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Brian Taylor is a Poet and Philosopher who lives in Cornwall, England and the Far East.
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COMPLETING CYCLES
The Juggler throwshis batons at the sun.The sky throws them back againlike rain,each and every one. Surely by now he knowswhat it is he’s gaining? Come Mr. Juggler,look at it from your point of view,just how long has it been … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Blondin, Brian Taylor, Juggler, point of view, rain, sky, sun, you
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MIRROR
Swimming in a Cornish sea –Porpoises! (not Cornish), a little way from me.How far?How far from splashing foot to streamlined tail? Following the brain down its mazy trail –thirty yards? a million years?Too far? Not far enough? But eye to … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged brain, Cornish sea, grain of sand, inner eye, me, million years, mirror, porpoises, sea, spinning star, splashing, wave, you
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ORATOR
His chewcan’t keep up with his bite,and when he speaks,youare showeredwith the feelof his latest undigested meal. (from Gnomonic Verses) .
Posted in Gnomonic Verses
Tagged bite, chew, Gnomonic Verses, humour, Orator, satire, you
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WAVE MAN
For the waves that chatter on and on,and the waves that “go with the flow”,the ocean is still there,deep and still to the very seabed. Wave-Man is here all the time.His dreams come and go,sometimes it seems frenetically.What matters is, … Continue reading
Posted in Gnomonic Verses
Tagged dreams, Ego, Gnomonic Verses, go with the flow, here, Now, ocean, Wave Man, you
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TREASURES ON EARTH, TREASURES IN HEAVEN
The scent of the rosefades in the dry airand the roses themselvesshrivel and fall. The Rose Garden toosuccumbs to the developerand his high-rise flatswhich brush against the sky. Red bricks give wayto changing architectural fashionor a motorwayor a bomb. And … Continue reading
Posted in Blondin
Tagged Blondin, cling, dust, God, heart, Heaven, intercosmic, polar ice, rose, space, throne, treasures on earth, you
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SUNSET
Over and over, you and Isift the contents of our mindand try to findthe people we think we might have been. Try as we will, behindthe painted curtain,one thing is certain;Nothing is ever seen. .
