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Brian Taylor is a Poet and Philosopher who lives in Cornwall, England and the Far East.
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Tag Archives: fire
CORPSE IN MY ROOM
An old machineresting theremade of bits and pieces;whatever happened to be spareof water, earth and fire and air. An old machineconnected to the mains,switched on, is conscious of its pains. Switched off, inert,it does not know its ending;lies in the … Continue reading
ORPHEUS IN EXTREMIS
He turned his back on the graveyardand with the sad songshe had taken downinto the stiff clay of the underworldlike root-fingersstill singing in his ears,walked towards the future. Before him floatedher death mask,warmed by the pale fireof yesterday’s desire. Fire … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Blondin, Brian Taylor, death mask, fingers of her mind, fire, forgetfullnes, fountain, garden of Proserpine, graveyard, nothingness, Orpheus, purpose, sunlight, underworld, Villa Rosa
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NEIGHBOURS IN DORNACH
Jane Horne’s daughter was deformed in hands and feet. Jane herself showed signs of being senile with her ever-hanging, half-dry smile. In 1727, there were no geriatric wards to treat her,so the neighbours were quite naturally concerned. They said she’d … Continue reading
Posted in Oxford Blues
Tagged burned, Devil, fire, geriatric, neighbours, senile, smile, tarred, witch
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THE PAINTED VEIL
Millions of bubbles; bubbles, bubbles. Bubbles.Who could have thoughtso smallwould be curse of all,and source of allour troubles? Microscopic seedsencasing nuclei of fire. Each germinates and breedssubtle filaments of desire. Desire slides in and overpowers,making our best intentions fail.It weaves … Continue reading
Posted in Gnomonic Verses
Tagged Blondin, Bubbles, desire, empty, fire, Gnomonic Verses, Painted Veil, see, seeds, silent, thought, troubles
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LISTEN
What is that sound?Like the trailing of a fanthrough a silent anteroom? It is the murmur of airruffling leaves. It is the herald of the whirlwindwhich will strip those leaves from their treesand wrench the trees from the hillsideand blast … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged baby, cascade of pearls, empty skull, eternity, fire, human, Italian garden, laughter, ruffling leaves, silent, skeleton, soldiers, sound, sun, trees, waterfall
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SAMSARA
Wandering on. Through a waste of perils we have already faced, blown by the hot winds of desire, pursued by our own shadows, touched by the invisible fire, surrounded by supravisible foes. From waste to waste. From oasis to oasis; … Continue reading
I, ME, MINE
I, Me, Mine In the Beginning (or perhaps a little later) there was I. And then, because I was lonely, there was me. And we got on like a house on fire! And, so that we could have something in … Continue reading
