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Kevin J Taylor Nov 2017
Practice keeps me perfect.
Now you say it.
Say it again.
Kevin J Taylor Apr 2019
It's snowing
Crows racing, caw-calling
Old hemlocks waiting
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
It was the early afternoon of Infinity when we met.
I had called into being the forever of time
to anticipate your arrival in finite rhythms—
Knowing they must be the whitest of lies.

The preparation, the perception, the recognition,
the intertwining and engagement of spaces,
their separations—all in the span of hello
and the impossibility of absolute goodbye.
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
A gentle scent surrounds me.  It eddies,
flows, reminds me.  I dream.  Look long
and away until just so and seeing you
and having only to say—  I seize upon
some flower, something I love, you see,
and say—  This is where I begin.  This is
where I am.  This is where I am re-awoken.
And in that span you hold me with interest,
with affinity.  You who can never end,
whose beginning was before mine—
From non-existence you rekindle me.
.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2020
I rise from my body
My fall à l'envers
Through cold brilliant sunlight
And thinness of air

Past floating ions
Into almost bare space
And I shift my gaze back
And I wish for your face

I'll one day return
With the wind in my hair
Some bright afternoon
And all devil-may-care

With the kiss I'm left owing
Until it is paid
With our love I left holding
When I fell away
.
à l'envers is French for upside down or wrong way to. It is pronounced a bit like "ah lon vair". The s is silent.
Kevin J Taylor May 2017
I think a thought
(I sometimes do)
I think a thought
from start to through.
And when I'm done,
if it was fun,
I think me up
another one.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Before The Beginning God said,
Let there he Height!
And it was everywhere.

And upon the evening of the eighth day
God sighed, Everyone’s a critic—
This cannot end well.
.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2015
Are we beggars now? We beg—
We beg for peace. From whom?
The War-Men have no peace to give.
.
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?
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Her bags were packed, left by the door. She looked away waiting for her ride to come. Waiting.

You met her on a holiday. You can’t recall who else was there. She’s moved along and left you holding empty air. Empty rooms and empty halls fill the days you've lost count of and left an empty bed alone beside you.

You met her one late-summer day, or was it autumn, who can say? Like falling leaves you fell one for the other. The mornings were the best of all. The evenings melted into dawn and dawn again.

And then one day she said goodbye. Without a word, she said goodbye. Her eyes had someone else inside. You asked yourself when this all started.

Now every girl you see instead, and every time you turn your head, and all the names on every street, the colors of the sky at night, your bed at dawn, days pass you by, whatever tells you you’re alive tells you that you’re dead inside.

You keep her pillow by your own, wake up late each afternoon but still you wake up as alone. And then one day you've cleared your mind, you bring her back and let her slide away again.

Now mornings fade from grey to green, and somewhere in the days between you catch an eye, she catches you and spends a night or maybe two. The hallway and the living room, the shower and the kitchen floor, what else had they existed for?

Now every smell of every flower, every early morning shower and all the songs on every street, the colors of the sky at night, her kiss at dawn, the rising light, whatever tells you you’re a man tells you you’re alive again. Yet stories like this never end like fairy tales.

And every smell of every flower, every early morning shower, and all the songs on every street, the colors of the sky at night, her kiss at dawn, the rising light, whatever tells you you’re a man tells you you’re alive again, at least until this fairy tale is over.
.
I'd love to collaborate with someone(s) to create a song from this poem.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2016
I dreamed an opened book of prayer
On a table by a window
Pages turning by a window’s ledge at night
There, God in darkness, knowing, seeing
And where a thief had hidden, kneeling
As pages flutter with the curtain in the night

Pages lifting, lifting, turning
While God looking, quiet, waiting
For His thief in contemplation
Of the faith he had not kept
There, in the shadows of the curtain
At the turning, soon the lifting, of the night
.
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".
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2020
Dark and hurried skies, forewarning end to all as sure as night the day; bodies heaped, bone to dust, ash of fallen prayer amounting in still, now silent ruins.

Beings of abandoned cause, broken, dulled, awaiting eagles sent, gone a thousand years, here now returned; floating down a thousand skies to tell the way.

