Archive for October 2012

To Miss R—– (An Autograph)   Leave a comment

Above:  Woman with Parrot, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Upon this page, so fair, so white,

So like your character, I ween,

Permit one here his name to write,

Whose friendship’s firm tho’ brief ‘t has been.

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That sometimes when o’er it you bend,

Which–not like memory–changes not,

It haply may recall a friend

Who but for it would be forgot.

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And here a parting wish I’ll give,

‘Tis friendship’s, and no task is lighter,

The many virtues that you have

Remain unchanged–they can’t be brighter.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

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With this post I reach the end of my journey through my great-grandfather’s 1883 volume of poetry.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

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Posted October 26, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems

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To a Hair On Finding It On a Friend’s Coat Button   Leave a comment

Above:  Buttons

Image Source = Marco Bernardini

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

What satisfaction to disguise,

And hide yourself from mine,

And wait till seen by curious eyes

To let your glories shine?

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If I did kiss her, and ‘t were harm,

What business yours to spout it?

If I did fold her in my arm,

Why tell the world about it?

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You saucy little villain you,

To practice such deceit,

If ’twas not for the place you grew,

I’d cuss at you a bit.

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How oft’ the traits of this small hair

The human kind display!

They’re friends till some good chance appear,

And then they will betray.

JOHN DODSON, TAYLOR, SR. 

Posted October 19, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems

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A Beautiful Day   Leave a comment

The sun shines on a blue-skied day

with a pleasant, gentle breeze

while I walk through Ben Burton Park

in Athens, Georgia,

and while some turtles sun themselves

on rocks in the river

and other turtles swim.

This is a beautiful day.

KENNETH RANDOLPH TAYLOR

OCTOBER 11, 2012, COMMON ERA

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This is post #200 of TAYLOR FAMILY POEMS.

KRT

To A—– (An Autograph)   Leave a comment

Above:  An Hourglass

Image Source = User:S Sepp

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wooden_hourglass_3.jpg)

Oh! for some magic pen, some art,

My name indelibly to trace

Upon the tablets of thy heart,

Which time’s rude hand could not erase!

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Could album leaves keep memory bright,

And friendships from disaster free,

Then I would be content to write

Upon this page, “Remember me.”

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But these frail leaves, tho’ white and fair,

May perish with the names here written,

And if recorded only here,

Then mine, with all should be forgotten.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

Posted October 9, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems, Love 1800s

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To a Female Dude   Leave a comment

Above:  The Blue Lady, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

You are pretty, Miss, I know,

Loved by many a silly beau,

But ‘t is not that sacred love

Kindred to the kind above.

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‘Tis a baser love’s keen darts

That have shot their chicken hears,

And have seized and hold the reins

O’er their watery, pigeon brains.

Could they only look within

At the soul so warped by sin,

At the heart by passion stormed,

Rent, distorted and deformed,

See the chaos ignorance wrought,

Where should be the realms of thought,

It would tame the wildest rove,

And turn sour such a love.

They would tell you otherwise,

Stamp what I say only lies.

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But you’ll find in season due,

Every word I say is true,

For the rose that blooms to-day,

On your cheek, shall fade away,

And for beauty, now so rare,

Ashy paleness shall be there;

Then those lips, in ruby dress,

That so many long to press,

Shall be shrunk–then I’ll not kiss ’em,

If there’s any chance to miss ’em.

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Then ‘ll your silly, giggling, grin

Show no pearly teeth within,

And the lustre then shall fly

From your sparkling, dancing eye,

Sunken in its socket deep,

Thence no spirit fair shall peep,

For were you of passion’s fire,

And your easy nestled ire,

Vanity and pride but reft,

There would be no spirit left.

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Many a trace of care’s rough plough

Shall be then upon your brow,

And your silly, giggling tones,

Be replaced with sighs and groans,

And that form does not inspire,

As it now does, warm desire.

Twisted, shrunken, stooped, and lean,

Whippoorwill-like, lank and keen,

With your little soul and mind,

By the coils of vice entwined;

It would make all love to shrivel,

For ‘twould nauseate old Scratch.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

Posted October 6, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems, Love 1800s

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Only From Heaven   Leave a comment

Above:  St. Elizabeth’s Episcopal Church, Dahlonega, Georgia, September 23, 2012

Image Source = Bill Monk, Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta

(https://plus.google.com/photos/114749828757741527421/albums/5791491660487967409/5791766629689426338?banner=pwa)

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If  thou ‘st corroding care,

If thou dost sorrows bear,

If thou in dark despair

Helpless art driven,

Come to thy Father’s throne,

Make there thy sorrows known,

Balm for thy woe there’s none,

Only from Heaven.

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Hast thy heart ever been

Bound by besetting sin,

And by temptations keen,

Is thy soul riven?

Come to a throne of grace,

Seek there thy Father’s face,

For there can come release

Only from Heaven.

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Or didst thy heart but prove

Hard when the Spirit strove

And has a Saviour’s love

Never been given?

Hasten then to depart,

Come only as thou art,

There is melting for thy heart,

Only from Heaven.

JOHN DODSON TAYLOR, SR.

Posted October 4, 2012 by neatnik2009 in John Dodson Taylor Sr.--Poems

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