Old Friends
By B. B. Taylor
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About this ebook
B. B. Taylor
Professional daydreamer, training to be a superhero one day ... Birmingham based author B B Taylor loves to adventure and find inspiration for new stories whenever she can. When she’s not hanging out with her yeti she can be found sharing stories and having fun, taking every day to find opportunities and learn something new! Her most recent books include Curse of the Nomed created to support Children’s Mental Health Charity Partnership for Children.
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Old Friends - B. B. Taylor
Copyright © 2010 by B.B. Taylor
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:
iUniverse
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-7037-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4502-7038-0 (ebk)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010916501
Printed in the United States of America
iUniverse rev. date: 1/11/2011
Contents
POEMS
Your Love
Memories
Her
A Greeting
A Poem/Just You
Love in Friendship
Hey, Old Man
Mickey and Cain
Us
Devils Tune
Live Righteously
Ugly Autumnal Earthly Night
Happy Birthday Hiroshima
The Child / Wizard’s Child
Sea of Grass
Do the gods dream?
Mankind
Mother’s Day
Your Hands, My Hands
Two Roads
La Dolce Dolore
A Down Day
Nequaquan Vactum
(The Void Does Not Exist)
Set Me Free
(Sammy’s Song)
The Deciduous Tree
Shrew
To A Japanese Cherry Tree
The Passing Feet
To A July Child
The Victorian
Memories
Reflections of Anytime in My Maturity
The Bank
Council on the Bluffs
Just God
On the Destruction of New York City
Computer in the Day
In A Hospital Garden
Ms. Who and the TV
Reflecting Mirror
Fat Little Man
SHORT STORIES
Lost and Found
Was My Dad Proud of Me
Nanny
The Wake
Thanksgiving at Aunt Ida’s
Puppers: I’ve Gone to the Dogs
A Christmas Birthday Story
Death Wishes
The Bookie
A Failure of Five
The Sale
The Spirit
The Light
The Beach Party
Tropical Sun
To Walk and to Wait
The Tree
The Interview
Silence in the Wood
The Old Woman and the Fly
On The Dissertations Of Gods And Men
or
The Savage is Dead
Through a Phonebook Darkly
Prejudice
Lies
Wherever You Go, There You Are
A Repeat Performance
A Repeat Performance – Part 2
The White Blonde
In Birmingham Airport
Snowflakes
Days of the Violin
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
The Hitchhiker I
The Hitchhiker II
Red Suns
Why?
Happy Gay Days
Part 1
Part 2
An Afternoon in The Melting Pot
A Trusting Soul
The Bus Boy
Fifteen Minutes in a Day of Life
or
Crispy Titters
Lessons
ESSAYS
A Short Essay to a Hummingbird
A Few Thoughts on Death
(only a few thoughts as I couldn’t dwell on the subject too long)
A View of A View of Toledo
: A Painting by El Greco
An Untitled Saga
There Are Tears in Heaven
Does The Messenger Matter?
To Sacrifice a Criminal:
Public Execution in Medieval and Renaissance Societies
By Jared William Taylor
End Notes
In Loving Memory
of
William Henry Taylor
and
Jean Mabel Pickles Lojik
A special thank you to my sons Jason, Jared, and Jordan for their contributions to this book; for each is very unique and their work is quite remarkable. I am filled with warmth, love, and pride for each of them.
Thank you to Ray Davies and The Kinks for the inspiration they’ve given me over the years.
Boys.jpgI also wish to thank my transcriptionists: Valerie Brown, Kate Botner, Estella Soto , Yvonne Navarro,, and my wife Sonia Taylor.
And to my wife Sonia, thank you not only for your assistance, but for putting up with me and forgiving my occasional unwarranted outbursts.
POEMS
Your Love
I am needful
of your love.
It tells me
who I am, defines me.
It fills me, fulfills,
feels ethereal, full.
At times
it’s a yearning dew,
addiction to adulterous words.
I love you,
I must hear it,
re-affirm my own disbelief.
How could one as you,
love this needful me?
Yet you do, from a seed
there is a bloom, burning sun,
blinded, baked, blown about.
Yet you do,
and I feel whole,
universal, unified, united.
I am needful.
Memories
Tis strange how things
run around the head,
Even just sitting
or lying in bed.
Things that were buried
from long ago.
like soft gentle rains
or beautiful, deep snow.
There are many things
that quicken the mind;
A color, a touch, or a
scent of some kind.
Thoughts of a moment
just passing through,
things from the past,
delicious and new.
Memories of little things
like walks or a kiss,
like ballgames and Christmas,
or concerts of Liszt.