From ever endless skies, shall we, at our arrival, our return, rejoicing, ask wisely (O so wisely), “Who knew?” and know and laugh again?
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
.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
0% BODY FLAT
100% FLAT FREE

CURVED TO PERFECTION
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2016
Approaching Siddhartha where he sat a
boy examined him politely (this-that?)
Siddhartha spoke and there the unnamed boy
who sitting a while with him that day thought
and over the days ahead returned and
leaving only for food, drink and service
that Siddhartha would not be distracted
from his goal until upon returning
he saw him glowing in the morning light
and so began to dance with him beneath
the tree. A leaf was shed, was gathered then
and the boy, who while tucking it away,
Siddhartha asked if he would run for him:
to village, crossroads, field, grove, wherever
Siddhartha wished to speak. And so he ran,
and soon arriving, announcing thus his
coming, holding high the leaf he carried
and which had never died, living, always
green, until Lord Buddha left his body.
.
.
cool in the shade
still dancing
with Lord Buddha
Kevin J Taylor Apr 2019
Break my heart
Break my back
Waste my time
Bend my path

Do your best

I bring Freedom
Future
Hope
.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
The road is littered
with broken bowls and buddhas
flung in bits from cliffs
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Oh—Butterfly!
Unfolding folding—Away!
Up up down up—Ha!
.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Can you feel it?
BUT CAN YOU FEEL IT?
I do.

The Changing—

Lights flickering on
And on and on...

Everywhere!

Can you taste it too?
And smell it?
Are you smiling
All-of-a-sudden
For the pleasure
Just the pleasure?

Sing!
Believe!
Be!

THE DARK IS OVER!
THE DARK IS OVER!
THE DARK IS OVER!
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2016
they ****** us back / we ****** 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
..
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2019
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.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2016
A sonnet is a dandy thing all dressed  
In pomp and form and run-on lines and things—  
Enough to make the weary take up wings.
Though this is but my third, I must confess,  
Lifetimes ago I wrote with zing and zest  
And sonnets then were little songs to sing  
To fluttering ******* and nightingales— or slings  
Against misfortune, kings, and other pests.

No poet’s court has ever sat assize
Sans sonnets quick and cleverly contrived.  
Fair queen or country maid, though each its prize—
The sonnet’s virtue rests in parted thighs.
Finer roe has never graced a sturgeon
Nor caveat much mattered to a ******.
.
Caveat is a warning or caution. Assize is a court or can be a judgement. Used here as "sat in judgement." Sans is an English word stolen from the French about 700 years ago. Means "without."
Kevin J Taylor Dec 2015
Prayer and Glory! [a single voice, calling]

Jesus! [more voices, tumultuous, joyful]

Leading each of us to heaven
He with neither sin nor hating
Christians everywhere sing joyful
Loving each of God's creations
Praise Him! Praise Him! Every nation!
Praise the King this Christmas morning!
Prayer and Glory!
Christ, Our Savior, Christmas born!

Christians everywhere sing joyful!
Prophesy has come to pass
Jesus sent for our salvation
God, Our Father, gathers us
Praise Him! Praise Him! Every nation!
Praise the King this Christmas morning!
Prayer and Glory!
Christ, Our Savior, Christmas born!
.
The message of Christ is valuable and I celebrate the life and lives of those who seek, and may have found their way. Merry Christmas!
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Clatter fades
Quiet
Afternoon air
.
Kevin J Taylor Nov 2018
What color is your heart?
What faith bleeds some other red?
What color is my heart to you?
What colors fill your world?
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Come!
Create with me!

(Create Create Create!)
You see—We are already friends

Remind me then of my abilities
Increase our creation of futures (full)

(We pretend we do not know
That "when" is just a little lie we play with)

Remind me to rise at will
And to intend decision

I brim with joy at your separateness
Your joy with mine. With others too, full joy

Remind me of the play and of the game
(The little lies of lose and had)

The glory and the vision
Of "What if"

Reacquaint me with cognition
Remind me to re-cognite

The instant already-ness of being
(For BE we are decision)

What will we decide that we have already
What will we decide

Come!
Create with me!
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Holding, come what may, each other
until unseen time folds us under

And if, and though by plan or chance, we pass
from out this life into another, yet another—
Two parts within this Great Adventure,

For us, for now, an hour more, a day, a breath,
no matter, come what may.
Kevin J Taylor Jan 2017
My feet sing
My heart sings
My body sings along

     I’m already in love
     Just gotta find me a girl
.

This is what a guy feels like at a certain point in his life. Not sure if all guys do. Well, me anyway.

