Odd Walking Thoughts – Brilliant Emily

Emily Dickinson wrote a line that is currently stuck at the front of my thoughts. It’s as if the thought is a shape and it’ll not come out unless otherwise known to not have been; or to be? Either way it’s a shape. Possible ever changing. All about a thought and how words and thought don’t need to coexist every day. Don’t we though? Live on, please, and look outside your window, once again handing poems down to the children; having never been inside? I lived near your house, Emily. I don’t know that I didn’t feel your presence, but I do know that’s it’s possible. And my thoughts, with their words, thank you.

-M. Taggart

Emily D

life

While in jail I liked listening to the different voices at night. All kinds of accents bounced from the cement walls back and around and through again. Someone wanted a porn magazine passed to him. Another sang a song. Someone was doing push-ups a few cells down. Jokes were being told by faces who couldn’t see the intended ears. All while I laid on my top bunk thinking about how my college classes couldn’t teach me about any of this. I loved it. I still do. I love remembering it. Shame? No. The only shame I come upon concerning my having gone to jail was, and is, from family members embarrassed of me. I laugh at them. They are weak. They were always weak. I learned as much in jail as I did in my four years earning my business degree. School of Management, baby. At the very liberal State University of Massachusetts in Amherst, MA. Where they love to tell you how to think. Life is a funny thing. A sad thing. A beautiful thing. Sometimes I think I should tell my full story. But then again, fuck it.

-M. Taggart

A Simple Kiss

I used to read books
While walking the UMASS campus
in Amherst, Massachusetts
I’d walk and read
and maneuver through crowds
Going from class to class
then back to the parking lot
Sometimes it was so windy
I couldn’t hold the book open
And one time
a tall, beautiful girl, kissed me
Flat out kissed me because I was reading a book
I guess
I’m not entirely sure
I didn’t ask her
I kept walking
It was a simple thing
I suppose it was an odd thing
but it was a nice thing

-M. Taggart

 

Emily Dickinson – A Great American Poet

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.

Giving Respect – Emily Dickinson

During a dark time, I found relief in the poem below. I was lucky enough to have lived a few miles from where Emily Dickinson spent her entire adult life. As many of you know, she would often times shut herself in, upstairs, writing poetry. She would watch the children play from her window perch. Sometimes, she would lower poems down, in a basket from her window to the ground, and give them to the children. Emily had a wonderful heart.

‘Ample make this bed-
Make this bed with Awe-
In it wait till Judgment break
Excellent and Fair.

Be its Mattress straight-
Be its Pillow round-
Let no Sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this Ground-‘

Final Harvest, 341 (829)- Emily Dickson