poem

The sun was out, it was warm,
and the wind was alive-
pushing long stalks of corn
eastward toward the river.
I remember the smell,
and the sight of the dust following
my footsteps; having created a small
amount of life in my wake.
I smiled as I reached the riverbank.
I smiled as I sat on a large rock,
and I smiled as I opened my thoughts.

-M. Taggart

Find Your Mind #pros

My friend,
the crow, is perched on a branch
outside my window.
Some fifty feet in the air.
And just now, his friend,
another crow, came to perch alongside him.

They don’t seem to mind about anything.
I like how they do that.
I think I’ll do that too.

-M. Taggart

poem

I don’t believe death ought to be what shows us the light.
Wisdom, experience, clarity, truth, self-reflections-
all of which I admire and chase on an ongoing basis.

-M. Taggart

Adjust

I was short with Gavin this morning.
I was thinking of what I needed to
accomplish throughout the day
instead of his best interest.
When I realized this, I turned
toward Gavin and said, “Gavin,
are you upset with me?”
Gavin nodded his head, yes.
I then asked, “Are you mad at me?”
He shook his head, yes.
I told him I understood why.
Then I said I was going to
calm down, talk more sweetly,
and that I was sorry.
I asked if he’d like to sit on
the couch with me for a few minutes.
He likes to sit next to me and put
his head on my shoulder while I drink
coffee. It’s the first thing we do every morning.
I realized I needed to reset the morning,
sideline what I needed, and focus on Gavin.
I believe the best way to help improve
our lives is to recognize when it’s time to
look in the mirror and adjust.

-M. Taggart

poem

We hold back perception’s surprise
by remembering our of self-reflections
and the truths that travel with them
as memories are vibrated by others
to be what they never were

-M. Taggart

Another Short

I’ve been up to something lately, only I don’t understand what it is. I’ve been walking into empty rooms in our new house and looking at the walls. Or, out the window at the mountainside. I look to see if deer have left new tracks in the snow. I saw a coyote a few days ago in the middle of the day. That has nothing to do with what I’m trying to express.

I know I’m up to something. We have been out straight for nearly two years while the build of our new house took place. Now that we’ve moved in and I have my office space back it’s as though a part of my missing-self has been replaced. So while I’m outside shoveling snow, I feel a tugging toward my office. Toward me. Toward writing.

I love severe weather. I love the snow slamming down in frigid temperatures while the wind howls. That’s where you’ll find me, with it, in it, living to find what makes living worth while after having lived some things I never should have. But, I did. And that’s how humanity goes. Either enjoy the storm and the potential of losing power in the middle of the night, or.. Fuck it. There is no Or. Enjoy what you can before someone tries to tell you how to be. Or, what the ‘Or’ is. That’s a dangerous moment in life.

I’ll keep walking into rooms with no purpose while the rest of me figures it out. And then when that happens, it’ll have happened.

Cheers my friends.

Matt

About: https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/m-taggart/

A Child Hopes

A Child Hopes

Fiction
Written by -M. Taggart

 

A child too young to crawl had no parents. A man placed the child in a crib and walked away while listening to its suffering cries. The infant had no understanding of the fading footsteps, but fully felt the abandonment.

Near the crib, carved into the cold stone wall, was the saying, ‘These stones wash my mind.’ A smiling face was left as a signature.

A nine-year-old had created the message.

Etched into the wood floor beneath the infant’s crib was another, ‘My thoughts are new this morning having never been thought before.’  Another smiling face was left as a signature.

**

‘What are you doing?’ Nick’s grandfather asked.

‘Reading.’ Nick replied. He held onto a nail. He was helping his grandfather in the garage.

‘Oddly, I never read much. But, when I did, it changed me.’

Nick’s grandfather was a large man. He wore grey work pants and a white t-shirt with suspenders.

‘Grandpa, what does this means? “These stones wash my mind.” That’s what it says in the book.’

Nick’s grandfather stopped fidgeting with the bird feeder he was building. Looking at the rafters, then his boots, he shook his head, ‘You might want to find another book.’ He reached a window with his eyes, and noticed how the sunlight spilled around the clouds.

Nick didn’t want to find another book. This book was too important. And he didn’t miss his grandfather’s face when he’d asked. He saw. He saw fully. Nick looked at the nail in his hand. It was metal. It smelled like metal. It looked like metal. It tasted like metal. But these words didn’t taste, or look like anything, but words. Though, he felt them.

‘Why didn’t you read much? That doesn’t make sense. If it changed you, was it for the better, or worse.’ Nick asked.

‘They were fluff. So much fluff. And the eyes reading them never cared. They read because they read. But, a few, changed me because they were meant to be written. And when I read them they made me to see.’

‘To see what?’

‘That’s not really the question. ‘These stones wash my mind.’ That’s the question. Be careful to not lose focus. If you want an answer to a question, truly want it, never stop until that one question is fully answered. Then, move to the next.’

Nick felt shamed. His cheeks filled red with emotion. He stood to walk from the garage and let the nail drop to the cement floor. It wasn’t that he couldn’t focus.

‘If you had answered my question the first time I asked it, I wouldn’t have had to rework new questions to again come to the first. And if it’s too hard for you to talk about, why’d you write the book?’

Nick walked out of the garage. Sunlight lit his young shoulders.

 

***

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