Just tiny things
brought out of time,
sweet little moments,
I am glad to have mine.
Her
Radiant light waves danced from the mirror to her solid eyes
Two perfect spheres of sapphire chipped and layered near the center
Uniformly pieced around the black holes that pierce the rigid gems
Her thick and curled hair is a cluster of nautilus shells glued together in a pageboy style
Her face is a soft wood piece carved with dizzying symmetrical contours
Her thin nasal shaft leads to a flat tip; like a small mushroom hanging upside down from her brow
The soft nectarine skin surrounding her full lips conforms and discolors to lights’ touch
Behind the soft pink saucer gate is two rows of purified smooth white marble
That a rose petal tongue gently glides over
She takes steps backward and side to side, effortlessly, as a water strider across a pond
Her V-shaped torso is topped by steal beam shoulders
Her lightly beating wings push down the silk bell dress that flows from her waist
Running her pulp paper Mache fingers down her face and neck
She’s grooming; massaging herself sensually like a cat
Her aura radiates stillness and weight like the calm ocean hiding its depths
Like and angel, her curvy bosom reaches out – away form her
- Jordan Bruce Taylor
A Greeting
Who are you?
Perhaps, I
can tell you
who is me.
I’d like to walk
the night with thee,
and in the dew
of the morning,
go our way.
Perhaps not?
You could stay.
I need shelter,
succor, and you?
Your need?
Soul, self,
a mind to feed?
Who are you?
Perhaps, I
can tell you
who is me
and share
a moment of comfort
I and thee.
A Poem/Just You
A poem you say,
something upbeat
kind of light,
in a quiet sort of way.
But, I’m tired, down,
really quite lonely today.
Wishing you were here,
walking the ocean spray,
or looking at downtown,
the lights reflected in the bay.
Interested? Or too much
baggage in the fray?
The clouds are gathering,
they are dull, dark and gray.
Perhaps for a moment,
we could join and soar to the Milky Way.
Love in Friendship
The scent of flowers on a summer’s eve,
fore-with emotions not unknown.
The touching of minds and hearts,
as with Plato, a love is sown.
Based on a friendship,
with passions held firm,
Wading in sweet knowledge,
tis not only fire that burns.
As old Syphisis must feel,
alas so do I.
Not caged or unmoved,
just forlorn, I cry.
So hoary Venus has struck,
a dulcet cord again.
With adoration and passion,
oh love, you’re my friend.
Hey, Old Man
Hey old man,
you can’t understand?
You love two women,
not allowed, it’s banned.
They both love you,
in their own way.
Want you, need you and
not about to let you stray.
Singing, you must choose
death, independence, in its way,
so much to lose.
Hey, old man,
you can’t understand?
Their hurt, their growth,
their lives, their love, and
their torn, twisted selves,
caught in the sand?
What is the future?
Wait to behold,
the triangular love,
or three lost souls,
and harness unto
the right time to unfold.
Hey, old man,
might yet understand,
how this old man
has come to this stand.
He claims himself
open and honest, not in stealth,
and perhaps can do both.
Love and an oath,
in fulfilling, in gift,
learning to just be.
Nurture that love
stand by itself one day
Mickey and Cain
Black and tan are they,
though separated by time’s long span,
they were both the best friends among man.
Long and well built,
black and tan were they,
loving and protective.
I miss my Cain,
and my Mick.
Big wet noses
and dark shiny eyes,
Full of love and heart,
they hold no lies.
Mischievous at times,
honorable at others,
they watch over the house,
and also the others within.
There are few others
who are loved as much,
except maybe my wives and kids,
a few other people as such.
Sublime to have their love,
and bring me friendship and warmth,
like a white feathered dove.
For after all,
what is dog,
but God spelled backwards.
Us
I do not pretend,
to understand right now,
what one should do.
Which way to go,
whether one or the few.
Perhaps we should part,
at least for a while,
feeling of pain,
a new you,
and one day beyond,
a new day, a new us,
til this is anew,
after we learn,
learn, grow, fall through,
then upon us,
all that we knew,
was really profitable.
Eternal, me and you,
You want to be?
Devils Tune
Let your darkness
shine through.
Give those you love,
the bleakest view.
Show the hell,
that layers all through,
the smiling shell,
inner turmoil, witches brew.
You make day night,
wallow in selfish fright,
celebrating moral error.
And when it's over,
manipulated right.
You'll join me in,
eternal damn night!
Live Righteously
Look in the mirror.
Do you like
what you see?
If not,
Choose the Right,
make it a fight,
live righteously!
Look in the mirror.
Live, like,
what you see?
If not,
raise the height,
of your sight,
live righteously!
