poem – story writing

At the very beginning of creation
the pace runs along the horizon
then slows to admire the luster
of the valleys and at how the rivers
flow among the sunshine, with the
openness of cornfields and also the
crowded areas of forest branches,
hanging, dangling over the waterline,
watching themselves in wonder.

-M. Taggart

May need to expand this one. hmm?

 

lying fools

Some men explore what they know by lying.
I don’t know why they do this.
I lean on honesty as a moral code.
Honesty outlasts lying.
However, I meet one-after-another telling
stories that never happened.
About how incredibly gifted they are
in areas including everything.
Which means nearly
every word they speak
is a dishonest one.
Amazingly,
these fools think we don’t know
that they’re lying.

-M. Taggart

The Exaggerator – Odd Walking Thoughts

He walked farther into the Forrest with his son. He wanted to tell of the tree with the face. He could’t find it. As they searched he told the boy of how the tree must have uprooted itself and moved on because it was alive enough to have a face and speak and could certainly move about the woods as it pleased.  The boy listened and took notice of the tone his mother had warned of. It took on a note of story telling and mistrust grew from each story.  His father crossed a brook then hurried up a slight ravine and happened upon an eleven. See son, these two fallen branches make an eleven and they are showing us the way to the tree face. These were put here as a marker for you and I. There’s no way for them to simply be. They are for us, his father said with great seriousness. His son looked at the Forrest floor wearing a look if sadness. What’s wrong, his father asked. The boy replied, do you ever want to tell and not describe? What do you mean, his father pressed.  That’s maybe not an eleven put here for us, the boy replied. No? He looked at his son with an irritable glance.  Then what is it?  His son answered, two sticks not laying down.