befogging

But he saw too that in America the struggle was befogged by the fact that the worst Fascists were they who disowned the word ‘Fascism’ and preached enslavement to Capitalism under the style of Constitutional and Traditional Native American Liberty.
—  It Can’t Happen Here - Sinclair Lewis
Beleaguered (Or, Not Everyone Enjoys The Same Relationship With Social Media)

     A rather sloppy attempt at Light Poetry (while breaking the rules, as usual).

     This is in absolutely no way meant to offend. I had a hilarious conversation with a multi-generational group of women, the other day. It made me laugh. Hopefully, the following will do the same for you: 

————————————


She ofttimes said (with pride and glee), “Facebook is the Devil!”
avoiding travels to the past —each reunion revel
Still, near-grown kids have a way of getting what they want
and, soon Old Mom had an account, ouvert par l'enfant

Thumbs up, babies; click the kitties; sports teams on parade
faces befogged with time gone by; offense, she would evade
Friend-ing, Liking, Stalking? Dodging lunch date invitations
squabbles, real-time with her spouse (she planned no assignations)

Supper photos; gym stat updates; fundraising renewals;
virtual farming; weather info, monsoons of shiny jewels
Bikini selfies; thirsty comments (alarming in amounts)
surveys; quizzes; politics; adverse bulletin accounts

“Fly high Freak-Flag!” “Get up, Stand up!”* “Equality for all!”
“Hey, POTUS,"Tea Cups blame SCOTUS, "Frugality will fall!”
“Punch the clock; riot for rights! Join in, show your support!”
“Block the Beltway! S'ciety slumps, don’t let women abort!”

A life cocooned –on purpose, arduously obstructed
Comfort found inside her head where order was conducted
Deluged; bored; feeling harassed, traversing online —a chore,
she vowed, once her kid moved back to school —she’d Facebook NO MORE


—–


kneipho, © 2015

*REF (Bob Marley)

This One's For Her

Author’s Note: So, here’s so more Tayvin fanfiction! :) I love writing family fanfics for any pair I write and Tayvin is no exception. :) In this series of fics, you will be introduced to the Wiles family. :P I hope you like them! :) This is the first of a bunch more to come. :) I’ll call this bunch “Tayvin’s Family Series” :) Tell me what you think :)

………

There was a certain quiet to their house at this time of night, an instrumental melody of befogged voices, coming from the sleep deprived father upstairs, murmuring nonsense to himself until the moment he drops off into a deep slumber; the baby’s faded breaths one room over, barely existing as little puffs that expel from skinny lips, those that are transmitted over the monitor hooked into her belt loop; the cats contented purrs sounding abnormally loud in the din of familial silence, though they belonged, and when she sat at the piano – the same one that had been there for the past two years, in front of the wall adorned with pictures depicting through imagery various stages of their life together – and began to softly play a tune not yet known, nobody stirred, or so she thought. “Tay? What in the world are you doing up love?”

She startled at the sound of his voice. The vivre was missing from his tone and it was replaced by the velvety accent of midnight – the brief cunctation of a forgetful mind, portrayed by languid vowels and consonants, forever trying to make proper words. Smoothing out his scruff, he sighed, bending to match her current height. “Did late-night inspiration strike yet again?”

She didn’t speak for a while, and neither did he; she was listening to the tempo of her daughter’s tiny rises and falls of the chest, a repeating pattern, the only one that was to never go astray even as she grew, and he was watching his wife, a soft coruscation circling his lush irises. He loved to witness the creative process unfold and thought of himself as spoiled whenever he got the chance to do so; he was absolutely enamoured with the way she sat there, sometimes at the baby grand, sometimes on the loveseat with her guitar strapped over her midsection, bent over the instrument of choice with such thought – as told by the imperceptible, at least to the unwatchful, crinkles that emerged along the bridge of her nose as well as inklings of such in her petite forehead, and the biting of her bottom lip, a concentrative mechanism demonstrated mostly when she was reproached by a whim, uncertain if following through was the right choice. It normally was, given the raging successes of her past albums and current one alike, but even so she still wavered.  Now though, he smiled when she began scribbling furiously on the notepad in front of her.

The rain outside was intermittent, starting and stopping at its own pace, as it had been for the day’s entirety, beginning again a few hours ago and starting up just after the two of them had put their eight month old down to bed; she’d been showing signs of sleeping all through the night and that delighted both parents greatly, as they too now could get some much-needed sleep. As luck would have it, just as she was going to take advantage of something long ago given away, she was promptly awoken by a spirited ghost, one that pushed her out of bed and down the stairs, hissing random melodies into her ear, all of them uncorrelated, unrelated, but familiar. Olivia mewled in greeting from the stool she was perched on, earning an ear scratch and a gentle scolding. Adam, she now knew, had been shaken from his comatose state soon after, the coldness on her side of the bed too much for him to ignore. He’d accidently bumped into the kitten on his way down the dark, opulent staircase, though she proved to be nonplussed, plopping down right by his feet, a mere two millimetres from where she’d been previously. It an ungraceful hindrance that had him dodging her to finish his descent. 

“Yeah, you can say that, sure,” she smiled, gesturing down to the words written in cursive; though its flow was interrupted in places, the tails of letters left unfinished and some unclear, like if she didn’t have the words somewhere tangible quickly enough, they would disappear altogether, out of her head and into the heated air that the furnace heavily exhaled. She looked up momentarily from the piano, where her fingers experimented with both major and minor.  The red polish of her fingertips appeared almost patriotic against the set white of the keys as they sang aloud an unrenowned ballad, its lyrics spoken not at concerts or other events, but only in the intimate setting of their home.

