2 Poems InDigest Magazine by Ken Taylor

By Ken Taylor | Published: September 30, 2014

 

now voyager

about our fowls & sessile & stuck inside
chthonic cant: limping iambics: plastic
spirits & elastic feet. we strike at light
with sticks. heels struck up. wits spent.
but made you by the stars in our bones
& violence. sparrow insistence & whale
ode. 2 on a match. pulsar map & pygmy
chant. narrow probe: qua pelvis of song.

exhausting manifold bent for bow shock:
boom-shocka-locka through heliosheath.
little psalter rocking 8-track in solar wind
& packing blind willie johnson: we send
you: willful tamper of sheepdog thinking:
ultrasonic tramper: beyond our gravity.

 

she relevées when she tamps down

my campaign for weakness milk spoiled
by piercing & rump of red winter wheat:
waders frame the ramp up to calving &
biomass of daydreams. steaming strives
to frothing: high-hats free-trading solos.
our barista doses every cockcrow wish:
live nude roiling & microfoam as hearts
are poured: verges broken: deliverance

looked for w/ shining. & these enemies
of the novel
are my enemies: fen, knock
box fling, spooned foam. i sing of double
pull from burr machines & drifting trouble:
animated russets to cordwood stacked for
later heat. her storming wand now lifting.

5 Poems Poetry Storehouse by Ken Taylor

The Poetry Storehouse

great contemporary poems for creative remix

26 May 2014

Ken Taylor – poems

 
1. movie for the blind (with audio by author)
…. - Video remix by Marc Neys
2. also sprach zarathustra (with audio by author)
3. by flight & call of sure omen (with audio by author)
4. self-portrait as joseph cornell (with audio by author & Nic Sebastian)
5. on the trail of the dinosaur (with audio by author)

 
 
movie for the blind
 

Film by Swoon Words and voice: Ken Taylor (http://poetrystorehouse.com/2014/05/26/ken-taylor-poems/#movie) Concept, camera, editing & music: Swoon Add; footage: Videezy


 
also sprach zarathustra

the philosophy behind the song is the song.
the song not the song is a song to weather
or picking your teeth with nietzsche’s pointy
shoes. that eternal recurrence of the same:
of the same. we found caning from a chair
& the dithyrambic scamper around a fire pit.
let’s talk to a dog in the dark about binomial
nomenclature or that this is a business trip.

jupiter rises with wind of another squall again
over crisping marshmallows & sparks jumping
into a brown tilting green. sapphic feet shiny
with toe-rings & aulos insisting circular breath.
halting minuet. losing god by twilight shame:
cover crop puce too brief to land an epithet.

(first published in Finery)


 
by flight & call of sure omen

slow trudge of hosts clotting a guise.
half moon. crabapple bloom & cupped
hands compete for sunrise. nothing
completes a creaky bus not stopping.
cricket & quarter note bird & not bird
chorusing the colophon simple due to
escheatment or enchantment or crow
code in nude limbs over a coed treat.

side road trees thinned so swiss-type
flavors flow & follow the ever-berrying
gathered hair. sorrow song. tomorrow
they say all the second act changes to
their mud-flap haiku will make perfect
sense of us: opera hats tipping adieu.

(first published in Cloud Rodeo)



 
self-portrait as joseph cornell

not once did i lift the skirt of a ballerina.
boxes in the yard means a local scandal
& thus all this organized departure. birds
will live here for a time before they pipe
broken clay songs & wake the neighbors.
rose comes (not the actress but the slight
era before constellations show or planets)
in a darker crinoline with fresh instructions.

everyone says it’s important to masticate:
smaller food suits you. this found laundry
ticket fends off sophistry. my flautist rang
the other day & claimed she couldn’t keep
our appointment. hiccupping ampersands
again, she said, & dust & glass & swan.

(first published in 3:AM Magazine )


 
on the trail of the dinosaur

barely slightly sank into his loveseat &
purified wings of ecstasy before the egg
to silk effect: heirloom 12-gauge blast.
& witnessed desire if used in moderation
which he didn’t do will keep many a soul
afloat splatter. self-inflicted kick drum on
the ballad: on the one. afferent autumn
champ & shut: he’s another matter now.

barely slightly dropped a magic poncho
at the smallest ask. jaw thrust to alpine
view: ascanio spread: rorsharch test in
lieu of stud finder all over the doublewide
wallpaper. oil patch buck shot & pull back
to cul-de-sac to troposphere to firmament.

