poem- reality, really

We crossed state lines
to pick up our new grill

I sat in my truck,
in the parking lot at Lowe’s,
and watched as men and
women entered the adult playground

Most wore masks, some practiced
social distancing

I got the text from Megan
telling me to pull the truck up front

I pictured her at the register wearing
her black face mask
talking with a cashier who also wore
a face mask and who stood behind a plastic shield

I pulled the truck up front, put it in park,
and looked at my own ninja mask.

A couple walked passed my truck
the man nodded as I slipped on my mask

The grill is somewhat large, and slightly heavy-
“I don’t know if I can lift this, my back is a bit off.”

Just as Megan had said that, an older gentleman
entering Lowe’s heard and asked if we needed a hand.

He helped me lift the grill onto the tailgate
he was plenty helpful and plenty nice
He wore no mask

He stood plenty close
and gave me a fine look of a child

Reality is a good place, really

Crossing state lines, on a back road
leading into Maine,
stood a massive LED sign on wheels
“All those entering Maine must
quarantine for fourteen days.”

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – The Third Whisper

A smile can float from one to another without permission, as the can kicks the boy’s boot just after she grinned in his direction while the run-on wind carries with it a notice which harbors the reasoning for understanding the whisper of the third in line of the trinity even when there’s no wind at all- don’t you see.

-M. Taggart

Edgar Allan Poe, ‘Alone’

“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were- I have not seen
As others saw- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring-”

Edgar Allan Poe, ‘Alone’

I didn’t start that way for me. It turned that way
with time and experience. I often revisit these words
as a reminder of when and how.



Need to add this- Not the ‘alone’ portion..that’s not me
at all. More so the pulling my passion(s) from an uncommon
spring. I can literally drift on a river for hours and watch
the water, or the wind, and be filled. I do not feel alone. I should
have expressed that initially. I’m incredibly social and have
friends all over the country..even have the same childhood friends.
Anyway..enjoy your day.


Sometimes I drink to warn off the nerves
And that’s OK
No matter what people think

There’s a dog in the sky
I wonder what he’s doing up there

looks friendlier than a man down here
walking on the cement,
within reach of a wooded path,
narrowing thought into splinters to speak
of what is and what should be, while his slippers
shed off pebbles entering his footings

this beer is just nice enough to have another
and to continue on about the man in slippers
who know’s everything about how to live

and how not to drink

Dog is leaving now
head removed itself
from body

I’d rather lift an artist up than crush their dreams.

I admire artists who have the talent and skills to sketch, paint, and draw. I don’t have the ability to do any of those things. For me, it’s a pleasure to view the creations of others.

And to think of an artist being told, in some form or another, that their art isn’t valuable…well that pisses me off. And that’s what happened to my friend, Melissa.

Please, jump on over to Melissa’s blog for me and check out her incredible image of a face with its watching, caring, deep set eyes, and let her know how valuable her art is. I can’t stand seeing someone put down when sharing their expressions with the world.

Here’s a link to the painting (scroll down to the end of the post)


I hope you all have a good day,


Poetry, a little.

I like the sky. It looks nice. We can be nice. I’m tired, but I can still be nice and when that happens my hands won’t ache and my chest won’t feel so full; full like it’s going to burst unless I die, and maybe I shouldn’t die just yet because there’s so much to do that we have to do until it’s done, and maybe then.

-M. Taggart


I think many of us want to fight in a great battle;
It’s possible we’ve already performed our duty
and won’t understand until the very end of everything.

Door knobs do twist in an untwisting way
while cracks of the Head shadows
a shame walking down the road
alone, head down, depression
anchoring silence.

-M. Taggart