| Dead Poet’s Society and the Birth of Anarchy – A Review | Dead poets bleed literature
Though they be bloodless and food for worms.
Literature is anarchy.
Literature is counterculture.
Not all fiction, not all poetry, is literature.
There exists safety and there exists fringe.
Fringe calls safety... | Sean Taylor |
| The Dead Bury Their Dead | The bray from the trumpeter
Sneaks through the kitchen window,
Settling gently near the steam
Of the fresh apple pie.
He waves at the winos,
Calls for the shop-keepers
To forsake their brooms and buckets,
And join his rag-tag-tag-along bunch.... | Sean Taylor |
| Thank You, Mr. Prometheus | That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.
– Neil Armstrong, July 20, 1969
Jupiter laughed
When man first sparked flames for himself;
(Sure, his public face was aghast)
With his eyes upon us
He rested
And... | Sean Taylor |
| Yoke | (It is said that children who have been abused have a greater likelihood of becoming abusers themselves.)
She is a drooping rose
Weighted by the rain
Hunched,
Leaning above a younger bloom
Careful to pour out her burden
Beyond the newer... | Sean Taylor |
| White Male | I’ve studied and examined the
Culture and history of others,
Even imagined, or tried to imagine,
Myself in their places.
At times, I thought I could
Hear the cheers, smell sweet freedom,
“Free at last, free at last,
Thank God Almighty, we are free... | Sean Taylor |
| Old Fall | When old Fall winters himself
Eagle-like, bold, and swiftly
Gliding, wings adrift,
The eyes ahead,
Something splinters inside me,
And vanishes like old Fall himself,
Replaced by the arrogance
Of Winter, unstoppably fixed,
Immutably stable,
Coating... | Sean Taylor |
| Ki Wone | Brazen Truth
Stepping through Clio’s book
Seized the hearts of some,
Their minds and hands
And, forcing the pen along the page,
Began to write.
Inspiration.
They named it so
Though the service was immutable,
Fixed before the first struggling cries... | Sean Taylor |
| Memorial Day | The annual parade waddled through the streets of town today,
And as the flag, held high by the withering hands of local veterans,
Passed by me, I did not lower my head,
Or remove my cap,
Or fight back the annual tears,
Like the old men crowded... | Sean Taylor |
| Today | Today
The sun didn’t shine
And the ground was soft and wet
The rain fell all day
Onto the dirt and washed it to mud
Yesterday
Wasn’t much different
A little more rain than today,
And a little more mud
To step in and ruin your... | Sean Taylor |
| Daily News | Swooning beneath the weight of Utopia
Two girls threw themselves from the overpass last night.
The paper had nothing to say
Of their goals, the desperations, their drives,
Only that one was an honor student
And that they both died before the... | Sean Taylor |
| A Rock and Roll Story | Part 1:... | Sean Taylor |
| More of the Same | He loosens the tie clutching his neck,
The extra pounds squeezed into rolls by the net of cheap silk.
He hates this place, these people,
The pettiness, the way they lock him
Into their definitions – not his, never his.
A shepherd? Ha! More a fool.... | Sean Taylor |
| Death of the Prodigal | There he kneels, the old man,
Still, staring at the headstone,
Boring holes into the fresh patch of earth
Between the plastic hearts, wicker wreaths,
Flowers doomed never to die,
Perched on three thin metal legs.
I wonder, is his heart perched there... | Sean Taylor |
| Gomer | Gomer
Wiping a tear from her reflection
in the dull light
of a 60 watt bulb in the bathroom
of Room 38-B,
she sighs, and slides her stockings
again over her... | Sean Taylor |
