Keith Taylor

Rookie (1952 / British Columbia)

Keith Taylor
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Born in British Columbia, Taylor spent his childhood in Alberta and Indiana. After earning an M.A. in English from Central Michigan University, he worked a variety of odd jobs: the co-host of a radio talk show, a house painter, a freight handler, a teacher, a freelance writer. He also worked at Shaman Drum, a leading independent bookstore, for twenty years. He currently lives in Ann Arbor with his wife and daughter and is a professor in the creative writing program at University of Michigan.
His poems have appeared in many journals, including The Ann Arbor Observer, The Chicago Tribune, The Detroit Free Press, The Los Angeles Times, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Notre Dame Review, ' ... more »

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  • Larry Galligan (3/21/2016 6:30:00 PM)

    Dear Keith Taylor

    I wanted to thank you for sharing your time and insights with the Chelsea Writers last Saturday. You were very welcoming of strangers which we all were really, also kindred with idiosyncrasies aside. I do remember vividly the occasion when a kind Samaritan women in the city lost her life on interstate twenty three. It bears repeating perhaps not how many times we ourselves pass the location where she bent down to save and nurture back to life but in ever unfolding holiest of scriptures and quaint tapestries, there she is listed forever star-bright in eternal night. I know we are bodily crushed and spiritually forsaken she did not return to her loved ones that night, or to work on a new day. Pity this world you and I are enjoined to, a world which did not follow her as love would immediately in haste to find her living still among the breathing, and there take a stand. Enough of such casualties; our hearts are broken so we demand what can be done! The event like all events is entwined in Gods memory no longer to claim as our very own.

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Best Poem of Keith Taylor

Cashier's Dream; The Hunt

At that moment, call it the float
if you like, but the precise moment
between your giving me the money
and my giving you the merchandise,
the thing you want or need,
for a small profit- a fair profit,
no one's getting rich here,
just enough to buy food or pay
for my children's clothes or the gas bill-
at that moment we have entered

the hunt, the clear air
of early morning- I have not
moved in an hour or more,
not even swallowed in fear
of frightening off the prey...
at that moment I launch
my spear or stone with prayers
that it ...

Read the full of Cashier's Dream; The Hunt

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