Poetry Blog by Peter Taylor
Dana Robles on A SPLIT LIP (Tue, 30 Apr 2019 10:51 pm)
THE MEANING OF BIRDSONG
Warm May morning, pink azaleas alight,
never been so bright before, so
fiery so soon after winter’s wake
(quite late this year). I toast my feet beneath
a dodging sun, soaking up essential D, and
settle on a garden seat to listen to what I
cannot see: a tree-top high cacophony
of birdsong, every ...
Saturday 18th May 2019 10:31 pm
Her last few days and nights
flashes of light and dark in
grey-blue eyes that know that
sight will soon abandon those of
tethered, tied down, waiting souls,
unblinking, fixed on her or those
unsure of where to let them lie.
I think I hear a soft, sharp crack
of slammed shut eyelids as if, of a sudden,
half a dozen giant gnats have
smacked right ...
Wednesday 15th May 2019 10:35 am
BRIDGES BACK HOME
Morning walks in cold September,
can’t remember quite so many in
other years: horizontal, silky threads,
eye level, spun by unseen spiders
across wider gaps than might be
believed to be of this world.
What flight of fancy this leap from
tree to gorse or gorse to tree?
I speculate that, in light of the
spider’s weight, h...
Saturday 11th May 2019 10:45 pm
A SPLIT LIP
It’s only recently I started to ask myself
the reasons why my upper lip is split –
initially just a narrow, shallow slit but left alone
to care for itself and so to slowly stretch and grow.
I don’t pretend to be one of those who claim
the right to tease for human frailties.
I too may look too long in a mirror and do not mock
others for asking some trusted f...
Tuesday 30th April 2019 6:45 pm
BACK FROM A DREAM
Once more woken by my body’s aches
called away from recent dreams
that in a moment flee cool reading rooms
through one of four blue wooden doors
each to reach nothing less than
muddles heaped across a field of
bubble-wrapped, incoherent scenes.
My return each morning on zero gain
is caught on mundane memories
so trite as to leave them in the dar...
Monday 22nd April 2019 8:02 am
First warming sun today at last, to follow
cold, sharp winter; new buds start to dress
the land around, to adorn once more after nature’s rout,
stripping down to stark dark shapes summer-green,
winter-grey trees and hedges, belittled still by
funereal firs, blood-flecked holly, brooding yews.
Saturday 20th April 2019 7:22 am
MUSIC DOWN THE MORGUE
I sometimes see the world through stand-in eyes
required to face the fact of newly broken parts,
immobilised by indulgent recklessness;
yet disrespectful of the powers that be
that would rule us all and all our hearts
as we stumble, artless, through our useful years,
transient as a species, our lives full of cares.
Cut to the chase: I broke an ank...
Saturday 13th April 2019 11:02 am
GETTING USED TO IT
I have been slow in getting used to it: I have
not got to grips or taken the bull by the horns;
I’ve fought battles each day to remain in the swim,
fearful of eddies, of brackish backwaters,
with no punch left to get back in the flow;
whirling slowly, treading water, seemingly stuck.
Sunday 7th April 2019 8:06 am
WILL YOU STILL NEED ME, WILL YOU STILL FEED ME?
So sang Sir Paul, a late Sixties landmark song,
lyrics and score penned in seconds I’m sure and
jaunty as they come, neither revealing nor concealing
the big issues of the day, but a ballad for our time, a devotion,
a short, sweet love song, a subliminal gong on the froth and sweat of
Britpop’s arriviste best, a testament to th...
Friday 29th March 2019 10:07 am
YOUR BLUE EYES
Your blue eyes shone in the sky on the day
that waited for a simple sign that said,
though officially dead since yesterday,
she’ll be with us still, she won’t fade away.
We saw that sign in the sight and sounds of some
nearby trees that bent a little in the lightest breeze,
respectful, as much as gardens might decently be,
in offering a bow, then a bende...
Tuesday 26th March 2019 4:48 pm
that I may no longer let myself
fix my gaze, or let a glimpse alight,
on old, ever-treasured photographs:
those you lit with light brown eyes and
gently reddened lips together forming
envied smiles, talk of the town for
miles around; you scarcely knew
the purpose of a practised frown,
how to sully, spoil a face;
in hidden plac...
Wednesday 20th March 2019 11:24 pm
There is dignity in the dark, the unmoving:
nothing can hurt any more, nothing can
fail again, nothing can be misunderstood.
no residual good can desert me, nor my words
spill sloppily, a mild vomit, alongside those
orators all around, silvery sounds, ever on song.
I long for lost laughter but I chase af...
Saturday 9th March 2019 10:49 am
TREES IN WINTER
Trees behave quite differently when wintry winds blow:
now the leaves have dropped, a passable gust must be
sustained enough to force the trees to tremble
through countless twigs and tributary branches –
the chances of bringing even one to its knees
remaining low by any measure or means of calibration.
Back in the summer, a breeze sufficed to have the tree...
Wednesday 6th March 2019 11:17 pm
Been thinking about it, the carousel, for some time now –
the time elapsed since stepping off and moving on.
As these things went, it was, I recall, really not so bad:
it travelled apace, albeit round and round, whether you sat
astride a prancing filly, nostrils flared, a dinky little racing car
or an open top ancient Roman battle chariot,
complete with seat belts an...
Sunday 3rd March 2019 9:58 am
When upon the surface of the earth
pebbles meet a pounding sea,
sit facing me and, eyes blindfold,
pick one and drop it in the space between
your pretty feet, my creaking knees.
We’ve played before, a simple game:
agree the duration of the hunt,
measured as the time it takes for, say,
three cycles of the breakers’ rush
from crashing crest to sucked-ba...
Wednesday 20th February 2019 1:02 pm
We used to take an old black sit-up car
down to the sea, some forty miles, to catch the sun
and lace our hair with sand and run
into wake-up waves that cried all day
we’re after you; and always either pushed us in,
face first, as they crashed down on our backs
or tripped us as the sucking ebb backtracke...
Wednesday 13th February 2019 6:55 pm
“To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why
May not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander
Till a find it stopping a bung-hole?”
So asked the Danish Prince of his friend, returning
Yorick’s, his father’s jester’s, earthy skull to its
ditch of twenty-three years and calling to mind the gre...
Friday 1st February 2019 8:16 pm
AN ACTOR’S LAMENT
Shall I audition for this Shakespeare play?
There is no part in it I really want.
Break wind and blow the lead away –
he was utter rubbish in Charlie’s Aunt!
Though I often think I was born too late –
by,say, half a thousand, six hundred years –
I possess a marked tendency to prate
and my ...
Wednesday 16th January 2019 9:05 pm
WALKING AT SUNRISE
I walked at sunrise yesterday, pink-orange paintwork
spreading wide in the East and coating vapour trails,
each dipped – no drips – for just a moment, in a tin,
hidden from human eyes, like (I surmise) the smocks and brushes.
Once coloured, they striped the sky at random angles,
criss-crossing, and I thought of tangled oriental characters
twisted and bent in...
Sunday 13th January 2019 7:44 am