The hell of it

I don’t like TV
I don’t like the noise of it
The buy this of it
Fear that
Fear this more and
Don’t die
Here’s how to not die
spend spend
And your heart won’t fail
As your grass is so fucking
Green

-M. Taggart

 

Sent from my iPhone

Basement Writing

I think great writing is written in basements
while drinking beer alone
Or while rocking a baby and using your one thumb available
I think great writing does last the test of time
And to find what’s not been found
Is fear

-M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone

Poem-

By strife’s design we disallow individual freedom of mind
Carefully staging failures- gaffed as though they truly happened
Stuck in mindful numbness, fear, intolerance of self-worth
And yet we may stand screeching of victory at first light

-M. Taggart

Rogue Truth

Now I am going to read a word-
The first letter is a snake
The second is a line with three more lines
The third is a line with a foot
The fourth is much like the second
but with one and half less lines-
I remember sitting on the beach in Westerly, RI
It was October
The wind was cold, the ocean was grey
I sat with my back against boulders
with the distinct feeling that I needed to leave
I had the ridiculous thought that the ocean wanted me
for something I couldn’t come back from
I corrected myself
An ocean is not alive and cannot think about this
Yet, the foam from the last wave tried to touch my feet
I pulled them closer to my sitting body
I was alone on the beach
I thought of how it might be for a rogue wave to snatch
me, dragging me to an emptiness that is real
and I thought of how I would be the only one to know-
The ocean looked more aggressive than when I had first sat
The waves seemed to be larger, gathering
I swatted away the feeling of realism pinching at the back of my neck
I am a selfish me thinking alone on a beach
that an ocean would care enough to snatch and drag me anywhere
while needing to note, internally, that I was alone and no one would know
except the grey ocean and large waves with foam-
I needed to feel something in my hands and ignore what wasn’t happening
A splintered rock helped me to carve a word into a boulder
A word that without meaning would mean anything I could possibly want it to mean
without being told, or guided, or scolded into what it was
No, this word was mine and I chose to let it be mine without permission-
I saw a dark horizontal line out in the ocean, a bulge almost. Was that a wave?
My heart quickened. I needed to leave.
I started walking, waves now reached my feet with ease, I pushed
further up onto the beach, the waves came for me
The dark line was closer
I ran
SELF is a blundering epiphany

Now I’m going to read another word.

-M. Taggart

About-
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/m-taggart/

Odd Walking Thoughts – a poem

Time can leave now-
Tonight I will light a cigar while thinking about
the normality of time and why I feel it fits me,
not the other way around, and why I’m able to look at
a star and wonder if having seen this one star
tonight carries more importance than having seen
it the previous night- is the difference in one night
not the proof of existing- and does this lend an ear to tomorrow-
and now someone I do not know – is taking my space
asking without permission things I cannot answer
I want them to leave – they bare no resemblance to any other I’ve
ever seen – another will be here – and another
much like the words that come –  that are often given
to me while I sleep –

Do you see the moon
and the soft haze lingering
watch with me as shapes will shift and move on-
we’ve just seen a very thing that will never be again

This one star – it too will become gone – in time
death is as real as life

I will not dress for death
Death will not dress for me

I will not smile for death
Death will not smile for me

I will not fear death
Death does not fear me

I will be death
and Death will be me
**

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017

Cheers everyone. Thanks for reading.