“Do you want to hear what I’ve got so far?” she questioned him, her voice lagged with a self-consciousness he wasn’t all that used to hearing, yet it was a change that brought about a warmth within his heart. It was akin to the vulnerability of a lost child, their eyes soulful, though glaring with distrust, at the stranger who’d stopped to try and help them – it was a reaction completely expected and therefore correct in the rules of human interaction. She was nervous about his thoughts regarding her composition because she was willing to acknowledge the realism of the possibility that what she’d written may in fact be horrible. This meant that she was modest, and he relished in her virtue. “I’d be honored love. Are you working on a new single? You’ve been down here three times in the past couple nights. I’ve never wanted to disturb you but I’ve been wondering.”

She smirked and her eyes gained a coy luminescence as she looked to her notebook, then the piano. “Not exactly.” Taylor began to play then, and the rhythm washed over him as her left foot collided with the peddle, every secondary beat, its metronomic sound in close relation to Thumper’s rabbit paw atop the hilly ground of the woodlands. He knew that sound from having watched Bambi yesterday, cuddled on the couch with Taylor and their daughter. They were in the process of exposing her to all of the older, acclaimed Disney movies, nowadays viewed only as famous artifacts - rarely talked about and barely ever watched – as newer, revised versions trump them. It was Taylor’s idea to show her them, though Adam was on the fence, as she was still so young and they’d be nothing but stories told of denigrated memories but eventually he gave in to the second half of his wife’s proposition: ‘I want her to have a real childhood, one like you and I did. One spent playing outdoors, making up games and playing dress up. One spent watching a marathon of Disney movies – the real ones, not the live-action 2015 ones – on a rainy day.” They’d already seen Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Pinocchio, Bambi was today’s – well, technically, yesterday’s.  It was nice to spend such quality time with his family, without work dictating their every waking moment – he has been off the grid for a year or so now in with regards to the music industry, only ever publically talked about as Taylor’s husband, which he didn’t mind, while Taylor –

“It’s not done yet, obviously, because there’s no bridge but –“

“It’s about Audrey, isn’t it?” he asked, knowing the second it began, the moment she started singing about a little baby with blue eyes like the ocean of a tropical destination, a giggle like mid-day sunshine, and chubby Chip and Dale cheeks. She went on with a higher register, to talk about how this little girl’s happiness is infectious, how she takes after her daddy in ways she could only hope stick with her through the years, and how this child was a blessing from above, the queen of her world and simultaneously, at trying times, the bane of her existence. It was a beautiful track, backed by a wondrous harmony, sweet and sensual in the most innocent, pure, way.

Taylor nodded excitedly, glad that he liked it so much, as she could clearly see from his face.  “This one’s for her, baby. I’ve written you a fair share, so hush.”

He chuckled, “It really is beautiful love, the prose is just…fantastic, and the melody could lull me to sleep – in the best way.” Just as those words left his lips, there was the unmistakeable canticle of an infant, their cry universal. “And she’s up. Maybe you can sing this to her, help her fall back to sleep.”

She mimed her agreeance with a slight movement of her head as she stood up. “I’ve got her.” Adam pushed her back, lightly. “No, I do. I’ll bring her down.”

Once he ascended towards their daughter’s nursery, with Taylor watching his retreating form, as the cats trailed behind, she was struck with this feeling that left her impotent, unable to speak or do much of anything except think of how damn lucky she was to have the two people she loved with all her being love her just as much. It was incredible. Adam came down with their baby girl in his arms, her head cradled just as he was taught during the tail end of the birthing classes they’d attended together, as the cats ran ahead, racing each other recklessly down the last few steps. “That’s a hard no you two, not with Audrey around,” she warned, swishing the cats’ tails in a way she knew they couldn’t stand as they passed by her.

“There’s my two babies, one little and one big,” Taylor cooed by way of greeting, moving her hands in a ‘gimmie-gimmie’ motion as Adam carefully handed the infant off to her and she flashed her mother a droopy half-smile.

“Look Adam! Omigosh, my Jellybean is smiling! Do you see this!?”

“I do Tay, she’s absolutely precious.”

Taylor took his hand, placing it overtop the one she had perched on the piano keys. “Sing with me.  But I need two hands…um, can you –“

Without having to say anything more, Audrey was taken from her arms and settled once again in his. She blinked up at him with sleepy inquisition, making him smile as Taylor began to play the opening notes to her newly written song. “This is for you Bean,” Adam whispered to his daughter, “Mommy wrote it for you. Isn’t it amazing?”

His gaze landed on the notebook and with an encouraging grin from her, he began to sing, matching her pitch as best he could. When they finished, their daughter was fast asleep once again, as told by the dreamlike shadow casting over her petite features not yet developed. Taylor put a hand to her heart, breathing out to relieve her singer’s lungs of pent up exertion. “I was going to release the song on her first birthday, you know.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. “That I didn’t. And you should still, what’s with the past tense?”

“Nobody was supposed to hear it until then.”

“We don’t count,” Adam pointed out, bopping her on the nose, making her giggle.

“I suppose you don’t. You’re my family. Adam, Taylor and Audrey Wiles. I couldn’t ask for anyone better. Even our names together sound pretty.

“Don’t forget Mere and Olivia.”

His lips met hers in a passionate kiss as he gently jockeyed the baby to her chestnut crib a few moments later.  “I love you…and our little family.”

She smiled fondly, taking in the scene before her with speechless rapture. “I love us too.”