Odd Walking Thoughts

Who’s there? Is it seen? Tomorrow woke early. we all sang a song. Blew a bit of a whistle heard ’round. Isn’t a fun think, thing to look through? Window pushed wide, been here a while, watching, now it’s yours again. Tag. You’re it.

-M. Taggart

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

When you have a mind that makes you different it feels un-different. Until faces talk at you and you bend to pick up their fluttering spectrum of voices while matching them to truth. At that point you realize you have a mind that is different again.

-M. Taggart

Memories

It’s hard keeping memories. They don’t always like us and sometimes
they are alive and know they are and when we don’t let them be they
then decide they’ll not let us be, so we twist and turn them around trying
to make them be what we needed them to be from the very beginning.

 

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Drag muddied thoughts below where boots belong. Have you seen the eyes below. Stable happens after explosive actions, or, before them; just before we thought we knew enough to say so, but then again we didn’t. So, there was a boot, and the footprint is dying.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

Corner Office

Grey area is a funny thing and we do funny things within it
while thinking of nothing more than what we do know while
trying to fit the things we do not know into what we do know
and there we have circle thinking in the middle of the night.
We can’t sleep because we’re spinning quickly with our grey
and black and what about if we try it this way while the way
to try it backed down a spinning hole so let’s chase it upon
itself until it can finally never not know about how it was created
in the first place- which of course was when we thought of
something we didn’t fully understand while climbing into a
hard cupboard with piercing nails trying to fit into a smaller space
with aggression, so let’s learn how to best fit into a one-piece word.
-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

Colorful bird

Let me be what I am. Bad faith. Good faith. It’s an I thing, not an Us thing. Kind of like when you sit on a porch, listening to people preaching about your life without asking about your life. Sit, sip the air, understanding the air may just sing a song with a bird in front of their faces with color and charm to correct their direction of speech and eye.

Poem-

I just wrote a short story.
It was complete shit so I destroyed it.
I kept thinking about how we drive
down the highway at 95 MPH
and somehow, our fucking brains are able
to process every damn blade of grass,
every car slower than us, every grumpy face
we look at as we pass, and never do we
take time to think about how we’re able
to understand when to apply the brakes
while observing two lines side by side, which
aren’t that, but the number eleven instead.

-M. Taggart

And Honest Rapport –

I write what I know. I’ve learned that I enjoy people who don’t tell about what they don’t know. So, it turn, I write what I know while avoiding what little I know not about. Somewhere in there lives a story. Not long ago I watched a man run over a blank spot in the snow which happened to be the artesian well. The electrical cord was cut cleanly enough. The man told me, “I don’t know a thing about how to fix this. But, I know a man who does.” He and I then shared a whiskey on his bar. The bar happened to reside in the house I grew up in and the man happens to be my mother’s husband. How little we know is not the measure of us. Not any of us. It’s the little we know that we are honest about that will be remembered.

Odd Walking Thoughts

A child screams but no one does a thing besides scream back to grow up. Patience is a virtue unless you’re an adult who wishes it upon a child to be just, like, them,. eventually the child becomes a young person remembering having screamed with hurt. But this child won’t be the same. This child will be the one adult to not ignore the screaming. And the hills walk on without looking down, so they say.

-M. Taggart

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

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

She trampled and ran along feeling tall ferns; green and narrow at the tops, sending her palms into realization of being. She smiled as she ran. Her mother asked that she not run to the brook, but that’s where she was going and where she was now. “Go on little thought and be what you were before.” She said to the babbling water. A frog hopped near and asked, “What was it, it was not now, before?” She picked a yellow flower, placed it near the frog to enjoy, turned and said her hello while walking away.

-M. Taggart