odd walking thoughts

While the house is calm your hallway board walks. So simple. The music calms your face. A temple stretches, asking forgiveness, as a walking hiccup with a polished lure
speaks for regulations on behalf of all floors. We placed them so nicely for all to see; now lay your head pretty. Lay it for we.

**
-M. Taggart
copyright 2017

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Odd Walking Thoughts – Don’t keep

We walk into the shadow of death to pull one wounded child from its depths, to find another daft man standing in the corner. Leaves are shuffling outside my window. A man with a golden heart is gone. Another stands in a room looking. Don’t block me. I am here and at least I have my fingers. The man in the room standing, looking daft, asks for silence because silences never questions. Never says a damn word. The girl with the golden brow would have cared for a word. And the boy with the covers pulled tight would have cared for the same.
**
copyright 2017
-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Walk in the woods. Hug an anything. Don’t read the news. Have a beer. Whiskey, fish, work hard, tell someone they look good with their beard, tell another they look good without. Isn’t it easy when we let it be. Sit in your favorite spot and tell your mind no, then yes, because it’s finally time to read. Tell the ones telling, no. You know the no I write of. You created it and it’s waiting to be used. It’s not all metal sheep. It’s only partially all with which we’ve created- a portion of the sheep. But never, listen, to, the, sheep. Tell a thing it isn’t.

**

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Fill the bags. Fill them all. Tell them not to talk. Take a walk with me. Hold my hand. It is dark. The purple has spoken in our face with breath of beer. Hide our forehead. Hold my hand. Out our bedroom door is the hallway. This hallway is different. It has holes. The bathroom is more different than the hallway. The holes in the bathroom have eyes.

-M. Taggart
Copyright 2017

Odd Walking Thoughts –

Anger is freedom. Tell this to a peaceful mind who’s never known, or literally felt the hand of abuse, and you’ll find a child tossed like an outcast. Alone, habitually, alone. Anger will rise- showing a path. A path the child absorbs and carves larger because no one else would. The mouths now turn toward the audience, wide open, spilling secrets of lies. And they preach, always, this emotion is wrong. You are wrong. Anger is wrong. You are unwanted. The mouths preach this untruth to the child. The lies grow from one perfectly peaceful mind to another. And the child sits alone. Carving their path. Having learned to read the most important story of all.

-M. Taggart

Thanks for reading.

Here’s another ‘Odd Walking Thoughts’
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/04/odd-walking-thoughts-again-the-frog/

Odd Walking Thoughts

It’s happened. The leaves are hush. We walk with sound brushing souls at our feet. Isn’t this how we imagined it to be? We found the tree with many faces while sliding down our steep banking- snapping small branches and carving scars into the earth as we slid. Standing, with mud in hand, we reach for the calmest face. ‘Can’t we be?’  The calm face replied, ‘Isn’t this just as you imagined?’

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017

Odd Walking Thoughts – The Play

‘People detest truth. They keep it at arms length at all times. And don’t dare speak it to them! If you do, you’ll be cast into the murky shadows with the worthless gossips they’ve known their entire lives. They’ll kick you repeatedly while you pick up pieces of shattered truth in hopes to again polish and present. They will use the best known methods of destruction to keep you from telling them anything. Even of a good day. -With that, good luck to you, truth keepers, and tellers. Because it’s rather true..of course, that to argue with stupid isn’t an easy thing. Keep the pieces for yourself and only show the ones who’ve proven worthy of knowing. And for the love of God Stop pushing at the door that’s always closed.’ -Thy boy stood away from his mirror having done his best. The play was tomorrow. He was ready.

Odd Walking Thoughts

The child hurt. But had no scratches. No bruises. No black eye. Now the child wrings both hands together furiously and places them, palms down, on each thigh to feel warmth. Nearby, the petals of a yellow rose droop from the weight of the rain. Spilling now, what small amounts had gathered in the folds of the fragrant bloom. The child reaches for the dripping flower, smiling. ‘Can I pour my life out too?’ the child whispers. ‘And start again.’