I smoked a cigar today
The sun split me in two
Dark. Not dark.
When I was young I fished brook trout
I wasn’t very good
Mostly Chris caught them
and our mother would sometimes prepare them to eat
I remember one time
She took the tinfoil from the freezer
and put the frozen trout on the skillet
I didn’t want to eat it
Which way I lean my head
is where I’m split
It’s funny how this all happens
-M. Taggart
On the other side of thought
sits where it came from
And in the middle-
are white picket fences
rows and rows of them
One thought
escaped
and then there were woods
and woods
and woods
-M. Taggart
It was a different version of today without tomorrow, yesterday was gone too. Leaving a something option. “Gravity,” he said, “is used in ways we don’t understand; holding and un-holding themselves exactly where they want to be while everything else moves.” To conceal is to prove a whisper can turn to life. The holding of time isn’t a hand.
-M. Taggart
COL/DT
And just like how you thought it would be,
it was.
And the oak fell with the most delicate calculation,
given by the softness of the pushing wind,
and came to be with a thud where it is now.
The wind took its leave and was never seen again;
only remembered by the one who had first
seen how it could be.
And even if told to another
it wouldn’t have mattered.
Because it was
and it didn’t.
-M. Taggart
Among my favorites that I’ve written. Vita Brevis Press is a publication to keep an eye on.
“Someday is a soliloquy sitting on one’s lap
drenching our feet as we stand.”
A new theory of biology twinkled in a bulb as the crescent moon smiled. Can’t we all have a poem to watch as teeth brush and eyes wave. Mend your skip. A soul knows what’s in the twinge of wind.
-M. Taggart
Strange remote corridor with cement walls flaking into watery step-stones, dark found a friend, and we walked; alone sings a nothing and what a funny thought came to mind about let freedom ring. -M. Taggart
whispers became screams never said. shower doors, with soap, and windows, watched. the door didn’t shut, and the did, did nothing, while the smiling whores of everything told of how to hush. things were done while walls stood vacant, birds of the morning sang, and heaven hung low. -M. Taggart
Felt a few twitches. Came in a row. Finally, after the last woke our thought process to understand other things were happening, we did realize it had happened. And it’s here, with a yawning moment of veneration for afterthought, come and gone again in a backward way, we asked, “will we be able to ….again” and it turns out so. Give no boundaries to a repeating thought.
-M. Taggart
I’m thrilled to share with everyone that my poem ‘Here’ has literally just been published, only moments ago, on Literary Yard.
Read the poem here:
A big thank you to Onkar Sharma for accepting this piece. This style of poetry is unorthodox and is my self taught style. I’m impressed with Literary Yard for picking this up.
“Here-
A piece of mind is a funny thing
flecking out among the trees
Somewhere we leave a laugh
looking for a smile”
Read the entire poem here:
mtaggartwriter 