Brian Taylor has been a Poet and Philosopher in Cornwall, England and the Far East.
Tag Archives: joy
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
Your true Self plays tennisfor joyfor fun;like children dancinghand in handon the sandin thefoaming breakers. Two fingersof the same handdrummingan improvised rhythm. The Egoic Mind playseverythingto win. .
The great stone Hall is silentthat is now millennia old.Through the western windowsshines a glorious sun.It floods the walls and floors,the tables, chairs and doors,panelling, pictures, artefactsand illumines every oneuntil the wraiths that gathercry out in their joy,‘Everything is gold!Whatever … Continue reading
I wish I was a millionairecould take it all and give it youand you and youand you and you and youand send you off to let you dojust what it is you want to. Use it and be right. And … Continue reading
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
Here exists in SpaceNow exists in Time,so how can they be the same? New York exists in America (space).New York exists at five o’clock (time)say the Americans.But you can’t sayNew York IS five o’clockor New York IS America!(Unless you are … Continue reading
The pulling string,which is Time’s tether,bringsand bindsall thingstogetherin the contoured galleries of our minds. Piaf has been deadthese thirty years or moreand yet her voice is boughtand sold in any CD store. Yesterday and tomorrow,mingled joy and sorrow,are raw material … Continue reading
This spring-tide was not somethingto excite the sensesbut an overflowing of the heart.Pure joy.‘Love thou the rose but leave it on its stem.’ An overflowing of the heartwhich sees its images,reflected everywhere,existing nowherebut in itself. Always the sun shinesin Portsonachon,in … Continue reading