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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: pain
POETRY
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. .
Posted in Bamboo Leaves
Tagged Bamboo Leaves, birth, eternal springs, pain, poetry, roots
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ONE ARROW, TWO ARROWS
Why should the hand complainfor the glove abandoned in the rain? Why should the foot retainthe ragged shoe and call it pain? Why should the coloured window paneinflict on the white wall a lasting stain? Why should the nerve-ends’ loss … Continue reading
NORMAL
Pain is in proportion to livingness.The more alive you are,the more it hurtsto live.This is normal. The young hurt mostbut mend quickest.New flesh healswhere old flesh withers.Young mind feels pain piercing and deep;often so deep that of itself it heals;a … Continue reading
THE NOTEBOOK AND THE PEN
Register the birth.Now register the death.All unfinished business ends with the breath.Ends. But then again beginsas we all come back for more.Even though we long forgotwhat it is we come back for. Only while the breath continuesto feed the brainand … Continue reading
USE IT, BUT BE RIGHT
I wish I was a millionairecould take it all and give it youand you and you and you and you and youand send you off to let you dojust what it is you want to. Use it and be right. … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin, Centre
Tagged fountain of laughter, joy, laughed, lost, millionaire, pain, star in the sky, use it and be right, wept, wish, won
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RIGHT VIEW
In the Jungle of the Worldand the Tangle of the Senseswe build us huts of mud and heartacheand make (and mend) our fragile fences. ‘This is me! That is mine!’is the burden of our song.We cannot see, still less definethat … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged butterflies, evil, good, Jungle, me, mind, mine, pain, Right View, sanity, sorrow, stars, Tangle of the Senses, Vice, virtue
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REQUIEM: ARMISTICE DAY
This year the dead are blind and do not seem to hear our prayers. Nor do they seem to mind that we now own what they once thought was theirs. Here they shed no tear at all the pain they … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Armistice Day, blind, dead, pain, prayers, requiem, thought
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