David Taylor Poems

A butterfly dances in my garden.
I don’t know its colour.
I don’t know its location.
I don’t know its name.
...

The old coach house, now restored,
still with ancient stones where placed, first laid.
Swirling forms in ornamental display,
rivened, scoured by time and rain and snow
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I doubt you will read this
I don’t believe this is of any use
I can’t concede this is a worthy verse
I don’t think I could do any worse
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What is this melancholy state
That keeps the mind most dark
And makes these thoughts and speech irate?
What is this melancholy state
...

She wriggled her buns and coyly she danced
as she chopped up the vegetables, parsnips and carrots, and glanced
over her shoulder with her cookery eyes.
She went to the freezer and fondled the joint
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Arise come see My flowers,
smell their scent, touch their love.
Walk with me, I with you;
drink the early morning dew;
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Say it with flowers 'they' say;
but roses have a thorny stem
which by chance may pierce tenderness
and if I gave her ivy
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Did you forget me?
Did you overlook my crying heart
as it tried to reach out in the dark;
tentatively it stretched out one hand
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This poem said all you ever wanted to know
Described the state after death
Had the answers to every paradox and more
Gave all the details of every lottery result
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He saw a glint in the insubstantial mist
as through the forest he walked with stick
with swirlings of the night of old
still resting on ivy covered boughs
...