The old barn doors
in the distance heard
open
~ close
in unison
at the mercy of the
summer wind
that licks and grabs
She stands almost leafless
– cracked
bereft of feeling
her eyes don’t cry
broken stems
mushroom roofs
encircle her
and the air sings
in the distance
she will find herself
as the seasons
brush against her
standing in silence
as her last leaves fall
Copyright JMTacken 30.1.2015
His wrinkled skin hangs against
The crispness of the sheets
No decadent surroundings
The darkness of the frosted morning
Blanketed by cotton drapes
Connected to wires that
Monitor his heart and
The hand on the clock
Moves another space
He waits alone much as he lives
This sterile room brightly lit
His mind on hold for a diagnosis
He shakes from fear not cold
The noise of people walking
Wont allow his body to rest
He remembers the silence
Before bombs hit the streets
Those he dragged to safety
Tending to their wounds
Medicine was scarce back then
Some died in his arms
He blearily eyed thanked the
Nurse who brought a cup of tea
His manners remained impeccable
He was raised this way
Help him see the light of tomorrow
With the curtains drawn
Without the starchiness of
Cold sheets, let him return
Though he lives alone
To sleep within his quiet space
With the memories of home
Copyright 27.8.2014
[youtube.com/watch?v=01dU6QO8PuU]
hands held
leather handles of bags well worn
weight heavy, as my heart
I stood helpless glancing towards
mountains, close as you
to touch
bitter cold
no words forthcoming
we held glances
on the empty platform
waiting for the train
time suspended, tears were shed
how far was it you’re goin’
till you reach your destination
call me, can you ~ will you
tell me if your happy
found your way
I’ll be here should you return
if home is where you’d rather be
you want to find yourself ~ you said
will I lose you if you do
a train pulls in
a last embrace
a tender kiss
doors close
my heart held silent
begging you
to stay
©jmtacken Jan 2014
Sharing with http://dversepoets.com
mischief, mayhem, revelry. These 3 words are from Beth at http://ididnthavemyglasseson.com This perhaps is not what you are use to my readers - but this is how my muse directed me.sounds of revelry spatters the night split skirts ride high on corners trading skin for money eyes of youth through windows stare to lie on backs open legs - knees bent MISCHIEF ~ but never kiss the lowly have it tougher battering or death, risks lined up on the street calling 'honey what you want' are they empty remembering the little girls they were and how they sell themselves exhibiting their wares but who am I to judge the top girls don't have corners there's no mayhem in their world unlike the street lamp hussling tease and flaunt their 'goods' they do 'a job', as I do mine and who am I to say this is how they live their life from day ..to day..to day ©jmtacken Sept 2013 Feel free to pass on 3 words :-)
[youtube.com./watch?v=Beloi9yluaI]
If you will – my words in tempo with this utterly amazing song by Josh Groban.
*******
in solitude her footsteps slow; in robe of pink
through empty rooms, she wanders
no laughter or voice that echo in her days and nights
life strange and silent, meals for one
with simply why, as she reaches for the
cupboard door as she did the day before
views once shared by two hands held
her arms now crossed she sees the morning rise
the quiet moon, with only her eyes
no one to share
do her children know the loneliness
she faces in the minutes, hours, the days ahead
with wrinkled trembling hand she reaches
for the phone upon the wall
and stops ~ with a piercing felt within
they have their lives to live
clutching his jumper to her breast
breathes the smell of him; slowly with care
folding delicately, it’s placed upon the shelf
with memories
a life now lived without him by her side
what is life to be now ~ what does she do
a broken heart that family cannot heal
words and hugs are not enough
thoughts of where she was born flood back
piercing her heart ~ there is
no home to return to, there or here
so many years where he knew what needed to be done
paved the way with his decisions, she is lost
she knows not how to cope
he will return he will be once more by her side
she sleeps with fingertips that
trace his pillow where he lay his head
and dreams of his protection
and as her silent teardrops fall, she sits next
to the empty chair and talks as if he were still
beside her ~ her hand reaching in the air, in hope
that he will return
My contribution for
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com
Ben is his name that’s what he’s called …elderly but still an ‘air’…his head held high with dignity he walks around his town …where children mock and point at pants that bear large holes and worn red cardigan …a cane that he depends upon… that enables him to walk without the limp from hip and body …that has let him down… Ben how is the life …where you live… all alone behind picket fence …where the roof is in such disrepair…tell me truly are you scared? What dreams do you hold onto …what creature comforts are there inside… this house that you live in …that we all deem unfit …not safe for any visitors or a human to inhabit… you fought for us in the war… lost your wife some years ago …do you sit inside alone in thought… and dream the time when you were young…are you happy behind the vines that grow…and care not what they think…your life was spent in happiness…with your Margaret by you side…have you ceased to now let others care…like the house you feel you’ve died… do not let others judge you… this is your family home I know… I only wish to visit you… show I care and …say hello
For: Picture it and Write
Lonely
on darkened hill a willow stands
limbs hang scraping the earth
as if trying to dig a hole to
escape
lonely
as the lamb or calf stand in the paddocks
in the fierceness of winter hail and rain
their coats saturated from the
rain
lonely
the broken-hearted woman
with so much love to share
sits alone at her table and dines by
herself
lonely
the father who waits for the
fortnightly visits from his children
wanting to hear laughter hold them
close
lonely
the animal in the shelter hoping
that someone will pass by and take him
away from the four x 6 cage that he lives
in
lonely
the dreamer who aspires to be grand
yet lives his life thinking that he is
not worthy of being noticed he has nothing to
give
lonely
the writer for their voice are words
placed upon paper hoping that thoughts felt
deep within will be recognised and there meaning
known
Ramblings From A Mum 