, Ayudhaya, Bangkok, Brian Taylor, Buddha, candle, chicken farm, chicken flu, death, food, full moon, government, heart, Humans, mangoes, mass grave, monk, no chicken, Pali chants, precepts, Sariputta, sermon, Uposatha day, virtual reality
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FUNERAL
We crawl our way from earth to starnor calculate from birth how farour tiny feetwill take usbefore the karma that we meetwill break usand cast us adrift on an outgoing tide. While those onshore mutter simply,“He died!” Ding-dongFay’s goneLife longDeath … Continue reading
Posted in Ego Ego God of the Jungle
Tagged birth, Brian Taylor, death, died, earth, funeral, karma, outgoing tide, star
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DEEP DOWN TO DEATH
Deep down to deathwith every breathand not one morefor any faith. His skin has lost a glossy look.He only feels his single painand waits for nothingto come back again. .
BLONDIN Poems 