Some of the things I
Need to write about
Are an unfortunate
Part of my past
I don’t want to push
That ugliness into
The world, but I know
What needs to be done
Like yesterday afternoon
When I came face-to-face
With a nasty dog
It wasn’t until I became more
Ugly than his ugly
That he tucked his tail and ran
Back home whimpering
I had enough of him
Showing me his teeth
I wish it wasn’t this way
But sometimes it is

-M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone

It’s Time Again

I welded floor pans into my 1968 Chevy Camaro
during winter in a garage with no heat
I was in college at the time
The floor pans didn’t fit
I cut all of the rust out of the original floors
and the fabricated floor pans weren’t the same shape
I gathered scrap metal and patched it together
When done, the floor resembled a maze
or Frankenstein. Take your pick.
I ground down the welds, slapped a new carpet into the
old beast and somehow it passed state inspection
In Massachusetts
A father figure had given me back yard training
I knew just enough
I remember it being cold
but not the kind of cold that bothered me
and I remember feeling like I was meant for something
I had just been released and had reinstated myself back into college
I had had a choice-
Be what the bars told everyone I was
Or be what I was meant to be
and while welding the floor pans into place
I had felt it
That was almost twenty years ago
I stuck with college, graduated, and moved forward with my life
It’s hard to believe that I’ve been a public speaker in cities all over this country
I’ve written Brand Strategies for financial institutions
I’m a partner in my company
I worked my ass off
And I feel it again
I was meant for something
I think if you’ve been handed a life of early trauma
If you’ve done things you shouldn’t have
There’s always time to change
time to heal
I stood on the very edge
I picked my side willingly and with full awareness
Now we’re about to start building our house on the side of a mountain in Maine
and out the back door are hundreds of miles of trails
and when viewing them from above
they resemble a maze
or Frankenstein, Take your pick.
It’s time again
I’m ready

-M. Taggart



His father wore holes
Though he couldn’t see them
He knew them
They bled white and black spots
He watched the spots trickle then flow
all the way to the floor where the
floor would tilt toward himself
but then he’d open his eyes and see
that the blood was red again
He thought anyway that it was red again
He thought much then
Especially about his father and
the holes
But he didn’t need to now
Now he thinks about where
he might find his first hole
and what might come out
Maybe it wouldn’t happen
Maybe he’d not bleed at all

-M. Taggart

Vapored Thoughts

The Whiskey Poured-
Glass Half Full-
The Cubes Swirling-

Smoke Rises-Helping to Focus-
Flashes of Hate-

Trust-Doors Locked and Opened-


I sit, here, at my desk. Cast iron. My cigar is neatly hung on the side of a cast iron ash tray. The smoke is billowing upwards. I watch the smoke climb. Within a thin line, I clearly see images of the past. Which one to write next? None. All. Fiction. Through the grayish vapor stands my bookcase. There’s a picture of myself and my brothers. I see Hemingway, Steinbeck, Dickinson and others. They also sat at desks and filtered their thoughts. -M. Taggart