Proof for Faith, There Isn’t Any


Please read this wonderfully thought provoking piece:

clcouch123

Proof for Faith, There Isn’t Any

(then Quo vadis?)

Proof

You want proof

There isn’t any

Maybe in the nautilus

Contemplative-minded people

Seem to like the spiral

Turning and arching toward

Infinity

Lately, I’ve been looking at

Where the spiral’s going

When the photograph is stairs and not

A shell

Often, there’s a black space on

The image

Mystery, an unknown place of

Arrival, I imagine

Sometimes, the square is light

But also undefined

Then there are creative renderings

Steps made of windows,

Graphically

Sometimes of stained glass

Where are we going? all the frames

Of any kind seem

To say

Quo vadis?

I suppose there is in indication

Typically

We are traveling up

Though shift a little, maybe

Going down

Perhaps there is no depth or height

And we are moving in

Into something

On to something

Maybe something good

We don’t know

The final patch is indeterminate

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Fiction: “Nomadic Heart” #amwritingfiction


Credit: Adrian Dascal via Unsplash


Linnea ambles with grace down the cobbled streets, backpack slung. The afternoon sunlight reflects in wedges off sculptured buildings, and pedestrians on motorized ‘wheelies’ whiz past her.

She’s chosen ‘berry pink’ hair for today, hidden beneath her helmet. The remote bracelet on her hand flickers amber, and images of the city (places Linnea frequents) appear in front her; she’s the only one who can see them.

She is anxious to find her next home. The ‘all-seeing eye,’ (the same one on her leather jacket) flashes as she shoves her Stans (converse runners) into her ‘wheelie,’ speeding towards her new apartment in seconds. Inside she hoists the ultra-light vehicle over her shoulder before scanning her hand to enter the eclectic living space.

Linnea runs up the hallway stairs and tosses her leather jacket on the couch; her wheelie rests nearby. Lounging on the couch Linnea flicks through vivid images of flowers on a large screen while eating Thai left overs from the fridge.

She chooses images to tattoo on her skin in one painless scan. Most will fade in a week, but there are three which never disappear. They’re the only piece of home she always has with her.

Her eyes spot her jacket and the ‘all seeing-eye’ warning her; it flickers white and Linnea knows that she can’t remain. The beeps of the real tenant’s handprint scanning quickens her pulse; she needs to find a new hideaway. A silver-haired man steps in through the front door and she throws on her gear; Linnea slips out before he notices. Her Stans are in place on her ‘wheelie’ again as she takes off down the street.

Linnea’s life was a series of hopping from place to place. She swore as the wheelie zoomed faster. They called this the future, but the future resembled the past in too many ways. For some people it didn’t matter, they never had a home, a place ‘just’ theirs. For some people their nomadic heart forever wandered and always would; home was an illusion.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Forever Hope” #amwritingpoetry #mandibelle16 #mandibellesthoughts


Hey all! It’s been a long time, and I’m sorry to have been away so long. I’ve spent the last month recovering in hospital from a severe depressive episode. There’s still a ways to go to improve my stamina, but the hardest part is done. At least my diagnosis is known forsure — I suffer from Clinical Depression where I can become so depressed I have a psychotic episode. But, with new medication and the help of modern ECT (which I highly recommend), I’m looking forward to continuing through life and improving my little apartment and finding another part-time job. For now I’m at my parents working on healing a little still. Here is a poem I started a month ago, before the episode got bad, finished today.


Credit: Shutterstock


The writer takes a pause,

The world it spun, titled without cause.

Forgotten nights and fierce dramas played;

Yet, I stay; I pause — only for a breathe of time.

A moment to confess;

Assured that darkness can never win the day.

Although the sun is abeam and we drag our paint brushes through clean–

It’s a stronger light than you could imagine.

Eternal, brilliant, fluorescent, suffering a just fierce burst;

— Than the glow of morning wins adream.

So, that in the black pitch of fright we see;

Darkness is short, never forever.

Forever is but a moment if you realize —

Dim dankness will cease, and the night’s short minutes are minuscule gleaming beams of white.

They block out the pitch of fright;

Time that pauses pain, such gusts of cruelty cannot prevail;

Thus, we continue on —

And in life we’ve hope, despite death shrouds.