(first published in ARDOR)

 

"crepusule with nellie (take six) The Poetry Society by Ken Taylor

crepuscule with nellie (take six) 

Commissioned by Filmpoem and the Felix Poetry Festival in association with the Poetry Society. Poem by Ken Taylor. Filmpoem by Ginnetta Correlli.

crespuscule with nellie (take six)

we make choices. sometimes it’s watching phoebes erase moths from clover months after the family jaunt across texas: weather parroting miles & miles of trouble. dirt roads going nowhere or to a lozenge pattern: evidence of local color hiding something all over the place in the same kind of building. other times, we find ourselves on a plane over a large body of water & the headphone jack defective. yet, if we complain, compensated only with a wink & reminder our seat cushions float. was it late afternoon saturday? you were wearing the t-shirt we both like: i can’t, i’m waiting for godot & the kid on the bus asked, what’s go dot? we can choose to loiter in the past: munich, on some straße, trying to decode menus to avoid eating der blaue reiter for the 4th time this week. breathing a shade of cinnamon we weren’t sure existed. & birds again, only this time crows, rowing in an iron sky & mispronouncing klee! klee! klee! ten-thousand foot view is the distance we want to be seen by: not a river wandering to find more river. scar tissue passes for meaning. gristle: gist. police talk to their shoulders instead of using them to brachiate. we all chose to throw rocks over arboreal locomotion. a trifle that springs to mind is catching fish with balls of white bread. we wonder if there’s pond life with this shape that hasn’t been discovered & can be named for a relative who botched their days. eventually we succumb to tabula rasa & sell the suburban. love is noticing the eyes of another being picked up in a tie. everyone improves in the proximity of our affection.

From the judges...

'The abundance of ideas and images in this charged montage of a poem made it stand out from the crowd. From the police who ‘talk to their shoulders instead / of using them to brachiate’ to the phoebes who ‘erase moths / from clover’, the poem sifts out luminous gems from the detritus of existence to offer an elliptical commentary on the choices we make for love.' Jane Yeh

 

Three Poems 3:AM Magazine by Ken Taylor

3:AM Magazine

Ken Taylor

a poem without a single tree in it

some people tell us entering the famous gash
in his side is born across a refurbished cinema:
every other row of seats removed for the best
leg room. layers of paint chipped off to expose
egyptian. storm chasing sound. the film playing
is about film so surfaces pile up: that infradian
rhythm & the great spinach disaster. everyone
wants candy. disbelief prone on a sticky floor.

i was offered office space back of the projection
booth. curb appeal couldn’t trump a paucity of
three-pronged plugs. planes fly by the window
& you can wish to be in one. trying to find the
storehouse by dancing tin & stones set in a font
hard to read from on high: tithe or fish or knife.

 

in case of fire, spill or release

the flight attendant drops his register to make
up for a dearth of girlfriends, says: our lunch
is only possible with bees or the wind. thought
bubbles exercise angst throughout the cabin.
exercise is: two fingers, three things. 4B wants
more fig leaf. 4C: a slip-n-slide. all other hands
re-blue guns & upset that numinous boarding
hierarchy. trending now: bird strike.

our co-pilot lapses on the names of mountains.
her cockpit succumbs to bean vine tendrils &
deveining begins. the pilot steers by dust up
from dry lake beds: stick & rudder man from
way back. engine one declares a new pope.
engine two: pagans make better lovers.

 

self-portrait as joseph cornell

not once did i lift the skirt of a ballerina.
boxes in the yard means a local scandal
& thus all this organized departure. birds
will live here for a time before they pipe
broken clay songs & wake the neighbors.
eve comes (not the woman but the slight
era before the stars appear or planets) in
a darker crinoline with fresh instructions.

everyone says it’s important to masticate:
smaller food suits you. this found laundry
ticket fends off sophistry. my flautist rang
the other day & claimed she couldn’t keep
our appointment. hiccupping ampersands
again, she said, & dust & glass & swan.

 

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Monday, July 23rd, 2012.

Two Poems Posit by Ken Taylor

Ken Taylor

 

seconding speech

 

reveries still wet with soft shoe behind

tease of a carbon footprint bound geisha

small. grain science helps however large

we think or maybe ring the conflagration

steward. held back tears as a curtain call

beckons: lost wax in the new suit. i can’t

ponder with fidelity & yet feelings trigger

flock loyalty: constant return to the fallen.

 

our confected blood lust begs that falsetto

true to time & place: elder story of hanged

pilgrims or the well-hung argument: limbic

reward for fruitful aggression. fast-forward

to a repast of quinces or stiffly named lack

or smiling banquet baked into the system.

 

florence syndrome

 

in the disfigured film up swims a face.

reverberant brunt: traces in the last of

de kooning. his eyes burn behind burnt

as if beauty is frank o’hara: gone. can’t

hear him mutter past a slit he makes of

mouthing: translation not sound. glare

then framed by white & white & white:

disrupted in the springs not abstracted.

 

somnolent fog: latter galleries drifting:

untitled. untitled. untitled. no title. none

signed: taffetas opened by other hands.

winsome celluloid squirms: non-action.

the camera nth dithering: here & away:

now & not. curt castaway clap. blackout.

