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    Zaphnathpaaneah
    Zaphnathpaaneah
    Zaphnathpaaneah
    Ebook147 pages1 hour

    Zaphnathpaaneah

    By Clive Alando Taylor

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Zaphnathpaaneah is a book of poems that somehow sits on the window of observation, from the profoundly surreal through to the abstract and borders on the intimate realms of the fascinating, if not thought provoking ideas that we can all relate to through humanity.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse UK
    Release dateOct 24, 2011
    ISBN9781456788780
    Zaphnathpaaneah
    Author

    Clive Alando Taylor

    As a young boy at school, I always found myself playing with words & rhymes especially when it came to writing poetry, it wasn't the fact that I was especially gifted or talented but it was mainly my enthusiasm, and style & ability to be creative with words and rhyme in my own unique way, although in this day and age some may regard this as a small degree of autism but I’m not quite certain about that, as many of my peers could be just as challenging and inventive about writing prose. When I left school at the age of 16 I attended dance school and was as far removed from literature as anyone could possibly be, but I always kept a diary and also decided to study English Language part time. During break time and in between classes once again I would find myself writing & exploring various themes using rap, rhyme and spoken word to amuse myself and my fellow classmates with. At that time I didn't take it too seriously but I loved the fact that through expression along with the effect of creative writing was becoming an inspiration to me as well as a positive tool for expression.

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      Book preview

      Zaphnathpaaneah - Clive Alando Taylor

      © 2011 Clive Alando Taylor. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      First published by AuthorHouse 10/14/2011

      ISBN: 978-1-4567-8877-3 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4567-8878-0 (e)

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

      and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Contents

      NEOLOGIAN

      POETRY

      My Tiny

      Existence

      Sad Al Sud

      IQUARIAN

      Flowers

      ELEMENTS

      ~*~

      NEOLOGIAN

      POETRY

      ~*~

      Earths Last Hour

      ~*~

      Our eyes meet and we begin too tingle loosely inside, the mouth opens to a soft subtle word, unconcerned with those who now live within, unforgiving those who were always innocent, never ending in its own relentlessness, making promises in its every event, making history if only then to forget, as the world keeps on burning without any lament, taking time to unfold without doubtless effect, for who is the first and the last to respect, that this is Earths last hour.

      Nations fight for democratic rights, earthquakes erupt as ash clouds rise, the end of the age is now in our sights, as a fatalistic blow is dealt to humankind, by the nature of the God’s who currently reside, with no discriminating bias upon their minds, over Earth’s last hour.

      The sphere of influence now yields its’ power, while the powerless are now being devoured, controlled by the views as yet unseen, while the media’s truth remains obscene, while they re-affirm they told us so, as were left too cower, in the fearful tears, of Earths last hour.

      The lies, the truth, the bloody war, the dissent into something rejected before, the disease of lepers now in our heads, as the virus in our hearts now quickly spreads, to shut the window to lock the door, though we cannot ignore it anymore, the sunrays shine as the rainfall showers, in these rituals of Earths last hour.

      ~*~

      Poem By Clive Alando Taylor

      A Free Society

      ~*~

      If only to free ourselves from the ordinances of obstacles and to then free ourselves from the clock of regulation and to then free ourselves from the decay of illustrious illusions and to then free our lives from the daily confusion of error and irregularities is to ask ourselves, is it only time that can weave this key towards this release in our freedom of expression and liberty towards a free society, or is it too ambitious to even think that he or she should or could believe that the humble self respecting obedient pious nature of the soothsayer, or the religious prayers of the yearn full servile servant and firm believer is to far a dream, to dream beyond this reality of a free society.

      Is it made up of a free will to pursue and follow the path of a philosophy, or to follow the path of a godly nature, or is it too late for these followers who congregate in these church halls prophesying of a kingdom to become, or for these mortal souls dreaming of an eternal embodiment of immortality, to empty their dwelling places, too eventually one day open their eyes and their hearts and minds and free this spirit of longevity and this ghost of eternity and this desire of yearning and passionate pleading into and beyond the realms of heaven’s sanctuary and deaths earthly bondage over the soul.

      Or to one day agree in unity and solidarity beyond any reasonable doubt, beneath the stars that give way to the moon, beneath the broken clouds of sunlight, if only to walk if not run out of the shadows, into the streets and into the market place and onto the roadways and into the communal parks and public places, not only to gather in natures freedom but to be fully restored with comfort and knowledge, to fully comprehend with their own eyes in silent appreciation and understanding, if only to yield his and her peaceful heart in happiness and joy.

      Is it to be today that the churches shall now stand empty, Or that the temples shall now remain closed, Or that the prayers shall now receive their answer, Or is this to be this hour that no door remains closed as the quiet revolution of celebration takes hold, or is it just a dream too far to stretch beyond with only the voice of the daily sermon, with only the strength of the praise full song of worship, once sung by the altar in receipt of correction concerning oneself with the omnipresence of a ubiquitous saint, Or is it to be today that all of us who are concerned here enough today to make changes and inroads out of conviction, to make visionaries out of our dreams but still remain concerned with the child of our time and the children of our future.

      But who will sit to teach and instruct them the values of virtue, and who will stand to instil a maturity of morals into their souls, and who will enrich them with the clearest view of this free society, if we do not cling to our chairs in the pews, if the book remains unopened by the learned scholars of tradition, Is it a lack of faith that stunts our growth just a little more, albeit inasmuch that we shall never know how to show that what was will always be, a dream by any other name and if something is not then lost, then we cannot lose our way, and when you wake up , love will show you the way, and when you rise you shall see it with your own eyes and when you see it with your own eyes, then you shall see, a society free.

      ~*~

      Poem By Clive Alando Taylor

      The Truth

      ~*~

      What is the truth? The truth about this question in itself brings about an uncertain awareness as too where we are and what we are doing here, the truth in itself is in a constant flux of impermanence as is the lie that surrounds the truth. If it were easier or simpler to establish or summon this truth then ultimately we would no longer be required to be or become seekers of the truth. Any lie however is insignificant and can only befit the truth temporarily as if to cast doubt or falsehood in its’ purpose so that the truth may not be found or discovered, as if

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