Archive for March 2012

Late Night Rain   Leave a comment

After many dry days

during a record pollen season,

rain falls–finally.

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Allergens–be diluted!

Pollen–flow in rivulets!

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Besides,

my car’s proper color is beige-tan,

not pollen yellow.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

MARCH 30, 2012

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Weeping   11 comments

DEDICATION:

Pour tu, m’amie!

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I weep

for a friend,

for what she has lost,

for what I have lost,

for what has ended.

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I weep

as I sort and put away

candle holders I have cleaned

and candles I think she might like one day.

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I weep

for what I have had to do

to help her in her absence.

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I weep

for her absence.

I miss her

and the person she used to be.

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I hope

that her future will be better for her,

yet that is yet to come.

What was

prompts me to weep.

What is

causes me to cry.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

MARCH 27, 2012 COMMON ERA

After having helped pack up a friend’s possessions in a house on which a bank will foreclose in a week

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Related Posts:

http://neatnik2009.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/lord-it-is-night/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2012/03/10/memories-at-a-moving-sale-for-a-friend/

http://adventchristmasepiphany.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/devotion-for-january-27-lcms-daily-lectionary/

http://adventchristmasepiphany.wordpress.com/2012/04/15/devotion-for-february-12-in-epiphanyordinary-time-lcms-daily-lectionary/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/o-my-friend/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/the-valentines-day-teddy-bear/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2013/01/17/to-an-absent-friend-on-her-birthday/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2013/01/27/return-to-me-my-love/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2013/03/08/a-love-poem/

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Learning the Libera Me from Verdi’s Requiem   Leave a comment

Above:  Title Page from the Score of Verdi’s Requiem

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

The 10:30 A.M. service at St. Gregory the Great Episcopal Church, Athens, Georgia, will conclude with most of the Libera Me, the final movement, of the Requiem by Giuseppe Verdi.

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Learning the Libera Me from Verdi’s Requiem,

studying the score,

listening to a recording,

studying the score while listening to a recording,

singing along while doing this,

getting lost,

finding my place again,

melting into the music,

doing all this alone–

rehearsing the piece with my fellow choir members,

watching the conductor,

melting into the music,

doing all this in public–

preparing for the Palm Sunday service and its climactic conclusion–

striving for excellence,

working to meet a challenge,

finding all of this rewarding

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

MARCH 24, 2012 COMMON ERA

THE FEAST OF OSCAR ROMERO, ROMAN CATHOLIC ARCHBISHOP OF SAN SALVADOR, AND THE MARTYRS OF EL SALVADOR

THE FEAST OF SAINT DIDACUS OF CADIZ, CAPUCHIN FRIAR

THE FEAST OF PAUL COUTURIER, ECUMENIST 

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On Burning Up Letters   Leave a comment

Above:  Dancing Flames

Image Source = Oscar

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:DancingFlames.jpg)

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BLOGGER’S COMMENT:

I conclude that my great-grandfather wrote the following poem while having a very bad day.  By the way, he wrote many poems regarding relationships (many of them unsuccessful) with various women.  Make of that what you will.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

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Lye mostly’s made of ashes

But I make ashes of lies,

As from this infernal bundle

The greedy flames arise.

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It is those letters, woman,

That thou didst write to me,

And once I own I loved them

For then I knew not thee.

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But now I glad consign them

To dust, as dust thou art,

And now I have a picture

Of thy own blackened heart.

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Oh! could I only banish

As easy from my breast

The anguish thou hast caused me,

How happy I, how blest.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

Posted March 20, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems, Love 1800s

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Oscar Wilde   1 comment

Above:  Oscar Wilde

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BLOGGER’S COMMENT:

My great-grandfather’s opinion in this matter does not reflect my thinking.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

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Thou mystic spell, if Muse or no,

That makes my youthful spirits glow,

And wakes within my heart a spell

Of thoughts sublime,

And feelings I can’t hope to tell

In my crude rhyme.

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Now be thou of the sacred Nine

That tunes these weakly lays of mine,

Or but a school-boy’s whimpering fancies,

I wont conjecture,

Hear while prosaic sense advances

A certain lecture.

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You know this frantic chap that’s styled,

And most appropriately, as “Wilde,”

Tho’ I think that a better name

Would be “darn fool,”

If I may judge him by his fame–

And that’s the rule.

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He’s raving crazed about a lot

Of fool’ry, e’en he don’t know what,

With intellectual grunts and squirms,

And mental tugs;

He’s given birth to long French terms

For his humbugs.

