Z Self

Sometimes it’s easier when we don’t speak. A, swing-shift on mental aptitude, testing while watching from under, foot. It’s fun here, when we see. She’s so happy, brushing her teeth, yellow on yellow.

-M. Taggart

Poem up! The Angry Birth (Pain)

Some writings are more difficult to share, depending on what portion of the person the content came from.

The Angry Birth (Pain)
Written by -M. Taggart

He stared at the same imperfections in the sheetrock
each time he passed them. The studio apartment was
long enough for him to walk eight full footsteps, twelve
if he entered his bedroom, before turning around.
He no longer rocked in bed. Pacing was exercise.
He didn’t want to sit on the deck. Couldn’t. If he did
He’d go back to pacing and if he paced too long he’d
need to shower. If he showered he wouldn’t be able to
pace again…


Please read the full poem here:

I have a day full of inspections with city officials…I look forward for those to be completed so I can
come back here and enjoy this space.

Bye for now and thank you everyone,



From a common sunrise we began.
By noon we no longer remember
the crawling from the beginning
And at sunset the pace has become
and excited action; much like the
gliding of a Raven as the search
for the deepest midnight calls to
the very structure of our souls and
in that darkest hour we feel what
we’ll discover and it’s because of this
that there’s no stopping the next
common sunrise.

-M. Taggart

poem – awaken

What’s an awakening but the moment one realizes
self, with ability to stretch into another’s soul without
having caused injury, or cast judgement; instead
understanding the completeness of individuality,
and where we fit? Born, alongside ourselves, always.

-M. Taggart

This floor – Odd Walking Thoughts

There’s a place to view. It’s beneath the floor. If you know this, it’s you. If another lays their head on this floor and finds your place, what then? We dove deep and saw much and now we ask the floor, “Why did you betray us?” and the floor replied, “We also were betrayed. Can you help?”  It was early morning and the floor felt cool on the face. The floor shouldn’t be speaking but there wasn’t anyone else to ask.

-M. Taggart

I sit

I’ve sat for hours while telling myself to get up, but didn’t. I’d look at my feet. Or knees. I’d look at my skin. The fullness and the imperfections. Or I’d look out the window and watch the wind move leaves around. Each time I reminded myself to get up I’d find importance in a new leaf or a new wrinkle. I’d need to know all there was.

-M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone

A Raw, Heartfelt Short Story

From time to time I’ll mention a short story I wrote for my cousin, Adam. He was in a tough situation and the only item left for me to give was to write. And I did. I wrote from the heart. He read the story and loved it.

An excerpt, Chapter 1

His heart pounded in his chest and his ears rang. He was in hell. He was sure of it. This moment; with this feeling of sickness, and pure hatred for what he felt, was hell. Welcome to hell.

No vomit came from his stomach. No vomit came from his throat and no vomit came from his mouth. His mid-section wretched up and down looking like an October cat in a filthy dance. Up and down his body rose and nothing came out. Yet he smelled his own vomit lingering all about him. Again, he rose up, and again he produced nothing. Beads of sweat were on his forehead and it wasn’t long before they fell onto the surface of the tub. He lurched heavily downward with a massive cough and something came up. Something vile and red landed onto the tub’s floor. Black. He saw nothing but black as he slowly faded and fainted again.

-Below are links to the amazon and Barnes&Noble website pages where you can download the short story.  There’s a dog, mud, a river, and graphic situations such as the above excerpt.

Thanks for visiting. I invite you to read the reviews.  Cheers.


Barnes&Noble link-