Hearts hang like fruit
weighted on branches
with sunlight whispered lips
fondling the surface they ripen
this is what we hold
flawless when in love
the friendship that has grown
the one who knows our needs
who we are in mind, the physical
our strengths admired
our weaknesses forgiven

What happens if then the
wrong tree was chosen
ours not by choice to inflict
a rancid taste into their mouths
they can elect to discard
and we withdraw into ourselves
in the end not the preferred held
in hand, our flesh will rot like fallen fruit
bruised, we lie and wither

©JMTacken 6.6.2014

I wish I could say all of me has returned, but I think I’m only an eighth at this point.

Photo Credit http://www.deviantart.com

There are days when you want to blog your heart out

and  then there are days when you can’t think of anything that anybody on this entire planet would want to read.

Well I’m having a blog your heart out day it seems.

This is my 3rd today – yes 3rd – absurd – yes I concur. What do I wish to blog about? Let me see perhaps  – the addictiveness of blogging the obsession of putting ones thoughts on public view?

I started because I enjoy writing and this pretty much sums it up for us writers does it not?


well maybe not quite as dramatic, maybe I’m just feeling ‘arty’   

No hang on not that ‘arty’

Not that I don’t like art, I do though you would never think it, because my home is very minimilistic  though according to the ‘www’ –  Minimalistic: There is no such word as minimalistic. The word is minimalist. So my house or more so my walls are minimalist/bare/scant/empty/naked/stark/unembellished…I think you get the drift? I have 2 sets of photos of my eldest daughters wedding and I have a collage which my parents gave me as me as a child (cute as a button I was – but we aren’t going down that path) &  that’s it. Yet I do love art – I like prints and photos and some ‘real works’ – by that I mean paintings – brushes, palettes, linseed oil and all of that. In fact some years back I sold an oil painting that I did (pats myself on the back), but have never really taken it up again.

How did I start talking about this kind of art,

when I meant the art of writing???   

See I’m boring you now aren’t I?