Published Poem: Free Verse – “Words Which Cannot be Snatched” #amwriting #spillwords #poetry 


Thanks again to the gracious http://www.spillwords.com for publishing another piece of my poetry. You may remember it although maybe not, OctPoWriMo has resulted in much poetry since this was written. 

Here is: “Words Which Cannot Be Snatched” – http://www.spillwords.com 

——-

http://www.spillwords.com

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Advertisements

#OctPoWriMo – Day 29 – Acrostic – “A Bad Day” #poetry #amwriting


Day 29 Prompt: Upside Down
“Have you ever had one of those days where everything feels upside down? Tell us about your weirdest day.”

——

http://www.pinterest.com

——

Upside down day, things haven’t gone my way; I keep trying —

Providing for my family and doing all I can, but today, I can do nothing right. 

Slid on the steps, took a tumble, I’m okay; but I’ve a a few painful bruises and —

I wasnt listening today in the meeting, and usually no one cares but today the boss was mad. 

Desiring for the day to end, but the clock kept ticking slower and slower, the more I watched. 

End of the day finally came and I went home, through traffic; for the first time ever, I crawled right into bed.

Dreaming was nice, I felt free at last; but as I slept, dreams turned to nightmares.

On my mind, was my bad day at work, the extra time I have to put in, to finish everything that needs doing.

Words fail me when I half-awake, my kids are loud and jumping on the bed –they’re hungry and Dad won’t make dinner. 

Nodding, drowsy, I reach for my purse and hand them forty-dollars for pizza and salad, before sliding back into my dreams; today I need sleep. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Friday Fictioneers: It #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Rochelle Wissoff-Fields for hosting FF. 

—–

Credit: Peter Abbey

——-

Sorry about the tiny text, I don’t know how to fix it on the iPad. 

——-

Why is this bridge bothering me, besides a bit of claustrophobia? I can feel my adrenaline pumping, my fight or flight response taking over.

In the fading twilight, my eyes peer everywhere, searching for something, whatever is out there. As I step across the bridge it creaks. Then I swear I hear heavy breathing, a growl perhaps? I start to run and the end of the bridge is ten steps in front of me. 

Then, I am across the bridge and I hear nothing. It’s trying not to make a sound and the silence makes me sweat. Minutes pass, I believe fifteen? I sigh, shaking my head, thinking I’ve been afraid of something I imagined.

Then, it grabs me, sharp teeth sinking in; it’s too late to scream. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

It’s A Blog-O-Ween! Let’s Party!


Visit Jacqueline’s Halloween Party. Share a link, mingle, do some arty games and have some food and drinks 🙂

a cooking pot and twisted tales

picsart_10-29-01-30-281

Welcome to my house. I’ll try hard not to terrify you to death 😉

We’ve got Black Magic, Bloody Mary ,Skulls and Bone, Flesh Juice, Crushed Bones, Pickled Veins, Marrow Worms, Boggle The Eyes’ Scary pumpkins etc, etc, Just talk to the ghoul in the house and choose your poison.

Let’s meet & mingle, shake a leg & jingle, connect & interact with other awesome folks in here.

If this is your first-time visit, the house rules of play are outlined below, if you are an old-timer, you know the drill.

picsart_10-29-01-32-081

Just some little party rules:

  1. You must mix and mingle with others. Don’t be a wallflower. Go say hello to someone and you can participate in the Tag a poem, a thought or quote below.
  2. Let us know where you are blogging from.
  3.  Please leave your blog link or post link in the comment box below along with introductions.

View original post 230 more words

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – ” Yaya Mockingjay” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s photo challenge: 

—-

http://www.pixebay.com

——

Have you cast all your doubts? 

Decided what’s best? 

An old women has regrets, 

There is no life without them. 

It’s difficult, knowing what’s right, 

I just tried my best. 

Listened to my elders, 

As my mother always said.

But there are days I know, 

My best is not enough.

I’m pushing and pulling,

No strength in my bones. 

