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

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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.

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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.

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


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

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http://www.pixebay.com

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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.

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Credit: Shaun Holloway
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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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.