Twitter share button


Neen and Grampa, Love You Always

Neen and Grampa, Love You Always



Angel Robin

Angel Robin
MANY of these photos are courtesy of my SoulMate, my Beloved Eternal, Robin Taylor.

We Meet Again...

We Meet Again...







Cathy's Babies

Cathy's Babies

Friday, September 28, 2012

Hold Tight

a silver Night floats webbed wings
which catch and hold to sticky things
like Souls who've traveled miles too far
who need their rest - they leave us here, with questions -
Will she ever find an answer?
the chasm's depth and dark seems too huge, beyond belief

Hold tight to our angels
Hold them to you in this LifeTime
(almost forty-nine years, no, that can't be Time enough)
Hold tight to our angels.

I don't want you to grieve -
I feel so sad for you
I am only sadness in this Moment of your pain

Hold tight to our angels- love them-
may be all we can do

Science hasn't found a way to change Her wicked ruthless Nature

Hold tight, o teacher mine-
Years fall away like pages that you helped me to adore;
the Years fall away and I remember you Joyful,
a newly-wed Idealist
who only 
blessed my World
(yes, you did)

I wish I could lighten your burden.

I close my eyes; send up a chorus of doves into the ether,
that they float to you, assuage your pain;
I send up a drove of doves to light your dark,
a kiss for your SoulMate...

Hold tight, Mrs. G.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012


Dear Reader,

     Thank you for your visit. You have stumbled upon a happening which I have not yet described to my satisfaction. I shall continue to tell you more, as the answers reveal themselves through my fingers. The characters often seem to skip my brain; they land upon a page in ink; blood sometimes traces certain Words, (to make them more distinct?)     I wonder about the origins of images, so clear and vivid, to my Mind, as they spill upon the page...but not *until* they are in process of Becoming...Do you relate?
       warmly, CherylFaith Taylor, September in a year somebody decided would be 2012...


Send them in - the darkling window's drap-ed;
she wears "wait" upon her stark-stare, poker- face,

No, Sir -  you can't see her claws, her virgin
earthbound echoing pawpads, as they trace
pinprickles on your one-time steady back-
no more ;
The Story's obscured to save thee


Let fly your Night's angels; Earth's window awaits;
their heathen - hid witness' wills quell your fright;
We claim to comprehend - (nor half's revealed),
but Mother, please: we beg their entrance: 

the Angels
cling to silvern Stars' steeped-in-mourning-tails;
flashy parade, wavy floats, 
Madison's proud old shadows...
They glide, til graceful seagulls storm through violet ebony windows,  
whisper secret-shrouded truths (for felines understand;
you see?)
Curtains part; primordial deed, on! their Royal entrance!  -
ancient aching nuptials to celebrate the Seas...

...sacred unions birth aged angels beneath Stars' sacrosanct Songs...

All becomes transparent to your widening
closet Eyes.

 incessant background buzz
lost birds suspend sour sticky stars on August's darkened angels' backs;
misty garments, tattered bare, sway empty upon Autumn-Song,

(so deeply long, their Coming)

the smokey feathered woman inhales
Window - eyed, she lies astride the Wind
to mimic birds' mourning Autumn flight

Autumns' angels on parade; I am afraid; I'm motherless;
O Mother of all, shall you shield me?  
 Feline-register Music fills my window;
Cats chirp, squeak -  their voices warn Fall's widows;
Should baby felines fear a Fall-Borne menace?

I know I must regard in Fear, respect their clandestine Lives; hide eyes...
Yet float them in now, Mother; finally Time;
He's parted burgundy silk; stage hushed;
satin, en pointe, whisper-twirls on  Night's chilled virgin screen;
Heaven's aromas compose this Theatre;

 the Cats sit still, upright, enjoying terror's grip...
they  groom each others' scents away,
pronounce their Tribe;
announce The Scribe;
chirp like tiny birds, as the mellifluous Night unfurls itself -
spectacular show!
they Joyfully prepare each other for the ride

Act II:  (burning dedication for you,  D.d.A -
where art thou, these brief'ning
later Days?)

let them in, please, now, Mother!
enter here; we are finally alert;
ancient Stage made whole, dust, Rain - hazed;
puppet - bone fingers lift the Ladies's crumbling veils
move high, move high, move higher - look! - feast upon her horrid eyes -
audience faints to see black howling chasms
where eyes should flash! (new sight cannot survive here)
Autumns' angels on parade; I am afraid; I'm motherless;
O Mother of all, shall you shield me?  
Once more, we wander through the thick Autumn Dark;

(The Felines and I anticipated fae);
afloat through Autumn's first true darkling Hours;
No Light flows through our hungry eager eyes;

the epilogue


Let them enter.

