Swings

Tree limb holds the tyre
On twisted rope it swings
Water a leech holds on
As it rocks to and fro

The ground beneath solid
Blades of grass hidden
Kiss the hardened soil
From where they grow

The air is brittle
A cry is heard
Wings cast shadows
‘Cross silvered moon

Orphaned leaves circle
Gathering strength within the wind
And the cry is now a scream
Inside the abandoned barn

Beyond the shadows she is seen
Arched back, waist length hair
Iced in steel swords
She levitates below the beams

Turning to see whose entered
Bones break and could be heard
Onyx eyes stare in my direction
Help engraved into her forehead

 

Perhaps I’ve been watching too many movies of late, but trying to get back into what I enjoy.

A mother cries goodbye

[youtube.com/watch?v=6-x-m9-K6Bo]

My fingers wrap around your wrinkly hands

vision blurred, as my eyes well with tears

my lips touch velvet; your soft brown hair

and I do this ov’ and over again

in the short time that we have

rocking gave us comfort cradling you in my arms

with tears that touched your lips

that now would never speak

another chance I beseech, to gaze into your eyes

that are the colour of the sea; embrace your warmth

against my skin, but this will never be

a mother should not outlive her child

I begged take mine, in place of yours

I laid my hand across your heart

a heart that beat no more

why was life so fleeting, the time we had too brief

you were ripped away from me, I’m left behind to grieve

there are no answers

life we know at times so cruel

how do I go on living – living without you

try to remember me, you were called away too young

there is no rhyme or reason, for why this has been done

time they say the healer; one last hold, one kiss, I beg

so as I hold you to my breast, this torment that I bear

know that I so loved you and this last wish I share

wrapped in cotton white, take your pastel coloured wings

my angel child and fly

and with each breath I’ll think

of you, till my time comes, to die 

©JMTacken Sept 2013

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also for http://dversepoets.com/ Open Night # 106

Fictional

J.Tacken 2013

Unfaithful

I’m sure if I stared hard enough
passed Klein pin stripes
and ironed shirt
buttons peeled, the tie removed
a part – minute
infinitesimal in fact
gives a damn, some remorse
you were a cat on heat
you strayed

I
shudder

insignificant mumblings
spilled from a soiled mouth
that has been plunged
by her tongue
spitting out apologies
her lips not sweet as mine
gullible me
you hoped

I
laugh

in your chest
chambers, ventricles
the muscle
pumping blood maintains
a continuous beat
allows you to draw breath
together with wetted
lungs, yet your
emotions had run dry
for us

I
wonder

was there a forever after
as we walked hand in hand
‘I love you’ thrown my way
to satiate my insecurity
but you required more
lust over love, afternoon delights
of tasting
a different skin – a different salt
tired of the old – in with the new

I
cringe

take your pathetic and your
meaningless excuses
of a night
where booze imprisoned
your thoughts of me
unrealistic expectations
what you thought you needed
as you rode high on this harlot
of your dreams
it was only the once…?

 

goodbye


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Purely Fiction!

and when I’m gone

07-05-may-12th-2013

the moment that my
beating heart
stopped
in my solitude of
self
no recognition made of
others
that wept or held my
hand
there was calm

my vision that was
blinded
grew much darker than
before
yet I felt no fear I
yielded
to the silence
overwhelming

opening my eyes with eye lids
closed
I saw the light
appear
a light that shone so brightly
beckoning to come
there

I felt the warm air touch my
skin
once more I breathed the air
I knew that life had yet not
ceased
perhaps another
life to
live

There was no need to struggle
or maintain the hardship of my
fight
thoughts that swelled
inside of me were of an after
life

