The trumpeter on the street corner plays staccato bursts into the gloaming air.
No band behind him, no radio beside him, only the evening commute to catch his notes.

An old man in trilby and checked scarf walks past, head down to the pavement,
A young man in dark coat and tie passes him to take the cross street, and
A woman intent on the beat of her shoes and the click of her heels sees only the road in front of her, heading east.

Two blocks away the woman's heels still click and clack to the beat
To the south the young man catches himself humming a bassy line
And the old man whistles to the night, as the trumpet's voice floats on the evening commute.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

Origami folds

The hard times, the origami folds
Give us depth where we were lacking.
Though we fear the same pain
From the knife or the flame
Perhaps we brighten an eye in passing.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

Daring Joseph Blaze

Remember what you've seen today, young sir,
And tell your children: Pass it on to yours.
The future thinks that Daring Joseph Blaze
Could split himself in many different ways.

At once in Reed, then in New Boston Park
Then seven planets claimed him at a time.
Had he surpassed? Transcended space? Not just,
Though rumour surely made it seem he must.

For Joseph Blaze was in his people's hearts
And with them still wherever they cried his name.
Though he was dead - or so the Empire said -
For him they fought and struggled, strove and bled.

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Posted by Gregory Taylor

Oh my Heart

Do not lie, oh my heart, and break my trust.
When love stands not before me
I need you, heart, to warn me.
Do not lie, oh my heart, unless you must.

Posted by Gregory Taylor