Into rhythm

 

 

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Her leg held high, the line of her body
balletic, her arm cradling her head
Before sweeping it across the floor
moving to her chest, covering the
heart beating wildly beneath her skin

Her feet strapped in patent stilettos
her legs articulated on the boards
and he drew beside her,  feathering
fingers on her bare waist

She stilled, drawing the back of her hand
across his cheek as they embraced
Intricate, complex their bodies entwined

Fervidly the drums beat
until their breathing synchronised

Copyright JMTacken 13.6.2014

 

I wanted to write outside of the circle that I’m in at the moment. A thank you to all of you for supporting me and continuing to read. I will try and read and comment on your posts whenever I can. x

Feathers (Prose)

Eagle silhouette in Kachemac Bay where many birds can be seen

Eagle swept

swoops ‘cross solid ground

flight amongst the branches

I walk a feathered path

 

Soaring weaving

distant clouds, apex reached

return  ~ begin again

golden sails in the wind

 

close enough to touch

wings wide

carry me over mountains

away, away a distant land

 

view the world from up above

soar eagle, I shall hold aureate

feathers, join your flight

~~~~~~~~~
©jmtacken 27th Jan 2014
~~~~~~~~~
A shout out to Brian Miller from DVerse & WaystationOne who guided me in this piece.
~~~~~~~~~

asylum (Prose)

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imprisoned, boundaries held strong
I was weak
or so they said
a past i can’t forget
I walked these halls
once

I crave the life
the taste of chocolate on my tongue
cloistered in a world I wanted
not one they thought I needed

shackled to ensure complacency
battling inner thoughts
succumbing to taunts
of those who glared and sat alone

my every move watched
‘guards’ patrolled the halls in pairs
tormenting
noses turned down to the likes of us
uncaring

despondent
I knew who I was, yet did not
tears spilt on linoleum
nails scratched walls
digging deep
willing my escape

waiting for release
“God I screamed if you exist”
how much can I stand
cease the pain inflicted

rubber forced into my mouth
volts that surged, my body jolts
left in comatose like state
passages of time not clear

save me
let me breathe
vacant eyes
no one visits
abandoned
enslaved to persecution

pushed shoved at their discretion
my footsteps slow
across the floor
jacket buckled at the back
give me courage

I tried
I did
succumbed to those
who forced the pills
they killed me in the end
inside unhallowed corridors

©JMTacken jan 2014

Shared with http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com  Prompt 39 – Unwanted Reality

 

This piece was produced with the help of Brian Miller who runs in conjunction with others Dverse. Thank you Brian for your guidance, support and encouragement.

The Scooter Club – get down and jiggy with it

6:00am the sun has only just risen in the morning sky.

They are awake. Sleeping is non existant past 7am when you’re in their age bracket. 6 …hours if they are lucky, then it’s up and at ’em to start their day (no wonder they need a nanna nap in the afternoon).

Breakfast consumed, toast with marmalade or bacon and eggs, washed down with coffee for him and tea for her, they hit the showers – well they try not to actually hit them, they have the hand rails to prevent that. Lather bodies best they can and trying to remember to dry between the toes (yes I know it’s hard to bend down that far).

Both of them assisting one another to get dressed, especially with the socks – why are their feet so low to the ground now? It’s a process, but they have grown use to it, just point your toes they laugh and yell . Tottering off to the wardrobe they grab their vinyls (leathers come later when they have earned their colours).

Into the garage where their ‘chariots’ await, batteries charged, their vehicles covered in plastic to stop any creepy crawlies from settling in over night (mum hates spiders).

Jackets, pants and their orthopaedic runners, pop casts his walker aside, hooks his cane onto the back,  swivels the seat to the scooter and sits. Mum penguins her way to hers, carrying of course her handbag with the necessary requirements of her purse, tissues, powder case and lipstick (just in case).

“Is the iron switched off”?

“I didn’t iron this morning”

Is the heater switched off”?

“We didn’t have it on this morning”.

“Do we have a doctors appointment today”?

“It’s Sunday no mother we don’t”.

They grab their helmets – pink for her and blue for him – they smile, Pop winks in mums direction and she still blushes.

They turn the keys as they set for the wide open spaces, holding onto the handle, they turn the dial from turtle to hare. Down the pavement they ride, pop in the lead, mum following with her orange safety flag (the one she swore she wouldn’t get because people would think she was old) blows majestically behind her in the breeze.

The pensioner scooter club.  Otherwise known as ‘The  Old Farts’. Pop turns on his mini tape recorder which blares out “Born to be Wild” (not even knowing who The Doors were).

Up to the intersection, pop manoeuvres his scooter to hit the button on the pedestrian lights and waits for mum to catch up. The lights change, the clicking noise is heard (it’s safe to cross) and both of them wave to the cars that have stopped (look at us they think…just look at us…your turn will come..mark our words) with drivers looking on impatiently for the ‘old biddies’ to eventually cross.

On they forge up hills, round corners, pop checking behind every few minutes to make sure mum is still following.

This is there sunday outing, when they meet at the ‘Gate to the Forest Cafe’ in the hills. No huffing and puffing, no staggering or trying to balance whilst they walk, they are free to sit and look at the houses, their surroundings, feel the sunshine on their faces, have the wind in their hair (though mum had just washed and put her curlers in hers before she left and is now pulling her grumpy face).

They reach the Cafe and pull in along side their friends scooters and alight (albeit gingerly). Dad unhooks his cane and  reaches out for mums hand as they walk in together.

Greeted by their friends who welcome them with “Good morning time for scones and tea”?

They smile, life is good with the scooters.

 

 

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I thought I would take a whimsical approach to the Scooter situation and my parents. Above is a pic of mum being on a scooter for the very first time in a local shopping centre. She loved it (but yes her stubborn shoes are on again) so I am trying hard to convince her that she will enjoy it.   She does look happy though doesn’t she?  The above is how I hope their lives can be. I have my fingers crossed!  🙂

x