Odd Walking Thoughts

It was a different version of today without tomorrow, yesterday was gone too. Leaving a something option. “Gravity,” he said, “is used in ways we don’t understand; holding and un-holding themselves exactly where they want to be while everything else moves.” To conceal is to prove a whisper can turn to life. The holding of time isn’t a hand.

-M. Taggart

COL/DT

Poem

How’s life I wanted to know.
I asked the pacing doors.
The hallway wasn’t the same
and the smells were changing-
found a grievance filled with
letters floating around my head-
I wonder if I’ll see him again,
even if just inside a dream or two.

-M. Taggart

poem – soon

i feel it
a beautiful wreckage of thoughts,
twisted. aligned however they
want- a storm, it’s always been
like this. ‘something’s going to happen
and it’s going to be soon.’ i remember
saying to her. and it did. and it was soon.
and things changed, not for the good.
but this one, this one’s different.
this one’s going to last a long, long while,
and it’s going to change the boundaries
of permissions far beyond my simple sight.

-M. Taggart

poem – into the drain

Sometimes I’m so cold
that I can’t fathom how bones
can feel that way
but then I jump in the shower,
make it real, real hot,
the steam fills the room,
and my skin prickles and becomes red-
I’ve become so hot that I force myself
to remember the deep cold that pushed
me to the shower, the cold that buried itself
into the marrow of my being and imprisoned thought.
I wonder if this is how a caged mind thinks, or feels,
or if it even has memory at all if only bars serve as an observation point.
As the last drops of water skim down our legs and drip toward the drain.

-M. Taggart

Poem – the promise

If time showed its age,
I question what it might look like.
As we sit waiting for this
Brave New World
to flourish
it continuously
tosses shadows
and plays games.
I never did enjoy
Cloak and Dagger,
but I do love
to watch the seasons change.

-M. Taggart

 

(Brave New World. Written by Aldous Huxley.)

poem – tiny little times

My memory works in images
I see them, replay them, feel them
This is how I find things that are ‘lost’
I hope I never come to be without myself
that might be a bit of an issue
For now though, I’ll continue
wondering if I’m truly getting older
or if the days are getting longer
stretching this matrix into oddly shaped
happenings, placed, filed, and organized
into tiny little images to review later on.

-M. Taggart

cheers everyone

poem

While kayaking on the Connecticut River
in Sunderland, Massachusetts, I floated
nearly silently along with the current.
I was alone as I peered down into the water.
I could see the bottom of the river, silt and sand
with a few smooth rocks. It was as if the river held,
below its water line, an entire world and that
it wasn’t actually water. Instead it seemed to be
a type of gas and somehow I was there, on top,
nosily viewing an otherwise unseen world. It
was so stunningly beautiful that the moment
was etched into my memory, and soul, with love
and admiration to have witnessed this particular
portion of time where time itself paused to partake
in our viewership. I believe we both remember this.

-M. Taggart