The Morning After

I think this one speaks for itself!  :)

The Morning After

by Nathan Taylor

There you are.

I've found you

in the most

unlikely of places.

Bed still warm

from the night 

before a hint 

of coolness lurks.

My legs hurt

I'm sure yours do to

I can't ask

it'd be awkward.

You're still 

asleep;

maybe rousing,

now awake

So kind of you

to share my bed.

I offer coffee

to say thank you.

Your refusal cuts

but I accept

I was not the one

just another one.

I am just

a fling

and so were you

last night.

This morning

maybe it's the sun;

maybe it's that song

playing on the radio.

Maybe it's the way

you've stolen my sheets

wrapping yourself 

like a present

I want to unwrap,

to dive right in.

May I have

that dance again.

Another refusal?

Certainly not!

But there it is:

this looks bad.

First the coffee,

now a second dance!

What about 

a second chance?

You really don't like me.

Well that makes two of us.

I want to not like you,

but you won't let me.

You've got me

for now...

forever...

for never.

Whatever

I'm going to have a shower.

Maybe I can wash you 

away and off my skin:

off my lips.

I close the bathroom door.

I can hear you

shuffling and scuffling,

dressing and stressing.

You're going to leave.

Soon I'll be clean.

When I get out

you're still there.

Good for me

MemoRandom

I'm sure we've all had these days...I wanted to write a poem about the loss of memory and how our minds can warp and change.  I hope you all like it

MemoRandom

by Nathan Taylor

My memory fails me.

Or does it?

I can't quite remember

at this point.

I remember something...

It was round

or square.

I know it had shape.

It was definitely blue

with an hint of red

or red with a hint of...

never mind.

I used to hold it

in my hand

or maybe it held me.

But that was before...

Now it sits in a trunk

or a room.

Somewhere with walls

or out in the open.

I got it from a woman

who looked like a man

or maybe a man

who looked like a woman

I'm confused,

what were we talking about?

a clock, a cane, a shoe?

Hang on, it was a...

Shit...I can't remember

My Grandfather's Hammond Organ

Another one for today - this one is a very personal poem about my grandfather.  In actuality he was my mother's uncle.  He treated me and my brother like we were his grandsons and both of us miss him dearly.  

My Grandfather's Hammond Organ

by Nathan Taylor

My hands run over those keys,

Covered in dust.

Untouched

For so many years,

Now that he is gone.

The whites, now grey.

The blacks, grey too.

And as I play

My fingers

Take the dust from the keys.

Flipping the toggles,

Changing the sounds.

Trying to find his sound.

Trying to call out to him

In a language he may hear and understand.

Old leather seat

Cracked, torn, smelling of him;

Of cigarettes and beer,

Of aftershave and coffee,

Of all these things…and dust.

I see him.

Foot tapping,

Fingers flying.

This old man

With a smile on his face

Hammering those keys.

Punching like a prize fighter;

Not gentle or loving.

Wrestling them into submission

And getting them to sing.

Sitting where he sat.

Looking at these dusty keys.

Closing my eyes,

Tapping my feet.

Punching, wrestling, struggling.

And I feel him looking on

As I play,

I feel his pride.

I feel his love.

And I miss him more than ever.

I Saw A Light Bulb Flickering

Second one for the day

I Saw A Light Bulb Flickering

by Nathan Taylor

I saw a light bulb flickering;

blinking on and off and it illuminated

the old posters, ripped and torn;

flapping in the breeze like damp sails

The light reflected on a shard of broken glass

and for an instant it was a shining portal;

a gateway to ascension;

a window to the unknown.

But the light kept flickering

On and off and on and off.

A single sentry guarding 

against the darkness; losing 

Like the beating of a heart it flickered

unable to stop, on and off.

Then it sprung to glorious life

and the alley was bathed in gold.

That triumphant brightness!

That triumphant brightness!

Too much for that small bulb

as it swelled with light

The glass, bulging like an overflowing bladder,

Tried desperately to carry it's load

but reaching its limit,

the bulb burst and the light was gone

Cracked and shattered, it was free of its burden.

"Too much" it had cried.

Between life and death

it had chosen self-sacrifice.

I picked up the shards of the bulb

and held them in my hand.

This little bulb,

who tried so hard and failed,

who wanted to shine, and did

for a fleeting moment

then, realising his inability to shine

destroyed himself

How could another bulb take up his post,

to shine and shine and shine

And try not to fade or flicker

like his long lost brother.

I dropped the shards

and turned

washing my hands of the destruction

and walked away in darkness.

All Of Them Dolls

Another day, another poem.  


All Of The Dolls
by Nathan Taylor

All of them dolls

With painted eyes

With pulled back hair

With perfect figures

All of them dolls

With long necks

With bent arms

With pointed feet

All of them dolls

One hand on the barre

One hand by their side

One leg stretched in front

All of them dolls

Not a finger out of place

Not a limb out of line

Not a smile from their lips

All of them dolls

Their ankles strained

Their toes blistered

Their arms cramped

All of them dolls

Perfecting their strength

Perfecting their art

Perfecting themselves

All of them dolls

Unaware of their beauty

Unaware of their perfection

Unaware of my gaze

All of them dolls

New Edition

Alright, I'm clearly feeling very creative today!  This one is a dedication to two very good friends of mine who have just given us the good news that they are expecting their first child!  

New Edition

by Nathan Taylor

You’ve got that look

That golden glow

That simple spark

You may not be able to see it

But I can and it’s beautiful

In your eyes you look different

Something has changed inside

Changed for the better

You tell me it’s amazing

To feel like this

I am sitting on the sidelines

Unable to feel what you feel

I don’t want to either, not yet

Maybe one day I will

But for now, I’m just happy for you

How will you be able to wait

Like me, you’re impulsive

Unable to control your urges

But this time you have to wait

Just like everybody else

You’re wish has been granted

You’re desire is about to be fulfilled

And I can’t wait to meet this new edition

This perfect mix of my two good friends

With ginger hair and a “take no prisoners” attitude

Words fail me

I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both

For all three of you

I can’t promise I’ll be a good influence

But I will provide cool shoes

The Remnant

Well I guess today's a creative day for me...another poem entitled The Remnant.  Remember...feedback is welcome!


The Remnant 
by Nathan Taylor

I watch her

But I don't watch from a distance

Looking directly into her eyes

But she doesn't see me

I watch her

From the end of her bed

Changing in front of the mirror

But she doesn't see me

I watch her

Slowly removing her clothes

Dropping them on the floor

But she doesn't see me

I watch her

Getting into bed

Gently falling asleep

But she doesn't see me

I watch her

Wrestling with her dreams

Tossing and turning

But she doesn't see me

I watch her

Sitting upright

Opening her eyes

Calling my name

But she doesn't see me

I watch her

Realising I am gone

Crying herself back to sleep

But she doesn't see me

Prima Ballerina

Alright, so for my first entry I wanted to do something special.  I decided on a sonnet for all my beautiful ballerina friends out there.  I'm very proud of this poem, but any feedback is welcome.


Enjoy!


Prima Ballerina 
by Nathan Taylor

Her form betrays a strength that no one sees.
This pure, floodlit angel perched en pointe
whose beauty, from her fingers to her feet,
was purchased from her freedom now enjoined. 

This empty stage is hers to make her own
An artist with no easel or no paint
She draws the eyes that watch her from below
and colours them with movements so restrained 

Her pirouettes, so sharp, they hypnotise
while lights reflect from parts of flesh untanned
Yet in this dance, her thoughts of anguish rise
A life she's hardly lived and seldom had 

A state of sweet perfection that she strives
Eludes her, and her fragile mind divides