“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 Up

My poem ‘A Writer’s Soul’ has been published by the team at Vita Brevis. Vita Brevis is an outstanding publication for emerging poets. For all of you creatives out there, you may enjoy this piece.

Please take a moment to check it out:


Thanks for being with me and cheers!



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. 🙂



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.




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