Poem – Welcome Home

The clouds are coming in dark and heavy
bringing with them a relentless wind
The birds are excited
I can hear them with their elevated chirping
They too know what’s to follow
I look forward to the rain
Maybe I’ll step outside
as the sky opens to great us

-M. Taggart

poem-

I love the simplicity of a truthful thought. They lead me better than the others.
Such as the fact that it is raining outside and the clouds are above the rain;
I’m lucky enough to see and hear both the darkness of the clouds and the
landing of the rain. I’d like to think they know me, but it’s possible they do not.

-M. Taggart

Rain

I don’t write about flowers
or love, or the embrace of a lover
because so many
do this so wonderfully
that I would rather read
their version of beauty
than replay mine
Instead I write about
how rain watches me
Eyes dangling, while falling
but cannot speak what is seen
-Who was I to ever think
rain could not see
And yet I step in puddles-
When I finally look down
I see myself in wavering form
for each puddle proves how
wrong I had been

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – The yellow

We walk in streets filled with people looking at their hands to find purpose when purpose looks back, but not from a hand. A drop of rain lands on the nose of a little girl. She smiles and tries to lick the drop. Her yellow rain jacket glistens while she jumps in a puddle to see her creation. ‘Mommy, did you see that?’ Her mother, didn’t see, ‘I’m busy reading.’ ‘But a rain drop landed right on my nose and then I couldn’t lick it. It dropped right into the puddle and I wanted to know where it was, but couldn’t tell, so I stomped on the puddle to find it and it’s definitely done being a rain drop.’ her smile looked at her mother while her mother looked at her hand.

-M. Taggart

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

Listening to the rain. I’m home. The sands of time can go fuck themselves. Each of them. Home wasn’t always a thing I knew. Home was a faint whisper about Honesty and relief. Home was a deepening hole begging you to never tell. Never tell. As hushed mushroom grew in the shower. A blistering mouth spewed throbbing beginnings. – Listening to the rain it’s hard not to love. Now that I am home. And I am home.

-M. Taggart

Too Much Rain –

Too much rain makes us feel impatiently human
As we rock our children to sleep
They, collectively, shake their hands
No more
We place them into their cribs
And listen to the drops fall

None of this is hidden
Watch any single piece of rain fall onto an overturned bucket
First you’ll see the one become many
Second you’ll remember the sound of growth

Sleepily we close the windows
The rain will not stop
However, we are not ready to lay ourselves down

Our children will awaken
We’ll hear them well
as they play with their imaginations
asking us to come along

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017