Look in the mirror.
Like what you see?
Remember to ask,
who is the real me?
Is there discomfort,
when you ask who
you want to be?
The reflection of Thee,
then change what you need
to be whole and free.
So once again you can say,
Hey, I like me!
In the likeness of my Father
I am coming to be.
Ugly Autumnal Earthly Night
The earth is an ugly place,
especially in the autumn.
The piles of dead leaves,
the bare boned twisted trees,
grey dark unproud clouds,
gloomy whistling winds wordlessly,
whispering their song of death.
Not even cold or crisp enough
for white fluffy snow, only
wet sooty sleet, falling slow.
And the leaves decaying colors
trampled under foot, beneath
whirling spheres and ground
into black asphalt soil.
Restless, purposeless energies spent,
the low sun’s rays morosely bent,
unable to warm the fall environment.
Weak and whimpering life relents.
Ugly, ugly are these days,
like some sadistic morality play,
and awaiting winters long night,
its shroud to cover that
from which there is no flight.
And all upon are entombed,
silently mocked by morbid blight,
the eyes of earth forever close.
And all alone lose their sight,
in the ugly, ugly autumnal night.
Happy Birthday Hiroshima
A day of unprecedented woe,
of burning flesh
and radiation rapes.
Eyes held to the skies,
and corneas fried
to a golden brown.
Bakers, bankers, butchers, businessmen,
priests, politicians, housewives, all
frozen on their spots
by firery balls of hell.
All men cremated equal.
Little children torn and scorched,
clothed in flame
and beheld in horrid fascination.
Suckling babes,
welded, to their mother’s
melted breasts.
Generations of beings born,
already mangled, ravaged,
begotten limbless, sexless, sightless, mindless:
hugged by bald, blind mothers,
kissed by mushroom clouds.
Smiling youthful boys,
tender maturing girls,
flowering slowly together
in their sterility.
Men and women working,
in factories;
fathers with daughters,
mothers with sons,
all blended together
with their machines, their walls, their windows, their roof;
A melting pot.
What splendid graves.
Flowers of glowing uranium,
as their wreaths.
Split and blackened willows
as their stones.
Happy birthday Hiroshima,
Happy birthday.
The Child / Wizard’s Child
She bore a son.
her son, our son, my son.
I reviled
I deified
In part
I donned my
monks cloak,
and bore the burden
of our child
out, to the booming
alighted dark grey sky.
I layed him grounded
at my feet, and
raised my hands
above our crowns
and called aloud…
The name of saint and beast.
The thunderings,
the lightenings,
quickened, swirling,
crescendo, above me…
I lifted him aloft,
the blessed burden boy,
and commanded
the elementals,
[within and without]
The light struck down
he and I to the ground,
to the sky bound,
forever one, and immortal,
he, not me.
The aura surround
around his being,
blue, yellow and
bright white…
My gift, my essence.
I laid him down
unfaltered, I crumpled.
She’d born a son,
a son, her son, Esson.
He deified
and I reviled.
Sea of Grass
An endless savannah of gold and blue
Sit above a watery surface of lilies in bloom
Sweet heavy air carries pungent scents
Of boggy meadows and muddy banks
Each blade of grass and piece of soil
Crawl with life
Though unobserved
The fuchsia sunset an unknown delight
Can make one forget about the mosquitoes bite
No sounds are to be heard but alligators and turtles splash
During sunset in the sea of grass
- Jordan Bruce Taylor
Do the gods dream?
I thrust myself up.
Shaking soaked sheets and body.
In my throat stuck.
A fear filled, frightful scream.
Rushing in my mind
do the gods dream?
Do they have terror in the night?
Or sleep at all, in a beam of light?
Do they repose in peaceful bright light?
Or awake in a scream heard far aflight?
I am calming now,
the terror receding.
I've sent the night’s closeness to fleeing!
How I did this, I do not know,
perhaps the gods helped me so.
I am okay again. Perhaps the gods are too.
For I am ready.
And may all of us return.
To peaceful dreamless bliss.
Mankind
Always bear in mind,
that the fate
of all mankind…
is uncertainty, choice, change,
to walk about blind
and chastisement
to others so unkind.
Merely perceived perceptions.
Only shadows, reflection,
putrid, biased preconceptions,
abstaining, avoiding, absolution,
searching for connections, and
finding false perfections.
Reaching for self redemption!
Always bear in mind,
that the fate
of all mankind,
is ignorance, dust, grave,
humbled, forgotten, chagrined,
and remorse for what
might or could have been!
Mother’s Day
Ah, Mother’s Day.
