I’ve always found cliché
to be the least cliché.

When the quiet girl is interrupted
and played like a character
on a stage. It’s a strange
fruit harvest each season;
different strains, different
chemical plagues. Because
she is too aware of you,
her. To be brought to
the place you already were.

A charlatan of the shipwrecked.
Do we bore ourselves
because we are empty? To laugh
at the reflections.
You could say so much without speaking.
Bear witness to insanity.

There is a lizard
that sits closer to our door
each day. But still runs
if we're to move in anyway.

you cannot unwalk the bridge you have crossed
you cannot unknow the fresh taste of enlightenment
once you have breathed it in
there is no way back
to an illusory net of safety
take courage
spread your wings
and fly

©2016janetaylor

Push me in two hours.
Awakening means I
Live still.

Your voice reminds me:
It's worth getting up at
4am.

This Thing Called World
Awakens not; shifts.
I am animal to its

Soul; wings to its crow.
Never afraid, never uneasy.
Worlds turn.

Planets are never alone.
I can't wait to find the love
Of my

Life there. On other soil.
She hides well.
This universe ain't big enough

For the two of us,
Slim.
I am the only sad god I need.

Comes a time
when the mathematics
of the years
becomes more about
- than +,
÷ rather than x.

When wisdom gained
< vitality lost,
and dis-ease > health.

A good night's sleep
and some energy ≈
happiness.

Living is
tangential
to survival,
and not
necessarily
congruent.

I had over prepared the event,
that much was ominous.
With middle-ageing care
I had laid out just the right books.
I had almost turned down the pages.

Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.

So much barren regret,
So many hours wasted!
And now I watch, from the window,
the rain, the wandering busses.

“Their little cosmos is shaken”—
the air is alive with that fact.
In their parts of the city
they are played on by diverse forces.
How do I know?
Oh, I know well enough.
For them there is something afoot.
As for me;
I had over-prepared the event—

Beauty is so rare a thing.
So few drink of my fountain.

Two friends: a breath of the forest…
Friends? Are people less friends
because one has just, at last, found them?
Twice they promised to come.

“Between the night and the morning?”
Beauty would drink of my mind.
Youth would awhile forget
my youth is gone from me.

(Speak up! You have danced so stiffly?
Someone admired your works,
And said so frankly.

“Did you talk like a fool,
The first night?
The second evening?”

“But they promised again:
‘To-morrow at tea-time’.”)

Now the third day is here—
no word from either;
No word from her nor him,
Only another man’s note:
“Dear Pound, I am leaving England.”

on the rail, not far
from where a young woman jumped
to a lonely death in the cold bay
I found you, in the fog

someone's wedding ring
perhaps once cherished, intended to seal
an eternal bond, but now this band lay
alone, silent, still, on dumber steel

who left you there?
not the doomed woman, for she took her final leap
two Christmases before, and her ring was found
on her withered hand

soft rain began to fall,
like a million tears for forlorn lovers
yet I stayed on the bridge, frozen in time and place
not from the shivering shower

but by the sight of one round, gold trinket
left for fickle fate after another circle had been broken
forever, for my eyes to see, at the edge
of another promised eternity