Welcome, Lady, in your teary burnished taffeta;
Welcome, Mother...{shivering, trembling} "please be kind."
but nonsense Words are all that's heard;
my neck crackles in her clammy claws;
tiny kittens cower and mew;
Dark is All
Dark holds sway
(A sparrow twitters, "cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep!)
Damon scampers to the Window
All seems solvent for a Moment
kittens sitting in the Window
standing guard
sentry loves

Autumns' angels on parade; I am afraid; I'm motherless;
O Mother of all, shall you shield me?
A Dream...
Tis all another sodden soaking Dream;
Her spell cast once again...sigh...


The Wake's warm embrace, eyes bright, cheery, luminescent
reflecting SunBeams in the River...

A mourning wastes new Autumn DayLight;
Tis all a Dream
All a Dream
All a Dream again
"Mother, did you hear me scream in the Night?"
Cherubic face holding roses beams, bemused;
"Of course not, darling; why would my angel cry?
A Dream, my sweet, twas all but a Dream - Awake now.
Open your arms; let Dawn's new Autumn Sun seep into you.
She warms you."

Friday, September 21, 2012

tiny twittery message to friends...

I copied these 140-character utterances here (below), in case your eyes don't see them on Twitter,
I have several online friends with whom I don't interact sufficiently for them to know I care...
Please realize I don't mean to be unfriendly, and I have you in my Heart !
I do love Twitter but I can't be online as often as I would like...

I twittered these Words to you this Evening, because I felt sad: Friday once more, and again, I cannot do #FFs or tell you how you so often lighten my Heart.

Thank you so much for having mentioned me, and I hope to be back to you soon.

*If we meet here and now for the first time, you can probably see: I'm a Word and Language geek!
I capitalize "Word" because I absolutely worship Words.
I am their unworthy slave. If only they would speak to me more clearly, perhaps I could serve them better.
I am listening! Can you hear me, O Great Ones?
Words have huge potential to help heal the Human Race.
I want to do my part, to perform as best I can,
whatever be my mission in this achingly beautiful World. 
My power feels small, as I have little financial ability to help anybody...
all I can do is to love....and to Write...

I love my family, those closest and those more distant. My little boy, aged 8, and my husband and SoulMate...I would give my Life for either or both of them, if it ensure their safety, and that they would know Joy...However, I would much rather enjoy Life with them!! You can see images of my beloved men, as well as of my ancestors, within my Writing, although much of my Writing is completely fictional.

You can also peruse and find actual photos of the people whom I most love...

Many thanks for Reading. May you be comfortable and rich in Love, Health and Joy.

CherylFaith, September 21, 2012, (on a calendar a bunch of people have agreed to follow, a couple millenia ago, but which is not the *only* calendar...)
Below are the twitterings I mentioned. In case you are not a person who uses the Social network called Twitter, it is a place where people from myriad walks of Life speak to each other, voice their feelings, their actions, quite often in symphony with other World Citizens. Each "tweet" must be composed of no more than 140 characters. Once can discover treasure on Twitter, or one can find decay...I pray to add positivity, even though I am neither a frequent nor a powerful Voice...

" mi twittery protocol-invisible to thine eyes? 
tis flittery Time:  chained to claims mundane but Gold, 
eyes widest to Beloveds' Lives entwined "
" so please think not:"she ignores me" - I appreciate you more than I can say! I simply can't say so now! Meanwhile, warmWishes & Thanx for ~you

**I took the liberty of stretching the two utterances out a bit here, so they would be a bit clearer. 

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Cloud-armed man (abridged)

My Nina* speaks in my most Joyful Mind.

