Poem

Blessed be the hearts that strive-
It hurts to see minds contorted while
spilling images of indulgence
that only one morning might see in
a single mind within a single thought-
I hope they might never take you there

-M. Taggart

Work for it

Tomorrow I’ll work twelve hours. Maybe more. I took a second job. We need money. The build is going over budget. As they do, and I am happy to do what I need to do. Pulling wire isn’t what some wish to do, but I am among the few that will know how to do it. My company is functioning, too. Always. It’s been fifteen years of slathering my mind all over what to make it. I’ve made it tick long enough. If it can’t continue without me holding its hand I’ll see it when it wakes up, dust out its corners and revive what’s worth caring for. So here I sit, yet again with a beer, looking out our condo window thinking of the build. The great build. Or, so it is for us. Our tiny family- our house on the hill. Our second story windows face north and happens to be where my office is going to be. I’ll watch blizzards from my office window while reading a good book. It’s worth the hours of work. Twelve hour days with sweat running down my back is a gift to feel while knowing we’ll have what we’ve always wanted after the sweat has dried; receding into the same stillness that helped create it.

-M. Taggart

poem-

He spoke inside himself asking for direction-
When direction came he blundered sadly
wiping away all memory of having asked

A pebbled, turned over by boot, searched
for eternal abyss, wanting only to know the
depths of nothing toward the end all

-M. Taggart

Beer

I sweat a lot
I mean a real fucking lot
more than you
It starts in my middle back
drips down
I feel it
I know I’m fucked

I was standing on a ladder
the very top where you aren’t
supposed to stand
but that’s what we all do

And the sweat was dripping down my back
as I’m trying to staple this fucking line
Miss hit
staple is dangling
No big deal normally

There’s a fucking convertible Porsche under me
as I’m standing on this stupid fucking ladder
with sweat pouring down my back into my ass
and I miss hit the blue staple with a perfectly good hammer

Now though, I’m typing about it while wearing my dirty
work clothes and drinking a cold beer

-M. Taggart

Poem

Decadence holds a mirror giving us one step-
two steps more, red polished lips detained only
a few casual kisses before entire smiles smiled
no more, can we do this, can we see this, can..
And the night withered on, walking alongside you

-M. Taggart

Mood

My mind is drifting this morning
It’s dark and raining outside
I don’t mind that it’s drifting
With the falling rain
but I know it’s happening
And it’s fine really

-M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone

Slippers

“Come on bud, it’s time for your nap.”
I trudged toward the stairway, he followed.
I kicked my L.L. Bean slippers off .
“Take your slippers off. You don’t need them.”
Gavin took his slippers off and placed them in mine. Left in left. Right in right. The baseball watched it happen.

After I rocked Gavin to sleep I walked back down the stairs. I felt as though I was dreaming. I have a son who wanted his slippers inside my own who had just fallen asleep on my chest listening to my heartbeat after I had sung him to sleep.

The baseball was still there. My memories were too. Coaching baseball saved my life. And now I have another life far more important than mine to care for. I’m not going anywhere and I can’t wait for tomorrow and the next day. And the day after that.

 

-M. Taggart

slippers
truth