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I am doing a set of poems or lines from poems nicely printed on equally nice paper stocks for etsy or other platforms and I'd like to know which poems or lines from poems might suit that. Up for a little dance down poetry lane?
Sep 26 · 128
Sent
Sent into Hell
with Good News to tell
a prophet-god
stepped from the sky

Later, high on a hill
the General Will
hung a man on a cross
till he died

Whereat most of the guilty
and all of the saints
did hang him forever
in plaster and paint

Whilst all of the Merchants
of Death and Death's kin
rage in gilt chains
forged of withholds and sin
..
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Sep 2 · 211
Cataclysm (revisited)
they fought us back / we fought them down / on in the air / in on the ground / millennia / millennia / we carry on

from thundercloud / we fleet as rain / clapping corrugated tin / rising from the sea again / rising silently again

under dark assembled things / assembling / assembling / broken straws / severed wings / in all the ground a war of things / too late / we carry on
.

This poem was originally written with a couple of f-bombs in place of "fought" but in order to make it more accessible to a wider group of readers I've created this version. The other one is on this page somewhere.

Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
Aug 28 · 117
Call of the Reapers
Individual death is not enough.
Cities of death are not enough.
Entire civilizations of dead, now dust,
And they are not enough.
Extinction events are not enough.
Galaxies of death. Infinities of death.
Extinguishment of all life everywhere
At all times past, present, future,
Real and imagined. One last time,
Eternal and absolute death.
.

I read a story about men in long black coats...
Jul 15 · 395
FREE BEINGS
From out of the lights the Free Beings came
From out of the cities the Free Beings came

From out of the forests the Free Beings came
From out of the fields the Free Beings came

From out of the mountains the Free Beings came
From out of the darkness the Free Beings came

And the Free Beings are here
And the Free Beings are here

And the Free Beings are amongst us
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Apr 9 · 625
After Frost
sky heavy with snow
10,000 crows
old hemlocks waiting
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Apr 6 · 630
Tall against the night
Below the smoking cliffs
We wait and parting ways

To live a while between the fires
You, there

And I
And Who had come

Already tall against the night
Eight threads

Eight shining cords
Of livingness

Are we not eight,
But one—Just so
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Apr 3 · 306
Break my heart
Break my heart
Break my back
Waste my time
Bend my path

Do your best

I know freedom
Future
Faith
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Mar 29 · 622
Surgeon’s pride
no saws
no taxidermied limbs
to swell the surgeon’s pride
none seen behind the gleam
and paint
no gangrene
formaldehyde
no ether
excrement
red bags
and waiting
uncleaned body trays

no, no
today the sun rises
with me
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
#28
Feb 28 · 548
Cold
Cold are the shapes
that huddle by dawn.

Cold is the path
in the darkness of dawn.

Cold are the winds
off the lake with the dawn.

Cold are the flights
of stars before dawn.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
#17
Feb 17 · 4.8k
LOGIC STICKS
Don't beat me with your logic sticks
It ain't that I can't take the licks
My skin is thick, as thick as bricks
It's just I've had my fill of it

Chorus
          We'll beat you when you're up
          No, we'll beat you when you're down
          No, we'll beat you when you're up again
          And beat you when you're down

René Descartes rests headless in his tomb
Cogito ergo—ergo whom?
Don't beat me with your logic sticks
Fidem! ergo sum

Chorus

Don't care what makes your logic tick
It ain't that I can't take the licks
Don't know where your logic's been
Logic gets around

Chorus

Don't beat me with your logic sticks
My skin is thick, as thick as bricks
It ain’t that I can’t take the licks
IT'S JUST I'VE HAD MY FILL OF IT
.
This is a song lyric.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Feb 13 · 341
We are nameless
We are nameless, I-men, striving
far above the beggared notions
of apathies and death's release.
We are shadeless, unencumbered
beings drawn from Prime Consideration.
Others, fallen, fail, false in trade,
offer i for I.
                     I, reaching
skyward, holding fast the honest
roots wherefrom he rises— i-man,
reaching down, splits the rhizomed root,
splicing fungused-i to feed upon
a stolen I-man grace. And struts.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Feb 7 · 2.7k
A single breath
Beauty without increment
(Instrument, implement)

A single breath
(Principled)

In spiritum unum
(Indivisibilis, invictus)
.
In spiritum unum = In one breath
Indivisibilis, invictus = indivisible, undefeated
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Jan 27 · 3.1k
Sally
"Don't be silly, Dad, I'm your only daughter."

