poem-

It hurt to try and open it.
So, I did what I’ve always done
and went to a pub to read a book.
Only this time, I was in the book.
The bar was full so I stood in the corner
and ordered a dark beer.
The noise from the many conversations
faded, as they always do when I read,
but when I touched the book it felt electric.
“Here I am,” I thought. “About to read my own story.”
But I couldn’t do it. I opened the book to page 62.
Hell, I even took a picture.
But I couldn’t read my short story.
I couldn’t even get beyond the second line.
I’m not sure why. I don’t know what happened.
I’ll most likely read all the others and never read mine.

-M. Taggart

 

book view

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Odd Walking Thoughts

Off my heart came a time with no bending. Timeless are the images that walk with me; down the hallway, to the right, into the bathroom, pull the drawer out because the lock wasn’t enough, and that’s how it was from the stench of the mud to the top of where I now sit, knowing it’s never over.

-M. Taggart

Poem – Have a Day

That’s the thing about ‘Having a Day.’
You gotta get up and make it happen!
Or-
Maybe you’ll lay flat on your back
writing poems with your thumbs
on your cell phone until noon.
That’s the thing about your day.
It’s what what you make of it
and how you feel about it.
Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

-M. Taggart

Poem- What the Hell is Time?

I believe some minutes are longer than others.
If you don’t believe me, set your timer for one minute,
and write as much as you possibly can without editing.
Then read what you’ve written. I’ve done this and
completely lost myself in the imagery of the words.
Later in the day, have a beer, and talk with a friend.
Start a stop watch and let it go without
looking at it. Time flows and ebbs how it wishes
and we intolerable humans try to mash it into a clock.
I seem to have this ongoing internal debate with time
and how it functions. I suppose I’m a bit deliberate with
my flaws and I’m unsure if my argument will deliver
a fruitful resolution, or simply help provide you with
having spent another minute on a few words about nothing.

-M. Taggart

Cheers!

WordPress – The Final Frontier

Occasionally I receive emails from fellow bloggers. I find it heartwarming. When I nearly lost Megan, a number of you reached out to me. The support I was given by my peers within this WordPress platform was touching and I needed it.

I have no choice but to write. If I don’t, I am not well. My first post on WordPress was this, “Test.” I clicked publish. I literally had zero clue what WordPress was, or what would happen. I was shocked when a few people ‘liked’ that first post. I didn’t realize it was actually ‘live’ and viewable, not just on WordPress, but for the entire internet world.

After the first year of writing on here, I happily admit that I had this thought, “To what end?” I asked myself what was the point of doing this. I thought about this for a few weeks and the answer became very clear. I write for myself. I need to write. And I’m massively thankful for WordPress. I use the ‘free’ version and it has produced astonishing results. I’ve connected with friends from around the world who helped support me through family hardship, publishers have researched my blog and invited me to submit to them, and I learned that apparently I write poetry.

If you are new to blogging and are asking similar questions about the purpose, I hope this helps. It’s not just worth your time, it’s part of your life. Just keep going. Even if you post something and receive zero feedback, likes, follows, etc. That’s happened to all of us. And at the end of the day, that’s OK too. Especially when you’re writing for yourself.

Cheers everyone, and seriously, thank you for being with me.

Matt

Contact:
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/contact/

 

Little Sticks – A Poem

I like words. We all have them.
Yet, we use them so differently.
Some flow beautifully from mouths,
while others need to write them.
They can be stretched, measured for intent,
delivered with impact, or even severity, and all
each of them are, are tiny little sticks. Sticks bent,
and curled; all lined up nicely to make meaning of
our thoughts so others might also engage in our curiosities.

-M. Taggart

 

Thank you for reading and being with me. I’m thankful for all of my peers on this platform.

About:
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/m-taggart/

 

Poem

A heart’s twisted realization
may lie within the mirror
it most often views.
As it sits without sound
accepting lusting pangs
of curious voyeurism,
feeling that maybe,
just maybe,
this will be enough.

-M. Taggart