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 eye
(inner eye to inner eye)
it's not so far
from grain of sand to spinning star.

Here wave is sea
and sea is wave once more,
no them no me,
a timeless beating on a timeless shore.

What a place to be alone

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Satin Still Finds Work For Idle Hands

Between the stairway
and the stair,
the Soul has sensed the Shadow there
reaching out from somewhere grey;
has felt the sunlight slide away.

Between the window
and the frame
has passed the Rat that has no name
to gnaw and chew and breed and tear
and take your homestead as his lair.

Between the doorway
and the porch
the Arsonist inserts his torch
to spark the threshold with his fire
and make your home your funeral pyre.

Between one thought beam
and a second

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Have A Happy Week

“Empty-handed I come
and lo!
the spade is in my hand.”

In the illimitable Void
All is destroyed
(and Nothing is lost!)

Everything appears anew:
good seeds flourish
(and evil too) .

They said to the Poet
at his birth,
“Go! Love!
Without the help
of anything on Earth.”

A naked child eighteen inches long
no teeth, no hair, no speech.

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Grass Cutting

Today a hundred yards of green lawn
along the river promenade,
interspersed with small trees and bushes,
are ready for trimming.
Fifteen men and women
with strimmers, baskets and long-handled brushes
are given the job of creating great clouds
of fine green and brown dust,
interspersed with sitting and laughing
in a circle in the shade,
to give the heat of the day a chance to fade;
a not unpleasant communal occupation.
This would cause a sensation,
or even provoke outrage
in England, where one Council Worker
must do it all on the minimum wage.

www.bamboo-leaves.com

poem by Brian Taylor
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In and Out the Windows

"In and out the windows
as we have done before."

Moving in and out of being
stopping just this side of seeing,
in and out of life they pass,
kestrel, robin, spider, mouse.
Each their special shapes they wear,
striving on from here to there.
From here at the start of a brand new day
to there where life just bleeds away.
Filling up the time between
crawling, walking, flying, creeping,
laughing, shouting, humming, weeping.
Still not knowing what it might mean.

The leaf that shrinks and flutters from the unwounded tree
is a lifetime's education for you and me.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Make An Effort

Matter is always inert;
dense shadowy stuff
that resists the shining.

Leave the puppet
to its own devices
and how will it ever
get out of its box?

Who then is there
to make an effort?
And with what force
from where obtained?

The child, the kitten, the puppy
have no idea
that there are efforts
to be made.

Simmering with energy,

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Spring

This springtide was not something
to excite the senses
but an overflowing of the heart.
Pure joy.
‘Love thou the rose but leave it on its stem.’

An overflowing of the heart
which sees its images,
reflected everywhere,
existing nowhere
but in itself.

Always the sun shines
in Portsonachon,
in Wien,
in the silence of the mind.

‘Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage.’

This voyage

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Own Goal

Cast up on a desert island,
hut to be erected,
food to be found.

Making something I can call ‘my land'
to protect and be protected
on my own ground.

Another somewhere
to be hot and cold in.
A here (or there)
to be young (grow old) in.

Another invitation
to play Now or Never
(and earn consolation
for Honest Endeavour) .

Another attempt
to eat Pie in the Sky

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Painted Veil

Millions of bubbles; bubbles, bubbles, bubbles.
Who could have thought that so small
could be the curse of all,
and source of all our troubles?

Microscopic seeds
encasing nuclei of fire.

Each germinates and breeds
subtle filaments of desire.
Desire slides in and overpowers,
making our best intentions fail
and weaves the warp and weft of the painted veil
which shrouds this world which is not ours.

Lift it?
It proliferates with every minute.

See?
Our eyes are trapped within it.

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Let sleeping dogs lie
Let weeping babies cry
Let peeping ladies pry
Let dying fires die
Let soldier sentries spy
Let shopping trollies buy
Let dolphins sigh
Let those that cannot, try
Let those who can, deny
Let heliophiles fry
Let all our washing dry
Let piglets fly
and pigs clean out their sty
Let briar roses bry
Let Fo Fum fee and fi
Let matelots shout, “Aye, aye! ”
Let Nora exclaim, “Oh, my! ”
Let be the apple of my eye

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poem by Brian Taylor
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