One gave me away,
another could not stay,
another, a wife, I lost along the way,
also an in-law we bury today.
Ah, Mother’s Day.
A time to keep at bay,
I did not have
the unlocking key
that keeps them for today.
Your Hands, My Hands
Your hands, my hands
What will they do?
Help, heal, hurt?
Hunker down? Handle
Handel’s hallelujiah?
or handily humiliate
or highlight hilarity?
What of the hues
of humanoid hands?
Will they humble?
Will they hune,
human kind horrible
or perhaps hinder hope,
Like a huge hangover
or the hovering howls
of heinous wolfhounds?
Yet, hidden and hampered
In your hands, my hands
is the happiness
housed in humility
of heaven’s hosts.
Two Roads
I sat betwixt,
and sighed.
Which way to go?
Wondered I
Unable to choose.
What to lose?
A piece of self,
so little left,
and I not deft,
to choose,
fear or die?
Betwixt two roads,
I sit,
wondering… Am I fit,
to choose and stick,
with my choice?
Forever?
Hell, I don't know!
La Dolce Dolore
Pain, pain, it’s not the same,
comes alone, it comes with fame.
Comes to each man’s name,
it comes with reason and with shame.
It comes with war; it cripples and maims,
it comes to you no matter your aim.
It comes in contests no matter the game,
it comes to gender both men and dame.
It comes in life unable to tame,
it comes quickly, it’s gone, came,
and like all it eventually wains.
So do not fear,
Pain, sweet pain.
A Down Day
Did you ever have a down day,
filled with regret
from self loathing?
Not happenstance,
made multiple mistakes,
wanting another shot,
but knowing
just the
different erroneous decisions.
For such is the nature,
of the natural man,
occasionally stumbling
across the truth…
Paying no attention
to my bruised toe.
With only a cursory glance
at what is right before me…
Maybe I’ll get better,
"I ain’t what I wanna be,
I ain’t what I should be,
But I’m a damn site better than I was"
Good words,
even some truth.
Did you ever just have a down day?
Well there is still hope,
still faith,
and eternal potential.
Nequaquan Vactum
(The Void Does Not Exist)
Daddy I miss you.
I often feel lost
without you.
The look
in your eye,
why can’t you help me now?
Teach me, guide me from a memory,
from unfathomable distance.
I long to talk with you
and listen which oft I did not do.
I want to show you
who I am, what I’ve done.
But I’m not sure
of either,
the why or meaning.
Aw Daddy,
I miss you.
Please, please
Let me go!
Set Me Free
(Sammy’s Song)
Set me free Mom and Dad,
all you gotta do is set me free,
Mom and Dad.
You know you can do it,
if you try,
all you gotta do is set me free.
I don’t want no one,
if I can’t hate Cain by myself.
I don’t need nobody else,
so if I can’t hate Cain by myself,
set me free, set me free.
Set me free Mom and Dad,
all you gotta do is set me free,
Mom and Dad.
You know you can do it,
if you try,
all you gotta do is set me free.
I don’t want no one
if I can’t hate Cain by myself.
I don’t need nobody else,
so if I can’t hate Cain by myself,
set me free, set me free.
The Deciduous Tree
The Tree.JPGFrom mother earth divine,
I am a deciduous tree,
from Heavenly Father you see.
Each year I grow
and lose my leaves,
in cooling winds that blow.
And like the tree,
it is taken, by faith,
quiet and dormant be.
Each year
Renewed and fresh.
When spring appears
and Heavenly Father is near
and slip
and dip with grace,
for springs new stirrings,
A trip,
fought the fight,
browned by mite and parasite,
obsessed like my need,
My mother and father
through my need,
asking not to matter
underlying tatter,
that I may bear new fruit sublime.
Shrew
Did you know?
The shrew you knew,
Been entombed,
Buried. Turned blue.
From pointy nose
To skinny legs too.
Lost are his days.
No wonder, no hope,
Afloat in universal haze…
Locked mind away,
Closed to the love,
That still exists today.
No power to warm…
No showered thought…
Among worms swarm,
What has been wrought?
His pointy ears silent,
His tombstone bought.
Tears for his passing?
Past pitiful pain…
Only maggots slashing.
The shrew you knew?
Buried, ignored, but
Love, eternally too.
To A Japanese Cherry Tree
Old Mr. Winter,
held at bay, too warm.
But, for another day?
And the tree
oh cherry, small.
Blooming too early.
Fooled by the warmth,
like misguided,
virginal youth.
Surrounded, like
an emerging tooth.
Amidst older, bare, leafless,
patient limbs.
Awaiting true spring,
to arrive, climb.
Oh young cherry,
a mockery sublime.
