Poem-

“The rain doesn’t
want to touch me,
but it does.”

My son, Gavin Aaron Taggart, just said that to me while sticking his hand out our sliding glass door. He’s 3.5 years old. God we love him.

 

 

 

 

Poem-

Our own suffering saved our sanity.
Handing to us an elevated sense of self,
as we watch clouds curse evening hours.
Isn’t it all a lovely affectation;
the abuser smiling fondly
within their crowd.

-M. Taggart

:)

Look at Gavin (3.5 year old) kicking the hell out of this 8 and up 200 piece Dino puzzle!

I’m not saying he’s wicked smart. Just that I think he’s wicked smart.

 

Puzzle Man

Gavin is easy to be happy about. 🙂

Matt

 

Emily Dickinson – The Brilliant

I finally opened the box. We recently moved and the box has been looking at me for long enough.

Strong Draughts of Their Refreshing Minds
To drink – enables Mine
Through Desert or the Wilderness
As bore it Sealed Wine-

To go elastic- Or as One
The Camel’s trait – attained –
How powerful the Stimulus
Of an Hermetic Mind-

Emily Dickinson

And there was Emily. In the box. This is the poem I opened the book to. In my opinion Emily’s writing is brilliant and what her poems do to stimulate my mind is unique.

Cheers,

Matt

 

Writer’s Workshop – Fun? Maybe?

I’ve never been to a writing work shop
or a writer’s retreat before.
I did accidentally walk into one
while living on the coast in Rhode Island.
I was out for my normal afternoon walk.
I could hear the ocean, but I couldn’t see it.
The terrain had small twisted coastal trees
mixed with dune type plants and coastal tide
vegetation. I don’t know the names of these things.
But I can see them as clearly now as I did while
I walked among them. I reached the end of the
path and took a left to head back toward
the parking lot and walked directly into a writing
workshop. A writing coach was instructing the participants
to open themselves to nature and listen for the
sounds that stirred them and to write about these
sounds and feelings after having
accumulated enough stimulation.
I just look at a wall, or out my window, until
words find me. I don’t know if I’d fit in at a writing
workshop. I think I’d rather meet a bunch of
writers at a pub and drink beer. We could all
talk about the weather, or sex. Who am I kidding?
I don’t talk to strangers about sex. I’d rather talk
about the weather and listen to what they think.
Great storms bring with them a feeling of importance.
I’d like to know more about that.
I hope those writers in Rhode Island
found what they were looking for.

-M. Taggart

Poem – Tiny Droplets

It’s windy and it’s raining outside
The storm has put me into a relaxed
state of mind and body
When the wind pushes on the window screen
it creates a rushing sound
It’s a type of white noise that’s making me sleepy
The tiny droplets of rain water stuck to the screen
are slowly and deliberately tracking downward
with gravity’s suggestions
causing me to think of the randomness of the
rushing wind combined with the downward
movements of the tiny droplets of water
And how maybe none of this is random at all

-M. Taggart

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Evolved

Some of you may know that for the first three years of Gavin’s life, I was his primary care giver. Never have I hit Gavin. I don’t believe in hitting as a form of discipline. I couldn’t imagine inflicting that mental and physical distress on a child.

Now, he has fun, three days a week at daycare and is enrolled for Pre-K. However! Every morning I keep him 🙂 I play with him, I read to him and I make his breakfast. I ask him, “Gavin, what would you like for breakfast?” Lately his reply has been, “I’d like an english-muffin with peanut butter and chocolate, big-big strawberries, raspberries, apple juice, and a water. Paleaseeeee.” I drink coffee while preparing his breakfast and watch as my little Gavin plays with his dinosaurs or sea creatures. Or, a puzzle. Or anything. I love spending this time with him. When I was his age, I had no father. I made it very clear to myself and anyone listening that I was determined to be there for Gavin. Always. To be his primary care giver for the first three years of his life was a blessing.

And now, when I pick him up from daycare (we call it school because it’s much like a school) he smiles SOO big and yells, “That’s my Dad!” And man…..man does that feel good. It’s simple. I’m here to be a loving, supportive, husband and father. Writing is a bonus that I am ragingly thankful for.

Often I think of children who have been tortured, abused, and manipulated. I was that child. I broke the cycle. We all can break the cycle, if we are aware and want to. Mental illness is a subject I take very seriously. I believe that we, as humanity, have barely begun to truly understand how deep, or to understand how many levels concerning mental illness there are. I believe there are forms of mental illness that have evolved our human race. I also believe there are forms that are evil. I think it’s important for the broken children who have been abused to understand they are not the evil ones.

They are the evolved.

 

Matt