seanhtaylor's Saved Poems

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TitlePoemPoet
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

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,

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

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

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

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

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