The Passing Feet
The paths of our feet
go many ways.
They sweep and turn
and wander down a lane.
They meet, they touch
They saunter, they part;
on beaches and bleachers,
on mountains and meadows,
by the sea, in the sand.
The feet do wander
past old and new things,
past gardens and trucks,
yet always they bring,
us to each other
at birth of the spring.
Oh I will miss
the sound of your feet
by the gardens and pools
or out in the street.
And when your feet pass
to be heard no more,
yet will I sit
and wait by the door,
till the trumpets do sound
and we walk by the shore.
To A July Child
Hey little Cancer
with the bowl
on your head.
Your blue eyes
are open
and need still
to be fed.
Now a bath and a bottle,
maybe a tear or two.
goodnight and a kiss
God’s love with you.
Now Mommy look
his little blonde curl
so fast asleep
Come, let’s make a girl.
The Victorian
At the window
I ordered
a chocolate shake.
He said, "There
you are young man."
If only I was,
a young man.
I wish I were…
But, only, with all
my current life.
Though then, I would
be a victim of
precocious puberty.
I wish I could be at the play
of youth, not old
alone, adult,
numbed with vermouth,
be a victim
of presbecusis,
precocious senility.
I wish it were a
youngman, me,
ordering the shake;
But, only me, my
closeness to mortality,
feeling the nearness
of all eternity,
a victim of
life’s uncertainty.
Memories
Tis strange how things
run around the head,
Even just sitting
or lying in bed.
Things that were buried
from long ago.
like soft gentle rains
or beautiful, deep snow.
There are many things
that quicken the mind;
A color, a touch, or a
scent of some kind.
Thoughts of a moment
just passing through,
things from the past,
delicious and new.
Memories of little things
like walks or a kiss,
like ballgames and Christmas,
or concerts of Liszt.
Just tiny things
brought out of time,
sweet little moments,
I am glad to have mine.
Reflections of Anytime in My Maturity
A direct poem of which I will make rhyme…
So one may understand no matter what the realm of time,
all men are vegetables absorbing knowledge in their class,
so the future will not go up in smoke,
only one single blast.
I have studied Archimedes and discovered knowledge is not power.
On the grave I can only see one withered flower.
I have studied history and discovered the lack of evidence in the Christ.
Thirty-three years but what is my life.
But, I have studied myself and found I am a unique person,
on the fact of this earth;
For if I change – History may have a new re-birth.
The Bank
What a fool I’d be,
crying with banks about mortgages.
Interest only loans you see,
and I sound like a broken CD.
No matter they got the money,
and I on the verge of the street.
A reformed drinker is me,
yet I want for the addiction of money,
from the banks you see.
So if ever you’re tempted
from a bank you see,
to borrow money,
do it so carefully.
For otherwise
your wallet will be emptied.
The banks contract,
you soon will be pre-empted,
with money or a fee,
and parted from plenty,
a poor fool you’ll be.
Council on the Bluffs
Only yesterday, we walked
across the waters.
Looking for simplicity and truth.
Playing with the ripples
as they soothed
our sore feet.
We found each other
out there upon the waves.
Searching for comfort and love.
Holding each others’ hand
as we slipped beneath…
The waves.
A hard beginning we’ve had,
getting dashed on the coral,
and bleeding on the sand.
Picking each other up,
knocking each other down.
We’ve now walked for some time together,
learning of love and responsibility,
asking for knowledge…
Holding council on the
sunlit bluffs,
Together we’ll stroll,
along the sand,
on the way to self and understanding.
No more to hold,
council on the bluffs…
But to walk again, on the waters,
Hand in hand.
Just God
Oh my children
what do you fear?
That God exists
and is very near?
Or perhaps your fright
is that there is
a wrong and a right.
You see not these,
nor the universal questions,
or life ending
being very near.
Much more to the life
than selections of earth and thesis,
like finding yourself
and all the missing pieces,
not for fun, but for peace.
On the Destruction of New York City
It’s over, thank God?
Twas a horror, though now gone by,
the earth quaked and rolled.
The heavens spoke, bells tolled.
The rivers rose to purify,
the hearts that froze.
On the same quest failing the test,
pigeons floating dead in the nest.
While ship-bows stare at the sky,
gulls fly over wondering why;
and tall buildings wade in waters,
fish among their bricks and mortar.
Unfit domains for unholy shrimp,
or the costly pimp.
From the east rolls the sea,
to feast on those who could not flee.
To wash away the decadence
and give the earth a new fragrance.
And nothing lost, little cost,
unhurriedly now the dews may frost.
It’s over and no death, for
there was no