"Yes. But you'd still be my favorite even if you had half a dozen sisters and as many brothers."

"And your mother is my favorite wife."

"Oh Dad, you only have one."

"... At a time. And anyway, she would still be my favorite even if those other wives were favorites too. If I loved them all as much as you."
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Jan 13 · 5.1k
The Photograph
The photograph hangs on the wall by the window
Three judges appear (one carries a folder),
A tarot card reader, embalmer, engraver
Without much to say and not much of it said
About the boot in the crib and the tire in the bed,
The round faced man and the *** on his head
Painted with flowers and chipped on its edge.
And the cat near the door with its collar and bell
Flailing and airborne and mid caterwaul.
And the three-legged dog with her leash on
And sweater, jubilant, leaping— Mon Dieu! Grand jeté!
And the crow— O the crow! In its cage cawing “Fire!”
The crow crowing “Mayhem!” and “****** most foul!”
The dog and the cat and the crow and the tire,
The cage and the crib, the *** painted in flowers;
All in a frame with a sign alongside—
“Self portrait. Around the Ides of July.”
A ribbon is clipped and then hung for its owner.
It bears the word “Mention” and then the engraver
Makes a note on a form he hands to the embalmer.
The tarot card reader turns— She and her hat,
And addresses the room, “Ain't no card made for that.”

.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Authority: noun, (with capital A)
An expert source of inexpert advice
Or information, with little to say
But popular amongst Authori-ties
Which is the (noun) plural form of small minds
With little to say and lots of them saying
(Hear those majuscules!) FACTS HARD TO UNWIND!
We find ourselves inclined to decline such waylaying
Of truth or of fact with opinions sans stature
(Somehow I have managed twelve beats to my measure)
Like Truth from The Mount of their own manufacture
They pander and ponce for their profit and pleasure.
Authority: noun (with capital A)
What can I say? It's the Word of The Day!
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Dec 2018 · 591
auparavant
Kevin J Taylor Dec 2018
It seems the walls that block my vision
were once my wishes, my decisions.

Lives seem built upon themselves and where
we are, who knows—which floor? How high above,
how far below how many more?

And every ceiling thwarts ascent—
each one a floor auparavant.
.
Auparavant: a French word meaning "previously".
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Dec 2018 · 958
Homage to Ogden Nash
Kevin J Taylor Dec 2018
I love to eat with just a spoon: soups, puddings too, if there is room. I love to eat with forks and knives while dining in with friends and wives. I love to eat with little sticks, especially the tricky bits. But most of all with hands and fingers or any things where flavors lingers.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
When I see flowers I pass them by.
And lovers, I avert my eyes.
Laughter makes me turn and walk the other way.

When I hear music I've got no place to go.
No place to hide. No quiet place to lie.
When I hear music I just close my eyes and cry.

It might as well be yesterday. Today was just the same.
There isn't any joy without your voice, your touch, your face.
Every morning lies and says that I'm alive again, that I'm not dying.

It might as well be yesterday.
It might as well be yesterday.
It might as well be yesterday. Today was just the same.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Nov 2018 · 2.4k
Rise!
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
Rise! Rise! from this body
of prosody ex auctoritatis
whence, unknowing, each
cell, sine arbitror, marches here,
there, just so— Confusing
comet ice, constellations,
Van Allen skies, abandoned
seas. So again, a song may end.

Rise! Sing instead, embodiment
of purpose, ardent, godslike,
unhidden— Release your sounds.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Nov 2018 · 21
Little Buggers
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
O Boil the little buggers in a syrup made of lye
That'll teach them not to chatter when the news is on at five.
That'll teach them not to chatter
That'll teach them not to sing
That'll teach the little buggers not to do annoying things!

