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Best R. E. Taylor Poems

Below are the all-time best R. E. Taylor poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | R. E. Taylor Poem

The Old Man In The Mirror

The Old Man In The Mirror

Who is that old man who looks at me in the morning?
When I shave and shower he is there living in a pane of glass
Grey hairs replacing the dark walnut brown
More and more each day, each hour
Eyes looking tired from ages of struggles
Each reflecting a soul which was once so full of life
Now it lays stagnant and lost
It has the memories of its youth
Doing this that that man can only now remember
Wrinkles took so long to show
Even fooling that old man into thinking he was younger than he is
Every grey hair, every wrinkle has been earned
They are the wages of stress, pain and anxiety of aging
Some called them badges of honor
I look in the mirror and see that old man looking back at me
I don’t see honor, pain, stress or anxiety
That old man looking back at me has lived a full life
Successes and mistakes of the past are reflected in the mirror
Lost loves and loves found are hidden in his spirit
I look at the old man in the mirror 
I look at the grey hair and the sad eyes
I see each and every wrinkle
I look at the old man in the mirror and I see life


Details | R. E. Taylor Poem

Writing The Perfect Poem

Why do we do what we do?
Writing words day after day
Unsure if anyone will read them
If they will get the message we tried to say
A million words with many meanings
Thrown together in our language
How will we know the right ones?
They ones which say what we want to say
Just one word, one syllable, one letter
Out of the place where it should be
The meaning could be lost
We struggle through endless hours
Wondering and writing
Cutting and pasting words and lines
Then in a miraculous moment
It happens
The words are right
The syllables are right
Each and every letter is right
After all the pain and stress
Our child is born
We post in on-line
Publish it in a book
We send our child out into the world
And no one reads it


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The Poet

The Poet

We have been around for thousands of years
Reading our words for kings and queens
and a few people who gathered just to hear us talk.
We lived on the copper coins they could afford
and traveled through the lands writing what 
we saw, dreams and thoughts.
Our words were put to music and made immortal
Others were acted on the stage making
people laugh and cry.
Some words changed the way people thought
and ended hatred between people who
should not feel hate.
People died because they did not realize what
our words could do
Many times a love bogged in fear was loosed
because of a few words we wrote.
God only knows how many children our words
have brought smiles to and how many starting
thinking because of what we wrote.
Why do we do it?
Not to end wars or hatred
Not for the lovers who found each other because of us
Not even for the copper coins people throw
We do it because we love words
We do it to share our feelings
and we do it so that someday maybe someone will read 
our thoughts, dreams and words  and they will be 
remembered long after we are gone.


Details | R. E. Taylor Poem

November

November

Cool winds turn cold as the winds stir from the north
The sun, the life giving star, heats the tropics so far to the south
Its warmth a distant memory to the lands that it deserted
Long forgotten greens of summer turn into the color of a raging fire
The fire dies and leafs that lived in the summer sun die and fall to the ground
The white silky clouds turn black and heavy carrying moisture from the open waters
The mighty lakes of the north turn violent under the fading yellow sun
Fighting the winds and the certainty of the fingers of the north freezing them
Rain turns to ice storm and them into the snow that children love
Mother Nature makes her changes as the speed of life slows
Baby animals, now grown, leave their family to explore their new world
Some settle down for a sleep that will protect for the three months of bitter cold
Others travel to the lands of their ancestors where the climate never changes
No one tells them to make such a journey
It is just the cycle of life that protects them and their young
But all the ice, the snow and the suffering will end
For it is November and November is a month of change
The changes will last until the spring when live starts anew
The ice and snow will melt and food will be plentiful
Green with once again color the trees, grass and shrubs
The animals who were babies in the fall return with babies of their own
The lakes thaw and calm in the spring’s gentle breezes
Life will return to normal at least until the winds of November return
But, at least for now, that is a world away in another time
And it is no longer remembered


