Footsteps
familiar paths to cover
the hardest of them all
they cross the unknown
which is the bravest route
take care upon this journey
upon darkened grains
by oceans black
when you weep alone
I hear you
your hands cannot wipe clear
this fog that will not lift
this is the view
of the world in which you live
I try to keep the candles alight
hoping to guide the way
but you always extinguish them
and even with my tears
…..you think you’ll burn
Copyright JMTacken 5.12.2014
[youtube.com/watch?v=Cl5dFGGLQjc]
and play
Send a whisper back, to who was loved
catch the moment they may hear
enshrouded veils of yesterday’s
if I could reach through years
to bring you home
I would
Mountains, seas, harshness of winter
winds, heat of summer sun, do you feel
do you see ~ divided I trace momentos
can I bring you home again
Can I bring you home
holding to memories, your smile
laughter, the goodness you had
inside, misunderstood by many
free spirit you walked your own path
Have you found your way
My aching heart still lingers
when I think of you
the flowers next to frames
words spoken, so much time passed
I’ll always remember you
Photos holding you, the beads you wore
the poem I wrote leans against your heart
a reminder of who we were
who you were
A sister/a brother
Born into this world
not knowing of tomorrow’s
when you began to lose your way
perhaps beliefs could have changed
then you may have stayed
Return to me/to us
All I have is memories
and parts of you, you owned
your crystals, your scarves
the glasses that you wore
Come home
Silently cross legged
corner of room
symbolic mudra held
I glance and realise
silence of words
This belonged to you
This is what you left
majestically he sits, silent
eyes closed in my house
guiding, reminding me of you
My fingers wordlessly trace the wood
I hope that you dance and laugh
wherever you may be
that clouds are white not grey
that music fills your heart
that you remember me
Can I bring you home
I would if I was able
so you could be again
give a sign you’re happy
you hear my words ‘cross
tears that fall
Call a whisper forward
©jmtacken Feb 2014
My younger brother passed 10 years ago… today listening to music I felt the need to write the above.
Colleen from http://bikecolleenbrown.wordpress.com wrote a post the other day. In this post were two lines that I was attracted to immediately – Send a whisper back and Call a whisper forward. With her permission, I use these lines in the above- thank you Colleen.
I share this with OLN http://dversepoets.com
colours were a blur back then, before the War began
the world was grey ~ bundled in arms, given to faces
you didn’t recognise, could you tell who was real
cries for those you knew, unheard in darkest rooms
years passed, at six, she took you back, to share her life
~ with him, who fought with drunken screams, until you
ran away, back to the arms, that held you soft
and there was a silent love
confusion, upheaval, as you were taken ‘home’
~ biological this time, to the father you never knew
knees plunged deep in Europe’s snow, tiny hands
chilled to the bone, sent to chop the wood, with pockets sewn
by the man whose roof you slept beneath, hands could not
be warmed ~ the icy bitter winds, the threadbare coat and
pants, no boots to stop the damp, doing as instructed
curled body, a child that attic slept, did you dream
your cries should have been louder, what were your thoughts
loneliness your friend; a 1930’s scholar, University
was for you ~ that is what your teacher said, but your father
forbade it, no money to be wasted on school
your half sibling, ate his meal whilst warming chilled bones
by the fire ~ the woman who did not give you birth
demanding your meals eaten, on the landing of the stairs
so you sat and watched in silence, without love
a child’s life
should not be like this
a childhood that was yours
I wish you had screamed louder Pop
I wish
you didn’t have to scream at all
©jmtacken 9th November 2013
I wish to do my Pop’s life in prose. As this is my 660th post. It may be some time before the next one, as there is a lot of research to be done.
The Empty Nest – a Mother’s Hidden Grief
Prologue
I began writing this story some five years ago when I was 49 years old. At the time I was working in a nine-to-five job for a small book distribution company. Now I work in a nine-to-five job in an administrative role for a lighting manufacturer. I was born and raised in Australia, and I am respectably average in most ways—height, looks, disposition, income, taste in furnishings, personal achievements and emotional baggage. I am an “everywoman”, if one exists. Or rather, an “everymother”, for what really defines me and obsesses me is the story I have to tell about my children.
When I started writing, I was facing the daunting prospect of turning 50 and the more upsetting event of both my daughters leaving home. With these two facts looming before me, I discovered within me a voice that was clamoring to be heard. Would I be like the mother in the movies with a drawstring apron, waving to my children at the picket fence with tears rolling down my cheeks? What happens to that mother? The movie never tells you because the story follows the children—their adventures, their romances, their heartaches—and only once in while do they come back to visit mum. She reminds them to eat their veggies and then the children are gone again. In the final shot she peers through the curtained window, a grey shape behind glass. The curtain shuts. End of mother.
What happens to her, I wanted to know. I needed to know. I am that mother.
This is a story of an ordinary Australian mum who is coming to terms with the fact that her life is changing forever. The characters that I share my feelings about are real people and each of them plays a very important role in my life; as a woman, a partner, a mother and a friend. This is my voyage, that which has emerged from my very heart and soul, beginning many years ago when I first became a mother to the time when my children decided to leave home—or as some people call it, ‘abandon the nest’.
Ramblings From A Mum 