I drifted and released
myself from the grounded earth
and let my soul float upwards to the
light of my
re-birth

~~~

This was created for Alastair’s Photo Fiction

If you are interested in prompts please support his new endeavour for budding writers.

http://alastairsphotofiction.wordpress.com/2013/05/12/photo-fiction-sunday-12th-may-2013/

Rosalind Smith-Nazilli Interview

 

image

Rosalind  Smith-Nazilli Author of The Whore Slayer kindly asked to do an interview with me a few days ago, which was posted.

I now reciprocate her kind gesture.  Sit back, pour a wine, and I hope you enjoy, getting to know another fellow blogger on a more personal level.

You are known as The Fiction Vixen, why did you choose that Title in particular?

I wanted a title that was short and sharpish because let’s face it, my real name is a bit of a mouthful and for various reasons I did not want to drop either my family name or my married name.     I also wanted something that (sort of) rhymed with fiction.

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself, where you were born, where you live now?

Well I was born in the UK, in a place called Marlborough but I live now in a seaside village in Turkey.    I simply got the urge one day to be somewhere else so I packed a bag and left.

What do you do when you are not writing?

Not a lot.  I am always writing but I do like to garden and walk the dog.  I am not big on socializing but have to make the effort from time to time for the sake of the sanity of my husband.

Do you have a day job as well?

No I don’t, although I did do some copy writing via online sites for a while.        I have no visa to work in Turkey but I am to become a citizen of this Country at the end of the year so I will then have the necessary credentials, but I hope to avoid working outside my home. 🙂

When did you first start writing?

I have always written for as long as I can remember.      When I was about twelve my teacher said he thought I had a bit of Edgar Allen Poe in me but I still can’t see that to this day.

How did you choose the genre you write in?

I write flash fiction and short stories mainly because I don’t have the concentration span or even the patience for anything longer.         Only recently have I started to dabble in erotica.

Where do you get your ideas?

I am most definitely a panster.  I usually start with a sentence I have come into my head or something I hear somewhere.    Picture prompts are a favourite of mine as well but if something doesn’t come immediately then I move on.  I don’t want to have to labour over words.  They are either there or they are not.

Do you ever experience writer’s block?

Yes I do, I think every writer does, but never at the start of something.  It’s usually half way in when I can’t decide which way to take a story.

Do you work with an outline, or just write?

I did try once to start with an outline but it’s not for me.  I have to write what comes as it comes, and I write for me firstly and foremost.     Occasionally someone may say that they don’t understand or get what a story was about or where it was going but as long as I know myself, I am satisfied.

Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult?

I have always loved Sidney Sheldon but to be honest there are so many spectacular works of fiction out there that it is hard to choose.      I love mystery thrillers and anything with forensic science.

Is there anything in your stories based on real life experiences or is it purely all imagination?

No it’s all imagination.  My life has nothing in it that would interest anyone.

What project/a are you working on now?

I have THE WHORE SLAYER  almost ready to be published but I am still not one hundred percent happy with it so have gone back to do a little more editing.    There is also a collection of flash fiction that needs to be formatted and edited.      Several WIP’s are sitting on the back burner as well.

Do you have any advice to give to aspiring writers?

Just keep writing.  Find your voice, try different genre and do not give up.

What’s the nicest thing someone has said about your writing?

I like it when someone says “Oh, I wasn’t expecting that.”   From time to time I am told that my flash fiction has the potential to be developed into something longer and the reader has hated that it ended where it did.

What’s the worst thing?

Someone once said that I wrote like a nine year old and that my grammar was appalling (I already knew that, the grammar bit) but you can’t please all of the people all of the time can you?

How do you find the blogging-world in general and any tips you would care to share?

I think some bloggers have a tendency to go mad and flood the world with posts to their blogs.  In my opinion two or three quality pieces in a week is enough.   There are many also who do not appreciate that people are not going to support you if you don’t support them back.    It’s important to visit blogs that you wouldn’t normally choose to, say hello, leave a comment or a compliment.         The only way forward with blogging is interaction.

Dark or white chocolate?

Chocolate?  Did someone mention chocolate?  Any and all although the quality of it out here is not that great and I do miss some of my old favourites.

Dogs or cats?

We were always a cat family until recently when our little bundle of joy, puppy I hasten to add, arrived.

