Cheers,

Two days from now will mark the first anniversary of my father’s death.

He battled cancer. We were told it was treatable. We were told he would live a long life.

It was too late when they discovered that he had a very rare version of this very treatable cancer.

It’s possible I may write and publish a few blog posts, over the next few days, that may be difficult to read for some.

I hope you understand.

Matt

My father lost custody and the right to see my brother and I when we were young. Later in life
my father and I became very close.

Poem

My 90-year-old Grandmother commented
on a poem that I dedicated to my father-

She wrote,
“No comment–Not sure what to say.”

Which was brilliant.

Though my father was not her son,
she felt my agony. She knows the man
her daughter had married
and loved at one point,
is now dead.

And she is not.

I found my Grandmother’s comment
to be oddly comforting.

Above my office window, stand three letters.
I placed them

As if they don’t matter and can be
moved at any moment.
to be hidden.
Or to charm.

DAD

My son picked them out while
visiting my mother in Masshachussetts.
He painted them blue and red.

It was father’s day weekend.
We dropped Gavin off at my mother’s house.
And drove away,.

while I and Megan went to my father’s celebration of life.

I was sick that weekend. I’m not sure what it was.

But I do like looking out my office window and seeing
DAD

as I look up

-M. Taggart

I will not let you down, Gavin.

Poem

The saddest trees
are not alone.
They can’t walk
away.

photo taken by me. 12/7/20

Poem

Some days are meant for sadness.
It’s how they’re built.
So we can sit in them, and rock.

-M. Taggart

Prayers, Dad.

poem

What is unluck without luck?
And who dies sitting upright while
looking at a few geese from memory?
There was one angry goose who chased
a young boy until he fell and slid
and became covered in goose feces.
He was a small child-
They changed him
into a pair of girl jeans
for the rest of the night.
And it wasn’t a nice night,
but that’s how sadness works
and life remains.

-M. Taggart

A little Yellow goes a long way

Some girls have never been given a flower
this hurts me to think about
but I know in my heart,
that’s just how it is

-M. Taggart

The Ants Go Marching, one, by one.

He always said he wanted to try everything once
and as far as I could see he was nearly there
Only thing is this time it got the better of him
He’s just out of jail and homeless again
lied about the sober house, lied about gaining weight.
Unfortunately using again too. That pisses me off
But it doesn’t matter. I can be as mad as I want
along with the rest of the people who care about him
He’ll die this way. And When he’s gone I’ll still love him.
How long will the state level programs continue to push
them away, waiting lists are long, don’t you know.
I’m sure he knew, when he was ushered out the door already
feeling failure exploding trough his veins. How many more
will stop breathing while high in a heroin dealers ‘home’
‘died of complications’ no charges
No fucking charges. I won’t get into that memory.
My home town might be a piss-ant to the powers that be
But it’s my home town and I love it. Loved it so much
I left its destruction behind. Had too. Not everyone can do that.
Some follow the leader and think trying everything once is a good idea
because they never thought it through. And one by one they go, they go.

-M. Taggart

with a sadness near me i write

work in progress – home

A man sits on a wooden bench
unable to know home
and with all of his knowledge
He is dead
He sits alone

The bench, surrounded by forest-
Listens for him
as the wind rushes along the tops of the trees
while the man rests his palms on his knees-
His dried knuckles have cracked and wrinkled
for the man lived lived and lived-

They had begun on the coast
wearing large smiles
eventually finding this forest
where a bench begged to be built
along the edge of a soon to be
orchard

She had picked their bench
a nicely fallen oak
and asked for it to point
here, toward the slope,
where they could sit hand in hand
and listen to the wind
as it passed along the tops of the trees
bringing sounds of the ocean again

Now she was gone
and he sits all alone
looking at the forest
knowing he’d never
be home

 

 

Chillingly Beautiful – Western Mass III

Western Massachusetts is a chillingly beautiful region where creativity comes from blood. -M. Taggart.

June 01, 2011 Tornado, Springfield, MA was home to a devastating tornado. I remember watching this image live. I’m sure many remember the same. Photo credit Brewbeer22.

 

This church, located in Gill MA, has been the structure for nightmares for many youthful adventurers. Including myself.

Turners Falls Indians. As a teenager I was called a river rat. I told them proudly, ‘No. I am a Turners Falls Indian.’

 

Sunderland, MA. Autumn is here. Visit Route 47 and enjoy. You’ll find great views, restaurants, and a number of small farms offering apple cider and maple sugar. After graduating from the School of Management at UMass Amherst I enjoyed living in this town for a number of years. Photo credit John Burk.

A tornado can’t last in the mountains. They can. They will. This is the same June 1st, 2011 tornado that started in Springfield, MA. The tornado was on the ground for over 30 miles. Photo credit wellfleetosprey.com

 

Turners Falls, MA. I feel admiration for the structure that was. And for the town. It’s simple when we let it be. I can’t get enough of these old mill pictures. Photo credit WWLP.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy my short story. Cheers.

A Poem

We found your picture in the wind.
It was your silent image-
We had known you-

 

copyright 2016 -M. Taggart