Unlacing Crimson (With Music)

Please play the music then read

[youtube.com/watch?v=447yaU_4DF8]

feathered dust skims the width of faded yellow
my mouth as if to blow a kiss nuzzles
the bundle’s edge comforted in crimson ribbon
the bow still holds, lack lustred now

I breathe the mustiness of years passed
holding preciously, seeing myself as you were
sitting by the window, sun splashes filtering
through glass, anointing paled skin

unlacing crimson, from the envelopes
that bore your name in pen, some letters faint
some faded as the memories, holding the letter
to my breast I whisper across the room, Penelope

unfold in three, as he had folded, her inamorato
meticulously as if he sent his life
trusted beyond his own, to be protected within her heart
did tears fall upon her cheeks, as mine do now

my fingers tremble as I discover the yearning
that was distanced ‘tween bullets and country farm
two people that I never knew and yet I am connected
this passion of unfading love

as his words bathe my heart, plucking concerto
breaths, a love that I am witnessing, long after
it had gone, a love held strong, a memory
a broken heart, for he did not return

©jmtacken 19th March, 2014   (Fiction)

Little Boy Lost (Series – Part 1)

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.

Battle for Home

I stand on reddened soil, battle
complete, the smell of death
fills the air, I
care not for your meagre offering
of white cloth held in muddied hand
tainted by another’s blood

compensation for my loss on this
hallowed soil, a surrender given
to late to save the ones I loved
who rode into your storm
of pistols and catapults that cast
the stones of fire

with hearts racing, valiantly we
forged, my brother along side I
and in my fogginess of contest; the
sky drew dark through shadowed eyes
as brown soil mixed with blood
of those that will not see
another day

I step between the dead who lie
with mounts beneath them
men whose hearts will beat
no more, innocent, courageous
fighting for home they fell
with one last breath upon the ground
bring daylight through my tears
so I may see what we fought for
here, amongst the trees

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Alastair’s Photo Challenge 150 words or less – Sorry I am 2 words over at 152. Please join us.

Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Warrnambool Pub – Anzac Day 25.4.2013

Three old diggers were they heroes or not
I cannot say
Anzac Day in Australia twenty fifth of April just passed
Did they fight in the trenches defending our country or perhaps were they flag bearers for their Unit
Looking closer
They wore medals on smartly pressed suit jackets, hair washed and neatly combed
Celebrated with a Dawn Service
Heads bowed in prayer laid flowered wreaths against stone monuments
Thought of the ones they left behind who did not return home as they did
Thought of those lives they knew and were lost so young

I stood in the bar on my recent vacation and watched these three distinguished old gentlemen
As they sipped their beer
Reminiscing and possibly shed a tear of sadness for the terror that they saw
Or hopefully a laugh with a fellow comrade of a happier moment they recalled
I opened my purse
Telling the bar tender, three beers for the ‘lads’ please and he smiled
He poured three beers and said these are from the young lady and pointed to me
They looked up
One by one they came through the door from the opposite lounge and walked towards me

Thank you they politely said
Thank you
No one has done that for us before
I looked into their tired watery eyes
I looked down at the medals they proudly had pinned
I said you are most welcome
Happy Anzac Day boys and
Thank You

Walk on Visdare – Atmospheric

VISDARE CHALLENGE

# 13 Atmospheric

RULES:

150 words – or less.

Thank you for this brilliant photo this week! Another piece of Prose – Open for Critique please.

Like soldiers aligned in rank
they maintain their stance

encircled by the mist

the ebb and flow of tides
barnacles invade
clutching wooden feet

imbedded in sand resilient
in forceful battering winds
with valour silent alone

their guard of honour
united for ever more
they persevere
defending pier

and countries shores
how many were
their battles
opposing mother nature’s force

in squalls and sheets of rain
currents circling oceans floor
with rotted splinted wood
their hubris will endure

scratched
and cut with shells they hold
wraith like soldiers marching
into war

For: http://anonymouslegacy.blogspot.com.au

I shall tend to your feet Pop

The other week-end I gave my Pop (dad) a pedicure. At almost 86, he has trouble bending down to tend to his feet.

I slowly removed his sandals and sat beside him on a small stool. He was worried that I would hurt my back by sitting this way….

Yours nails I cut carefully
and removed old skin
then massaged cream gently
along each of your feet

You thanked me for what you called a
‘laborious task’, to me it gave
me joy
to help see to the feet of my
father who was once a
little boy

As I massaged the cream
into your skin
I thought of where
your feet had been

These feet that were bare and told to stand in snow in a European Winter.
These feet that walked to the timber pile to chop wood for your step – father, the fire you were not allowed to be warmed by.

