Who chooses



The power of the skull from distant lands
it’s effluvium beckons me, I know not why
mandible held against my lips, I inhale
it’s death into my soul, my once pure thoughts
now anomalous, suspended in the attic hollow
where reasoning once resided, I stand on stone
in wild winds, lightning sutures blotted skies
can I recant the voodoo which enslaves me
my mind blank my body weary, the meaning unknown of why
I was chosen to wield the blood stained shears
that grew from straw, held high above my head
I shout unto the universe
“Release me from this darkened hell”
“I am not stopping you” I hear it whisper in return

©jmtacken 25/3/2014
Straw-effluvium-suspension-anomalous-attic-recant-suture shears-voodoo-whisper
10 words used for the below in the prompt for http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/03/24/wordle-1/

Infection (Prose)


It’s infectious
with troubled pasts
can’t explain or talk it out
the need to expel demons
carried on backs, or those that are
buried deep within hearts
It’s infectious
the mountain is there
that needs to be climbed
a pillow that’s held tight to a chest
a drink that is swallowed, they try to forget
abandoning yesterday’s in place of tomorrow’s
casting aside pain, forgetting past sorrow
It’s infectious
the need to jump fences
run free through the fields
survive what has happened, the need to feel real
to unlock the doors, to open their minds
regain their confidence, leaving darkness behind
words are around you, the answers in sight
write out your feelings…please just write
©jmtacken 2014

The young man (Series – Part 2)

Where did your life go from childhood days, cast out, moved about
one family to the next, enlisting in the Army, in the hope to leave
the country of your birth

How many times ~ how many? Three you said, when a gun was pointed
at your head, but a guardian angel held you close and let you
breathe another day

Thrown in jail, hard wooden beds, a cell for three fits twelve, facing
court your penance, for trying to escape, you revisited eight years ago
it doesn’t look the same

Bomb blast, the SS and their cohorts gathered round and you and friends
were ordered to pick broken bodies off the ground, how hard this would have
been for you

The head of the girl you knew, had spoken to that afternoon, your friend
that served you drinks ~ and you were told put ‘it’ in a pail to throw amongst
the pile of corpses

~ did you scream then Pop?

Running, forests now your home, European winters so cold, threadbare clothes
for covering, partially frozen lakes you had to swim across, that chilled you
to the bone

Empty tin with water from the stream, covering an old potato this is all
you ate back then

Is this why you love food so much?

Trains, twice, you were nearly caught, as guards stood eyeing civilians
a password given ~ freedom called

‘Professor Schmidt here’ you yelled as you confidently walked past those who
carried rifles, who didn’t give a second glance

Far from the border where you hid at day and scoured through night, until a group
of smugglers helped you and your friends plight

The escape plan had been hatched, a man who hid you in a truck and told you to move
quickly, when he whispered coast was clear

Into a grocery store and up the stairs you fled, waiting for a day and night
till in the morning you were called, when an officer with a gun marched to
the cabin door

Danny with a knife in hand, ready for the kill…. but

This man was in on ‘the act’, this ‘good samaritan’ helped you both escape and as he plunged
a tape into your hand said ~ ‘Make sure you give this to the Americans ~
when you reach your promised land’

©jmtacken 11/11/2013

Dad in the Middle

Dad in the Middle

This has been difficult, as it is a story and I have tried to condense it as much as possible.Pop

Free falling (Prose)


catch me when I fall
as I know not where I’ll land
a thousand feet per second
such adversities imposed
like gusts of wind
as I descend

catch me when I fall
for I am not secured
tethered to the structure
of my life, that once held me firm

catch me when I fall
treading tightropes
arms outstretched
pulled in all directions
need my balance to return

but if your arms can’t reach me
hold a safety net
to stop my pain
tell me pull the rip chord
till I am safe again


©jmtacken Oct 8 2013

Photo Credit hqwide.com

To be me


Can I be her for a millisecond just tonight
silent facing wood that doesn’t speak
to humans only to the forest
not to look behind, life echoing responsibility
wheels that churn, wheels that show
no sign of rust and will not seize that easily
this is who you are ~ what you must be
what you must do ~ what then becomes of
is it reasonable to ask
the one in the middle, the bearer of the
pain I see in others, the brunt of tirades
from the child of my loins
“I don’t understand who she is”
how life has changed
freedom wanted in little things
nothing more ~ nothing less, I promise
give me the milliseconds of silence that I crave
to intake air, so I can breath
give me the peace of the woods, against a tree
not turning to my left or to my right
or even looking back
sheltered under the canopy