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The sun-flower and the lilly wear,

I don’t deny, some beauties rare,

But what’s the use of being a fool

‘Bout things so small?

‘Tis oftener he seems most cool,

Feels most of all.

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Now if you do or even would

Claim with his Muse a sisterhood,

I’ll clip your wings with such close deal

They’ll never sprout,

And every feather of your tail

I’ll pull square out.

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His lay is of the head, not heart,

Well rounded by the hand of art,

Tho’ not a speck of soul alloyed,

‘Tis grind-stone rhyme;

As round and smooth, but as devoid

Of the sublime.

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‘Tis as a human’s plaster mould,

Where all the charms of form unfold,

No soul, no heart, no feeling dressed

In its fair clothing,

So e’en its beauty fills the breast

With sadly loathing.

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He tries as hard as e’er did quack

To get astride Pegasus’ back;

He’s found his jade wont mend his speed

For spurs and wallops,

And so he calls at Keat’s steed

As off he gallops.

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But old Pegasus flies the track,

His tail exultant on his back,

With all his might and main he puts it;

All calls are idle,

And so Wilde’s little Muse foots it

And totes the bridle.

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O! Britain, thou so famed and sung,

‘Tis from thine isles the lyre has flung

Its sweetest notes, which seem to blend

With lays divine;

And can it be that they must end

In such a whine?

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And art thou, as the giant shorn,

In weakness doomed to look and mourn

On what thou’st been in former days;

With future drear,

And these weak, whimpering, whiffling lays

Alone to cheer?

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Down from its heights, Oh! call again,

The Muse that did inspire his strain,

Who sang lays that for aye shall be

Beyond Wilde’s power,

Altho’ his eyes could never see

The grand sun-flower.

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Where is the soul that did inspire

The Ploughman when he strung his lyre,

And struck the keys with heavenly art,

In measures bold,

To which there is in every heart,

An echo told?

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Oh! call them back that they may drowned

In music sweet this discord sound,

And make thy shores resound again.

As when they sung,

For if Wilde’s is thy noblest strain,

Thy knell is rung.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

Posted March 16, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems

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Lizzie   Leave a comment

Above:  The Blue Lady, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Let lovers rave ’bout “maidens fair,”

But Lizzie is the fairest,

And talk of “dispositions rare,”

But Lizzie’s is the rarest.

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Those eyes are where the god-boy steals,

To shoot his keenest darts,

She looks and then the victim feels

The pleasing, painful smarts.

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As for a round, plumb, bonny face,

I’m sure there’s none can beat her,

I don’t know how her lips would taste,

But guess that none e’er were sweeter.

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For lovely form and graceful air

E’en Venus can’t excel her,

But why should I  thus rant and rear?

She has another fellow.

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This my life’s unchanging tale,

I oughtn’t have sought to win her,

He ought to never bob for a whale

Who couldn’t catch a minnow.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

Posted March 11, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems, Love 1800s

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Memories at a Moving Sale for a Friend   11 comments

Today a small group of mutual friends,

including me,

gathered to host a moving sale at the soon-to-be former home of a friend.

We did the hard work;

she did not have to be there,

and she was elsewhere,

trying to build a better future for herself.

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The sale was difficult for me,

for I have many memories associated with almost every space.

There, since July 2009,

I had noticed interesting pictures,

watched movies,

attended birthday parties,

stoked fires in the fireplace,

cooked,

eaten,

helped with housework,

consumed a little too much wine,

experienced good times,

and experienced frustrating times.

There, when my friend was away for a few days,

I housesat for her.

It seems that my visits in that space have ended.

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I gave my friend items over the years;

Today I watched people buy many of them.

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I weep for what was.

May what follows for my friend be far better for her.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

MARCH 10, 2012 COMMON ERA

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Related Posts:

http://neatnik2009.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/lord-it-is-night/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2012/03/27/weeping/

http://adventchristmasepiphany.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/devotion-for-january-27-lcms-daily-lectionary/

http://adventchristmasepiphany.wordpress.com/2012/04/15/devotion-for-february-12-in-epiphanyordinary-time-lcms-daily-lectionary/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/o-my-friend/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/the-valentines-day-teddy-bear/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2013/01/17/to-an-absent-friend-on-her-birthday/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2013/01/27/return-to-me-my-love/

https://taylorfamilypoems.wordpress.com/2013/03/08/a-love-poem/

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