Emily Dickinson – A Great American Poet

It’s always nice to revisit Emily Dickinson’s work.

The Sky is low – the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go-

-Emily Dickinson. To read Emily’s full poem read the original post.

And as always, Cheers!


The Sky is low – the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go-

A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him

Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.

Final Harvest, Emily Dickinson.  414 (1075) page 241.

Gavin, smile at that Narrow Wind.  You’ll see him often and it should never ruin your mind.   And though clouds truly can be mean let the debates take place and observe- Nature is not against you.

And if you’re able to catch the snow flake, do.  Smile and let the rest wonder.

It's a chilly October day and you are just 34 days old in this picture. It’s a chilly October day and you are just 34 days old in this picture.

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The Buk

Charles Bukowiski-

hell is a closed door-

even when starving
the rejection slips hardly ever bothered me:
I only believed that the editors were
truly stupid
and I just went on and wrote more and
I even considered rejects as
action; the worst  was the empty

if I had a weakness or a dream
it was
that I only wanted to see one of these
who rejected me,
to see his or her face, the way they
dressed, the way they walked across a
room, the sound of their voice, the look
in their eye…
just one look at one of

you see, when all you look at is
a piece of printed paper
telling you that you
aren’t very good,
then there is a tendency
to think that they editors
are more god-like than
they are.

hell is a closed door
when you’re starving for your god-
damned art
but sometimes you feel at least like having a

young or old, good or bad,
I don’t think anything dies as slow and
as hard as a

-The Last Night of The Earth Poems. Charles Bukowski.

I’ve just now read this poem for the first time. Which is fitting. I received a rejection email yesterday. I was told they needed to pass because my poems were *****, however they also wished me luck concerning my revision process and continued writing.

I considered the feedback from the editor to be incredibly helpful. I am determined.


Selective Progress

It’s fun, now that I’ve gotten myself to understand what I was doing. And, I was doing it wrong. See, WordPress is a handy tool. I like it. Now, I write and toss the rest. And here is where I put it. Meaning, the rest.

Ah! and the amount of publications looking for the hidden…that’s what I hadn’t’ known before. What a puppy I was being.

I hope this finds you well, and if it does, I hope you find it well too.

I like whisky. I like beer. I think I’ll have both today. Today is important.


Sweet Thursday – Steinbeck

‘You cannot dissect for emotion,’ Doc went on. ‘If a human body were found by another species and dissected, there would be no possible way of knowing about its emotions or its thoughts.’ John Steinbeck. Sweet Thursday.

I write in my books. I rip corners off pages. It’s been a long while since I read this book. It didn’t take a long while to find one of my favorite lines.


You’re Drunk – Short Story. Fiction.

Ha! I forgot that I wrote and published this on WordPress. It’s a fun, quick read. Beer. Relationship. Reality. Cheers!


Written by -M. Taggart
copyright 2017
You’re Drunk. Fiction.

‘You don’t like this show because you’re drunk.’

‘It’s hard for me to watch. They talk about fucking and how they fuck and how the others fuck and how they might want to fuck all the others.’

‘No one says that. Everyone loves it and only you say that. See. You’re drunk. You sit on your drunk ass and just do that.’

‘I’m standing.’

‘I can’t talk to you when you’re drunk. Shut the fuck up.’

‘I may be drunk. I’m standing and I’m not yelling. I don’t want to watch your show. I won’t apologize. I think people who want to show themselves half naked to make money and then not work shouldn’t then judge everyone else.’

‘What do you know. You’re drunk. You go to hell and let me watch my show.’

Outside on the deck it was breezy…

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