Tail of a Typhoon

Whirling round the gulf of Thailand
tugging at the coasts and high land
blowing red dust at the sky
to choke the nose and sting the eye
then rain to wash it teeming down
and turn the streaming river brown
with silver trails where boats have passed.

Now, quite blown out and still at last.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Emergency Exit

I must be present now
before I can have a past;
I must be present now
to create a future then.

If I still my present mind
and exchange present thoughts
for nothing at all,
I have escaped past and future
and achieved a timeless peace
with no yesterday, no tomorrow.

I am
before
Abraham was.

poem by Brian Taylor
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The Unquiet Dead

The Unquiet Dead
seek their Peace
on the ever-spinning Wheel,
within a world where they just lease
the small part they can see and feel.

And what they see and feel still grieves them.
And what they think is real deceives them.

Although the Suffering is real.
Although the Suffering is real.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Now

Now.
Sit down.
Let go.
Tomorrow’s now will be no more than this
- another was.

Nothing is enough
to distract
your present thought.

And your present thought
is only movement between two points,
a wave that leaves the water behind,
plotted by an electrical mind.

So take your nothing.
Now.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Loyalty

Where oaths are demanded
for a place in the sun
and the labour of many
serves the dictates of one;
where fast trades are made
and fixed deals are done;
Loyalty – le loi – is the law of the gun.

Where gifts are exchanged
and the pure mind leads,
the heart with its wisdom
sows loyalty’s seeds.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Brave New World

The police have failed the people;

they don’t protect them on the streets.

The judges have failed the police;

they don’t send the criminals to prison.

The politicians have failed the judges;

they don’t sack them.

The people have failed the politicians;

we don’t vote for someone else.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Him And Her And Them

A bare chest
is a cooler way
on a hot day
than a string vest.

Her husband’s pain’s a sword.
And, again,
though she sees and feels for him
and keeps her love
and cooks his meals for him,
she is bored.

It’s hard to be free
no matter what you see;
something to do with the guts
or too many ifs and buts.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Open Asylum

Here the lunatics are free.
They walk the streets confined
within their minds,
and peer out through the blinds
and the visors of their faces
to see
a world outside
their continent of cells.

It shines out:
the cunning, sensuality and terror
and that strange, otherworldly grin
of the damned world locked within.

poem by Brian Taylor
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Yoga

Mind moves
with the breath
which fuels this articulated doll
from birth to death.

What starts out as routine maintenance
for a puppet with entangled strings
develops to a share in the dance
of the dragon that eternally sings.

But, first, the intention,
clear and well defined
for the retention
of the errant mind.

poem by Brian Taylor
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How Many Angels Can Stand On The Point Of A Pin?

Although the Two Worlds
are so intimately linked,
how is it that they are
completely distinct?

See!
A ten-ton elephant
and a thousand soldiers
reflected in a single mirror!

Why doesn’t the glass shatter
under the weight of such an elephant?
Why does not the frame splinter
beneath the boots of such an army?

poem by Brian Taylor
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