Biography of Lesley Taylor
Lesley Taylor has been writing poetry for 6 years, and is continually modifying her style. She currently writes a lot of freeverse and unrhymed poetry. Her work is typically discussing views on morality and life from a Christian standpoint.
Lesley lives in Massachusetts and enjoys reading Cummings, Dickinson, Whitman, Neruda, and Poe. She intends to pursue a career as an English teacher.
Lesley Taylor Poems
Her nails soft and chewed graphite nestled deeply and ink blotched on fingertips calloused and cut in the battle
An Almost Goodbye
Frosty fingers intertwine elaborate lace, peering eyes and what is this I feel inside? what darkness is amiss?
Orison fallen cast from sullen eyes flickering to heaven eyes stare
There is some sort of bittersweet complexity in being real when you feel the rain touch your cheek walking coldly along a main street with the wind freezing a rosy complexion on your face
Runnin' (In Circles)
So Iwrap a curtain around my body- it's like playin' dead sittin up straight (runnin' in circles)
It's nighttime again. The windows wide open and it's letting in the frosty midnight air and my room's like a vacuum
I think that for the last 5,000 years the whole world has been trying to survive on one breath of air. Billions of people
In An Infinite Way
He said watch the birds and he said smile and stare up at the sky and you'll feel small
It holds you between the roof of it's mouth and its pillowy tongue ad as you sleep it sucks from you
The Sky Is High
The sky is high but still almost touchable hanging just above tremulous new-green leaves which perch themselves unsteadily on
Her Curtain Dress
Her curtain dress Aimless flutter forward Feeling cold to cover frosted glass figure
A lofty demise for such a delicate flower. A little martyr that made it past the frigid night
I was born in a printing press I'll die as a thread through a pin in the rain
She Writes At Midnight
She writes at midnight when whole towns have laid low their tiny heads and only the one small light she writes by mars the opaque ebony and only the little scratch-scratch-scratches
In this broken mess
when all else has failed
and I'm drawn to my weakest point
it is then that I look up
see your face and stop
and know that in your will
there is a plan for even this.
So I wipe away my tears
and brush away my fears