At 3:38 AM an orb appeared above and to the left of our bed. The orb floated upward, lengthened and vanished. I had just returned from having gone downstairs to drink a glass of water. I was wide awake.
Whatever it was, was non-threatening.
Do any of you have any experience with something like this?
The orb arrived just after I had crossed my heart and started to pray for my family.
“What can burn your thoughts, can burn your soul.” -M. Taggart: Screaming Hills.
Published Short Story, Screaming Hills, Fiction. Written by, -M. Taggart, can be found in America’s Emerging Literary Fiction Writers: Northeast Region. The book and reviews can be found here:
Yes! I’m thrilled to share that my poem, Rain, has found a home with Ephemeral Elegies.
Rain by M. Taggart
Here’s a snippet, but please take a moment to read the full poem via the link below:
I don’t write about flowers
or love, or the embrace of a lover
because so many
do this so wonderfully
that I would rather read
their version of beauty
than replay mine.
Rain by M. Taggart
I especially enjoy Ephemeral Elegies niche found on the about page,
“Welcome to Ephemeral Elegies – the home for poems about emotional experiences. Inspired by confessional poets such as Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath, we invite submissions about personal experiences and reflections. Confessional poetry can be a great catharsis for a poet, and we want to support you on your journey of self-discovery, growth, and healing..”
I felt at home when reading this and didn’t hesitate to submit.
Enjoy, and have a great day.
Ishaan is an active and inquisitive new blogger/writer. Ishaan often creates maps to go along with the stories, which I find to be an interesting skill set.
Check out Ishaan’s blog!
Garuka: Chapter 7
Have a great day!
Expect a large, “Hello,” from the sky today. That’s how it is. How it works. There’s no one person who knows other than the self, wishing to see what’s given from a simple gust of wind; lifting the ever floating leaf, closer to its destination, just beyond the reach of your outstretched arms as you look above to receive the day’s welcome.
There’s nothing like an anxious night of a writer. -M. Taggart
Unafraid to Die-
They called on us-
And saddled our Sorrow
My fingers are strong,
so I think I’ll type a bit more.
Set up my new desk this evening.
Having scotch to celebrate.
The old desk was tied
to my abuse.
Told myself it was OK.
How many years did I write on that?
How many rain drops fell.
Life is what we make it.
Unless you’re a child without a choice.
Estranged from Beauty- none can be-
For Beauty is Infinity-
And power to be finite ceased
Before Identity leased.
-Emily Dickinson, (1474) Final Harvest.
And might you all have a good, and beautiful, day.
Some who’ve slammed my dreams
have none of their own.
is interesting to think about.