My Poetry

 

16

Apr

2019

The Rock

Author: Jim Taylor

I've had this poem in the works for almost a year. I kept adding bits of description, clarifying metaphors and analogies, fussing with parallels... I couldn't make up my mind whether it was about the church, or politics, or science. I dug it out last week, and started cutting all the preachy stuff. It's up to you, the reader, to decide what it's about. 

 A rock, rough and rugged.

crashed into a rushing river.

The river pulled back,

waves roiling away from the intruder.

But the river forgave the rock,

wrapped its long blue arms around the newcomer,

hugged it, caressed it, invited it to travel

down to the sea....


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Categories: Poetry

Tags: Evolution, Rocks, rivers, erosion

8

Mar

2019

Dew drops

Author: Jim Taylor

On the coldest day of the coldest month ever recorded here in the Okanagan Valley, I caught myself thinking wistfully about spring. Into my mind popped a vision of dew drops clinging to fresh green grass in the morning sun. If felt so attractive I began writing a poem. 


dew drop clings to a spiring stem

spherical lens magnifies

nano-scenes within the grass

shivers in a morning breeze

sun yawns over the eastern rim of the bowl of life 

overflows

spilling holiness across

a waking world


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Categories: Poetry

Tags: dew dawn grass

8

Feb

2019

Absolute zero

Author: Jim Taylor

The numbing cold that has swathed most of Canada during February prompted my mind to wander into uncharted territory. 

Cold slithers down

from the far side of 60 degrees, latitude.

When it’s that cold,

when tears turn into salt hailstones

when spit ricochets,

the scale doesn’t matter.

But even a polar vortex

retains measurable warmth.

Heat itself ceases

at absolute zero —

on the Kelvin scale, minus 273.15 Celsius —

a temperature beyond which

there is no beyond.

 

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21

Jan

2019

When it’s time for me to go

Author: Jim Taylor

When it’s time for me to go,

I drift to the edges

of the bubbling broth 

of chatter

and then I slip 

silently 

into the night outside. 


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Categories: Poetry

Tags: death, departure

21

Jan

2019

Pointy hoods

Author: Jim Taylor

I added a picture to this poem, so that you would have a better sense of the scene that prompted this reflection. You'll have to go to the main page to see it, though. 

 

Fresh snow coats the spiky crowns of evergreens

into narrow cones of shining white

steepled against a brillig sky -- 

a vast convocation 

of pointy white hoods.

 

Do spruce trees also

have pointy little brains

beneath their whited hoods?

 

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26

Dec

2018

Crescent moon

Author: Jim Taylor

This poem grew out of seeing the sliver of a new moon, suspended in the night sky shortly after sunset. Net time you see such a moon, try reciting this poem out loud to it. 



Hail to thee, silver crescent in the sky.

Tell me what you think you are.

 

Are you the universal sickle --

whetstoned symbol of seasonal harvest,

a harbinger of hope 

that reaps the plainest grains,

to feed the famined millions?

 

Or are you the scimitar of Saladin, 

white-hot steel tempered in the algebra of zero....


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5

Dec

2018

Depression

Author: Jim Taylor

            A friend is going through a deep depression.  I tried to imagine myself inside his skin, and out came another poem. It begins

Dimness descends like a curtain.

Murk buries me, plugs my nostrils,

seals my ears; I hear nothing,

not even my own thoughts.

I wallow in my private pig-sty.

I want to move, but my muscles

have turned to water; every step feels like

wading in molasses....


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Categories: Poetry

Tags: Depression, misery, despair

23

Nov

2018

Snowflakes

Author: Jim Taylor

“The fog,” Carl Sandburg wrote, “comes

on little cat feet.”

If so, 

snow 

arrives on kitten paws, 


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23

Nov

2018

Tangled maze

Author: Jim Taylor

This poem when my friend Arlene Erickson, hearing about what ministers have been taught in most seminaries since the 1950s, demanded, “Why haven’t we ordinary people been told any of this stuff?” Something about the content led me to put it together in lines vaguely resembling the discipline of iambic pentameter.


“Behold,” he said, “thy path unto salvation.”

 

“What path?” I asked, “for all that I can see 

are thickets of incomprehension; thorns

that reach to snare unwary travellers,

quicksand salivating for a sucker,

roots that rise to trip my thoughts; and tigers 

burning bright, crouched to leap with tooth 

and claw upon my slightest flaw.


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20

Oct

2018

Ahriman wins

Author: Jim Taylor

Like many of the Psalms of lament in the Bible, this poem combines disillusionment and hope. Rather than the psalm format, though, I have chosen  to locate it in the pre-Jewish myths of Zoroastrianism. 

 

Ahura Mazda kneels in the sand

Patiently building a castle. 

Grain by grain it rises. 

Towers of trust.

Gates of welcome. 

Living spaces lit with laughter. 

Banquet halls full of sharing. 

 

Ahriman knows 

that a single stomp 

can reduce the castle to rubble. 


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Categories: Poetry

Tags: Ahura Mazda, Ahriman, good, evil

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