20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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A mother says goodbye

My fingers wrap around your wrinkly hands

vision blurred, as my eyes well with tears

my lips touch velvet; your soft brown hair

and I do this ov’ and over again

in the short time that we have

rocking gave us comfort cradling you in my arms

with tears that touched your lips

that now would never speak

another chance I beseech, to gaze into your eyes

that are the colour of the sea; embrace your warmth

against my skin, but this will never be

a mother should not outlive her child

I begged take mine, in place of yours

I laid my hand across your heart

a heart that beat no more

why was life so fleeting, the time we had too brief

you were ripped away from me, I’m left behind to grieve

there are no answers

life we know at times so cruel

how do I go on living – living without you

try to remember me, you were called away too young

there is no rhyme or reason, for why this has been done

time they say the healer; one last hold, one kiss, I beg

so as I hold you to my breast, this torment that I bear

know that I so loved you and this last wish I share

wrapped in cotton white, take your pastel coloured wings

my angel child and fly

and with each breath I’ll think

of you, till my time comes, to die 

©JMTacken Sept 2013


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Ode to the children of Connecticut

The children

The little ones

Who won’t be cuddled Christmas Day

the innocent

the life yet lead

so cruelly taken away

The parents and the grief

the children that they lost

I can’t imagine

the pain within their hearts

at what this slaying cost

Hold tight your little ones

even though you can’t hold them

take a moment of your day

to think of the useless mayhem

So sparkling eyes of child now gone

R.I.P and we can only say

how sorry that this happened to you

shame, unbelief, upon this senseless day

Today whilst Christmas shopping. A little girl with Down Syndrome came up to Mr S and I in the aisle.

She tapped us both on the stomach and said “I’m going camping”.

We asked where.

“Near a river” was her reply with a grin that beamed across her face.

We melted.

She will see the river …but those lost in this massacre will never run their hands through the water….

 

 

Reposted from ramblingsfromamum


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Christmas – To be a child again

Written whilst listening to the gentle lull of a piano

Oh how I wish I was a child again

waking in the night full of hope and then

wishing for the gifts that I have put on my list

wanting to run and laugh and be kissed

 

My face would reveal my awe

my face would say thank you and so much more

the joy that is for Christmas Day

the innocence of a child, the smile that I portray

~~~~~~~

The tip toe of a child in the morn

gazing upon the tree decorations that adorn

the twinkle that crosses upon their face

the excitement..the  anticipation of… I cannot wait

 

Christmas is for children to see the happiness it brings

the pleasure and the eagerness ..makes our grown hearts sing

for Christmas is a special time that adults hold in their heart

the love that hugs us from within that can’t be torn apart

 

Grasp the bauble from the tree my little one

do you see the colours as it spins?

scrunch the wrapping paper and watch me melt at your grin

this is the day for you my child… I wish to be young again

 

To have these happy memories though I have  some of my own

I take a backward glance… see me as a child and feel the way you do now

bring your laughter to the house on Christmas Day

so that I can relive this joy… so that I too may feel this way

 

Any child at Christmas, though they may not be your own

have a smile a simplicity that’s a wonder to behold

so share with any child if you can the day that holds this delight

clutch at the happiness that they share…embrace and hold them tight

 

I wish I was a child again

 

Reposted from ramblingsfromamum

Google and 123rf photos


Woman

So, this month, I have decided to try something totally different.  A style that I have never  attempted to try, but said what the heck, let me try Acrostic Poetry. So the first word is W etc. and continues to spell woman along the sentences. Let me know if this one makes sense or means something to you, took me ages, sorry to say, it is called WOMAN

World of wonders, complicated to one that tries to look within.

Obtains the beauty, creativity, strength, that can never be torn from the mind.

Manipulating the path, the route

Achieving the highest, the mightiest, it is amazing, the power that lurks inside

Neglecting the fears, opposition, disappointments in one´s life.


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Disappointment

I wait every day for you to call,

just to know that you have thought of me,

have remembered I am still here,

in spite of the pain, the sorrow, the past.

I feel so relieved when you include me,

so special when we go somewhere, just us.

I guess, it seems selfish, but often, I dream

that its only me that was invited, included.

And my heart fills with disappointment

when I find out I was one of many.

Once, you were part of me-

I was the person you adored.

Letting go is hard, but moms have to.

Remember, as you move on,,

I am still here, waiting.

 


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A Mother’s Child

When a mother’s child is hurting, or somehow is done wrong

The pain she feels for her dear child is wide and deep and strong

It matters not how old the child, if three or thirty-five

A mother’s child is still her child as long as she’s alive

~~~

A mother’s pain will come and go for hurts that she may feel

But a mother’s pain for her dear child cuts like a knife of steel

If you’re a mother with a child, you understand me well

There is no need to speak a word,  you know of what I tell

~~~

Be cautious of the mother whose dear child you may have hurt

I say this as a warning, please take heed to this alert

A mother’s like a lioness…with care she guards her young

Or maybe like a hornet’s nest…be careful, lest you’re stung.


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On killing a baby copperhead

There is a measure of ownership
in turning over the things in the yard
that haven’t been turned over in years

And an amount of I-told-you-so
in finding, underneath one of those
somethings, a baby copperhead,
more venomous, I’m told, than her mother.

And loads of not-on-my-watch
when the shovel hacks the creature
to pieces as it tries to make
silent escape, through the grass.

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