20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


April Fool

I’m no April fool, but I thought
I heard you say, a hundred years
ago, that life would be easy,
the games we play would be more
sophisticated, but they would still be
fun, that the little cracks that form
as we navigate the boundaries ,
would not transform into gaping,
boundless caverns, but instead creep
clouds of light into every moment
and remind us that we are who
we’re supposed to be

no, that was just imagined, for
so many times this seems to be
the definitive experience of
guileless courage, a hazy fog of hapless
misunderstandings, lethargic
ramblings of a maddened soul

even if the words don’t make sense,
leak out all the roiling emotion you keep
so tidy on the shelf of self-control,
dump the contents in a scattered and
untidy heap in a way such that only you
can sort through and make any logic
from the chaos, organized and classified
from appropriate to downright crazy,
go ahead and dive right in,
flounder in the helpless overwhelm that
cleanses the creative palate

even if the madman in your mind
claims that you will never heal
the wounds that reside inside,
sleeping just beneath the surface,
reaching up to reveal the tender parts,
then retreating to leave doubt and
revelation in their wake

even as the walls begin to tumble
down, as you sink, rising and falling
soaring and tumbling through
the cycles that bring you near
perfection then catapult you
out into the shadows where
the grey gloom hovers, seeps inside,
fills the cavernous holes

even there in the most violent and
torrential path, truth is revealed,
sears the heart like streaks of dust
across the cloudy window pane
from which you peer with silent
anticipation and lonely longing
to see the light and rise up
to your rightful place
at the throne of your own life

©SpiritLed 2014


Priming the Pump

I need to prime the writing pump again,

go deep into the well where words reside.

I reach into the past for fountain pen

so I can prime the writing pump again.

When traveling in France I’ll cruise the Seine

or swing through universes planet-wide.

I need to prime the writing pump again

go deep into the well where words reside.

(a triolet)


Hello Again

I just want to say that I have made my blog private for awhile. Therefore, I hope to return to 20 Lines and do a bit of writing here again. This is such a home for artists of words and images and I feel comfortable here. How many new people have joined since I was here last. I look forward to coming to know you through your work and comments.

I have taken Melissa up on her publishing offer through Sable Books and as of last night’s conversation with her, am going to publish my second book of poetry. After a few back-and-forth emails and one long phone conversation, I know Sable is the right choice for me. I would encourage any of you who are thinking of publishing to give Sable Books a try. I am so excited to be in the beginning stages of compiling my book. 

I could hardly sleep last night because words and ideas pushed around in my mind for attention. It was such a happy conglomeration of thoughts, though, and I am ready to forge ahead.

Here I come, Sable. Thank you for being there for me at just the right time.


Invisible

The well runs dry and, parched with fear,
I agonize that I, myself, may shrivel up,
run dry of heart-felt words, that in the end,
the new will once again be old, dwindling
on the page where the worn out and overused
go to seek their final solace, exhausted
from their time of service to the higher cause
of originating expressions of light,
inspiration, and heart-pouring sentiment,
the depth of inner being
spilled forth on public pages

I write my words for you,
my life laid platter-bare,
but what if, after all the words dry up,
there’s nothing there?  What if
I really was invisible?

©SpiritLed 2014


1 Comment

Thirty-Nine

Today I turn 39.  My last year in my 30’s.  If I had my nearly 4 decades to do over, I’d stay home with my kids, which is a total contradiction because I hated staying at home when they were very young.  Now I’d do it all over again and for longer, just for more time with them.  I’d go to graduate school the first time I had the chance.  I’d go back to that first relationship in high school, and I’d say no to that boy.  Yes, it would change the course of my life, but I’d avoid the pain of losing a friend.  I’d make and keep better connections with friends of my parents and my extended family.  I had no idea how much I would wish I knew them better as I got older.   I’d demand more of myself.  The status quo and self pity would never be in my coping toolbox.  I’d learn about self care early on and make it a priority.  I’d stop myself from picking up terrible interpersonal habits that negatively affect my relationships.  My poor husband really has to deal with a lot of baggage.  I’d let people get close to me, I’d be more vulnerable.  And I’d expect it of other people too.  I’d take back every mean word I ever said to my sister.  Maybe we were just kids, but I’m sure it affected her, and she’s the only sibling I have.  I’d set better boundaries for myself, and I wouldn’t be afraid to say no.  I wouldn’t find a sick comfort in relationships that make me feel bad.  I’d talk to my mom about her illness, I’d share my fears about living a life without her.  I’d snuggle up next to her that night when she asked me to.   I’d understand that in order to feel great joy and compassion, you also, at times, have to allow yourself to feel great pain.  I’d never stop writing.  Or dancing.  Or letting the world know how smart I am.  Or crying.  I’d cry a LOT more.  And I’d pray more.  I’d figure out early what makes me passionate and pursue that.  Or not stop pursuing that.  I’d have a job that I love, that fulfills me, that I can’t wait to get up and do every morning.  I’d force my foot into that Cinderella slipper and never let it fall off my foot.