These feet that had to walk up the staircase where you were told to eat your meal, alone,  whilst the rest of the family ate downstairs in comfort at the table.

These feet that gave you the strength to escape from Czechoslavakia during the War, to cross mountains, hide on trains, trudge through forests, swim through rivers and nearly have your life ended twice by a gun held at you by the KGB.

These feet that brought you to Australia, to start a new life, to build a house for a family that you knew you would one day have, though you had no carpentry skills.

These feet that ran and played shuttlecock with us, the times that we went camping.

These feet that walked next to me on the day that I was wed.

These feet now older
that hold your struggling
legs and body
these feet are not a ‘laborious chore’
to me, my father

These feet have travelled many miles
through great adversity
saw you start a business
accomplish many things
I shall tend to your feet

as I love you
I shall tend again, again
and again

Below are two other posts, that I wrote last year about this amazing man I know as Pop, please click if you would like to read. https://ramblingsfromamum.wordpress.com/2012/10/07/pop-my-dad-i-love-you/

https://ramblingsfromamum.wordpress.com/2012/09/13/my-dad-affectionately-pop/ ‎

Rounding off the weekend with some more old photos

Can any words describe the feelings that I have when I see this photo? This would have to be my favourite. My Pop when he was but a baby boy.

I adore this photo, to others who see it, it’s just another photo from ramblings or (‘mumsy’ as I am now affectionately known.) I just want to pick him up and give him the biggest cuddle and tell him it will all be alright.

To me it’s a picture of a sad little boy in the war years whose parents didn’t want him, who was given away to others to be looked after, but who treated him cruelly. A young little boy who looks so lost.

A young boy whose pockets where sewn up so he couldn’t keep warm in the bitterly cold months of a European Winter. A young innocent boy who was made to sit at the top of the stairs whilst the ‘other family – his stepmother being one’ sat and ate at the table with the rest of the family downstairs.

A boy who was encouraged at school because he had such a brilliant mind and when the Principal approached his family to urge that they send him to University, they didn’t want to waste their money.

My favourite photo because though there is sadness in his face, later on in his life he fought adversities and became a happy. caring man and a loving devoted father.

Now can you see any likeness? Perhaps the baby round cheeks..or perhaps the ears?

I just wish that my Pop was able to smile in his photo as I did…..

My Dad – Affectionately ‘Pop’

For my Pop,

This is what I wrote & read to my father not so long ago.

For the last few months I have thought more and more about wanting to sit with you and say what I am about to. Instead I being the writer have written those words and will read it, as hopefully I shall find this easier.

What can a daughter say to her father, that I love you totally? Admire your courage to survive your upbringing, your strength to conquer against all odds your escape during the war. Your tenacity to fight for a better life, not only for yourself but for my mother and your children.

You are a man of dignity and honesty. You have been and still are a wonderful husband to mum and a truly devoted and loving father to your children. You have always been there to support and encourage and give me much-needed advice. You have been the disciplinarian when needed when I was younger, the confidant as I grew and the person I could rely on.

Every daughter will say their father is the best, but of you it is true. It is a pity we don’t ‘know’ the man before they became our father, as I would have liked to have known you in your youth, or a young man, but then again are you so different from then to now? As life rolls by I have so many memories of you and my life is the better for it. I would not change one moment, nor one day.

I have wanted to say these things to you for sometime and even though I pray with my entire being that you will be with me for many years to come, reality means that may not be so. This is why I say this to you now, because I do not want to miss the opportunity of not being able to tell you. I adore you Pop, you will always be with me on this earth or when your time comes to leave it. Perhaps believe in the ever after, so that I can still talk to you and know that you are around me. No words shall comfort my grief or pain when you are not here to talk to or laugh with. I shall remember playing childhood games with you, I shall remember sharing a loaf of bread and a full piece of salami in a car with you and not having anything to cut them with. Our memories will being a smile to my heart. I love you unconditionally and respect you as my father and as a human being.

You have brought me up well and taught me well and for that I am eternally grateful.

You are in my heart and so much a part of me, that tears well in my eyes as I write these words.

But I wanted to say them – had to say them. I am so proud to be your daughter and even more proud that you Pop are my father. So with this I close, I wipe the tears and I vow to spend as much time with you as I can. I love you.

I shared this with you, to implore those that may read it, to say what they feel to their parents, before the chance has been taken from you.  I did and I have made peace within myself, that when his time does come he will know my thoughts and how much I love him. I held his hand and struggled with the tears as I read this to him, but I had the opportunity to do so and for that I am happy.

Remember the lyrics to Mike and the Mechanics Song  The Living Years-

I wasn't there that morning
When my Father passed away
I didn't get to tell him
All the things I had to say