Three Poems berfrois by Ken Taylor

 

Three Poems by Ken Taylor

June 13, 2014

 

clearing without reversal

 

hawk or death: a way of saying balance

isn’t fair. tipped to seamless fletching &

heat-seeking scurry in municipal flowers.

cast, aerie, kettle: rehearsing wrath on

fir cones. speech higher than the binary:

civic containment: shattered arithmetic.

all statutes on their side: illegal to kill or

capture or possess a hawk dead or alive.

 

until verticality’s undone & the food chain

top tumbles down thru utopian parkways.

cooper’s, sharp-shinned, red-shouldered

vestige rung by crowd funding of hitherto

consumed. in the argot of rabbits: ahawk

is always a hawk: unlessit’s a cabbage.

 

heat lightning

 

the ether pulls back curtains & evergreens

inside a frock drama comb other eyes for

prompts. deciduous spend false currency.

last of the stragglers ushered to the stalls.

their marquee said: will shock, burn or cause

death. everyone assumes a bracing position.

over the moon a pebble sky blisters copper.

seconds duped by curvature mime woozy tin.

 

endowed by unseen hands stars think inside

a bigger box stage-whispering change work

orders: asking the color wheel for otherness

to gray. we return to normal enough & nymph

light: orchestral decrescendo to cricketscape:

small-d denouement: no fire this time.

 

lyric comportment

 

peanut butter spread truth by untruthful

fare: startled splay after dare of tucking

in. trickster thirsty for knowing flew into

sequel by lapping a lap the jackal licked:

prodigal mouse mishap via lituus trigger

tripped for toothsome we might pray on:

soul to keep. daedal double flip into catch

& no release portal with big womb splash.

 

or take the first tomb from the epicenter

to make the next devastation. horsewhip

seared onto tablet & commodity uttering

crack down on swoop of lesser lit nether

lip at false supper. o happy rush to bait

& switch frenzy: eclogue con & crush.

 

Copyright 2014 © Berfrois.com

"by flight & call of sure omen" Cloud Rodeo by Ken Taylor

C L _ O U – D

 

KEN TAYLOR

by flight & call of sure omen

 

slow trudge of hosts clotting a mask.

half moon. crabapple bloom & cupped

hands compete for morning. nothing

completes a creaky bus not stopping.

cricket & quarter note bird & not bird

chorusing the colophon simple due to

escheatment or enchantment or crow

code in nude limbs over a coed treat.

 

side road trees thinned so swiss-type

flavors flow & follow the ever-berrying

gathered hair. sorrow song. tomorrow

they say all the second act changes to

their mud-flap haiku will make perfect

sense of us: opera hats tipping adieu.

Two Poems The Offending Adam by Ken Taylor

116.1: Ken Taylor:: black mountain & poem for tuba & trombone                    116

New Writing

After checking out Ken Taylor’s website, I can’t shake the feeling that his poetry and his pastels are deeply connected. The two poems selected for this week are, like many of his pastels, compositions built from swatches. Unit by unit, phrase by phrase, I’ve come to appreciate Taylor’s poetry as a symphony of shades. Rather than muddy his compositions, Taylor gives his phrases the room to speak, alter, and ultimately harmonize.

Take the poem “black mountain.” A naturalistic description moves to the poet’s mother moves to a surreal image moves to aesthetic observation. Etcetera. Don’t misunderstand me: I couldn’t be happier paraphrasing Taylor’s work; the act of paraphrasing Taylor’s work for the reader takes away the feeling that we are jumping from one coherent statement to another without always understanding how we made the leap in the first place. That’s the art of the swatch. And it works as beautifully in Taylor’s pastels as it does in his poetry. Ryan Winet

 

black mountain

          for J. Peter Moore

 

along the drive the rhododendron crease

& wait. my mother’s mother praised these

days. a star fell from the ceiling in my

father’s house & made the vacuum smoke.

wood smoke on cerulean. i have another

dream of jean charlot passed by every son

& so & not seen: stalks all approaching

to raze studies above: hand shades eyes.

 

over the song & tear-sheet numbers: will

trade for local soul: meat on metal on wood.

he took up the brio & choired three minute

ten inch wax. the unraveling treble clef was

trouble: & threw a rod wheeling his necker

knob: best delta poison in the whiskey.

 

poem for tuba & trombone

 

all this difficult brass waits for the minor

chords & shuttlecocks playing out troubles.

hands that milled cotton in the old armory.

sons & daughters still wish in mill houses.

nastic bubble of winds sight-reading four

crooked letters. strings re-tuned to slide.

about embouchure & toe-tap. tongued

notes & pressure. repetition of middle B.

 

fishermen lower hats on graveyard creek

bridge while his slow procession rolls by:

code of bottomland & eroded red clay roads.

code of the tallapoosa. we lower namesake.

clear every waterkey. blue tailgate & contra-

bass clamber to soughing adrift in kudzu.