Poem-

Last Tuesday I worked 12.5 hours,
came home, and worked on my company
for another two hours.
Megan and Gavin were sound asleep
as I typed away, responding to clients.
The next day I worked another 12.5 hours,
came home, and worked on my company.
Megan and Gavin were sound asleep
as I typed away, responding to clients.
I managed to work 48 hours with my
second job pulling wire, fishing through
insulation and drilling holes in studs with
hole hawg drills with 18 inch bits.
Gavin is now in daycare. I haven’t fully processed
that. I think I’ve pushed that down for another time.
He’s three, and I’ve been his primary caretaker until now.
Gavin is loving ‘school’ and has transitioned incredibly well.
While I drive him to the ‘schoolhouse’ in the morning we
look for werewolves, Bigfoot, witches and ghosts in the woods.
Gavin puts on his serious face and studies the forest as we drive,
and when I drop him off I say, ‘Mommy will pick you up after your nap.
Love you bud.’ He always waves goodbye and says, ‘Bye Daddy.’ He’s only
started to cry a few times. I carry the cry with me as I drive to my second job.
It’s simple really. Priority. My priority is family. The cost of our build is going over
and we need more money. Simple. Work more. I’ve missed working with my hands,
after all, I’m from mud. I enjoy the dirt. I become disgustingly sweaty on the hot and humid days, and that’s perfectly fine. I think of Megan and Gavin and our house. I think
of what our lives will look like in five, ten, fifteen years and beyond. I think of the hundreds of miles of trails in back of our house and the multiple lakes in the region that can be fly-fished and what a blizzard might look like from my second story office window. I think of how my sweat soaked pants will only last a few hours and the dirt will quickly was off and I am thankful. It’s not that I have to work and that I have to get up early, it’s that I have the opportunity to work a second job and with that comes my continuous journey of growth that I hope never runs out even after I’m gone.

-M. Taggart

Featured Poem

My poem ‘Our Self Embrace’ is currently featured on Spillwords. This poem is very important to me. When I read it, I become sad. Unfortunately.

The poem is dedicated to my father. Please, take a moment to read it.

http://spillwords.com/our-self-embrace/

Our-Self-Embrace-spillwords

Cheers everyone,

Matt

The Spillwords team did an incredible job matching my words with an image.

Corner Office

Grey area is a funny thing and we do funny things within it
while thinking of nothing more than what we do know while
trying to fit the things we do not know into what we do know
and there we have circle thinking in the middle of the night.
We can’t sleep because we’re spinning quickly with our grey
and black and what about if we try it this way while the way
to try it backed down a spinning hole so let’s chase it upon
itself until it can finally never not know about how it was created
in the first place- which of course was when we thought of
something we didn’t fully understand while climbing into a
hard cupboard with piercing nails trying to fit into a smaller space
with aggression, so let’s learn how to best fit into a one-piece word.
-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

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