tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86724413075530619462024-03-13T07:35:38.822-07:00Taylor Writes Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-58834562629496527162014-01-10T23:48:00.003-08:002014-01-10T23:49:36.448-08:00THIS BLOG HAS MOVED<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For those of you who follow this blog, please head over to Wordpress and follow this instead:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">http://taylorpendleton.wordpress.com/</span></b></div>
I won't be updating this URL any longer and have already moved all previous content to the new site. </div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-5168463307639385392014-01-08T22:58:00.002-08:002014-01-08T22:58:30.418-08:00JUNO<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i've fallen<br />
here a time before<br />
you've stood so tall<br />
i'm on the floor<br />
my mouth sewn shut<br />
you hadn't known<br />
your heart would soar<br />
i'd dig the rut<br />
i've fallen<br />
here a time before<br />
i'm in your shadow<br />
on the floor</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-23430498532146598002014-01-08T22:34:00.000-08:002014-01-08T22:35:29.593-08:00D.P.S.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
the dull waves under your skin<br />
<div>
shriek at the crest; breathe at the trough</div>
<div>
an eye in the storm stays quiet</div>
<div>
sending out its loudest lashes<br />
passion comes crashing</div>
<div>
clashing,</div>
<div>
clashing,</div>
<div>
clashes</div>
</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-81973995049083737712014-01-02T11:03:00.001-08:002014-01-02T11:05:01.468-08:00TREEHOUSE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
the wooden treehouse in my neighbors yard<br />
has started to slant, tired from all the years it's stood—<br />
holding all of us children above ground in its safe arms.<br />
there are more coupons lying around the house,<br />
busting from both wallets and drawers.<br />
<i>no one's been without suffering.</i><br />
and you wonder if things were this way as a child,<br />
and your naïvety got in the way of allowing you to see things as they were.<br />
maybe it wasn't so bad.<br />
maybe it was.</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-77498817046957176762013-12-30T13:31:00.001-08:002013-12-30T13:31:40.630-08:00LOUIE SCHWARTZBERG: TEDx<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"You think this is just another day in your life, but it's not just another day. It's the one day that is given to you today. It's <i>given</i> to you. It's a gift. It's the only gift that you have right now. <b>And the only appropriate response is gratefulness.</b> If you do nothing else but to cultivate that response to the great gift of this unique day, if you learn to respond as if it were the first day in your life and the very last day, then you will have spent this day very well. Begin by opening your eyes and be surprised that you have eyes you can open. That incredible array of colors that is constantly offered to us for pure enjoyment. Look at the sky. We so rarely look at the sky. We so rarely note how different it is from moment to moment with clouds coming and going. We just think of the weather. We don't think of all the many nuances of weather. We just think of good weather and bad weather. This day, right now, has unique weather, maybe a kind that will never exactly in that form come again. The formation of clouds in the sky will never be the same that is right now. Open your eyes. Look at that. Look at the faces of people whom you meet. Each one has an incredible story behind their face—a story that you could never fully fathom. Not only their own story, but a story of their ancestors. We all go back so far. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And in this present moment, on this day, all the people you meet, all that life from generations and from so many places all over the world, flows together and meets you here like a life giving water, <b>if you only open your heart and drink."</b></blockquote>
</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-52906439799474350992013-12-21T09:25:00.002-08:002013-12-21T09:26:17.815-08:00THE SHADOWLANDS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="40" id="gsSong523422494" name="gsSong523422494" width="250"><param name="movie" value="http://grooveshark.com/songWidget.swf" /><param name="wmode" value="window" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="flashvars" value="hostname=grooveshark.com&songID=5234224&style=metal&p=0" /><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://grooveshark.com/songWidget.swf" width="250" height="40"><param name="wmode" value="window" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="flashvars" value="hostname=grooveshark.com&songID=5234224&style=metal&p=0" /><span><a href="http://grooveshark.com/search/song?q=Ryan%20Adams%20The%20Shadowlands" title="The Shadowlands by Ryan Adams on Grooveshark">The Shadowlands by Ryan Adams on Grooveshark</a></span></object></object></div>
</div>
