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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

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Love Letters to Dr. Franz Kafka: Poema I, Poema II, Poema III

Love Letters to Dr. Franz Kafka
Poema I, Poema II, Poema III 
(in review)

 " Love Letters to Dr. Franz Kafka: EnSuite "

July 2015 (first seen in July entry, 2015... from "Fragments frayed to newly woven")
 the Kafka love letters move around)

sexiest act I Dream he'd perform upon me:
 He'd Read to me, a Literary Classic,
 perhaps a lost Poem by eternal Sappho

 (that Steamy July Night, 2012)

 *~* here lay a tiny exercise:
       I showed you the exact Words which flowed as they flowed...pre corrections...
           I continue to polish this beloved piece, as I feel happy within its Telling:

Poema I
Here, Dear Reader:

(I was visiting the meadow's Mind after Kafka stung me;
Eudora* rocked me in her arms);
Theda's wicked wanton lips tickled King T's twice-chewed ear;
she Gifted him his Jeweled years to play anew;
whilst watching this regal show, so privileged I,
my pen a-rose; she flew across the room;
incredulity aside, I thought I ought to tell you...   :

... hide inside the billowy Poem's walls...
Seek comfort in her Poem’s steamy,
 BloodRich, Moon-mouthed chambres

the invisible woman blushes;
for the length and space of an elvin breath
her mind projects faery-hued purple orchestrations
to dance symphonic colours all over the King's walls...
angelic grace, a mid-Moon's face,
a song his Heart hath twice remembered eighteen thousand years from now;
all suddenly flame his grief-torn, solemn Soul;
his Ego steps, shy, gingerly aside -

the Tortoise King lumbers up to the silent princess;
he pretends two strong legs can move his body;
at once he climbs astride his Lady;
Finally, the King’s ride arrives...

Sans cease, of Dark, of Silence Borne:
Night's ivory mares raise regal heads;
their eyes flash joy to know their King shall ride anew

**more than one Muse o'mine animated these Poems:
 Dr. Franz Kafka, who haunts and Inspires me!
For Mr. Arthur Phillips, Author, Friend...
Thank You for Writing, unlike any other Word-Worker; 
Thou Art Magical Inspiration

 Eudora Welty spoke to me a bit as the above, 
Poema I, fell thru my fingers
& more, of course~

*every* piece of Poetry I allow to sail or trundle its way through me,
 I hereby dedicate to my beloved husband and SoulMate, Robin Taylor.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Love letters to Dr. Franz Kafka...

I shall be adding to these. The Words will come from various places.

I have an urge to go another way with Time...
This Time
( ToDay is August 16, 2014, as measured by some)

& somehow, Inspired by Robin Williams,
I wonder if Robin Williams liked Kafka. Somehow, I imagine the answer is "yes" -
I like to Dream so...
Kafka has me captive on his DreamCloud.
Thick black smoke surrounds, but harms us not.
Before he stole me from the Party,
He shrouded us in cloaking-bubble blankets.
(I keep finding Kafka in my Writings. He awaits me here, but
most of the Time,
he lies, bones and muscles, soft, yet strong,-
He be long curved angles all over the pages,

He sweeps circles over the covers, -
my purple - covered,
  spiral- boundless notebooks.

His notebooks astound me; their aromas intoxicate me
so I nearly lose my breath. I grow lost inside his dawning Evening shadows.
Notebooks feel more sacred as Night claims lazyDusk;
as we ascend, we carry upon our backs
satchels-full of Books, pens, papers of every material and size known to Humans;
the load should be burdensome, cumbersome,
yet I feel featherLight, wave hello to whistling sparrows

Dr. Franz' papers are ephemeral, ethereal...
As he moves us across Night's Deep-Eyed Sky, 
ancient papyrus rustles on affable breezes,
a stylus scratches early Stones;
I see heiroglyphs in chisel.


Dr. Franz gifted me a special sack in which to place my notebooks and my pens,
my Crystal blues hide beneath a tiny, invisible Door, much like a CatFlap,    but
more like a mouse-hidey-hole
no pen need ever alone again, without a hand to warm its holy blood
8 September , 2013

Franz' hands; his fingers: long, soft brown; 
his face of purest, delicate Moon - Wolf;
his angled shapes illuminate and round my empty cave;
my long-lost graven Snow-drifts, 
dipped in these Days' solemn honeyed-hopes...
Full now, with dreams; 
my softened screams;
I thank thee, curtsy; 
so clumsy am I to thee, lost Prince...
Rich with his diamonds I'm stranded here whilst in & out he fades

movimientos: I

purple bubbled "p" pops; tis letter number three in "sip your drink, mate..."..
.everything slants shrilly once again;
I feel me slipping...falling---
pity, as Purple stands Royal,
like that Creature in your glass...
purple letters create too much noise...
Movements II : consoling Violets

