Odd Walking Thoughts

There’s nothing to look at so we climb our coats and staff our hands with envy. Smiling beautiful teeth to not forget. What are they selling as we drink this sweet sugar down. A mountain of things ringing in the air, some thirty things ago, filing non. So we stop. Here, or another place, and you see or you don’t. Congrats to the sunrise happening.

-M. Taggart

Poem – Wasn’t meant to fly

Sometimes I don’t know where the words come from
I don’t
I stare blankly out the window
or at a wall
and they come
One word
leading others
until I
eventually become
done

Just like when I walked off the plane
at Bradley International Airport in Connecticut
I knew I needed to
I had been shown what would happen
if the plane took flight
and when I saw THAT cloud
I knew it had begun
it was real

They removed the rest of the passengers nearly an hour after

I had already scheduled a new flight
and was sitting in a chair next to the gate, when
a woman holding a bible walked directly to me
“You knew, you knew.”

I did. I don’t know why I was given the sight
much like I don’t know why I’m given words
This isn’t funny
and sometimes it hurts

-M. Taggart

 

 

 

ps,. She said a lot more than ‘you knew’

poem

I turned the page so slowly
I needed to see if I could do it again
alike, is the masses
I failed
and so again I repeat;
and the other two of me came over
to try

-M. Taggart

Poem

Our bones feel dirty after talking with them.
As if parasites are their words; each landing
and burying themselves within our skin, burrowing
until finally entering bone. Where they live
the rest of their feeble days knowing we’re unable
to wash the innards of Self. – Each day,
we grow stronger as they grow weaker.
We know this. They know this. Which is why
they struggle desperately to toss their toxins.

-M. Taggart

 

Poem – Until Then

A million thoughts and I’m to narrow a few and mold
them into lines of writings otherwise known as poetry.
The images returned a few nights ago. I am aware that
I know none of them. Quick flashes as I close my eyes
and shoo them away by opening them. The only method
to learn if they are gone is by seeing the darkness of my
lids. I tell them I’ll not write of them. I am not theirs to
linger with; they can keep their anguish and even that
much description is too much to tell. Just wait. All of you.

-M. Taggart

Poem-

Our own suffering saved our sanity.
Handing to us an elevated sense of self,
as we watch clouds curse evening hours.
Isn’t it all a lovely affectation;
the abuser smiling fondly
within their crowd.

-M. Taggart

poem

The common necessity of sight
often dwells alone in the minds
of able bodies whom were gifted
the ability to see- And they walk on,
scratching at themselves.

-M. Taggart

A Child Hopes

A Child Hopes

Fiction
Written by -M. Taggart

 

A child too young to crawl had no parents. A man placed the child in a crib and walked away while listening to its suffering cries. The infant had no understanding of the fading footsteps, but fully felt the abandonment.

Near the crib, carved into the cold stone wall, was the saying, ‘These stones wash my mind.’ A smiling face was left as a signature.

A nine-year-old had created the message.

Etched into the wood floor beneath the infant’s crib was another, ‘My thoughts are new this morning having never been thought before.’  Another smiling face was left as a signature.

**

‘What are you doing?’ Nick’s grandfather asked.

‘Reading.’ Nick replied. He held onto a nail. He was helping his grandfather in the garage.

‘Oddly, I never read much. But, when I did, it changed me.’

Nick’s grandfather was a large man. He wore grey work pants and a white t-shirt with suspenders.

‘Grandpa, what does this means? “These stones wash my mind.” That’s what it says in the book.’

Nick’s grandfather stopped fidgeting with the bird feeder he was building. Looking at the rafters, then his boots, he shook his head, ‘You might want to find another book.’ He reached a window with his eyes, and noticed how the sunlight spilled around the clouds.

Nick didn’t want to find another book. This book was too important. And he didn’t miss his grandfather’s face when he’d asked. He saw. He saw fully. Nick looked at the nail in his hand. It was metal. It smelled like metal. It looked like metal. It tasted like metal. But these words didn’t taste, or look like anything, but words. Though, he felt them.

‘Why didn’t you read much? That doesn’t make sense. If it changed you, was it for the better, or worse.’ Nick asked.

‘They were fluff. So much fluff. And the eyes reading them never cared. They read because they read. But, a few, changed me because they were meant to be written. And when I read them they made me to see.’

‘To see what?’

‘That’s not really the question. ‘These stones wash my mind.’ That’s the question. Be careful to not lose focus. If you want an answer to a question, truly want it, never stop until that one question is fully answered. Then, move to the next.’

Nick felt shamed. His cheeks filled red with emotion. He stood to walk from the garage and let the nail drop to the cement floor. It wasn’t that he couldn’t focus.

‘If you had answered my question the first time I asked it, I wouldn’t have had to rework new questions to again come to the first. And if it’s too hard for you to talk about, why’d you write the book?’

Nick walked out of the garage. Sunlight lit his young shoulders.

 

***

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