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Welcome to the online home of Vancouver poet Rob Taylor. My newest work, in collaboration with my wife, is our first baby, due in August. Expect tumbleweeds on this site for a little while! Three Poems, Grain. Three Poems and an Essay, Cascadia Review.
From Field Notes for the Alpine Tundra.
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Friends of the Site. June 05, 2010 - 37 Comments. Lady Godiva and Me. Reviewed by Joanna M. Weston. These poems are not about Lady Godivas ride, but rather about those who lived, or live, in Coventry. The poems are like the voices heard by someone standing on a street corner, i.e. snatched conversations or brief comments, often inward-looking, more frequently casual but insightful interchanges. March 10, 2010 - 36 Comments. February 24, 2010 - 15 Comments. Edited by Jeanette Lynes. Noble Gas, Penny Black.PARSED CONTENT
The web site has the following on the site, "June 05, 2010 - 37 Comments." I noticed that the web site also said " These poems are not about Lady Godivas ride, but rather about those who lived, or live, in Coventry." They also said " The poems are like the voices heard by someone standing on a street corner, i. snatched conversations or brief comments, often inward-looking, more frequently casual but insightful interchanges. March 10, 2010 - 36 Comments. February 24, 2010 - 15 Comments. Noble Gas, Penny Black."SEE SIMILAR BUSINESSES
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The Poetry of Daniel F Mitchell. I walked beneath heaven tonight,. Stood underneath endless sky,. Gazed upon a celestial sight,. Looked the gods straight in the eye. Will you longer detain me here,. Hide behind a bolted door,. Cower under your roof in fear,. Damned earthbound for evermore? I would fly if I were able,. Recline on a shining star,. Dine from an immortal table,. If my hand could reach that far. Comments Off on That Far. A Poem Composed on the Slate of Never.
The final ember of the fire. To get up and into the current. Up and away from its source. 8220;I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing-Sylvia Plath.