In case you were wondering

I look back at my childhood and pull the good from the not good. There was plenty of both. Somehow I’ve become a success in life. To me, happiness is success. But to much of society, prosperity is the measure worth looking at. I wish it wasn’t like this. Reading a book outside with the sun touching the pages while listening to Spring-time birds, all while thinking nothing other than the book and the sun and the birds, that is a measure I use to gage my happiness.

Yet, somehow, even with my bad portions of my childhood, I am a success on other levels as well. I am a father. A husband. A business owner. A college graduate. I have been elected President and owner of a new company set to explode. We are building a new building in a city which contains Maine’s second largest population. I picked the city. It’s diverse. I like diversity. My company will bring new jobs to this city. As I told the city officials, my goal is to enhance the community we enter. I will do exactly that. Our store will open later this summer.

I bring these points up because, based on only my writing, it’s possible for someone to assume that I am hobbled in a dark hole spinning around in circles. That isn’t the case. It’s simply easy for me to remember the bad and to write about the bad. Just as easily as it is for me to write about morning coffee.

When I was a teenager I wanted to be a writer who lived in Maine. At that point I lived in Massachusetts. I’ve lived in a few different states, however, I am now a writer who lives in Maine. I always wanted to be a father and husband. And while sitting in a jail cell in my early twenties, I knew I’d be a loving father and husband. My will was never broken nor in question.

My childhood trauma does not define me. I use it as motivation. And through my freedom of expression that motivation lives nearly in tangible forms. I set my goals long ago and now I’m setting new goals to will into being.

I can’t wait to see what the next ten years will bring. I am blessed. I am thankful. And please keep in mind, I may write about some awful situations, some of the darkest of places, and of thoughts no one wishes upon another- keep in mind that I am fine. More than fine. It’s important the bad is not forgotten with my abundance of good in the now. Much like the photo below. Taken a month before my father’s passing. I knew he was dying. I was on a bender, I look beat up, tired, real. I remember taking the photo and staring at it, taking in all of its reality. I know I don’t look my best, but I feel the thoughts that I had during the moment, simply by viewing the photo. This game of life is something to cherish. All of it.

Matt

ps- Thanks for being here.

A Welcome Surprise

Good morning! I’ve been nominated for ‘Author of The Month’ of January & February on SpillWords. This comes as a welcome surprise! If you’d like to vote for me please visit the link below.

https://spillwords.com/vote/

Thank you and have fun today,

Matt

General Voting will be officially held from 2/24-2/27

Life Well Seen. Published.

Please visit https://spillwords.com/life-well-seen/
and drop a comment or click the heart!

Life Well Seen – A Poem

You ever walk up a flight of concrete stairs
and wonder who poured the cement?
How long until it starts to crack?
And how many winters it can survive
until the cement needs to be ripped out
and new steps need to be created?

Read the entire Poem Here:
https://spillwords.com/life-well-seen/

I decided to submit poetry again and I turned toward Spillwords Press, NYC, whom have treated me excellently for a number of years. Cheers everyone!

Matt

Poem

I was meant to write,
I believe;
not to do the other.
I didn’t pick
that path. It’s been
placed in front of
me, an unquestioned
dream-come-true.
So, I’ll walk it
with unmoving faith.
Because that’s me.
That’s always been me.

-M. Taggart

poem-

Never. Give. Up.
I’m a business owner,
and published author.
Twenty years ago,
while attending college,
I was sentenced
to jail and
served time.
I had a choice.
I made it.
And I thank God
I picked the right side.
‘Cause it was close.
I stood on the edge.
But, now as a husband
and father, I stand
on a mountain.

-M. Taggart

“Bodies in the Basement,” has been voted Non-Poetic Publication of the Year! 

“Bodies in the Basement,” has been voted Non-Poetic Publication of the Year! Spillwords Press, NYC.