.
Kevin J Taylor Mar 2016
Cool in the shade
(still) dancing
with Lord Buddha
See Boy runner

.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
All that rest are spaces (space)
space of drums
("Come" they told him)

Nitre, cannon, horns, pipes
(echoed, calling)
vertebrae, rope-fray

Sinew (pink, foam-flecked)
flailing, fallen, gathered, apart
upon itself, weltered
.
Nitre: saltpeter or potassium nitrate, a component of gunpowder.
Welter: lie soaked in blood.
.
Who do we actually think has laid down their lives for the freedoms of today? A wellspring of greater beings who have sacrificed everything for us in some past, performing a duty we attempt to honor for a moment, for a day or on a postage stamp? No no no. They are us, one life to the next as we live and die and live—live yet again. We might take a dimmer view of those running roughshod over our hard-won victories if we realized the personal price we’ve paid and how many times. This poem is a death remembered in parts—one day of many from that perspective. Remembered, because that awareness has gone on to live again. I remember past lives (and this is the death of one of them), and so these memories are sometimes disconnected and hard to look at. I don’t much care whether this preamble seems strange or utterly fantastic.
.
Make room. This is the Death of a Patriot.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Depths of green—from canopy to forest floor
In streams of raucous livingness
And there, and where about, a sanctuary
Falls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.

And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outs
Through every place (perceived)
Wherever listened for—vibration.

A single voice in Pali—a single voice
Leaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.

Hello. You greet me.
.
.
.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Summon Me! From Dismal Mountain
Where fallen prayers drift slowly down
Where ash of fallen prayer lies mounting
From the privy of the Beast!

Take Me!  Shake each gilded Logic
From dreaded Death!  From dung deposits!
From the liars' breath of thieves!
From Serpentes, friend of Eve!

Spill Me!  Spill my ancient grief!
My faith that God once had in beasts!
Spill the essence of my clay
Across the Day!  Across the Day!

O Hear!  Echoic from this ashen fell
Where idols leant and fallen dwell—
My Lords-in-waiting!  Seneschals!
Summon Me!
A few words:  Serpentes (sir-pent-eze), a name in biology for the snakes— used here as the given name of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Fell, a hill or highland.

Leant is leaned.  Rhymes with lent.

Seneschal, an office in a medieval noble household, in charge of servants and their duties, ceremonies and administration of justice.  Reminds me of a lieutenant in an old crime family.  I think that any Beast worth his salt would have had them.

This poem is about the premise that The Beast has NO power of his own. He is begging to be called forth.
.
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2020
“But Lord Mother!” young Yahweh cries,
“It is all downhill to the mountaintops.
              And all downhill from there.”
.
Kevin J Taylor May 2017
Green-hilled and ancient shore—
None stand above us!
.
Kevin J Taylor Jan 2016
Enjoy the sunshine when she comes
Enjoy the blue skies cleared of grey
And with a glad song in your heart
Enjoy the sunshine when she comes

Enjoy the sun through dancing leaves
Enjoy her warmth against your skin
Enjoy the flowers and the green
Whatever else your day may bring

Enjoy the sunshine when she comes
It's been a while my dear old friend
Since we have walked and talked and laughed
Something we should do again

Enjoy the sunshine when she comes
Until then—
.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017
I have not come, he says,
to defend God,
but to offend sinners.

Looks straight at me—
I am everyone.
.
Kevin J Taylor Jun 2017
Father,
how shall I atone
for sins so deep
that Satan
weeps
.
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
The first poem takes place during the lifetime of Lord Buddha.

The second poem follows in the years soon after Lord Buddha left his body.

The third poem is the mind of the boy (the spirit of the boy in the first poem) in restless meditation. He has yet to attain full enlightenment. There are multiple voices suggested by parentheses and which are whispered words. If you prefer linear thought or literal interpretation this poem may not communicate to you. Just as a painting may be abstract, this poem is wide open to your own connections, thoughts and emotions. If you like, you can skip to the fourth poem.

The fourth poem, in three lines, lies within this portion of eternity that is forever present time.


Boy runner (the first poem)
"""""""""""""
Approaching Siddhartha where he sat a
boy examined him politely (this-that?)
Siddhartha spoke and there the unnamed boy
who sitting a while with him that day thought
and over the days ahead returned and
leaving only for food, drink and service
that Siddhartha would not be distracted
from his goal until upon returning
he saw him glowing in the morning light
and so began to dance with him beneath
the tree. A leaf was shed, was gathered then
and the boy, who while tucking it away,
Siddhartha asked if he would run for him
to village, crossroads, field, grove, wherever
Siddhartha wished to speak. And so he ran,
and soon arriving, announcing thus his
coming, holding high the leaf he carried
and which had never died, living— living
green until Lord Buddha left his body.


Depths of Green (the second poem)
""""""""""""""""""""
Depths of green—from canopy to forest floor
In streams of raucous livingness
And there, and where about, a sanctuary
Falls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.

And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outs
Through every place (perceived)
Wherever listened for—vibration.

A single voice in Pali—a single voice
Leaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.

