David Taylor

How do you write a poem
about Love?
It cannot be caught
and is beyond words'
...

Sweetness is on your lips
like honey flavoured early morning dew.
And your eyes have a depth of blue
that even deepest oceans cannot match
...

Because you’re Beautiful
This poem’s addressed
To you
Because you’re beautiful
...

In the outward movement of our senses
we revel in a range of tastes
many very fine and some we know
to be perhaps a little base.
...

Beauty is not a superficial form
Each has their own in essential nature
And in the actions they perform
Until the dissolution of their life
...

I dreamed a little dream of you;
too small a dream to contain
all the ways you reach out to me,
too short to encompass your eternity,
...

I sat and I watched as a flower gently unfolded
I sat and I watched as it blossomed with gold
reaching out from its centre its beauty was told.
...

A snowy icy night, painted hill tops all are white,
all the rivers flow like ice, and raindrops fall as hail,
from so very, very high, above.
Whispered breath, a smoky kind of grey,
...

Words don't matter he said,
only the silence in which they appear.
How may I write of that silence said I
..............................................................
...

The clay lay on the table before me;
it has just arrived and freed from its sack
with preserving amniotic fluid.
When it had first arrived at the door
...

So why are you shouting at me!
And that thing you said,
did you really mean to be,
so very, very mean and hurtful?
...

how beautiful the sun's reflections make
the air touched, gently rippled lakes
perfectly formed and round
on the still pond it's found
...

Death inevitable and unavoidable
Life fragile and transient
Reincarnate what returns
Dead meat and bones left over
...

Racism a nasty word
that conjures thoughts
of oppressive deeds
made by man because
...

We went to the beach to get wind in our hair
to stand on the sand and simply to stare.
To let the surf tickle toes and dampen our clothes
as we played 'run away'
...

under the shadow, over the brow
is a place where (i heard) ,
it always is now;
past the street lights, beyond the black night,
...

I prod the funeral pyre of my ego
with a sturdy stick.
One made of a question
that is most dear to my heart and soul.
...

I feel shut off, locked in, separated
(dark alone perilous) .
The woods call with soft green tones,
the sky yearns above,
...

One moment in time
all this is begun

One moment in time
...

Blue sky yesterday
Grey today
Did the blue sky
Go away?
...