Looks like I’ll need to change my blog around a bit. Thanks to Spillwords, and all of you, one of my favorite stories I’ve written, is now an award winner! I’m pumped, joyful, and thankful! I love this! The story was written about a prep-school campus I visited often as a child. We lived just below the campus and many of us snuck onto the campus at night and explored things we shouldn’t have.

I’m thrilled to be among all of the talented participants in the 2019 awards.

View the award PDF here:

Spillwords Press Awards 2020

 

Written by: M. Taggart

 

It was a crisp, damp, October night.
“When we get to the Church I’ll go down first.” Colin was thinking of the moment when both he and Aaron would be standing at the top of the basement stairs peering down into the darkness.
The old stone Church was perched at the top of the largest hill on the prep school’s campus. Colin’s parents were professors at the school and their house was on campus grounds. They’d been waiting for Colin’s parents to fall asleep upstairs. Both boys were comfortable in their sleeping bags on the screened in porch. The lights had been turned out an hour ago and Colin felt it was time to slip into the night.
They unzipped their sleeping bags without noise. Colin gave Aaron an understanding nod of his head. Aaron opened the porch door slowly, so as not to make it squeak. They’d snuck out at night a number of times and both knew the routine.
Once down the porch steps, and into the bushes on the far end of the lawn, they found their beaten down footpath leading to the Church. Crickets were busy sounding off.
“I heard Ben saw the baby in the jar.” Said Aaron.
“He didn’t. He’s just saying he did. Ben would be too afraid to sneak in. He’d never do it. Besides, the doors of the science building are locked at night.”
“They weren’t when we snuck in.”
“That was different. I knew which window to climb through.” Said Colin.
The moon was large. Its brilliant glow could be seen from beneath each cloud. The grass was soaked with mildew; moisture reached out and touched the boys’ jeans. The smell of dirt from the footpath filled their lungs. Each step bringing them nearer to their true intentions; learning if there was a morgue in the basement of the Church. Rumors swirled endlessly amongst them at school. Some said the Church had a morgue and that it was haunted. Others said the Church didn’t have a morgue and that Sunday school classes were held in the basement.
For a brief moment the night sky broke open with moonlight. Colin looked at Aaron and wondered why Aaron was smiling. He could see the dark space between Aaron’s two front teeth.
“Look how fast the clouds are moving,” said Colin.
“I like them. They look crazy. Do you think we can get in?” asked Aaron.
“Yes. They don’t lock the Church.”

 

Read the entire story here:

Bodies In The Basement

Cheers, everyone!

Matt

 

On Being You

Just in case you need to hear this today-

Don’t ask permission to live your life. Walk with purpose, smile with meaning, and create impact. It’s a new day and there’s only one you to have it.

I hope you have the best day possible.

Matt

My Poem “Our Self Embrace” Read Live on Stage in NYC at Bowery Poetry by SirCharlesThePoet.

Recently I was blown away by a kind and generous man. I approached him about reading a published poem of mine, on stage, in NYC. Charles Joseph (aka SirCharlesThePoet) has an energy about him which I admire. Charles had, from my point of view, very little reason to do this for me, but he did. Because apparently, that’s how he is.

When Charles first sent me the video I couldn’t watch it. I tried, but needed to shut it off each time he started to read the poem. Not only because of what the poem means to me personally, but because of how large I view this moment-  his act of kindness reached through my screen.

Please visit and participate with Sircharlesthepoet:
His About page: https://sircharlesthepoet.wordpress.com/about/

“Charles “Sircharlesthepoet” Joseph is a poet living in NYC, although he was born in Haiti. At 11 years old, Charles discovered America. Soon after his discovery of the States, at the age of 12, Charles started writing.”

Here is a link to the video. I am so very thankful for this. For Charles to read this poem on stage in NYC is a dream come true. I’m in shock that you did this for me, Charles, I will not forget. You are a talented, intelligent, creative mind. I’m happy to know you.

YouTube Video:

 

Our Self Embrace, orginally published on SpillWords Press:

Our Self Embrace

Cheers, Everyone! I do hope you are lucky enough to know Charles.

Matt