If passion passes today in grotesque form
I’ll wait for it to pass everything altogether
until I can again depend on it.
-M. Taggart
Month: October 2019
poem
If there are one million things we think we know,
there are one hundred million things we don’t.
And each of them, individually, know exactly what they are,
while waiting for us to unlock a few at a time.
I can only hope we unlock the ones worth knowing.
The ones which indestructibly help humanity.
-M. Taggart
Absent advice
Sometimes you can’t breathe
and that’s the problem
-M. Taggart
poem – leftovers
In town is a bench viewing a man chewing his brain,
with little resources to find his thoughts; the bench cared nothing
for the perfectly structured oak tree whimpering in the chilly wind,
instead the bench wished to be ripped from its foundation and
connected to the man with the unruly thoughts. There at least
might live something, even if not holy in nature, possibly there
was hope. The man teetered, then steadied himself by grasping
the oak tree, “Aren’t you the friend I need,” the man said while
grinding his teeth and gazing upward and through the leftover
leaves.
-M. Taggart
Poem
I’m viewing the grey lifeless skyline
hoping to soon see a dripping sunset.
I’m thinking the decaying leaves
are also disinterested in more soggy
New England October weather and
would rather trade it for the crispness
that often rides along, clinging to the winds,
while the moon is high, full and alive,
pushing away low lying cloud cover
to expose the naked sky and silent stars.
-M. Taggart
Bodies In The Basement is being voted on for publication of the month.
Happily I’m sharing with you all that I am up for author of the month on Spillwords and my short story, Bodies In The Basement, is up for publication of the month.
If you’d like to participate and vote, you can here:
I hope everyone has a fun and productive day!
Matt
Home Again
Everything Changes, once in a while.
I’m not a fan of the word every(thing),
every(time). Not everything is an every anything.
It’s a bit like when someone tells me that, “I always…”
when in fact I don’t always anything.
I drove down a little dirt path, covered with leaves,
to this old, dilapidated, and left-behind mill. At some
point, it’ll not be crumbling. It’ll be gone; traveling with
the current of the lake toward the small stream leading
into the forest and back home again.
It’s possible that we all go back home again.
-M. Taggart
(photo credit- Matt’s cell phone.)
poem
How hard do we do this
how hard until
we’ll tell you about the sun
and how the fishing was
and about the leaves
and about the wind
telling us things
-M. Taggart
A slight clarification and a blobityblip
“I woke up in a bedroom not mine.”
buahha…Megan read that and said, “It sounds like you were in a bedroom you shouldn’t have been in.”
Let me clarify, for anyone who may have had a, WTH moment of thought, concerning this line. A bedroom not mine, was actually, our spare bedroom. I was so clogged up from the cold that I kept Megan awake the previous night. So! After the Celtics lost, out of consideration for Megan’s sleeping needs, I slept in the spare bedroom where I could cough all night without disturbing Megan 🙂 There you have it. I just like to play with words and ‘I slept in a bedroom not my own’ was much more entertaining for me to write rather than a standard line of blobityblip.
I hope everyone is ready for the weekend!
Matt
Will it to happen
In a million ways one thing can happen, but once the one thing has happened, it’s the only one. -M. Taggart
mtaggartwriter 