I’m yelling and shouting, 

But my words aren’t enough,

“We don’t speak your language Yaya.” 

My grandchildren laugh. 

They always need more,

More than dry-bones can provide. 

I feel drained and drowned, 

In lost potential. 

Yaya down and she can’t raise herself up. 

Drenched in such evil, 

Of those with no conscience;

Their knowing looks, eyes that know nothing.

They’re missing my years, my wisdom learned, 

But I’m stuck in thick sticky mud, 

And no one helps an old woman up. 

There’s no hand to help comfort Yaya, 

Her life was tough and unsparing. 

The mud is the only spa I know or ever have, 

A facial mask of sludge and worms. 

An archaic beauty mask. 

Somebody hear, what I’ve learned — listen: 

Your mistakes and your ills you repeat, 

Each day I try to tell you but it’s not enough. 

You smile at me empty eyes, 

My words pass through your ears, 

The wind blows loudly there.

What’s enough? 

Until I’ve drawn my last breath? 

Until I’m lying here still — dead, 

Knowing some journeys such as mine, 

Must be made alone and for naught. 

A solo expedition, my entire culture lost, 

Must I stay on the roads of antiquity? 

Can I grow with the changing world? 

Give me a reason to deviate: 

I must stop the mudslide from coming.

Spitting sludge from my lips, 

Lord, why don’t they hear? 

The roar of doom and pain approaching. 

It will wash them away, 

When I’m safe in the heavens. 

Does being old make me invisible? 

The crevices of my face are a map, 

And my eyes the lights to yesterday. 

Learn from the past, I pray. 

Where is the light? 

Where is the hope? 

I’m just an old bird, a simple sparrow, 

How do I become a Mockingjay? 

I saw her fight in the movies, 

We need a Mockingjay today, 

A bird of pray who acts, 

Not sleeping through each day. 

How do I bring hope, become a symbol? 

How do I teach my young, 

To mimic a wisdom long past. 

You won’t like what I have to say I know, 

But you would hear, a Mockingjay. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: Pumpkin Guts #3LineTales #horror #halloween #amwriting


Thanks to Sony of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.

——

Credit: Shaun Holloway
——-

He cuts the top off his pumpkin, just as the doctor Victor Frankenstein cut the top off the head of fiend –the demon Mary Shelley wrote of –known as Frankenstein. 

——

The top comes off the pumpkin with a sucking sound and the man grimaces at the putrid smell of pumpkin guts; as he reaches inside to clean the guts a grim laughter echoes throughout the dark house and the man trembles; he laughs at himself knowing the black night and howling wind are only tricking him into being afraid. 

——

Then, the pumpkin head peers up at the man and he screeches like a little girl, hiding under the table; a headless body appears and replaces and the top of the pumpkin; the body places the pumpkin on his neck where his head should be; the pumpkin transforms –eyes triangle cut-outs where fire burns and mouth open with sharp glistening teeth; the headless horsemen goes outside to do his demonic duty on ‘All Hallows’ Eve’ –the ageless creature of horror; he cuts off the head of the crying man for his first head of the night. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

#OctPoWriMo – Day 28 – Sonnet Petrarchan – “Beach Peace” #amwriting #poetry


Prompt Day 28: Picture Prompt – Beach 

http://www.publicdomainpictures.net

——–

Of all the places I love to visit, 

The beach is my most adored place of peace.

Tide goes in and out, a rhythm ceaseless, 

Hands, toes buried in sand, sitting in it. 

Gorgeous place, with blue skys and sun gifted. 

I watch the children build their castles pleased, 

Towers, moats built –they knock it all down ungrieved. 

Reading novel, sunlight my spirits lifts. 

——-

Can anything beat wading, two-miles or so, 

The water just rising around calves low; 

Sunscreen reapplied, temperature hot, glow —

Of the light on water beaded skin, gleaming. 