Limbo'ed Raven-Folk reside in card-hotels;
those who do not fear.
those who do not dare to fear-
they visit -
we kiss them through a tiny violet window in the grove -
candles flicker, blaze the orchard;

our card-hotel sign screams, "Open"

Violet screams when forced to see
these purple letters follow me
I must console my desperate friend -
(I drop her into your glass again)
now breathe....breathe  -

We will pretend our bravest selves
to visit where the Ravens flow in
Violet's Rivers,
beside those card-hotels who stole her name -
I think she'll dream upon reprieve -
Will she dream a new return?

Intermezzo (in a bug-pub)
a "bug-pub is a solution for those who cannot stop the Meta morphoses

"you've poured more than a solo query to the (very ugly) bug," declared
two tense-worthy causers who live in black shoes;
heir stiletto heels in a bunch: (our profound "pretty ponds")
afloat with plasticine piles, protruding beetles
climbing, creeping through thick-fuurred sticky Night.

movements III  "tormenting Violets"
the kafka bug, he be a bloated - bellied guy –
He rolls round toward her purple door
"I love the sound of the Word,
"Violet," he oozes,
his wirey hair askew
askew in a silent whirring wind
we cannot see

all our worlds askew at once
all our Words cyclone, torment Violets,
pass, whistling, through each other's rounds -
May we catch them, ball their electric dream hair into sense,
heal Violet's insomnia?

magenta dustballs rise like lies
afloating round his head as he eats exits.
© CherylFaith Taylor,  2015

Sunday, May 24, 2015

"British Rose".... {hears Elton John tearfully sing to a lost Princess}

British Rose".... {hears Elton John tearfully sing to a lost Princess}

in progress:  this is how it emerged at first, upon seeing:

"Jessica Stam shot by Patrick Demarchelier for British Vogue May 2008. 
"British Rose".... {hears Elton John tearfully sing to a lost Princess}
Profuse Beauty
three Nations' gardens,
wild with Moon...

Moody swooned
Jane's love-gloomed Moors;
Shrubbery, tamed; gnome-guarded-heavens, groomed
Who really guards your English gardens?

your Flowers: aromas, tastes, voices, Music...
inimitable aromatic mix:
blend here,
("no! not there,, like this," - sings a woman in a Halesowen charity shop,
She's twenty years transplanted,
I still see her wide Germanic smile...)

(Be that Rain's harmony on the roof,
or be it me lost Love's HeartBeat?)
sudden brief Rains ensuite...
a pinch of subtle macabre

Cross the Seas,
My special child,
a mix of cultures, yours and mine:
So pass the hours, too quickly- I never knew; did you?

Last Night, as he lay in wait to drift,
Aunty Kate sang "Delius",
then "Oh, To Be In Love,"
another mix;

(My child, if you could know the depth of my love for thee...)
My head upon your big-boy-Heart,
quick-paced as years ago; you're a Lion!
"Oh, to be in love..." Kate's layered Magic,
one track aligned with your HeartBeat, exact.
I laughed; mommy's tear fell upon your cheek,
and your giggle brought it all back, my Life,
me Love,
You both bring it back, everytime we circle.
My beloveds...

My four years Lived in England's West Midlands, the open Air markets of Halesowen and Dudley;

friends I'd made with whom I've lost touch...
Birthplace of my beloved husband and our Gifted son...To thee I sing

** “…my English Rose…” Elton John, Bernie Taupin 
**“Delius” and “Oh, To Be In Love” Kate Bush
place of my beloved husband and our Gifted son...

Sunday, May 17, 2015

full-bellied crickets

when the Air hangs heavy with Winter's frozen memories,
a wish for that sweet aether;
no tears to relieve, lest
Aphrodite's weep devour Minerva's secret smile; 


full-bellied crickets, 
portents in Song,
serenade the Day-
 if we dare succumb,
wait not for Night to lull us

Tuesday, May 12, 2015



  Mother's Day wishes all around.

Here is my first and my ~for Ever favorite Mother's Day Gift. Thank you, Robin.

I am eternally grateful you chose me, Little Man, Leo, 
to be your mom, in this LifeTime.

I have no idea why Leo blushed and said,
 "Mommy, I look like a girl in this photo." :)

However, he persists in his desire to let the back of his hair grow like Jim Morrison, one of his favourites. I must admit: I adore his cherubic curls. His face has begun to resemble Mommy's side a bit more lately; he's been reminding me of my younger siblings when they were his age.

Let me tell ya' The Truth about Time, little man, little man mine...
the Truth about Time...