Poem-

I don’t want to focus this morning.
Instead I’m staring blankly out the window,
watching the sleet slam into wherever the wind thrusts it.
I like this feeling. My coffee is no longer warm; not cold either.
My eyes are open without effort. I’m not filing
anything away for later use.
I’m just here. Sitting. Watching the storm.
Continuing to be exactly as I am.

-M. Taggart

Thanks for being with me.

life

While in jail I liked listening to the different voices at night. All kinds of accents bounced from the cement walls back and around and through again. Someone wanted a porn magazine passed to him. Another sang a song. Someone was doing push-ups a few cells down. Jokes were being told by faces who couldn’t see the intended ears. All while I laid on my top bunk thinking about how my college classes couldn’t teach me about any of this. I loved it. I still do. I love remembering it. Shame? No. The only shame I come upon concerning my having gone to jail was, and is, from family members embarrassed of me. I laugh at them. They are weak. They were always weak. I learned as much in jail as I did in my four years earning my business degree. School of Management, baby. At the very liberal State University of Massachusetts in Amherst, MA. Where they love to tell you how to think. Life is a funny thing. A sad thing. A beautiful thing. Sometimes I think I should tell my full story. But then again, fuck it.

-M. Taggart

poem

There are lines of words put together
in such a manner that they adjust minds
bringing a clarity of being which beckons a return
These are the authors I consider timeless greats
And gender, nor color of skin matters in this
realm, nor will it ever; to obtain wellness
from words pushing humanity toward
its best possible version may not have been
the goal at the onset, but they have become the
light that so many of us have needed to drink
No better is my shadow than any other
as this theater of life continues on

-M. Taggart

My Closet – Poem

A Poem
Written by -M. Taggart
1/21/18
For years I opened my closet door to see nothing
but my own jackets, sweatshirts, boots, shoes, crap.
Eventually my closet and I didn’t get along.
Why bother opening a thing that gives back
only the same memory with no hope of progression.
My boots became more worn. My jackets changed
positions and eventually those too become useless to me.
Five years into being a hard core bachelor
-nothing could control me. Not a thing,
except for my fucking closet.
I specifically remember opening my brother’s closet
during a family event. It was the twins birthday.
I was among the last to leave. I had ruffled their hair,
told them I loved them- they ran off into another room
and I opened their closet door to find my jacket.
This was my brother’s home and my brother’s life.
In his closet hung children’s jackets. Some of which
had little ears. And on the back of the closet door
hung shoe and boot holders and in the holders were
little shoes and little boots. I wanted to cry. I wanted
to do more than cry but instead I closed the door and
walked out of my brother’s house and got into my truck.
I shut the door, turned the radio on, and drove. I drove
through farmland and shut the damn music off because I
never listen to music and it was nothing more than a mask
for having looked into another closet that was not a closet
at all, but a life. A home. A real home. I had my four walls
and my closet that I didn’t get along with waiting for me.
-Now though..I sit here thinking of that asshole closet of mine
and about how somehow, someway, it’s still there. And now
It’s the one who is alone because I am no longer alone and haven’t
been for a long, long while. Even before I met Megan. Something
happened. Something that propelled my being into what I was
meant to be, to live, to see. And now when I open my closet, it isn’t
my old boots. It’s life. It’s beautiful life. Megan’s fluffy jacket’s that
I couldn’t possibly understand how to wear, it’s her boots that I couldn’t
possibly walk in, it’s her smile hiding in the hood of her jacket, I open
my closet now and I see my son’s winter jacket puffing out at me, begging
me to put it on him. I see tiny little ears. I see little boots. And little shoes.
This is my closet, and this is my most favorite closet that I have ever had.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

One boy saw too much. And the ones around him grew along. Wanting to know how he knew things they did not. A counter called time went on. He couldn’t tell them- It starts in a terrible way. It starts with a question. It starts in a dark bedroom. Without anyone seeing. Or, it starts in a car without anyone around. It starts without sound, then with sound, and then it doesn’t stop. A young boy saw far too much. It didn’t need to be this way. It just was.

-M. Taggart

death as it stands

Death has a sound unlike any other-
listen! The same melody plays in the early hours
We know this song

Let Prometheus spark again-
a sip of fine wine
a bit of our favorite scotch
a taste from the most velvet soft lips
the scent of the back of her neck
26.2188 with delivery
this is true
this Is true
but who am I to ask

Death is more than a balcony’s plot from which we grieve. Death is not evil. An echo inside spewing a self-made matrix without end. Have we touched the sun today. Have we given thought to the mirror behind. So many rules to place our hearts on shelves.

for others to dismantle.

Death as it stands
has a sound like no other
and yet I’ve never heard it

My favorite cigar is the one left overnight in the rain. The next morning it’s billowed with intelligence. A thing to know. It’s more wet than not. and it doesn’t want to dry, but it does because. Eventually the sun reminds the cigar of its now and we are again reunited. I’ll take my life left to light that cigar and see it live again.

 

  • M. Taggart