Hair of the Dog

By Robert Taylor

Hair of the Dog is a profanity-free collection of poems, observations, and short stories drawn from the mind of an old romantic seeking to revisit occurrences that influenced his current outlook on life. Each item reveals a common but often forgotten aspect of human nature. It presents the author’s keen awareness of his youth and the infatuation for a new adventure, the uncertainty of a new love, and how emptiness flows from rejection like cold liquid to the loins. Focusing on the mundane, like a sip of coffee from a porcelain cup or our natural tendency to flirt, it drives home the isolation of the elderly and a hospice couple’s struggle to remember the courtship dance of youth.

It’s profanity free, granny approved, and parent endorsed!

It’s intriguing, insightful, and delightful! It’s poetry from an old man’s mind!

These are stepping-stones of emotion and are best if read aloud.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984572158

Robert Taylor

Robert V. Taylor is a nationally recognized leader, author, and sought after speaker who invests his life in helping individuals and organizations to realize their full human potential and impact in the world. Born and raised in South Africa, Robert saw firsthand the difference that could be made when oppressed people are given the freedom to discover their voices, trust their imaginations, and find the courage to be who they are. Robert continues to explore integrating personal spirituality and values-driven strategies with the question of how we each leave a footprint of compassion in the world--both at home and in the corporate marketplace. He lives in Seattle, Washington.

Book preview

After First Frost

Something there is about a pier

That sends the people walk slow out

On to it they sit or stand like it

With pilings poked through

`River’s plastic top

To who knows where

Meditating the quietness

Owning what they would if they could

Walk faster

Then back to the present

And away from the cold

In the warmth of past accomplishments.

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Butt Bones Banging

Skinny little waitress

In her tight dungarees

Strides through the meal

Easy as you please

High heels clicking

To the rhythm of her waddle

Butt bones banging like

bolts in a bottle

High Heels clicking

Pounding on the floor,

Pounding on the floor

Walking by the door

Skinny little waitress

In her tight dungarees

Strides through the meal

Easy as you please.

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His Coy Mistress Concludes

392 Years later

"…The grave is a quiet and private place

But none I think do there embrace…"

Chided Marvell at his Coy Mistress.

"The internet’s the perfect place

Where honeyed words do fly through space

So, flee us there and stay the chase."

Chided Mistress at her Marvell.

The little sleaze did Marvell tease

And caught him unaware

And posted pictures on the net

Of his little butt so bare.

Marvel thought it playful

But still a mite unfair

To be so poorly treated

By one he wished to snare.

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Zippers

I like the sound of zippers.

The ones that slide

With smooth confidence

Through silky sun-back dresses

Freshened with the nights early breeze

Softened by starlight quick upon the skin.

I like the sound of zippers.

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Prismatic

A prismatic

Finely cut diamond with

Glistening facets of

Hope, of feelings, of fears

Gesture a warm embrace

Or cool distancing into friendship

A Dear John sugar coated and sweet

An overture for tomorrow

Or ringing bells for yesterday

Feelings with imaginary hopes

With real clothes

Dance through the mind

Flashing colors now red

Now blue now yellow now

Dare I again open that

Little window

Reach out

Share

Perhaps

Touch?

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Uncertainty

Uncertainty Quivers my hopes

Sounds me like a

Dried seed pod.

Deep in my chest

Emptiness flows like

A cold liquid

To the loins.

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Burning Bush

We are the flame

Not the heat

Not the gas

Not the process.

We are the dancing red

The sprawling yellow

The cool tight blue.

We are the flame.

Our memory the warm ember

Of past passion

Our life the dissipating energy

Of youth

Our death an unremembered

Flicker.

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Dear Dad

Dear Dad: Your daughter.

Turning tricks but hadn’t ‘oughter!

It’s all your fault you see.

You were cuckold by my mother

Dear Dad, not me.

You now refuse to talk dear dad

‘bout what is plain to see.

It’s she not me

Deserves the blame

For her infidelity.

If you are half the man I hope you are

And have a back with bone

You’ll talk with me you daughter

If only on the phone

I need you dad, I love you,

I want to know your mine

If you are half the man I hope you are

With me you will spend some time.

Your loving daughter

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My door is always open

My door is always open

The light is always on

The house is yours to live in

With a room to call your own

Sleep tight my little one

And quiet your nighttime fears

There’s safety in this house of mine

With all its many years

To hold you close and stroke your hair

To feel your heart near mine

Is my dream of dreams you know

You are a love of mine.

Love Dad.

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Why do I cry

Why do I cry

When I lie here

And see you

Standing

There in the corner

Cat hat proud

Your grinning good-natured face

Bobbing amicably to the babble in the room?

I cry out of pride

In your

Just and sensitive nature.

I cry out of pride

In your confidence

And your concern.

I cry out of pride

In your caring

And the man that you’ve become.

I cry out of