©jmtacken Oct 7 2013

My 630th post

The Escape – Fiction


Photo Credit – http://io9.com/iconic-black-and-white-photographs-colorized-911645264

I PLunged into clear;  whilst murky
slept beneath avoiding
air bubbled skin
bring boats;  navigate the coast
in search of me;  my thoughts
you won’t recover
yet I fear not
breath in my lungs
will expire soon, my last
farewell to life and loves
that I have known

yet there is peace floating
bathed;  nudged in silence like your hand
in darkness across a wavy bed
for our fingers never held in love
Strike would find its way ~ as waves
CraSH towards the shore in search
of rest;  the current pulled them back
as I with you returned for
insults;  punishment

with one last look water veiled
plastic upon my skin; arms braced
I still shield myself from you
let the water gently fill my eyes
as I fear not
I shall escape into the darkness
into the sea of graves as others
have before me, indeed a privilege
of the life you found unworthy

and as I rest upon the sand
shards of light flirting with my skin
fish that pick my bones
there is freedom
no fight ~ no breath ~ no hate ~
I fear not
the TORment of you will disappear
the abyss will have swallowed me
and left you ~ a hatred memory


Shared with dVerse for Open Link Wednesday (posted Wednesday my time)

Tweety not so Sweety

2013-03-26 14.02.06

This is what happened on Thursday…or was it Wednesday? Being at home now, one day just rolls into another.

I am sounding like my elderly parents bless em so I shall move on.

What you see here my dear readers is a bird perched up on a window on our kitchen cathedral ceiling. I don’t know why they are called cathedral ceilings perhaps because it’s the height of a cathedral or near enough…this window to give you an idea is about 17 feet up the wall.

The other day I left the house for a short while, as I was minding two dogs (both bird lovers by the way) I left the door open to the decking, so they could come and go as they pleased. Yes I’m considerate when it comes to dogs.

When I returned there was said Mr/Mrs Fluffy wings perched up high with several trails of droppings cascading down the wall (look closely at the pic).

The kitchen table sits underneath (of course it does, it’s not hanging off the fall ffs).  I grabbed a chair and stood that on top of the table and then stood on the chair…I was trying to get high (not that sort of high folks settle) trusty broom in hand (no I wasn’t going to hurt Tweety-Pie). I started hoopin and a hollerin and waving the broom around like a woman possessed.

Tweety fluttered from one window pane to the next…pooping as he/she went. Nothing worked, no amount of screaming and yes I even started crying I was so mad. I got down and grabbed an almost finished plastic bag of bread and tied a knot in it and started throwing it at Tweety (please don’t call the RSPCA) I wasn’t trying to knock it off it’s perch (no I was) but without harming it. I am an animal lover, but the poop was getting to me.,

Finally after much screaming and tears and waving of arms she/he flew to the ground and sat like a stunned mullet (yes I know that is a fish).
Then ‘it’ flew onto a clothes horse (full of clean towels). I was shoo -shoo shoo-ing it with all my might, before it calmly hopped behind the TV cabinet. Grrrrrr.
Then ‘it’ flew gently into the window, then on the floor, then back onto another window, before me wielding broom screaming “SHOO you bloody bird”, it flew out the door and settled under the outdoor table.

‘It’ (as I’m not into sexing birds)  sat for over an hour (in shock I am gathering) or perhaps thinking  “This woman is a bloody lunatic, last time I hop in her place for a drink from the dog bowl”!  Where were the dogs you ask? Playing merrily in the background not giving a toss about my predicament.

The moral of this story? Yes folks there is one. Tweety must have gone through an ordeal, shocked at what was happening, why she couldn’t stay in her comfy place on the window ledge.

Wings flapping and not knowing where to go she fluttered from one spot to the next , even hitting herself in the process.

Only to find her way and rest for a while before she used her wings and found her freedom once again.

I will let you the reader figure that one out.