O Skin the little buggers with a blade made out of tin
That'll teach them not to stay out when they should be staying in.
That'll teach them not to stay out
That'll teach them not to whine
That'll teach the little buggers that they'd better toe the line.

O Beat the little buggers with a frying pan on fire
That'll teach them not to argue when they should be jumping higher
That'll teach them not to argue
That'll teach them not to zoom
That'll teach the little buggers not to have a messy room.

O Boil, O Beat, O Skin, O Beat, O Beat, O Skin, O Boil
The task of loving children doesn't follow Rules of Hoyle
The task of loving children,
O the task that makes us swear
The task of loving children is to teach them that we care!
Nov 2018 · 1.2k
Lie between us
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
On a blanket on a wooden floor
Abandoned articles of war
Lie between us
And that future left behind
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
#15
May 2018 · 4.6k
Orange Grove
Kevin J Taylor May 2018
If in some other life
we sat in endless space
(perhaps you came alone)
leaning in, could it have been
an orange grove?

If in another life
we listened (in this
or that other grove) and wept
and overflowed with hope—
Then it was real.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Apr 2018 · 3.2k
As ye love
Kevin J Taylor Apr 2018
Do not the mothers and the fathers
of Islam love their daughters, love
their sons, love the children as ye love?
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
.
Kevin J Taylor Jan 2018
hips a' squealin'
hands a' dealin'
everybody get down tonight
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
.
Dec 2017 · 61
Nutshell
Kevin J Taylor Dec 2017
You said, “I don’t.”
I said, “I do.”
You said, “I won’t.”
I did for you.
You said, “I can’t.”
I could, and did.
You said, “I need.”
I did not give.
 
Perhaps, when all
Is said, we fail
To understand
What love entails.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Dec 2017 · 363
Peace Be
Kevin J Taylor Dec 2017
Peace last night.
Snow. White.
Still.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Nov 2017 · 1.4k
Color of Sin
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2017
You can always tell the Devil's cheating halo,
It's the color never seen within a rainbow.
You can always tell the Devil's cheating halo,
It's the dark one. It's the color of sin.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Nov 2017 · 1.9k
main street underworld
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2017
main street underworld
belts hung with stolen halos
unwanted souls
and t-shirts taunting— PROPERTY OF HIM
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
#17
Nov 2017 · 6.6k
I don't care
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2017
I don't care who your god is
        It's alright who your god is
I don't care how you pray
        It's alright
All I care is where my heart is
        Here. Here my heart is
What I do with it today
.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Oct 2017 · 183
Tears in our eyes
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2017
It is hard to wash windows
with tears in my eyes
with tears in your eyes
.
Washing windows? Because I am a storefront window cleaner which pays the bills. We had angry words with each other the night before.


Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
#12
Oct 2017 · 9.5k
Not much to tell
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2017
Still here, my friend, not much to tell.
Winter came, wearied, went.
Spring—hurried skies, or sun or rain.
Hot summer days, hot sleepless nights.
Fall was fresher, raked what fell.
Another year. Mostly well.
.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Oct 2017 · 9.4k
The Hateful Man
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2017
Let each hate, and ours for his,
Be scraped away. Hopefully
He cared for some— At least the few
That may have cared for him.

Allow unchanged what good remains.
At length, with love or hate or both,
We go. In time, some with pause
And some without, return.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Oct 2017 · 1.1k
Begin
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2017
Begin with faith
Beyond belief
Faith is

Begin with hope
Hope is the point
Rekindle hope

Begin with love
Love in all
Love anyway

Begin with self
You, your universe
Made well
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Sep 2017 · 311
Love-in-idleness
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
Love-in-idleness
         -lies-bleeding
         -in-a-mist
.
Browsing a dictionary...

Three flowers... each name beginning with “Love.”

Love-in-idleness — This is the flower spoken of by Shakespeare and which inspired romantic love. A kind of wild *****.

Love-lies-bleeding — This is a South American plant with tassels of bright red flowers.

Love-in-a-mist — And this is a Mediterranean plant from the buttercup family with lovely blue, white or rosy colored flowers surrounded by delicate green threads, creating a misty effect.

