Indignation is no trip to solidarity.
No prized, or treasured fellowship,
while fixed on the wayward ego-
Into the wind we go, where there’s
an unending expanse to listen if willing.
I struggle with titles. If you have one for this, I’d like to hear from you.
I had little, we were poor
walked across the road
and down the banking
I wasn’t good at fishing
my brother was
talked about ferns
and about how to
get stuck in mud
or about how to walk
in the brook
nobody talked about
how to help yourself
when you’re nearly gone
having little was
fine, great even
I didn’t realize
I was about to be gone
Ecstasy begins one compromise at a time;
Without this ability one will never experience
true happiness, only a matrix of self-doubt
layered with hidden meanings.
What if they change the definition
of every word, What then
is self denial
other than self
I gave you up with a swallow-
Felt you gaining access to my soul,
and spit you out.
Expect a large, “Hello,” from the sky today. That’s how it is. How it works. There’s no one person who knows other than the self, wishing to see what’s given from a simple gust of wind; lifting the ever floating leaf, closer to its destination, just beyond the reach of your outstretched arms as you look above to receive the day’s welcome.
A thought can be a mangled mess until we take time to straighten it out and truly understand it. -M. Taggart
Sometimes I don’t want to write
and I do anyway
The voices are different
The walls are the same
and not, too
Doesn’t much matter
I’ll always write
and the walls
will always be there
Sometimes trust looks you in the face.
The smell of the book took something.
Birds sound best in the morning,
while you look in the mirror.
To be identified is to be seen-
No matter how many days combine
into weeks, years, and more,
our small goals to be discovered by appropriate eyes
are not so small. And the trees that weep
over lost seeds are weeping for the joy
and love growing all around them.