The old barn doors
in the distance heard
~ 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

The sanctuary of home


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

Train Ride (Prose with Music)

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 – (Prose from 3 words)

mischief, mayhem, revelry. These 3 words are from Beth at 
This perhaps is not what you are use to my readers - 
but this is how my muse directed me. 

Prostitute Approaching Car on City Street

sounds of revelry 
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


 ~ 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


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 :-)

Life without you

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

Friday Fictioneers – The Lonely

copyright-janet-webbMy contribution for

friday-fictioneers 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


Open your eyes and see me


I carry a burden deep within
I am encumbered for my want
of acknowledgment from you
I am deprived I starve I thirst
for your attentions your desire
that food and water will not sustain
your eyes do not see me or
know of my existence
yet I continue fighting to be seen
I am covered in your eyes
swaddled invisibile
my obsession surpasses
the air that I need to breathe
this wanton addiction
to be with you to be held
I’ll burn for you

For: Picture it and Write


on darkened hill a willow stands
limbs hang scraping the earth
as if trying to dig a hole to

as the lamb or calf stand in the paddocks
in the fierceness of winter hail and rain
their coats saturated from the

the broken-hearted woman
with so much love to share
sits alone at her table and dines by

the father who waits for the
fortnightly visits from his children
wanting to hear laughter hold them

the animal in the shelter hoping
that someone will pass by and take him
away from the four x 6 cage that he lives

the dreamer who aspires to be grand
yet lives his life thinking that he is
not worthy of being noticed he has nothing to

the writer for their voice are words
placed upon paper hoping that thoughts felt
deep within will be recognised and there meaning