Thus, another found poem…


Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Sep 2017 · 1.6k
THE BEDBUG SLAM
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
The only good bedbug is a dead bedbug.
The only bedbug worse than a live bedbug
is a fed bedbug, notwithstanding the
fedded, bedded & newlywedded bedbugs
which tend to copulate & propagate across
rolling great reclining plains, trailing little
**** bedbugs to carry on their game and with
no attention to the names we call them either.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
.
Sep 2017 · 1.5k
Everybody's Man
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
I have not come, he says,
to defend God,
but to offend sinners.

Looks straight at me—
I am everybody's man.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
.
Sep 2017 · 3.2k
Manifesto
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
Universe

Ayhia
Hia


this universe

dislocator-crusher
body forming

accuser

Ayhia

NAME AND ACCUSATION

(force-have)
(force-take)
(force-know)
(force-believe­)

name equals A
body equals A
name equals A
body equals A
name equals A

body for ****
**** for pleasure
body of pain
pain or pleasure
bodies in pawn
accusation
time &
name

                         emeute
                         up rising

Hia hia hia

Self manifest

Take note

Free of assigns
Cause & Purpose

Ayhia
Hia


.
From Collins Dictionary,
emeute: noun, an uprising or rebellion
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
.
Sep 2017 · 1.8k
Thirsty lips...
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
Thirsty lips
Oasis
Hips
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
#8
Sep 2017 · 1.2k
The road...
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
The road is littered
with broken bowls and buddhas
flung in bits from cliffs
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Sep 2017 · 1.3k
Joy of Kitchen
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
Spoons
c-d-lick-k-k

pots/pans
b-bang-ng-ng
bowng b boawng
Hey!

-ey!
lids
CRSH-INGGG

Hey ng ng-ng b-ba-wnng Hey!

Hey!
HeyboangHecd-ba-b-yonnHey!
HeyowngHeyboangdeclick (SHiNGHey!)
Heyang-b-bang-c-dlick bongHey!
c-Hey-c-baowngSHINGGbonng-nging-Hey!
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Sep 2017 · 8.0k
Reminder
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
Reminding me
of my first trike

The poetry of
red and white

The poetry of
pedaled motion

Piston footed!
Vision frozen!

Head and hair
gone separate ways!

Freedom found
on summer days!

Down the sidewalk
runway riding!

Faster! Faster!
Out of hiding!

Faster! Faster!
Spirit! Gliding!

Faster! Faster!
Up! And free!

My body can’t
catch up with me!

Somewhere in
the days between

I left my trike in
rusty scenes

Traded life
for lesser stuff

Left the trike
and kept the rust

Until a friend
came to my door

With gamesy thoughts
that life is more

Than failed hopes
and rusty bits—

Pointing skyward!
Tag! You’re it!
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Sep 2017 · 665
Death Dilutes You
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
The final thought to form before goodbye
will not recall the lover's kiss nor mark
the dappled shadowfall of bright September
days, nor acknowledge the soft metal taste
of blood beneath your tongue. Neither news feeds
nor slideshows, achievements, failures, money,
friends, nor anything you've had. The final thought
will be the didn't do—not the success.
The unacknowledged plan. The incomplete.
A dream. An arm outstretched, an empty palm.
Goals left unattended for better days
that never came or came and went. The thought
will be the should have said, the should have done
while the lump that rises, that beats in your
throat, sinks to your heart and death dilutes you.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Aug 2017 · 259
Grief
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2017
eggshells
onions
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
#5
Aug 2017 · 8.3k
One Cat, Maybe Two
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2017
Raymond shifted his weight forward on the coffee
shop chair and leaned his cheekbone into the heel of
his palm. A childhood verse chided him in his
mother’s voice of over fifty years ago.

“Raymond, Raymond, if you’re able,
get your elbows off the table.
This is not a horse’s stable,
but your mother’s dining table.”


It didn’t immediately connect to any
pictures in his mind but he had heard it enough
to know it was real. An hour ago he had been
at his mother’s side in the palliative care ward.