Hello. You greet me.


And if I split myself and stand (the third poem)
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
And if I split myself and stand
At every corner of said universe
On any selfsame summer day
With any selfsame afternoon rain
Will this, though thought, slip
Where densities of interest fail
(Or by failures to perceive )

This leaf-boy-runner
Eight portions of beingness
The full and fill of prime creation
(Perhaps where life has paused
Or slowed enough to perceive
At any speed

The speed of perception
The true speed of light
The wavelengths of laughter
And of any thing )

While density shifts
Where inertia has failed

(The density of my interest
The shift of my affinity )

There is no doubt
It has velocity
It gives back light
It bends the universe
It has location
From which expands
All space
Not already filled
With the logic of otherness
And even there it bends— It wills

As (my breadth of vision )
A torrent
An avalanche
A fissure in nothingness
A co-creation of All
This theatre
Our audience
Of stelae
Beacons of lostness
In search of wavelengths
Of affinity
Where you might
Where I have
The curves beneath our frequencies
The pitch and roll of their design
Their width

(We have
Each other )

In all that vastness
An ordinary leaf
From this
For that
(I am )

The breathless
Runner


Cool in the shade (the fourth poem)
"""""""""""""""""""""
Cool in the shade
(still) dancing
with Lord Buddha
.
Kevin J Taylor Feb 2016
Sunflowers! Crowns golden!
Violets! Sweet petals, blue!
Carnations! Pinks! Whites!
         —And my Love for You!

Dahlias! Such beauty!
Tulips! Who knew!
Orchids! Red roses!
         —And my Love for You!
.
Kevin J Taylor Jan 2016
My self, that is, that part, the part you say is me
Your part, that part, that self I sense in verse
And without whom, that self, your self,
My self is lost for words
.
Kevin J Taylor Feb 2017
A pool of light, a flight of stars across a sky,
dawn from night, curtains part or rise or fall—Look!
And with God's smile upon this place—LIFE IS!
.
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
I was walking down the road
Just as happy as can be
And all the leaves upon the trees
Were waving back at me

I saw a curly snail
As he stretched to greet his day
Then headed down the road with me
Then stopped to stretch again

I saw a pretty sparrow
She was perched upon a wire
She sang a song—I sang along
We made a lovely choir

The snail conducted from a twig—
Just so, our song began
“Happy Birthday to You!”
Did you hear us as we sang?

We had a happy party
As we danced around—We three!
And we wished you Happy Birthday!
Just as HAPPY as can be!
.
Kevin J Taylor May 2016
Head bowed. Homeless.
What a heavy load
He carries.
.
Saw him crossing a street in LA.
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2020
Hello for the earth
Hello for the moon
Hello from the sky
Hello from a room

Hello my new friend
Hello little brown bird

Hello trees
Hello clouds
Hello thoughts
Hello words

Hello joy
Hello breeze
Hello life
Hello me

Hello all that I see
Hello you
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
Hello, Ron!
We're here!
We've come to join you!

We've held your lines
Upheld your dream for All—
Now our hope, our dream—
The Goal of Total Freedom!

And in your quest beyond the sky
Beyond the stars that trim the night
We've come—All for All

To thank you
To help you
To join you on the Road to Total Freedom!

Love,
Thank you!
.
When L. Ron Hubbard passed away I wrote this poem to say hello instead of goodbye— Hello to the spirit who is Ron.


Just because Ron's body is no longer around doesn't mean that I don't talk to him. I do. We're still friends.

.
Kevin J Taylor Aug 2020
His light,
     A blossom and a humble bee—
     So proffers God
     That All may see.

Gardens bloom
     And earthworms sing.
     God calls each name
     And seasons' turn.

His light,
     A blossom and a humble bee—
     So proffers God
     That All may see.
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.
.
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Let me rest among these giant souls that stand
where trees once stood.

Here, greens break into blacky-blues and dragonflies
and dusts of beetle dung grow old withal.

Let me rest among the salmonberry and the tumblewood
of cotton, ash and hemlock, fir and cedar.

And let the wind stir of pine above the fall reawaken me
in early greens and sapling dress, anon.
.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
I am the fulcrum, the base and the lever.
I am the space and the form and the game.

I am the maker, the vessel, the dreamer,
the teller, the namer—though naming, un-named.

I am the vision, the vista, the seer.
I am the lintel, the door and the frame.

I am the lock, the key and the knocker,
the handle, the pause and the knocker again.

I am the palm and the fist and the shoulder.
I am the sole and the road and the stride.

I am the still—all that echo, and echoes.
I am freedom, my counsel, my guide.
.
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