There is a huge problem with stray/street animals in this Country and we have taken in many a kitten only to have them die from something inherited due to inter family breeding.  The same has happened with a couple of puppies which is why we went the breeder route with Ayda.

Ayda

Ayda

It was something that I was very much against because there are so many needy animals on the streets but for me at least, the emotion evoked when a pet dies is just too much and I am really not that strong a person.

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Thanks so much for this Jenny.  It really is appreciated more than you know.

No, I thank you Rosalind,  for allowing my readers to get to know you.  You may now go and finish your gardening or play with Adya 🙂

Majestic Magic For The Dark Queen Writerly Bridal Shower

The Dark Fairy Queen Writerly Bridal Shower (or #DFQWBS)
Anna Meade is getting married to Michael Thomas Loy Jr and a group of writers, have been pulled together to contribute a flash fiction, with a marriage theme consisting of either or all of the following –   Proposal; Hen/Bachelorette Party; Stag/Bachelor Party; Ceremony; Honeymoon.  These stories will then be compiled in an eBook that will be presented to them as a wedding gift.
How cute is that!        http://rosalindsmith-nazilli.com  Kindly asked if I could submit an entry for the lovely and talented Anna Meade better known perhaps as the Dark Fairy Queen who writes the Yearning for Wonderland blog.   Below is my entry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Majestic Magic

Her hands trembled, as she sat gazing at her reflection in the mirror.

Her make-up being applied by the Nymph Arethusa, who painstakingly worked to achieve the right balance, for she had never ‘worked’ on a Dark Fairy Queen before. What if the eye liner was too heavy, the mascara clogged, the lipstick too deep or too pale, her cheeks not presenting the glow of the blushing bride, would she be cast off into the land of Lipps?

She need not have been concerned, for the result was truly magical, Anna looked breathtaking. She turned her head to the left, then right, admiring, she liked what she saw and graciously smiled to Arethusa, who nervously curtsied in return.

The time for dressing, Anna walked into her room unzipping the protective cover of the gown that she would don. Her bridesmaids, giggled and rose from their chairs to accompany their Queen.

Arms raised to the heavens the gown was carefully placed, as to not spoil her ‘do’. Lowered, the many satin buttons that cascaded like a waterfall down her back were slowly fastened.

Veil and head piece placed, white satin shoes, something old, something new, she held her bouquet of Freesias, Heather Flower and Queen Anne’s Lace. She was ready to be wed.

She knew within the hour she would have the man of her dreams, her King.

Her ‘chariot’ arrived, the bridesmaids quickly gathered her train and helped her to be seated, her legs were jittery and the white lace hanky, given to her by her mother was tightly being wound around her fingers, continuously. Her ‘girls’ who sat opposite, felt their Queen’s nervous energy and promptly opened the bottle of pre-mixed Fairy Belle Cocktail.

Laughter soon enveloped the carriage, their Queen was now relaxed.

Anna alighted from the chariot with alacrity, albeit slightly giddy from the consumption of too many Fairy Belle’s.

She paused, breathed deeply, regained her composure and entered.

Her parents looked in awe upon their ‘little’ girl, whom they adored, she had grown into a bewitching young woman, their baby, their Anna. Her father linked her arm and with glistened tears he whispered “I love you Anna, how beautiful you look”.

To her King, towards the man of her dreams, she walked, steadied by her fathers gentle arm.

Fairy dust sprinkled from above, anointing her, it glowed and sparkled as it fell upon her skin. The Fairies were blessing this union, this was a sign.

The stars in her eyes blended with moist tears, as she grew closer. Michael’s hands nervously wringing together, she gave him a reassuring smile.

“Who gives this woman?”

“I do”, her father hesitantly replied.

Anna slowly let go of her fathers arm, the man that she had loved for ever, the man that encouraged and taught her right from wrong, he gently smiled as he felt her arm release.  She kissed his cheek and whispered “I love you Dad, I will always be your little girl”, then she reached for Michael’s hand.

They said I do and exchanged rings, they tenderly kissed and held each other tight giggling “I love you – I love you more”.

Michael swooped Anna in his arms, kissing her ear, he carried her towards the Reception area in the Courtyard, the relief from months of planning was almost at an end.

The speeches were made, the toasts given, the glasses clinked, the food served and heartily consumed.

Let the PARTY begin!

The Goblin and Elf band began to play.

From the forest, the fairies tip-toed in, the congealed blood trickling from the corners of their mouths.

Anna looked… her invitations were accepted, she cast a smile and a wink in their direction, showing how pleased she was at their arrival.

POW – Fireworks lit up the darkened sky, radiant bursts of gold, red and green, showered the starry night.

The Queen and her King walked majestically to the centre of the dance floor. Their spirits high, their smiles engaging.