</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-9998078754448756082013-12-18T10:41:00.004-08:002013-12-18T10:41:49.688-08:00GO<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Cigarettes are burning on my porch.<br />
There's champagne in my orange juice.<br />
Morning poetry—<br />
it's moving day.<br />
We're going.<br />
We're going.<br />
I'm going.</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-68322543755272370642013-12-13T06:59:00.004-08:002013-12-13T07:01:38.279-08:00THE HUNT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
thrill used to be<br />
in a trampoline<br />
and chasing sandals<br />
down flooded streets<br />
<br />
I didn't know it was<br />
freedom until<br />
I started having to<br />
chase<br />
<i><b>it</b></i><br />
down</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-201709411532070152013-12-11T10:47:00.000-08:002013-12-11T10:51:51.587-08:00WHAT PACE WE LIVE AT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was on a run in the late afternoon. The rain had passed, but the sidewalks showed where its presence had been. I was careful, conscious of how the bottoms of my shoes would do against the icy pavement. It was my first experience jogging in true winter temperatures. My focus was taken away. It was led to the fragrance much like the one of my grandmother's cabin that sits on Mt. Graham, the highest peak of the Pinaleño Mountains in southeastern Arizona. I followed the scent, allowing my mind to take the nostalgic course. My mind fled backwards into a youth of pinecones and tricycles and dirty cheeks as I, now much older and somewhat tainted in comparison, jogged forward into an unknown second, every second. It wasn't so bad being back there, tucked into a warm nest of family, card games, sugar that didn't make me sick, and my very own bakery that specialized in Mud Pies. The ice under my feet began to feel dangerous again. I continued on, running further and further away from my bakery—in time and in character. I continued forward, growing older.</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-56955898860230468822013-12-08T11:45:00.002-08:002013-12-08T11:47:36.510-08:00180<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
sometimes<br />
<div>
following your gut </div>
<div>
means swallowing</div>
<div>
a load of cash</div>
<div>
and turning around</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
but you do it</div>
<div>
because,<br />
she's right,<br />
that's</div>
<div>
<b>the essence of life</b></div>
</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-71186184193283309622013-12-06T19:19:00.001-08:002013-12-06T19:19:35.979-08:00"CABECEO" <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I lied in the bathtub<br />
isolating body parts<br />
big toe<br />
elbow<br />
knee<br />
wrist<br />
moving them just slightly one by one<br />
once the water was still again<br />
<br />
<br />
the water rippled off of my every move<br />
I watched it dance around me<br />
begging me to do it again<br />
as it would calm<br />
I would<br />
big toe<br />
elbow<br />
knee<br />
wrist<br />
<br />
the symbiosis of our movement—<br />
despite the contrast—<br />
fed me much thought<br />
<br />
the missing piece to my<br />
tango orillero was now<br />
complete</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-14483301099642717102013-12-03T12:11:00.000-08:002013-12-03T12:11:27.846-08:00"BEFORE THE MUSIC"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I forgot how long the days become<br />
without the touch of your fingertips<br />
atop my cheeks, down my thigh<br />
across my back, lining my spine<br />
<br />
the seconds melt into hours<br />
my sheets open up like the sea<br />
<br />
I wait and wade<br />
and wade and wait<br />
for you to drift back<br />
<br />
so we can<br />
dance<br />
before<br />
the<br />
music<br />
begins<br />
again</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-34184372619982664892013-12-02T13:54:00.000-08:002013-12-02T13:54:19.213-08:00"BREAK EVEN"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
a moment of breaking<br />
<br />
is<br />
equally<br />
<br />
a moment of healing</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-19235001717818892562013-12-02T13:33:00.000-08:002013-12-02T13:33:20.130-08:00"SERENDIPITY"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
reawakened by a note<br />
<br />
let down your arms</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-82701943825526039122013-12-01T00:45:00.000-08:002013-12-01T01:04:41.134-08:00"BREACH"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
aching from the gut<br>hidden on my skin<br>
reminded of<br>
the gap between<br>
where I stand and what I desire<br>
a bridge binding their distance<br>
patience is gathered<br>
like glass<br>
when I run across<br>curing<br>
the<br>
ache in my gut</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-29005478031246488872013-11-30T23:48:00.000-08:002013-12-01T00:16:47.942-08:00"THE BLUES"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
weeping<br />
in a bath<br />
of tears<br />
<br />
bathing<br />
in a puddle<br />