She had appeared smaller than he liked to think of
her—had looked almost like he was seeing her at
a distance. She hadn’t greeted him, only closed
her eyes and said, “Feed the cats, will you.” It wasn’t

really a question. “Yes,” he answered, but the cats,
whoever they were, must have left or died years ago.
The only living thing she owned, he suspected,
was the small Christmas cactus someone had brought to

cheer her up. He looked at her again, waiting for
her eyes to open. They never did. Her jaw dropped
and that was that. Raymond hadn’t wanted to be
in the room when the nurses and orderly would

come to take her away. He stopped at the reception
desk to say that he’d be in the coffee shop
waiting for his brother and sister-in-law to
arrive. They were late and he was thankful to have

a few minutes to himself. From where he sat he
faced the open entrance of the café. There was
a couple sitting tiredly off to one side.
A man in a shapeless blue hospital gown and

slippers shuffled in pushing an IV pole ahead
of him. Raymond heard steps echo sharply down
the hallway. Here they are, he thought, hurrying
needlessly. Bill and Marijke had been fast asleep

at 2:30 am when Raymond’s first text message
came in. They never saw it until 5:00 when Bill
reached for his cell phone as he did every morning
right after Marijke turned off the alarm. “****,”

he said, “No time.” Bill, “William” on his realtor
business card, and Marijke, were used to demands
on their time from potential home buyers. But they
usually had early mornings to themselves—

breakfast, coffee, catch up on current events. Not
today. The text had said, “ASAP.” They hit the drive-
through at Starbucks on their way to the hospital.
“Hey Bill. Marijke,” Raymond said. Bill nodded. “Hey,”

he replied and paused to look at Raymond, to see
if he’d say something else, “Is she gone?” “Couple of
hours ago,” Raymond said. “Should we see her?” Bill asked.
“Can if you want, I suppose. Maybe later,"

Raymond said, "Did she have a cat? She mentioned cats.
I haven’t seen any for years. Did you take them?”
Mother might have mixed him up with Bill again.
Raymond looked at his brother who didn’t seem to

be listening and then at Marijke. "She used to
feed the neighborhood cats before she broke her hip,”
Marijke said. “That might be it.” It seemed odd that
Marijke knew more about his mother’s life than

her sons did. “Maybe you’re right,” Raymond said. “What’s next?”
“I’ll call her lawyer and get him on it,” Bill answered.
Raymond suddenly realized that his brother
had been listening. Marijke started to cry. 
 
Raymond pulled some napkins from their holder and pressed
them hard against his eyes. Bill looked down and away.
Over the next few days life seemed to stop. Nothing
more than daily routines and only as long as

they didn’t require much effort or attention.
Coffee, whatever was in the fridge—dishes sat in
the sink. Gradually he began to feel alive
again. It was as though he had been wrapped in blankets,

hearing distant, mostly muffled voices, glimpsing
unfamiliar rooms and spaces when he closed his
eyes to sleep. Marijke had startled him this morning
when she called and said to the answering machine that

Bill and she were coming over with something from
the lawyer and hoped he would be in. She didn’t
wait for him to pick up. She’d have known he was at
the kitchen table. They arrived mid-afternoon.

No knock at the door. Bill was the older of the
two and was the most like their dad. And Dad had not
been the knocking sort. Not with Raymond anyway.
Bill and Marijke each carried a bag of groceries

which they placed on the kitchen counter. “Thought you might
need some things,” Marijke said. “Nice to see you, Ray.”
She took a bag of groceries and made room in the
fridge for its contents: milk, BBQ chicken and

eggs. She placed the bananas in a wooden bowl.
“Saw the lawyer yesterday,” Bill started. “He has
the will but it doesn’t amount to much except
for the house,” he paused, “The equity has mostly

been ****** out of it. God knows what for. And there’s this…”
Bill dropped a large manila envelope in front
of Raymond. “I’ve already opened it. There’s an
envelope for each of us in there. Marijke

says we should open them together because we’re
all the family we have now.” He tipped the envelope
on its end and let the two smaller envelopes
slip out. One each for William and Raymond. Bill picked

his up and tore the corner of the flap destroying
most of the envelope in the process and
extracted what appeared to be several sheets of
neat handwriting. “It’s just a letter,” Bill said. He

put it into the inside breast pocket of his
suit jacket. Raymond waited a moment then picked
up the other envelope, turned it over and nodded
almost imperceptibly. He stood, walked to the

shelf between the window and the back door where he
had made room for the Christmas cactus instead of
leaving it behind. Not sure about the light, he
thought, and leaned the unopened letter against the

earthenware ***. “Not you, too?” Marijke shook her
head. “It’ll be like…” Raymond said, he paused, looking
at her, “It’ll be like not hanging up the phone.”
Marijke understood—he’d never open it.