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The Secret

The Secret

Blood red eyes
Tears flowing down unshaven cheeks
Lungs straining for breath
Holding in words that should be spoken
The pain becomes unbearable
As the darkness gathers around
The loneliness fills the soul
No one to talk to
No one to share a secret with
Senses die in the dark
Unaware of what is around
Smiles are nonexistent
Even with the good news of the secret
There is nothing but black
Someday the secret will be known
The smiles will come with the light
But for now it remains hidden in the dark
Not shared with loved ones
Just a secret waiting to be told 


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An Illusion Of Words

An Illusion Of Words

A girl
No way to know her age
Her looks are years younger than her
Her mind smarter that her age
Her beauty is timeless among the ages
She sits and writes day after day
Places words in just the right place
She laughs at her ideas
She cries at how her writings play out
She is alone among a multitude of friends
Her thoughts jump between life and death
Love and hate
War and peace
No one knows how her mind works
It is only a guess to tell how she feels
She doesn’t want anyone to know her
She is a ghost walking among the living
A spirit that can only be held in the mind
And that is how she will stay
Just an illusion of words


Details | R. E. Taylor Poem

The Girl In The Window

The Girl In  The Window

How could anyone ever forget?
Such beautiful paintings
Each hung carefully
Lit with just the right light
People walk by day after day
They look but they are not looking
They see such a memorable picture
A city at its glory
Berlin in the beginning of the Third Reich
A thousand red flags with black broken crosses
People wearing colorful clothes
Each with a smile on their faces
A paradise on planet Earth
They look but they are not looking
They do not see right in front of them
Hiding in a window is a young girl
A girl of no more than nine years old
Such pain and torture can be seen as she reaches for help
There is a tiny six pointed yellow star on her chest
Even sixty five years later no one sees her
No one sees the secret the artist put in his world
Could people be so blind to someone in need?
Did that little girl live?
Was she tortured and killed alone in a prison camp
Her story was never told
But she did more that even the toughest soldier
Her innocent face
The tears flowing down her cheeks
She cried for help for six million people
It was all there to see
If only anyone had taken the time to look


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Holy Ruins

Holy Ruins

I imagine your beauty
How you looked ages ago
Your thatched roof
Stain-glassed windows
The moss growing on your stone walls
There was life within you
Babies being christened
Men and women becoming one
And the last goodbyes to those who were gone
That was so very long ago
Since then time has ravaged you
The people who loved you left
Went away to the cities
Your roof fell into dust
Your windows shattered in the wind
Your walls came down from neglect
Your spires reach like claws into the sky
As they try to catch the passing clouds
The people of your past are long gone
So is the beauty of your youth
But your ruins have their own beauty
A majestic quality no place else has
And that makes you a treasure


Details | R. E. Taylor Poem

The Artist's Tower

The Artist’s Tower

In a tower a lonely poet sits
Memories of his past life elude his thoughts
The stifled scent of burnt paraffin clouds his thoughts
There is the light from candles which lit thousands of works
Flickering against paintings stored by unknown artists
The beauty of an eighteenth century meadow
The stark reality of people starving in a depression
All tell a story through an unspoken language
Reams of paper piled against the wall
Stories and poems long forgotten by those who created them
Did anyone ever read even one of them?
The poet sits, thinks and fantasizes in his own prison
Isolation to help him find the right words
The candle fades and grey smoke fills the air
As the light of the North Star filters through a dirty glass window
The poet writes the last word to his newest piece
It too ends up on the piles of discarded work
Because the piece is finished the poet rests
The candle waits for the next artist
There is always another artist who will hide in the tower
There always will be another story, poem or painting
All hidden, unseen in the tower


Details | R. E. Taylor Poem

Let Me Watch The Sun Go Down

Let Me Watch The Sun Go Down

Let me watch the sun go down
The end of a life giving day
The flowers tightly curl
Hiding their beauty until the light returns
Breezes slow and fade into stillness
The scents of the day drops onto the moist ground
Animals crawl into their lairs
Do they dreams of open fields?
Or do they watch the darkness
Eyes straining into nothingness
Looking for the moment of their deaths
Their babies cuddle beneath a dense thicket
Clinging close to their mother
Waiting, hoping for the morning’s light
Let me watch the sun go down
Watch its beauty as blue turns into gold and lastly black
Night comes and the world finally sleeps
And still I watch


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