Poetry Blog by Peter Taylor

COUNTING SWALLOWS

In which direction should I turn my face?         

It’s time to pull away the ties that

cleverly ensure my misted eyes stray

no distance from the ground until, bound to blindness,

I can see the irony of the right I’d claimed,

on any issue, to be first to engage

or ask you, piecemeal, for release.

I always understood release as freely available,

ami...

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Lincoln Bill crowned you Queen of all around you,

insisting that he who played King for a day would

kill for a second: the honour so high and

rich with all your bounty –

no mere paper gain, it came laden with the

trappings of a full-hearted love, say it

twice, three times, whatever helps to emphasise.

Now, about that love, I knew from the start –

no need even to r...

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INTO THEIR HANDS

There are walks and there are walks;

the big difference is that on some we talk

but not on others. On some (like those with

brother Jon, well content resident expat of

what was once the exotic, despotic and

generally chaotic empire that sat uncomfortably

astride East and West), the rarity of their occurrence

demands that we speak – so we chit the chat and

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