poem

Sometimes I don’t want to write
and I do anyway
The voices are different
The walls are the same
and not, too
Doesn’t much matter
I’ll always write
and the walls
will always be there

-M. Taggart

Let’s not play pretend – Odd Walking Thoughts

We’ll go here now. It’ll not matter because the filled glass will be put away. It’s not for them to do this. When they do we leave. It’s not truth and we know this. Because we know we cannot care about them or how they came to think. Their decision is their own and then there’s more.  There’s always more it’s odd that we continue to care.  A cob fell from the stock. A boy picked it from the mud and wondered where it came from. He turned and faced the morning sun. He wanted to ask.

-M. Taggart

 

O.W.15

Odd Walking Thoughts

Nothing’s good enough. So, I write nothing. I write about a grandmother sitting alone on a boulder sipping air while watching you. You don’t care much about this, but you still think of her. As a girl she wore sun dresses which you admired. Kicking dirt, ignoring her. In your room you had thoughts that blanketed freedom.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

A young boy sat on a stump. He closed his eyes counting numbers. Having found seven of them he opened his eyes and was home. His mother was crying. His father was not. He closed his eyes again and found a stone to skip. “Can I have the stone again?” The stone was taken by the water.

-M. Taggart

poem-

Our tears heard themselves today. They didn’t ask how. They were there when they landed. Know not what you can see within yourself while yourself can’t see and ask again how do we listen to these tears once more. While once more finds you alone.

-M. Taggart