Category: spoken word

Getting tired of the radio blasting the hottest & latest artist only, all day everyday, missing the classics I grew-up with in the 80’s & 90’s; Seeing how the artist coming out today have no depth to what their saying, it seems like all people want to do is just dance these day’s, call me old fashioned, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to dance but what about the music that moved you to think: To think about the way things are around you: To think about life and how you can change it for the better. So I put this call out to all the young men & women with the passion for a pen & a pad, go deeper in your thought let your inspiration inspire others & lets start a movement back to the…

On By taylorspoetrycornerIn Abstract poetry, poem, poetry, spoken word, Uncategorized3 Comments

Age of Poetry

by Edward Taylor III

Let me compose a question & let the melody provoke you to thought,

Can we make it back?

Back to the days, back in the day, when imagination was

accepted truth;

Back when honesty flowed off the lips with pure innocence,

Back when we climbed the ladder of innovation to reach the peak of creativity,

To inject words that caused people to say –

“Man that really speaks to me…”

I hope to see those day’s again, before man craved the taste for sin,

Before man sold his gift for a slice of bread & an illegal kiss…

Can we make back to this?

Back to when words had power, back before the radio projected mindless chants five times an hour,

Leaving me sour, asking questons like-

” where’s the freshness” ?

“Where’s the voices that spoke of love, heartache, struggle,

& triumph” ?

“Where’s the passion for the truth, the lust for righteousness” ?

Has it been abandoned?

Lost in the mix of money, women, jewels, & drugs…

Fame…?

Is that what you sold your birthright for?

Your moment in the sun, your 15 minutes a top the plato #1…

Come on son…

Can we get back to the age where we treasured the old

& protected the new?

Back to the age where words on a page resounded throughout

eternities gaze;

Can’t you hear wisdom’s cry,

Come back!

Come back!

Come back!

To me;

Come back to the age of renaissance,

Come back young King,

Come back to the age where poetry sings…

Dusk, So often we pass through this moment of the day, so engulfed in our activities, we rarely find the time to appreciate the amazing gift of masterful creativity displayed for us at the end of each day; I urge you to take some time to stare out your window for just a moment, take a breath, be grateful, & slip away into…

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SUNSETS’ PORTRAIT

By Edward Taylor III

A rarely captured masterpiece begins to form with the skillful touch of a painter’s brush,

Clouds lightly shaded with a whisper of rose line a blue highlighted evening sky.

A hint of pollen rides upon the breeze of this soft summers’ eve.

The sun begins to retire its post in wake of night’s new moon-

The horizon dances with the colors of autumn as day fades into night;

The rush of life begins to slow..;

The last burst of orange reclines to memory, & just as briskly as it arrives

It sets.

All that is left is the reflection of what once was

A Day…,

A Time…,

A Life…

All concluded by a moment under the shadow of Sunsets’ Portrait…

“Where there is no vision, the people perish” (Pro 29:18) your dreams, your visions, are the very essence & fabric of Gods purpose & intent for your life. So many spend their lives yearning but never seeking for the answer to these questions “what is my purpose?” or “Why am I here?” Instead you spend your time & your energy in frustration living “paycheck to paycheck” ignoring the cry of your heart. This is a poem of that very thing; a poem of what happens…

On By taylorspoetrycornerIn poem, poetry, spoken word, Uncategorized2 Comments

When a dreamer Stops Dreaming

By Edward Taylor III

What happens when a dreamer stops dreaming?

When there are no more goals to hold his gaze,

His passion a prisoner behind the bars of selfish rage,

Nightmares of failure haunt his sleepless nights,

Frustration begins to consume his starved will to fight;

His expressions are now empty,

They’ve become idle words on a page;

All he wanted was for people to listen & be inspired,

But no one paid any mind to the gift that he gave,

So the dreamer stopped dreaming in the process of time,

His pen left useless, no more thoughts to line;

So what happens when a dreamer stops dreaming?

This is a question I ask myself;

The answer to which remains unknown,

Simply because this dreamer is determined to dream,

Even if he is destined to dream Alone.

Keep dreaming & keep your vision a live GOD BLESS- “For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry”. (Hab 2:3)

(ROM. 8:26-27) Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God. To be intouch with those who suffer among you: To feel the flooding of emotion when your co-laborer obtains their victory: To understand the heart of those that surround you is to understand…

On By taylorspoetrycornerIn poem, poetry, spoken word, Uncategorized1 Comment

The Cry

BY EDWARD TAYLOR III

Strong cries & tears rise up with-in, with my hands raised I receive the weight of responsibility as I’m ushered into the presence of God: Strong cries & tears rise up with-in, I suffer the pain of my brother, the anguish of the mother, I perceive the sorrow upon my sister, I peer into the burning desire for an uncorrupted purpose of a fathers child; Then I hear their cries, a sound so loud it’s like thunder when it cracks the sky; emotions erupt out of souls when their cries explode like a volcano; hopeful spirits waiting to prevail shake with the pain of a mothers travail: Strong cries & tears rise up with-in, marking the moment the wailing begins, my shoulders bear the weight of every prayer requested, this is the intercessors burden, it is here we are tested, this is the cry: Strong cries & tears rise up with-in, drops of fervency smite the ground again & again, our screams are unleashed, in the cry we become priest, we stand in the gap to shield the flock from the enemies attacks; We stand posted on our watch, waiting & watching, our eye’s full of expectation; our praises seed the clouds of promise, our strong cries invite the windfall of healings, & our tears display the sincerity of our hearts, as we take up the cry of God’s people before our King. I approach the throne of Christ heavily laden with Strong cries & tears that rise up out of me…

The LORD is thy keeper: the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore. (PS 121: 5-8) Even in the worst of times God is always there to pick you back up and continue you on your road to greatness.

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A Sorrowful Dance

By Edward Taylor III

A Sorrowful dance in the wind, performed by an excluded soul lost in sin, tears fall as pirouette’s call to the lost soul,

hopelessness twirls with blind perception, darkness calls with a malicious obsession.

Broken inside, strength subsides, to a sorrowful dance in the wind.

“Where is the comfort, the loving embrace, who will wipe these tears from my face?”

Under the stars you can see the dancer scarred:

Leaping to grasp the joy seemingly so far out of reach, distant as the mocking moon, silent & sweet,

Who is this that dances with sorrow in the wind?

The motions of this dancers’ gloom ignite the fierceness of question: “Where is my hope, where is my solace, where…

WHERE?”

The ground is struck, pounded by clinched fists,

“NO MORE!”

Is the cry as the dancer sits, drenched in sweat & self-regret: with eyes to the sky & arms raised the dancer is lifted up by the wind to dance once again,

Then a whisper is heard in the night sky:

“Hold on my dancer your salvation draws nigh”…