They created beauty and that’s where they lived. In the humility of uttering one word without accuracy. The one with the other.
-M. Taggart
Tag: Society
The End #Poem
We are not a world of logic.
We are a world of emotion,
and control.
Those with abusive emotions, control.
-M. Taggart
Intent – A Poem
Hush – Don’t Let’s Not-
They speak loudly now-
Listen with intent – Please-
-M. Taggart
(9/29/15)
Someday
Imagine a world where happiness
during distress is considered
a form of intelligence.
Because that’s where our society sits.
On a cliff. We watch each other
knowing it shouldn’t be like this, but it is.
We teach ourselves how to be led
by the sound of a bell, rather than by
our instincts, further dulling our true selves.
Imagine if we allowed our teachers
to push aside the benchmarks and
utilize their love for humanity,
which helped guide them to chase a dream
to help make a difference in our youth-
only to beat them down with regulations
and to steal their very voices from their throats.
What a shame it is to box up our best minds
only to box up more.
-M. Taggart
Poem-
From a common sunrise we began.
By noon we no longer remember
the crawling from the beginning
And at sunset the pace has become
and excited action; much like the
gliding of a Raven as the search
for the deepest midnight calls to
the very structure of our souls and
in that darkest hour we feel what
we’ll discover and it’s because of this
that there’s no stopping the next
common sunrise.
-M. Taggart
Scarlet freedom
We live in a world
where we look at our mortality
rates as victims.
We are the mortality
and we are the victim.
We do our best to understand
where we fit into each round hole.
As if carnage from the heavens
scrapes its teeth at the edges
of our wars; and all the spillage
frees the smallest of fractions
while we struggle to dig
half a hole.
-M. Taggart
Poem-
Death is the sin of gravity-
Craving, gravity can’t touch death,
and all the paper flies
see all the fly like things.
-M. Taggart
Poem-
Stretch your societal deprivation,
or not, and be that sunken structure.
Doesn’t much matter while what’s happened,
happened, and it’ll be next to you, or without.
The Trinity has a pulse.
-M. Taggart
poem- reality, really
We crossed state lines
to pick up our new grill
I sat in my truck,
in the parking lot at Lowe’s,
and watched as men and
women entered the adult playground
Most wore masks, some practiced
social distancing
I got the text from Megan
telling me to pull the truck up front
I pictured her at the register wearing
her black face mask
talking with a cashier who also wore
a face mask and who stood behind a plastic shield
I pulled the truck up front, put it in park,
and looked at my own ninja mask.
A couple walked passed my truck
the man nodded as I slipped on my mask
The grill is somewhat large, and slightly heavy-
“I don’t know if I can lift this, my back is a bit off.”
Just as Megan had said that, an older gentleman
entering Lowe’s heard and asked if we needed a hand.
He helped me lift the grill onto the tailgate
he was plenty helpful and plenty nice
He wore no mask
He stood plenty close
and gave me a fine look of a child
Reality is a good place, really
Crossing state lines, on a back road
leading into Maine,
stood a massive LED sign on wheels
“All those entering Maine must
quarantine for fourteen days.”
-M. Taggart
poem – being
The Iliad of silence gasps for air
as we peer through collected
prisms of sight- hoping to rise
a morning with more purpose
than that which drives eyes
to view the next without.
-M. Taggart
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