Tranquility found in sand, surf, sun dreams; 

Natures temple, relax, unwind; heart beams. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

#OctPoWriMo – Day 27 – Ghazal – “Scent Divine” #amwriting #poetry 


Day 27 Prompt: Favorite Scent

“Fragrance is a powerful thing. It can bring you back to your favorite meal your mother used to make, to your first kiss, to any number of events in your life. Free write for 10 minutes and see where your nose leads you, if your words need some encouragement, walk outside, down the street, through a mall, through a forest until your nose reminds you and the words begin to flow.” 
——–

http://www.kesuada.com

——-

Scent of cinnamon, apple pie freshly made, divine,

Fresh bread, spice cookies, shortbread, chocolate craved divine

——

Easter ham glazed with pineapple rings, smoked, homemade.

Perogies, bacon, onion, soft sating divine

——

Walking outside after it rains, pine scent invades

Deep breath, acrid wonderful smell nature divine

——-

Puppies and kitties, newborn babes, a scent persudes

Love, care for, feed and adore, keep safe those divine. 

——–

Incense in churches, candles burning, chants disuade

Wine strong, broken bread, prayers with coffee wake the divine

———

Ghazal: 

“A Ghazal is a poem that is made up like an odd numbered chain of couplets, where each couplet is an independent poem. It should be natural to put a comma at the end of the first line. The Ghazal has a refrain of one to three words that repeat, and an inline rhyme that preceedes the refrain. Lines 1 and 2, then every second line, has this refrain and inline rhyme, and the last couplet should refer to the authors pen-name… The rhyming scheme is AA bA cA dA eA etc.”

Please see Shadow Poetry for further information 

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: No Good Witch #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——-

Yinglan Z

——-

Belinda was a nasty middle-aged woman, but her behaviours were characteristic of someone older. 

She was mentally and physically sound; however, the pucker of her frown never left her face. Wrinkles indented themselves deeply into her forehead, around her eyes, and around her mouth; her skin was pasty white. 

She pretended to walk feebly; but when a neighbourhood child or dog was near her property she ran out screaming, wearing stodgy Victorian gowns, no skin showing but her face and hands. Her hair was always severely pulled back in a tight bun. 

Besides a cat or four, she disliked everyone. She made known she had cut her family out of her will. All her money would go to a stern Catholic congeragation she had terrorized since she was four. 

 An old trailer and burned-out truck from a cousin who had lived with her, remained on her lawn, even after the cousin disappeared. No one who entered Belinda’s house came back out, only her cats. 

 The neighbours thought this had been occurring for some three-hundred years, having heard the same stories from their great-grandparents and before. 

Was Belinda a ghost? A banchee? A witch? No one knew. But every now and then someone disappeared inside her doorway and everyone knew that person wouldn’t be returning. 

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Historian and Pyromaniac #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

——-

A Mixed Bag – Alistair Forbes

——

“It will never burn. It’s stone and concrete. People don’t build monumental buildings to burn easily these days,” Trent commented.

“Well they used to and this building is pretty old. I’d say it’s eighteen-hundreds,” Chip guesstimated. 

“That old?”

“Yeah, I took some art history so I’d know. Burning this building won’t destroy the whole thing, but it will burn a lot of history within. Maybe it’s like the White House when the Canadian’s burnt it in the War of 1812,” Chip said. 

“Pffff . . . Canadians aren’t that aggressive,”Trent said.

“Oh yeah well why do you think it’s called the White House? Canadians and British soldiers burnt it and the states had to white wash it after rebuilding some parts; white washing covered up the smoke damage and scorch marks.” 

“But wasn’t Canada more a British colony at that point?  So, the fault lies with the British who were leading things,” Trent insisted.

“Many of the soldiers identified as Canadian, Trent,whether or not they were led by Britain; the States shouldn’t have tried to take the Canadas, as upper and lower Canada were known then.” 

“Um, that’s a great history lesson but why do you want to burn this building?” 

Chip’s eyes grew dark, “Some people just like to watch the world burn; but I’m okay with one building . . . to start.”

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.