Life is a bent spoon with a jagged edge. -M. Taggart
Today I am well
Last night I was not
It helped to hear from
someone I don’t know
who understands the same
complexities because they live
in much the same way that I do
only, I think they are now doing it better
And that makes me smile
I searched for the book I was reading with a feeling of annoyance toward myself for having misplaced it. Found it. Under a pile of useless kiddle. Now that I’ve found it, I no longer want to read it. I stare at the cover with a feeling of annoyance toward myself for having found it. It’s written by a famous author. It’s not good. It doesn’t translate. It’s not relevant. Only the timeless ones can do that. They write content that will give for hundreds of years. Think that’s not possible? One word. Bible.
You only get this Thanksgiving once. Cheers, everyone!
Today, she’ll walk away for the last time.
It’s simple. You either want in. Or, you want out. If you want in, drop the games, and be all in. Everything else is like building a story out of adjectives. And you’re the one building.
Well God. Here we are again.
The sweetness was taken away.
So fuck it.
It reminded me of when I was dating a beautifully intelligent liberal woman. Turns out she never wanted kids. Never wanted to marry. Never wanted to live in the same home. Took her two years to tell me. Her favorite saying was, you’re my man. You’re My Man.
She loved to show me off and bragged how my tie matched her outfit. Though I am color blind, she was amazed at my ability to dress. And to smile. And to make her look good.
I grew a beard. I dropped the tie.
She complained about my beard. She didn’t like it. Said it didn’t match her outfit. I said I’m not your Ken Doll. I’ll find someone who does.
And I did.
On the heights of which we’ve never known-
Blinded by our original thoughts
having beckoned us-
We’ve only one time
to stare down
the throat of this hallway
Death has a sound unlike any other-
listen! The same melody plays in the early hours
We know this song
Let Prometheus spark again-
a sip of fine wine
a bit of our favorite scotch
a taste from the most velvet soft lips
the scent of the back of her neck
26.2188 with delivery
this is true
this Is true
but who am I to ask
Death is more than a balcony’s plot from which we grieve. Death is not evil. An echo inside spewing a self-made matrix without end. Have we touched the sun today. Have we given thought to the mirror behind. So many rules to place our hearts on shelves.
for others to dismantle.
Death as it stands
has a sound like no other
and yet I’ve never heard it
My favorite cigar is the one left overnight in the rain. The next morning it’s billowed with intelligence. A thing to know. It’s more wet than not. and it doesn’t want to dry, but it does because. Eventually the sun reminds the cigar of its now and we are again reunited. I’ll take my life left to light that cigar and see it live again.
- M. Taggart
I’m writing a new book. I’ve noticed I’ve paused in the writing of it. Though, not for lack of material. I’ve plenty of that. It’s because it’s too important to get this right. I want to write so well it can’t go unnoticed. And to rush it, would be to ruin it. I’ve done that before. I need to remember the only rules to the writing of this book are the ones I place within myself.
Thanks for reading. I have snippets of time to publish poems on this platform, write the book, and comment back. So please, for me, have some fun today, and a drink (even juice) so you can mentally cheers me. I’ll need the push! Next spring we build our new house. A long time dream finally coming to fruition.
p.s. Most of my time is happily placed exactly where it ought to be.
It’s simple really.
See, I’ve lived the majority of my life with myself.
So, when someone asks me in earnest, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
As though they would have somehow helped-
I think to myself,
Would you like to know how my breakfast cereal tasted this morning verses yesterday morning?
Or, would you like to know the moment I remember, with absolutely clarity, events that happened a decade ago while coaching baseball concerning a fan spilling ketchup on their blue jeans and missing their sons at bat because they busied themselves with napkins to fix their accidental spillage that could easily have been avoided by not having put so much ketchup on the end of their hot dog? No. They missed their sons at bat. They missed the hit and they missed the run scored which won the game.
They had things to do.
I wasn’t able to help the child rework the happening to create a better memory of being watched.
It doesn’t work that way.
And I chose freely to not tell how my breakfast tastes on a daily basis because it changes and that’s for me to enjoy. Along with the arrival of the sun and the fact that it comes up every morning slightly differently- even though we live in a world that will try and tell you it’s all been done before.
No. It hasn’t.
So enjoy your questioning questions with a smile and a nod of understanding that not all things will be and not all things will be.
Thanks for reading. I don’t know what this is either.