Can someone please help our fellow writer?

Can someone please help https://poemsnotpoems.home.blog/

It’s difficult to visit this blog via the bell icon located in the top right (the drop down.) I’ve seen this happen to a few other bloggers.

In this case, the name of the blog appears once and the link doesn’t direct to the blog. Also, there is no follow link.

In my opinion his work deserves far more eyes on it than what is currently taking place.

If you are reading this and know how to help, please comment below or possibly even be kind enough to contact https://poemsnotpoems.home.blog/contact/

Thank you,

Matt

poem

He used a number of words I despise,
some of which I’d like to re-create.

It’s possible,
but I’m not sure
I would have liked him.

Then again
I have to practice
at liking
myself.
Not for lack of being
a good person.

It’s more like protecting
against what others
may attempt to drag out.
That’s the me that needs
constant development.
I’m comfortable knowing this.

I’ve gotten a little better.

But him-
It’s the way he used the words
that I admire. It’s the sentence
structure that he built which
left so many standing on his
foundation, looking above
and asking how, and what’s next,
and is it really us to wear this
knowledge- to carry on
to the next level.

I think it is.

-M. Taggart

 

 

poetry

there’s no definition
I care for

you write
what comes

and there it is

and here we sit
or stand
or even walk while we read

some words stick inside you
some are just, gone

some come back again

it’s not for everyone
but, sitting near a window overlooking
an evergreen gently dancing in the wind
is just fine for me

-M. Taggart

 

poem

sat at the bar
they’re all talking
The other people

I start reading my book
and listening too

I’m in the book I’m reading
so I skip my part

There’s another writer
sitting at the bar
She told me all about her project
I listened well
it’s a good project

I see her when I drop my son off
at school

I wonder if she writes about me too

-M. Taggart

poem- love thy Lion

The dryer is on.
I just put the bed sheets in.

I’m in my office
thinking about Gavin,
and listening to the soft
mumbling of the dryer.
The cat is on the floor,
next to my chair,
looking for attention.

Outside, I can hear the wind,
it’s not strong, not today,
but it’s there and I can see it
gently pushing the cold winter
tree branches.

Soon, I’ll leave my office,
walk down to the end of our driveway,
and wait.

I’ll kick at the ice and snow
until the bus arrives.
The school bus doors will open
and the familiar whooshing sound
will pass through me
as I climb the bus stairs
to gather my four-year-old heart.

He’ll be buckled into the seat,
just in back of the bus driver,
and I’ll say, “Hi, Gavin. It’s time
to get off the bus.”

He’ll reply, “I’m not Gavin.”
“Then, who are you today?”
“I’m king of the jungle. I’m a Lion.”
“Well hello, Lion. Let’s go work on your puzzle.”
“OK, but, I’m a Lion.”

Yes, you are.
And always will be.

-M. Taggart

poem

Ascend to a ceaseless shrill-
the pounding of the masses.
Be one, Be all, be nothing.
Perched, and observing,
find the prod, the lance-
The beast, like the succubus,
will continuously hunt-
until the very moment
the ever moving shrill
comes full circle.

-M. Taggart