a beach chair,
one favorite book,
smiling brilliant sunshine,
with a few clouds
in the big
and the sound of the
ocean leading its
waves toward our
A new thought, subcutaneous in nature,
provoked an uncontrollable desolation-
To the North sits newly consecrated ground-
Here though, lay the cracks of today, splintered
with fear as the sun dips while we search for
pocketed isolation to decipher entrance to the light.
Sometimes I wonder where the line falls. And who’ll jump on which side. Then again, I don’t fucking care. It’ll fall, or not, if I watch, or not, and we’ll all jump into the same space in time where we walk and walk and walk the same routine and hopefully not complain about ourselves and others to the point of evacuation of self..and there we are, waking up in the morning with another sunrise to view and we look at our better halves, and children, and co-workers, and friends; where the line falls really means nothing much. It’s a gift to be here.
Share it, but, Don’t steal it. I’ve written 265 of them. I plan on writing a thousand more.
I’ve literally been ‘given’ lines of poetry in my dreams. I wake up, do my job, and write them down. -M. Taggart
This thought was spurred into being by an intriguing post written by Angel Zuma. It appears that Angel is a relatively new blogger.
Please, let’s flood Angel’s blog with support! Visit Angel’s post here:
Every good story needs a beginning,
With a cloudy memory
Followed by a bag of nothing-
finds a thing of clarity-
Once upon a Time.
We sat next to ourselves near a pool of water
A few things we Remember
running from walls
A deep purple came
We shouldn’t have been
The water spun and rippled
found an old friend, though.
Our subconscious thirsts to be seen; let’s build a window. -M. Taggart
Photo taken by Matt’s cell phone in Maine.
What was, is not now. -M. Taggart
Location: Northern Maine.
Photo: Matt’s Cell.