A Poem

Later – pushed thoughts will blister,
tips of trees will burn-
Come, stand on the edge and view this-

-M. Taggart

 

Smile – It’s a good day

‘Great ideas come and go. Execution hardly happens.’
-M. Taggart

I’ve spoken these words thousands of times. At one point I taped the quote on my computer. Forcing myself to take the book I was writing seriously. To ensure I wouldn’t fowl my intention. I did finish the book. And since that time I’ve written two additional books. I know one of them is not good. I also know the other is very good. However, I’m learning it doesn’t fit the current market.

I’m now on chapter five of a new project. And yesterday morning I pushed myself to again submit a batch of poems to a publication. The only shame would be if I hadn’t. I cannot be that man who says and never does. I cannot. I will not.

Finish your chapter. Finish your poem. Let it live. Once you’ve found completion you can relax. Submit your work. And submit it again. The feeling of rejection is art.

If interested, below is a link to the only book of mine that’s available online.

 

 

Or you can visit this-
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/category/dont-be-a-sally-based-on-true-events/

Thanks for reading,

Matt

Odd Walking Thoughts

The child hurt. But had no scratches. No bruises. No black eye. Now the child wrings both hands together furiously and places them, palms down, on each thigh to feel warmth. Nearby, the petals of a yellow rose droop from the weight of the rain. Spilling now, what small amounts had gathered in the folds of the fragrant bloom. The child reaches for the dripping flower, smiling. ‘Can I pour my life out too?’ the child whispers. ‘And start again.’

Fuck you bird

Fuck you bird. You’re on my leaf.
We compromised
and the bird took the leaf.

I smoked my cigar
wanting to know more about the bird.
After he took my leaf I watched him fly into the trees

That bird made a lot of noise in those trees
with my leaf
I let the smoke engulf my face
while I thought about why I cared
about the bird and life and race and black and white

Have the leaf
it wasn’t really mine

The bird was a cardinal.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017

 

 

Gone Fishing – Flash Fiction

The birds chirped. It was 4:07 AM. He knew his grandfather was up and double checking their fishing gear. Rods, life vests, water, tackle, bait, and extra gas. He could see in his mind his grandfather’s large hands patting each item as he checked them off. He’d wear a slightly grim look, almost worrisome, but when done his face would relax.

The sheets were warm where he lay. He stretched his legs and let one foot breach and enter the morning air. He liked the crisp feeling. It felt as though his foot was detached from his body. He pushed the blankets off. He could smell coffee and bacon. Soon eggs would be frying and they would eat a good breakfast. Then, they would take the drive to the lake, put the boat in the water, and fish until noon.

-M. Taggart