“I get it,” she said in a softer tone. Bill looked
blankly at his brother. And Raymond smiled a little
for the first time in a while. By six the next
morning Raymond was already dressed and brewing

coffee. Usually he would head down to Timmy’s
Donut Shop for his caffeine fix. “Double trouble,”
he’d say, meaning “Double double,” as he always
did at Timmy’s. It amused him and often made

his favorite server smile. “Too much trouble, you mean,”
she’d say. Human contact. Raymond guessed that some of
the guys at the corner table would be wondering
how he was doing. They’d know what had happened, of

course, but they’d ask just the same. He poured his first cup
and walked out onto the back porch. Still a bit cool
out here, he thought as he leaned against the railing,
sipping his coffee as his eyes wandered around

the yard. He’d have another cup in a while but
first he had something he needed to do. Raymond
sat down on the porch steps and slipped his feet into
an old pair of shoes. He tied them and flicked the loops

with his finger to see how the laces fell, to
make sure he had not tied them backwards and would not
work their way loose. Someone had taught him that a long
time ago when they had seen his laces come undone.

He stood up and walked across the yard to the back
lane and the narrow picket fence, missing a picket
here and there and much of its original coat
of white paint. Some boys had probably pulled the missing

pickets off decades ago and with galvanized
garbage can lids for shields spent a Saturday
morning sword fighting. The gate was leaning and half
open, held there by uncut grass, weeds and neglect.

He stepped out and onto the lane that led between
the two rows of houses that backed onto it. Raymond
looked at each fence, each set of stairs and window as
he passed them by. A block later he turned and headed

home satisfied that he had seen at least one cat,
maybe two. Another cup of coffee in hand,
Raymond sat on the top step. On his way out of
the kitchen and onto the porch he had stopped to

turn the cactus in the morning light, stepped outside
placing a saucer of fresh milk by the porch door,
and sat down.

THE END
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Aug 2017 · 858
Happy Birthday!
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2017
I wake up
First thing I say—
**! **! **! It's Your Birthday!

Jump right up
From where I lay—Shout
Hey! Hey! Hey! It's time to play!

Grab two forks
Grab two plates—Sing
Let's have us some Birthday Cake!

**! **!
Hey! Hey!
Sing! Sing!
Hoo-ray!
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Aug 2017 · 8.3k
Relax
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2017
Keep calm.
What doesn't **** you
Just takes longer.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.).
Aug 2017 · 284
If Love Exists
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2017
Love! Love early, long and more than any human heart can hold—
Full souled! First, last and freshly found.
Love in All. Love All in All.
By these words, if Love exists, Love All.
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Jul 2017 · 4.7k
Gift of Higher Reason
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
Flowers: Gift of Higher Reason!
Spring again in step and season!

Deoxyribonucleic* data? No! Much more—
Painted petals trimmed with theta!
.
*Deoxyribonucleic Acid is more commonly known as DNA

**Theta means spirit, soul, the spiritual essence of each of us, each living thing, and the qualities associated with it (goodness, purity, excellence, beauty, understanding, love etc etc)


Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Jul 2017 · 565
If (when)
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
If, for example, we die (and I've heard otherwise).
Not if but when, I’ve heard.
I would argue (suggest)
There is no truer when than now.
We live unless (until) we say we die.

And only then if I agree
And we agree
And others too
And once agreed
Must not be spoken of
(Which, all said, appears
To be the dyingness).

Contrariwise,
Living, living now, and thus—
If (when) we’ll agree amongst ourselves—
L'chaim!
.
L’chaim! (pronounced luh-khah-yim) a Hebrew toast. Literally— To life!

.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
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