Eyeballs Wonder Within

My blog is about nothing. It was an accident and now I like it. I’m happily happy sitting adrift in my wooden chair.

I’ve created a few categories that help me to remember they exist.

Odd Walking Thoughts:
Easily my favorite. There are no rules. I don’t like rules. I sit. I write. I’ve found I’ve created my own version of poetry and that fits me because I don’t know how to write poetry. Though, I enjoy writing poetry. Here’s a link to the Odd Walking Thoughts poetry that I’ve written. I recommend starting no where near the end and certainly not at the beginning, though I’d preach that it’s worth finding both.


The most important story I’ve written for family is the story about my cousin, Adam. While it’s difficult to get through the first chapter, it has a happy ending. It’s not always easy to read about hurt.


Quote. I spell this word wrong nearly every time I type it. Yet, I write them? Most come while sleeping and I don’t think I should claim half of them because of this. I’m not sure why I’m writing this- Yes I am. I very much am sure. It’s because I flip writing styles so often that it may confuse readers as to who I am and what my goal of this blog is. I have no goal. I sit and I write. My goals in life are far stronger than what I feel I need to declare while online. So here is my play pen. It’s messy. It’s fucked up and it’s my only form of creativity.


That’s all I feel like writing. Cheers.

-M. Taggart.


The Longest Stairway – Odd Walking Thoughts

It was the longest stairway. Its length ran from the sky to lower than the ground. Constructed of granite; its origin is unkown. We descended, lower than the clouds. Here we found the steps now hung ragged; we were alone. We could no longer be lead lower than the ground. We asked the wind, ‘How do we reach our place?’ The wind howled and crumbled more of our footing.

My Six Word Story

Two babies cry, one is fed.   -M. Taggart


It’s no secret that Ernest Hemingway is my favorite author.  This is my first six word story.  When I feed Gavin I find myself thinking of little ones going without. Their cries shredding the night, falling on ears without care.

My grandfather was orphaned as an infant. I’m proud to say I see a bit of him in Gavin.



Emily Dickinson – A Great American Poet

The Sky is low – the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go-

A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him

Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.

Final Harvest, Emily Dickinson.  414 (1075) page 241.

Gavin, smile at that Narrow Wind.  You’ll see him often and it should never ruin your mind.   And though clouds truly can be mean let the debates take place and observe- Nature is not against you.

And if you’re able to catch the snow flake, do.  Smile and let the rest wonder.

It's a chilly October day and you are just 34 days old in this picture.
It’s a chilly October day and you are just 34 days old in this picture.