Her voice intones a tale about a gigantic Book somewhere.
Tiny am I;  "Look! Up there! See?"  I do! 
                 Faeries paint the moving, morphing, tanger-orange Sky;
the rolling Artwork billows: in, then out, with Clouds;
smokey fluffed constellations dance
a child's chimeric castle dream
"Wow, Neen!"
A huge, amorphous, Cloud-armed man,
(his face chameleons with the Sky),
fills the entire Evening mural;
his kind chubby face crinkles into secret, childlike smiles;
(he can't stop smiling, can he?!)

I skip; I twirl; I hop 'round Nina in uncontrolled glee -
his enormous multi-coloured eyes hold a joke he shares with me!
I am tiny.
So bemused I feel to see!
What a crinkly, wrinkly, happy face! - I giggle!
Somebody peeks between old trees;
(ancient Oaks and elderly Elms line the street where I became;
immortal ferns caress the Evening Sky;
a crab-apple Tree in our very own yard tosses tiny roseate apples to Neen,
a Gift for her, a Gift to small bellies;
She will bake her yummy pies; ("with walnuts, Neen, please?")

My Nina sings, "He holds a big book;
if you're a good girl, he will grant you one more year
to enjoy this Life." (I'm only now getting to know Life, Neen.
I'm five years old; is that so long a Time?")

I try to imagine the big man in the mural holding a book,
but no matter how I turn my head, move my child's wide eyes,
I cannot comprehend: "a man can have this power!?"
but I feel a bit of fear, (because I love my Nina very much...)

She is telling me one of her strange, fantastic stories?
(but she seems more serious than usual.)

I ask her,
"How can a Cloud-armed man hold a book?"
She ruffles my hair, soothes me;
She sings, (I always think she's singing):
"Shana maidele, you're a good girl. Don't worry about anything.
Enjoy the Evening Air; isn't it beautiful to be here?"

And yes, to be with you, my Nina, is all I really needed.

****Nina is my maternal grandmother, in whose house I grew from tiny, to age nineteen; she and my grandfather, (who arrived in the US from his native (at that time Ottoman-Occupied) Jerusalem) at the age of four, had lived in Brooklyn, where my grandmother was born. My grandparents decided to move upstate to the Catskill Mts.; my parents, Brooklyn natives, themselves, decided to join them. My grandparents purchased a huge, two-story house, which I believe was constructed in the 1910's. I grew up (if ever I really did) :) , in the larger, downstairs apartment, with my parents and my two younger siblings; my grandparents inhabited the smaller (more suited to them) apartment upstairs. I spent an enormous part of my growing years in the company of my grandparents...We were two families, and we were (and always will be) one family...

I am so grateful to have been able to know my grandparents, on two sides!... for so long...

Monday, September 3, 2012

Insomniac HeartBeats...

Mick! :) 

You will be so near us in hour's pretty ride.  If you were to meet my son, you would make his Day, his month, his year. At the age of eight, he shall never forget the man who taught him the Word, "whisper," who taught him how to perform tongue- touch-teeth- tone sounds, which help him develop his speech, thus aiding his everyDay Life. I shall desperately attempt to find tickets to your shows, as we are so very close! Sadly, finances dictate that I discover every twinkling win-ticket contest, & pray pray pray pray pray!!! We must somehow meet you - you and your three other beautiful friends have made a difference in all our lives, (my husband is from Britain's W. Midlands, & I am from upstate NY). We love you all so very much and we wish you all the best. Perhaps I make a fool of me to write to you, to pray your Words...I am a Dreamer, born to be a Poet; Words have always Lived inside this Heart, tickled my Mind. I see a chance to meet you, Sir. I Dream; I Dream, but Life can be the sweetest Mystery...Please see us, Sir. We hold you in our Hearts and send the warmest HeartVibes 'cross Seas and Time to all of you, Gifted Musical Magicians...Poets, Dreamers, Rockers, Lovers...all The Rolling Stones Royalty!  Whosay? We say! We know. You have progeny and so we know you understand. Please meet us and our boy?

