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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: fire
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 Brian Taylor, Bubbles, desire, empty machine, eyes, fire, Painted Veil, see it, shroud, silent, source, thought, unseen, world
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SPRING
The great rock spins a little closer to the Fireand all its creatures,born of warmthand of desire,crack shells, burst seeds,feed and breedand say YES. They burn gently, while they may,being born of warmth and of desire,until the great rock spins … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Blondin, born, breed, Brian Taylor, desire, fire, great rock, lonely heart, seeds, spring, tempests, waiting
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POSSESSION
There is the fire that consumesand the fire that illumines. There is Desireand there is Love. Those motivated by Desiresee things they wish to possess,things they do not wish to possess,and other things –of no interest whatsoever. Those motivated by … Continue reading
Posted in Gnomonic Verses
Tagged compassion, desire, Fellow Travellers, fire, love, moon, possession, sympathetic joy, transmutation
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CURE
Waiting; the fires grow oldwaiting; fears grow boldwaiting; the third eye brightenswaiting; the old mind quietens. Patiently, the patient heals himself. .
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
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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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
BLONDIN Poems 