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

A young boy sat on a stump. He closed his eyes counting numbers. Having found seven of them he opened his eyes and was home. His mother was crying. His father was not. He closed his eyes again and found a stone to skip. “Can I have the stone again?” The stone was taken by the water.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

The nakedness of a child escorts thoughts. I remember his first hours of life, choking, his mother shivering violently. I held his tiny body upright. Walk with me, it’s like a thought, it can be a nothing and grow into an unviolated membrane we observe until it, itself, observes back. A metamorphosis, if you will.

-M. Taggart

Poem-

An old tree has more life in a twisted
dying branch than a perfectly placed
white picket fence, with buried judgement-
aligned with its perched front porch-
full of toes that step harshly on the planks giving
splinters which were born by the seed of the
twisted branch; you have a lot to learn old man.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

poem

Sadness is blank
It pulls relentlessly until
there’s nothing left to feel
And we’re there
Haunted

-M. Taggart

One year ago was a very unfriendly time for my family. I thought I might be fine. I am not.