The crevice has opened-
Eyeing the tips of trees, as
much as they wanted,
much more than they need.
-M. Taggart
Tag: Path
New England Talking Trail – A Poem
A wooded trail in New England is different than any other-
For it speaks to you while you walk
The gray squirrels announce your arrival
while playing tag in the under brush-
The chipmunks chirp their warning
and now every woodland creature is aware-
The blue jay shrieks its boastful bellowing call of territorial command-
The wind rustles the drying leaves –
Readying themselves to drop to the ground-
They sound like evening whispers while sitting on a porch
A bend in the trail beckons you – though it is getting to be dusk-
Now the sounds of the path are darkening-
and have taken a tone of daring
Moonlight is seeping through the canopy of New England-
While you walk you hope the light of the moon will brighten the trail-
Just a bit more-
For you hear the same gray squirrels and rustling leaves-
But the squirrels are much larger now, and the whispers are no longer friendly front porch speak-
copyright 2016 -M. Taggart
I invite you to learn about my self published book.
In The Grip – Anxiety
I wrote this for something but that something didn’t matter. A Poem.
In The Grip – Anxiety
There – in the corner-
Our Life Died-
With four walls watching-
Unable to breathe-
Breathing too quick-
We cannot stand-
Or find safe ground
We were sure-
We’d certainly be gone-
Only- our four walls-
With their cracks and stains-
Wouldn’t let us go
Coupled with deathly thoughts-
We lie in our waste-
Abandoned by comfort-
Alone is measured
In our minds-
There – A crack-
Within one of the four walls-
We’ll climb in and pray
And finally feel nothing
-M. Taggart copyright 2016
