Diluted #Poem

I’ve not seen anything built so strongly as
the crushing greyness of the waning
winter hours. As though the great gurgling
of Spring is hushed by a diluted punishing
lack of light; the voice of time had very little
left, and all of us feeling its weight,
are tightly packed into our seclusions searching
through the greyness for the smallest of exits.

-M. Taggart

Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe

photo taken 3/5/21

Walk to work #flash fiction

Walk to Work
Written by -M. Taggart

They said it was going to be grey. They said to wear a coat in the morning. I thought of my coat after not wearing it. A bit like I thought about how my feet moved forward on the concrete. Sometimes a foot would move just over an old piece of something, like gum, and then the other foot would fix the system by stepping on the next one. Of course this would be done in reverse to correct it all. A boy on a bike rode passed me. He didn’t look at me. I tried; maybe it was me. I quickened my step and stopped looking at how my feet made progress on cement, instead I found levity in the bridge ahead. Underneath was a smooth rolling river. If I closed my eyes and listened well enough I could hear the smallest of gurgling. It was nice to hear.

-M. Taggart

photo taken 3/3/21

Is this the road less traveled?

It’s the simple oddities, the altered and possibly even strange, that I enjoy most. Is this the road less traveled that Frost wrote of so long ago? Then again, long in who’s mind? That partial-swamp, the pathway leading deep into the woods, was itself before the words were written. And how strange for me to think those saplings are the new growth; two of which are already bent at the knees forever bowing to the less disadvantaged.

Photo taken by Matt. Location: Maine.