Another Ride #Poem

You can come for a ride with me,
but it’s not going to be like most rides.
We’ll find the old dirt roads with
not much to see.
Woods, streams, mountains, and more
dirt roads steadied with ruts and bumps
and dust. The windows will be down.
Wind will stream inside one and out the other.
And the conversation might be about
who visited who in which dream and what
had been said and the possibilities of why.
Or, we won’t talk. Instead we might listen
to the chirping of the birds. Or, if we’re lucky
the rumbling of a thunderstorm will tickle
our imaginations until finally it hits and
the dusty dirt road becomes a slippery mud pit.
If the storm is bad enough, and the wind strong enough,
a few branches might come down, even a tree.
That’s OK though. We have rope and a chain saw,
and besides, the story just got better.
Thanks for coming on these rides, Dad.
Even though you’re gone,
I still talk with you.
Sorry about the yelling-
Sometimes you do feel a bit too far away.

-M. Taggart

Gavin with the jaw dropping line.

“In my last future I’m alive forever.” -Gavin Taggart. 6/21/21. Age 5.

****

I was sitting on the deck with Megan when Gavin landed this line on us. And who am I to tell him anything different. Gavin is five. Sometimes he says things and I look at him with curiosity and wait for more to be spoken. Maybe he’ll dive deeper into his thought process, or, he’ll switch topics and talk about a toy.

This line though….this line though…

Wow.

Gavin was awarded ‘Critical Thinker Award.’ He’s in kindergarten. Gavin was awarded the same award in his pre-K class last year. Gavin was also awarded ‘Most Creative Egg Drop’ by his peers. He selected to have an egg placed in the middle of a watermelon which was dropped from the roof of his school by their Principal. Gavin was the only child to select a food item that would literally explode at impact. It certainly did explode and the kids erupted with joy. The egg didn’t break. Gavin is five and is the youngest child in his class.

During his last week of school, the weather became very hot and humid. He was sent to the principal’s office just after recess ended. From what I understand, he was rather sweaty and walked back into the classroom with the rest of the students. It was at this time when Gavin apparently announced, “This is Fing Awesome!” Yesterday, I asked Gavin why he said that. Gavin told me that it was because he was able to run so very fast in the hot weather and that the weather didn’t affect him. The joy of a child is a beautiful and remarkable thing. Even when they choose inappropriate words to express their happiness.

I think I’ll print this out for Gavin. Maybe he can read it in a few years. Or in his last future. Love you, Gavin. I’m blessed and thankful to be your father.

Cheers everyone, I hope you don’t mind me sharing a little bit of ‘life’ with you.

Matt.

Poem up: MasticadoresUSA. ‘Truth to Self’

Truth to Self
by -M. Taggart

Get a job, you bum!
Daddy, why did you say that to that man?
He’s a bum. There’s a help wanted sign right over there.
But why did you say that to that man?
Because he’s a bum and needs a job.
Why though?
Because he needs a job.
Why? What if he’s sick?
I don’t care! I work when I’m sick and you’ll work when you’re sick!

********

Read the entire poem here: ( I invite you to visit and comment )
https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/06/23/truth-to-self-by-m-taggart/

Thank you to the wonderful author and editor Gabriela Marie Milton for selecting this piece.

ps, the little man in the photo is my son, Gavin 🙂 The conversation in the poem is fictional. Well, sort of, but that’s another story 😉 and had nothing to do with Gavin and I.

Cheers everyone and please be kind. Only cowards kick people when they’re down.

Matt

Indent

And the levity of one example brought on the harm of another while watching stars, listening to ‘mind’, and fingers reading pages and pages and dusty pages turning to new pages smelling of ink while staring at a bar room wall with all sounds bouncing from ear to ear, some listening to this, some not, the bar pushes further, mouths drink and pages turn; lives of another might be yours someday, as she watches from the other side.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

It was a different version of today without tomorrow, yesterday was gone too. Leaving a something option. “Gravity,” he said, “is used in ways we don’t understand; holding and un-holding themselves exactly where they want to be while everything else moves.” To conceal is to prove a whisper can turn to life. The holding of time isn’t a hand.

-M. Taggart

COL/DT

I Don’t need this secret.

I was sitting at the bar. Directly to my left was a door leading to the
deck. The wind was picking up. John was rambling on with a friend.
I saw the clouds and thought of my father. I walked outside and took
this photo. I liked the wind and the darkening clouds. These clouds
were exactly overhead. I wondered if there was a piece of my father
in them. His celebration of life is this coming Saturday.
I don’t want to go. I will go. But I don’t want to. I’m struggling with
the guilt of not wanting to go. Just like I’m struggling with the guilt
of telling my father he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most.
I guess that’s how it goes. And maybe that’s why I stood outside alone.
I wanted to show someone the photo of the clouds when I walked back in.
What’s the point though. The clouds meant more to me than them.
They always will.

-M. Taggart

photo taken 6/15/21 in Maine.

A Mirror has a funny face

It’s a chance when one thing finds another, go find it. -M. Taggart

And, How Do You Do

And all their necks are bent.
Not in any which way. But, only
one way. And they bent and they
bent. Gobbling up and down as
though they were turkeys. When
the dark clouds came they
scattered and looked at their feet.

-M. Taggart

#Poem – An Original Bee

I heard an original
and beautiful song today.
There’s a bee in our new shed
swinging around, looking for its life.
I thought about killing it.

I thought about killing it.
Like I thought about my life.

-M. Taggart

(No worries, I’m not suicidal. Just how the words came out
and I prefer to leave them alone once they are here.
I have a lot going on- including my father’s celebration
of life in a few days.)

Poem

From the three dimensions
trails a long dark thread,
much like a tail hidden in
speckled sand; dust-like
in its appearance, unmoving,
unmoved, and unproven.
Seen though, by at least
one pair of closed eyes.

-M. Taggart