of memories<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-88949462859466834182013-11-30T23:27:00.002-08:002013-11-30T23:27:10.064-08:00WOTD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A clochard.<br />
I've known one of the kind.<br />
We said hello.<br />
Then, I left.</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-54926966640424491712013-11-30T23:12:00.001-08:002013-11-30T23:12:36.437-08:00"ETERNITY"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some people sing. Some people write. Some people blow a trumpet. Some people are silent. Some people shout. Some people joke. Some people cry. And we all just go along.</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-37867286473504205922013-11-30T23:08:00.000-08:002013-11-30T23:08:34.326-08:00"CASUAL BOWS"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
life<br />
a silk ribbon bow<br />
born of delicacy<br />
decorated with shine<br />
and with one pull<br />
unraveled</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-45237760159047820242013-11-30T22:51:00.001-08:002013-11-30T22:51:45.108-08:00"A SOLE SOUL"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
my comely red box<br />
the petrichor lingering on my bed's sheets<br />
my congregation diminished to these two<br />
company kept behind closed doors<br />
and open windows</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-48792576009136830012013-11-30T22:28:00.000-08:002013-11-30T22:28:46.196-08:00"SUNDOWN"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
i can feel the<br />
nerves on<br />
the skin of my legs<br />
vibrate<br />
at the thought<br />
of you walking<br />
through the door<br />
because i<br />
loved the part<br />
where we fell asleep<br />
entangled in<br />
one another<br />
and the part where<br />
we never woke up</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-12173830920840194522013-11-29T13:45:00.001-08:002013-11-29T13:45:44.122-08:00"CRYSTALS"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I found my shadow on porcelain walls<br />
that you cradled me through<br />
<br />
I crawled back for you<br />
blinded from crystals<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-31596703807372813282013-11-29T13:44:00.001-08:002013-11-29T13:46:02.407-08:00UNTITLED<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
how does the ocean sway<br />
through minds<br />
through hearts<br />
through tangled hair<br />
let it drift<br />
don't move<br />
let it take you<br />
we keep demanding control<br />
perpetuating the problem<br />
buckling at every chance to<br />
hold the reigns<br />
ourselves<br />
we live with white knuckles<br />
and hot cheeks<br />
picked up by the gust and<br />
thrown into the current<br />
of the world<br />
of control<br />
control<br />
of everything<br />
how does the ocean sway<br />
let it drift<br />
don't move<br />
let it take you</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-16468293951668555112013-11-23T09:37:00.000-08:002013-11-23T09:46:25.448-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have too much <b>stuff. </b>I've been taught—by both individual people and American society in whole—that life is just an abundance of <b>things</b>. Objects. Every day, a new one's invented, and the already existing one's <b>"improve"</b>. But, rather than things, I want a life abundant with <b>'theres' </b>and <b>'hows'</b>. A nine-to-five and a degree (or what everyone's ill idea of a degree is: a piece of paper) has become to distasteful. It's all <b>stuff</b>. Stuff to keep the dollar bill coming in, so our things can continue to pile up higher. That's when days become more and more like one another and, to be frank, those days are what I fear most. My days weren't intended to blend together, alike in every way. I imagine my life to be like the <b>wild</b>. A place without things; just<b> life</b> inside of me, and the <b>Earth</b> around me, and that all being plenty. I refuse to grow wary of the four walls of an office, or a home.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The fact that I've known, but denied for some time, is that <b>"real life"</b> is relative, and like religion, isn't the same for everyone. On a late night, I, half-asleep, jotted down in my notepad: <b>"Of course it's a way one-way ticket. Who said Machu Picchu isn't <i>real life</i>?"</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In essence, I've decided to be alive. And I've decided not to worry about it all that much.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br />
I wish everyone would live. I hope everyone chooses to one day.</div>
</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672441307553061946.post-1523304635683452262013-11-22T12:28:00.000-08:002013-11-22T12:28:42.462-08:00"THE POSTLIMINARIES"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Speaking has let me down.<br />
I always realize it later on.<br />
<br />
To be a man of few words,<br />
and a barrel of ink instead.</div>
Taylor Pendletonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034417202413259131noreply@blogger.com0