“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

~Henry David Thoreau

Happy 39.  It’s going to be a great year.

©SpiritLed 2014


2 Comments

It’s infectious (Prose)

It’s infectious
those
with troubled pasts
who
can’t explain or talk it out
the need to expel demons
carried on backs, or those that are
buried deep within hearts
It’s infectious
the mountain is there
that needs to be climbed
a pillow that’s held tight to a chest
a drink that is swallowed, they try to forget
abandoning yesterday’s in place of tomorrow’s
casting aside pain, forgetting past sorrow
It’s infectious
the need to jump fences
run free through the fields
survive what has happened, the need to feel real
to unlock the doors, to open their minds
regain their confidence, leaving darkness behind
words are around you, the answers in sight
write out your feelings…please just write
©jmtacken Feb 2014


3 Comments

A New Life

Hiccups and laughs,

Joy to be heard,

A crack of a smile,

a glance at a bird.

The baby is yawning,

mommy is aware

and all through the nap

noise is handled with care.

Now you’re up

and you smiling

no more fuss

no more crying.

The joy of new life

is a blessing.

 


11 Comments

Under the Brooklyn Bridge

The traffic and the lights are what drew me here.

And then I saw the buildings and gasped in surprise.

How do they make the buildings so high?

I walk the streets and up and down the steps I go.

Subways seem loud but in all reality it’s pretty tranquil down here.

Alone in a world of a billion people.

No where to turn in a world of a million streets.

How does one get lost with these numbered signs?

32nd. St.  33rd. St. and so on and so on.

A tiny cafe is bustling with the morning crowd.

This is not my place.

A dive bar at the corner near an alley with a few people sleeping on cardboard bed.

This is not my place.

Under a bridge, sand and water all around.

A pen and a notebook in my hand.

This is my place to find myself.

My place to be who it is I am to be.

Dreaming………..  always dreaming.

 

Image

Photo courtesy of http://wirednewyork.com/brooklyn_bridge_wtc.htm


Kipling’s: Ignoring Eternal Truths

The Gods of the Copybook Heading

 AS I pass through my incarnations in every age and race, I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all. We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn.

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breath of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind. We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome. With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.

They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things. When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.” On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life

(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.” In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “If you don’t work you die.” Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,

And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not God that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four-
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more. As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man-

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began:-
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return! Rudyard Kipling

 


Christmas Memories

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

Daily Prompt: Memories of Holidays Past
What is your very favorite holiday? Recount the specific memory or memories that have made that holiday special to you.

Christmas Memories

Christmas used to be so special when I was a little girl growing up with my two brothers.  We had the best tree Dad could find but one year we truly had a very cool tree.  I never knew my parents were cool, I mean really COOL. Yes it was the sixties and that Christmas we saw them set up a funky metal tree.  It came with a color wheel.  Do you know what I mean?  This was something that ran on electricity and had different colored film on it and it would turn our tree Blue then Red I can’t remember all the colors on the wheel but I can tell you our tree was very different compared to the other homes. …

View original 216 more words

20131127-063151.jpg


4 Comments

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku Catchoo!

Weneday

Snowstorms landing soon
Snow day equals family fun day
Bitter sweet indeed

 

20131127-062659.jpg


2 Comments

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku Catchoo!

Tuesday…

Feelings of family
Flooding over me softly
Waiting for tomorrow

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,332 other followers

%d bloggers like this: