Truth

When I open my front door it’s nice. My back door, nice. When I go into town, nice. Had pizza with Gavin at a pub this afternoon. Nice. Idk what media is doing. I do actually. But they can’t change my front door. My back door. Or my reality.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

‘You can force calm in the eyes of hatred, if you’ve been there before.’ He stomped through the mud, listening to the moist sounds, his boots covered in layers of love. “And what’s the about?” asked the tree with the misshaped mouth. ‘Nothing.’ “And why were you there?” ‘I don’t know, but I’m ready for when I am again,’ and the stomping continued and the mud said nothing.

-M. Taggart

Is this the road less traveled?

It’s the simple oddities, the altered and possibly even strange, that I enjoy most. Is this the road less traveled that Frost wrote of so long ago? Then again, long in who’s mind? That partial-swamp, the pathway leading deep into the woods, was itself before the words were written. And how strange for me to think those saplings are the new growth; two of which are already bent at the knees forever bowing to the less disadvantaged.

Photo taken by Matt. Location: Maine.

Odd Walking Thoughts

On the Sevens I look. Often, they look back. Sometimes when I’m driving I’ll catch a few of them waiting to be seen. And when they are, they are seen forever as a reminder; much like the reminder in the wind. Sometimes silent, the spirit is like that. So we watch the wind and how the movement of leaves push thought into a tangible something. It could even be a footprint. The one closest to the leaf that just landed and the traveling to the leaf brought a self to a new moment; when the clearing of the mind was set free. Pick up the leaf.

-M. Taggart

Poem

It’s raining outside. A heavy rain.
And with it a feeling of release.
I just sat there feeling very little.
No pressure to do anything, but write.
Finally. I gave myself permission to write.
I’ve been telling myself to submit to publications,
but I haven’t. My cell vibrated and a half hour passed,
and while still on the phone, a text came in from
a childhood friend. He told me my step-mother
needed to hear my voice. She’s doing better, though.
I said goodbye, replied to the text, “I will call her,”
and my phone rang again. Same family member, needed
to say more. I found myself remembering that I needed to
go to the post office and just like that I was in my truck.
It’s a mess outside. The rain won’t let up. I decided to grab
some beer for when I got home to write. Inside the little
store it wasn’t busy and I was the only one at the post office.
Now I’m home. Looking out the window. It’s 11:57 AM.
Not sure who’s going to call next. I owe lots of people phone
calls and I’m not sure when I’ll get to it. But for now, I think
I’ll shut everything off, and again, give myself permission to write.

-M. Taggart

Poem

I dislike fear mongering
Hate tactics
Manipulation
The cover of the Narcissistic wings spreads far, so far indeed, that the puppets aren’t aware
of their distasteful puppeteering, only that they’ve claimed salvation to the world.

-M. Taggart

Poem – Abe

Delusional, humiliation, humiliated.

sometimes I say words outloud
to exercise my tongue

My childhood best friend struggles with ‘humiliated’
I make sure to practice that one from time-to-time
and I’ll call him and say it, then I ask him to say it.

I’m real nice like that.

somehow he’s still my best friend
and he’s one hell of a man
I’d fight for him

when my Dad was dying in the hospital
he constantly looked in on me, and my Dad,
with texts and phone calls

He’s the one I turn to, to vent
I remember Abe saying to me once
“Let’s just run away.”

He lived at my house.
We were teenagers.

And while we walked down my street
I jumped and punched the STOP sign,
it spun upside down and read, POTS.

We didn’t run away.
and it was around that time
when I realized God had given me
one hell of a right
which landed me in jail

Gotta go.
I owe my best friend a phone call.
I need it.

gonna say humiliated
and ask him to say it

then I’m gonna send him the link
to read this

Love you man. Always.

-M. Taggart