I’m on the writing trail!

I’m 700 words into my new Horror Story, “The Stump Maker,” I can’t wait to submit this! I know how it’s going to end….it’s just a matter of letting the words flow and filling in the dots. …

I hope everyone is doing as good as possible and that your day is treating you well. And please, remember, it’s a beautiful life if we let it be, even when it rains.




Bodies in The Basement won Publication of the Year, non-poetic, on SpillWords Press, NYC. I invite you to read it..



Odd Walking Thoughts – The Nothing

A boy sits in his hectic mental lane waiting for the nothing to come. Where finally his mind is released and feels empty but not alone. Weightless and gone from the everything. The wind blew, shuffling the branches, he, hardly noticing felt the oncoming of the nothing and the wind was in the way.  -M. Taggart


My story, Bodies In The Basement, was nominated publication of the month on Spillwords.

Bodies In The Basement

I felt a feeling of relief. Not complete excitement. I’m not sure what that was all about. All I know is I’m sharing what has happened and I’d like to make more happen because happenings of something worth while are better than things that are not.

Cheers and thank you, any one of you, for participating in the voting. It was you who deserve this.

Only twelve pieces are selected publication of the month. And only twelve authors are elected authors of the month. Of the thousands of pieces that are sent in.


poem – leftovers

In town is a bench viewing a man chewing his brain,
with little resources to find his thoughts; the bench cared nothing
for the perfectly structured oak tree whimpering in the chilly wind,
instead the bench wished to be ripped from its foundation and
connected to the man with the unruly thoughts. There at least
might live something, even if not holy in nature, possibly there
was hope. The man teetered, then steadied himself by grasping
the oak tree, “Aren’t you the friend I need,” the man said while
grinding his teeth and gazing upward and through the leftover

-M. Taggart



I’m almost ready to write.
It’s a strange feeling knowing that I’m putting if off.
A purposeful thing found in the back of a thought,
lingering, like a vibrating sponge left on the beach
just out of reach of the waves.

Soon though, I will.
Maybe I’ll remember some of it.

-M. Taggart


Morning dripped with pleasantries
setting itself in accordance, with nature,
our very senses just before our last breath
of sleep, and awaiting with the first glimpse
of sunrise, our first awakened thought.

-M. Taggart


Poem – tiny pieces

Nothing is as accessible as our own thoughts.
Yet we twist, pull, harm,
and even hide them on ourselves.
It seems especially so when
pertaining to our mental health.
We know the truth. We know what to do.
But life’s tracks laid in front of us aren’t
always a thing of beauty and taking
the correct action can often mean
destroying lives. Ah, the pull of loyalty
on a child’s heart is to pull them into
tiny pieces- pieces that don’t always
fit back together,.

-M. Taggart

Victorious Sunshine

Portions of my life have been filled with torture.
I’ve never let that determine the amount of happiness
I could feel. That has always been up to me, even in the
darkest of times. Even when my happiness was the source
of desire to be owned; as a human filled with evil stirs
their mental pot trying in every way to destroy this light,
knowing the child will eventually surpass anything
they ever were, or tried to be, and the mornings filled with
sunshine escapes their greed; waiting is the damp dark empty
coffin which they constantly watch in their mind’s eye,
just for them, every very single day.

-M. Taggart


I apologize for the darkness. It’s connected to the phone call. It’s gotta come on our somehow.

Cheers everyone.

Word Chemistry

Sometimes I read a book and I’m looking for something.
I ask myself what it might be. Words.
Odd. We all have the same ones to pick from.
In this language anyway.
I tell myself not to do this, but rather to enjoy the writing.
Instead I secretly keep looking.
Scouting how some of the greats used their words.
What blend of complexity, or straightforwardness,
did they use. And where did they end
the sentence, or did they continue while fetching
another thought to dice into the world of wonderment.

-M. Taggart