September 2012              
Did I really send a rambled twittery to Sir Michael just now? Certain I fell into sweet insomniac Dream. Maybe I can sleep now

Good Sir Michael, your brilliance shines in every dynamic motion of your body and Mind. Through each fresh painting of your richly RainBowed Life, you have sparked stellar Poetry, shining a unique & unparalleled Light from inside your Soul to your captivated adoring world Audience. O Gifted, invincible, charming, vibrant Humanitarian, my Heart sings you thanks and toasts your continued joie de vivre. Please catch specially sparkling HeartVibes, as they float the warming Sea, in journey from the Heart of this humble British-American Home, right into your very own. Please hold these HeartVibes close for a Moment; know they are borne in the Heart of a girl whom you've touched with magic Inspiration. 

at nearly five AM, with two snickering alarm clocks gaping at me, audibly giggling about their six o'clock screams, I am bemused and slightly freakified that I wrote these Words this Morning, and sent them sailing across the Atlantic! I am really aSleep; I'm certain... 


Who imagines will read my flaky floaty Poetry?Who believes he will respond? I felt very shy,but I said,"why not?" Peace& POETRY

Please help a dreamy Poet? My Heart would glow to know Mick read these Words I wrote for him HeartThanx


I have no idea whether or not Sir Mick ever read my Words, or ever will, but...

Hi there, check out the trailer for the new film it gives a pretty good taste of th…

Sublime to find news of  
on this Rich Magic Night of the jeweled Harvest Moon.
You shine,Mick


Sunday, September 2, 2012

the apprentice


awakening ?
stagnant, soured crypt-born breath.
dead dry dull be-drugged lumberous limbs,
unnatural, torpid, slothful misery - mired miasma,
snake onto the doll's blanched legs
sputom covers its arms as they try in vain to rouse her
(she's a doll! are you crazy?!)

Cries are vain.
Your crying is so very vain.
You are so very vain, my dear,
but this so endears me to you, my love -
now stroke me here, my little doll;
stroke me darling; do not cry;
the comedy: her reddened eye,
a missile aimed a bit too high -
Cries are vain;
you feel no pain.
You Feel No Pain.

You Feel No Pain.
Life hangs in dreams of other times - only - 
nevermore, not here, never here again -
Life's far-flung angels, replaced by saccharin beasts;
flesh rolls, turbid torturous bellows
upon the tiny downy pillows,
pins the petite porcelain creature;
murdered heart; stilled sane soul;
(never really stolen Soul)
stained crimson numbing treachery;
a fortnight sleeps the memory
three - decade death, debauchery -
inanimate creations do not sleep;
man-handled forms no substance make;
life, now a thing to look upon
a once-remembered dream, a dawn,
a song, smiles, love; no morbid steeping;
quagmired hopes, desperate screams - 

She lay in drink- drowsed guilty dreams
drink-drowsed dirty dooming dreams.
crush such lecherous vapid demons
stir curdled leche *  in their tea
malignant monsters pound pale porcelain
dead the dolls who blinded be -
“Take them to your quilted halls;
anesthetize their baths, burn all;
confiscate their tight-laced shoes,
their bottled love; their airless thrills;
feed them tiny rainbow poison
rolled in ether, made by boys
who self-flagellate in basement cells
conspiring to demonic calls…”

be above;
be silent behind your huge oak desk,
where dolls lie coiled in deep unrest;
experiment: the Fury pays -
always offer them a space
to speak; pretend to hear their cries;
in history they find a way
to still the pain
to slay the dreams;                                   
call them crazy
steal their lives
frigid smiling doll housewives
sing on the telly
play world games;
some celebrate a different way;
some celebrate in other ways;
(we pay and pay and pay and pay .... 
what are our crimes?
maybe I shall never know
maybe we will never know
and we cannot confess

we can never tell  
you know why 

She lay in drink- drowsed guilty dreams
drink-drowsed dirty dooming dreams. 
Hold the doll down - down!
Irritated dolls have been known to speak – 
         “down! down, she cried! “

Tease her mouth; the willow switch tickles them;

(drowned laughter foams upward above her; she floats away on its current}
("teacher, terrible thing, what happened to the gold girl - do you wonder where she's gone?")
“ look away; look away; you may find this part slightly unpleasant.”
(how do you survive here?)

Early; too early, four in the morning! I should be dreaming; should have had my sweetened tea! (drifts…)
“…you selfish bastard! Help me finish here. Stifle! Here! A rag - stuff the mouth- there - good- good boy- “

Really? really I may go far? (earnest and hopeful) 

* leche : milk, Spanish