“DANCE” Anna and Michael laughed and commanded.

Dance they did, the fairies, the wizards, goblins and elves, all linked arms pointed toes and bowed.

Towards the woods, in the distance, Anna saw the burst of flames and smiled at their ride home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author – Jenny Tacken
eBook – Yes

To Anna and Michael – An Irish Toast – Here’s to the wings of love, may they never molt a feather, till your little shoes and his big boots are under the bed together.

www.ramblingsfromamum.wordspress.com

Rusty Tin Can – For Speakeasy

SPEAKEASY CHALLENGE #102 – These are the firm submission guidelines-

  • your post must be dated March 24, or later
  • the speakeasy is designed for submissions written specifically for the grid. Please do not submit an entry if you intend to showcase it to another blog link-up, ‘cuz we’ll be forced to remove it like an old horseshoe.
  • though your post is NOT about the photo you must make some reference to it
  • you must start with the first line our last winner, Suzanne, has provided. “It was impossible.” Please do not post explanations, qualifications or other stuff prior to this sentence. If you need to clarify anything, feel free to do so briefly (like really briefly) at the end.
  • your post is either fiction or poetry, including fictional accounts of true stories
  • keep it 500 words or less

prompt3

It was impossible.

Three words that repeated themselves, over the last two weeks.

Patricia was exhausted, sleep deprived from the reoccurring nightmare that invaded her brain night after night.  I’m overtired, too much crap at work, plus Josh having the damn flue, I’m losing it. Ed already looks at me weird, get a grip, idiot.

The phone rang startling her, disturbing her thoughts.

“Hello”.

“Mrs. Knights?”

“Yes speaking”.

“My name is Angela from the Calista Farm and Entertainment Park, we found a purse which we believe is yours. Someone handed it in, I don’t know if any…”

“Oh thank you so much”, Patricia interrupted, I’d given up getting it back, I can collect it now if you’re open”?

“Yes, but we close at 4”.

“I’ll be there in an hour, thanks so much for ringing”.

Patricia hung up and climbed the stairs to wake Josh from his nap, she knew he wouldn’t be happy but he’d fall asleep in the car and she was pressed for time.

The uneasy feeling returned, her breathing became laboured.

Cut it out you idiot, they’ll lock you away if you keep this up.

The drive over calmed her, Santana played gentle guitar rifts with Josh quietly asleep in the backseat.

She reached the park. Grabbing her very disgruntled son, she hoisted him onto her left shoulder and walked to the entrance.

“Hi, I’m Patricia Knights, Angela phoned me about my…”?

“Yes I’m Angela, here it is, at least it was given back, pains aren’t they.”

“Yep, so annoying having to cancel the damn cards, wasn’t much money in it anyway, Patricia laughed. Thanks again for letting me know, really appreciate your honesty”, she said before walking back to her car.

Fear struck her, she stood transfixed gazing towards the barn.

“Bloody hell, this is ridiculous”,  shaking her head trying to negate the uncertain feelings that rose.

She put Josh into the car seat and started rummaging through her purse to see what,  if anything had been stolen.

In the notes pocket she pulled out a slip of paper, not her handwriting, not Edwards.

She read the words out loud.

Are you crazy? Come back to the barn”.

Patricia’s eyes hit the barn door.

“What the hell is this?”

Making sure Josh was settled with the window partially down, she strode determinedly towards the barn.

She hesitated, glued to the gravel path beneath her.

Stop being so pathetic, what on earth are you afraid of, we were here two weeks ago, hell knows why I’ve been dreaming shit about this place, but I’m ending it now.

She walked in, the same worker was there from their previous visit, working again on the anvil, hammer and chisel in hand.

His raised his head in acknowledgment of her being there.

All she saw was the rusted tin can and the bloodied finger bone he was neatly carving, a caustic smile spread across his face

She hit the floor.

For Speakeasy – my 1st submission – 491 words. Posted 28th March, 2013.

speakeasy

Friday Fictioneers My dad and I

Genre: Literary Fiction Word Count: 100 Brought to us by FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

The photo prompt this week comes courtesy of Jennifer Pendegast.s6001144

His head shook slightly, his trembling hands reaching out to hold mine.

They stilled.

“I know I don’t have that long, my body grows weaker by the day, you have seen me struggle even to walk”.

“I remember running in the snow, or up flights of stairs, a young boy then, when I could hold a knife and fork without shaking when I ate, now ..I’m too embarrassed to eat in public”.

“You are my only daughter, my ginger, when I go, you will look after mum…promise me?”

I cry.

“Pop…with all the love in my heart…I promise you”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Friday Fictioneers and for my father who calls me ‘Ginger’ though I am not a red-head – the most amazing man in this world.

Excuse the completely different way I looked at the ‘Stairs’.  I immediately thought of how my father is battling to walk right now and the staircase was a reminder to me of his struggles.