Those pollutant clouds that choke — only sweet clean air has us afloat.

Here shrill cobalt birdies fly and never die;

No lost trips in wild night, no wild wild frights or shadow‘s clawing.

Nothing but our vivid faith for tomorrow’s war won;

And in reality I find(perhaps), a better life aglow.

I hold on for brilliant light beyond the dusk, and harrowed breadth of night.

This is no nightmare or sordid dream, so hang on —

A better life bends t’ward us; And courage is a radiant resplendent breath awake.

The creators Mercy and passion still live —

If only we forget not to hope.

For a better life, for better seconds to each other give;

Forgive and hang-on-tight to the bold flashes of a sunny, light blue Friday dawn.

The battle has faded; now forever altered we move on.

Soldiers dragging our feet as swishes of paint,

Each step t’ward life’s resilience.


©️Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved (2019).

Three Line Tales: Fiction — “The Peace at the End of the Road” #amwritingfiction #3LineTales.


Thank you to Sonya of #3LineTales.


Credit: Dave Herring via Unsplash.


Autumn is cool here and they’re places I amble where certain roads are brilliant possibilities; others dull dead ends. This September, the warm breeze of an Indian summer blows through me, and in the sunshine afternoon a rainbow brick path leads to a periwinkle church. I sit on a back pew, hands laced in prayer as peace pervades me for mere moments; then, my heart unclenches and I inhale bliss.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Published Poem on Spillwords: “Light, Darkness, Battle, and, Glory.” #amwritingpoetry #Spillwords


Credit: Spillwords


Please check out my latest poetry piece published on http://www.spillwords.com: Light, Darkness, Battle, & Glory.

–A.M. Eifert


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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Photo Challenge: Poem — Free Verse — “Reverence and Instinct” #amwritingpoetry #photochallenge


Credit: NEKNEERAJ of http://www.mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com


When the dust clears and you can see through the shadows,

When the deep dark ends, and you might be okay.

You might move forward, but you’re fragile as tissue;

When you find your voice, but you also lose it’s tune.

When you’re there to listen, but don’t hear solid proof,

When the dust clears, the rubble remains trapped between a rock face.

You can creak forward when you’re on your knees,

Praying it’s not one good day, but a second, with real-life dreams —

A crystallization of thought.

When wounds shame, and then you somehow claw forward;

Remove self-focus look to others; is it His will, or my will?

Somedays the weight is heavy, the yoke chokes,

Then, He lifts my broken spirit,

Pets a stray cat peaking for hope,

Knowing I could swallow a butterfly whole and choke,

Or experience misspoken glory, and let it rest exposed.

A pendulum of breath and instinct,

Cross-eyed reverence, nature’s ravenous pull;

Pounce or be still?


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

#100WordWednesday: Fiction — Violet Falling #amwritingfiction #flashfiction


Credit: Bikurgurl.


Steph tilted his chin towards the ‘road closed signs. “While the crews worked, poor Violet tumbled off her balcony.”

Mike sighed. “Happens every summer. She’s gonna have some awful bruising. I’ve lived here most of my life, she was beautiful — used to call her Aunt Violet — but she has her vices too.” He mimed drinking from a flask.

“She has her reasons. Once, she married a lawyer in a bright yellow wedding dress. One day he left; she’s been stern since.” Steph shook his head. “I remember as a kid, she gave us Hershey kisses.” He stretched his arms. “It’s a sad thing but best get back; my wife has dinner on.”

Mike spoke as he turned from his neighbour. “Violet will be fine. Maybe she’ll stop drinking home brew, discover that she’s got lots of time before her.” Stephen shrugged; the two neighbours walked up the porch stairs to their respective homes.

A.M Eifert


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: “Small Steps” #amwritingfiction #flashfiction


Thanks to Sonya for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: https://unsplash.com/photos/e5eDHbmHprg


His foot padded on terra firma and his heart squeezed; lunar dust floated in the vacuum of space. Inside the space suit he sweated bouncing, taking careful but ‘small’ steps for ‘mankind;’ he was a history-maker, a hero. Still, part of him wondered if the effort had been worth it as the specs of lunar dust in his gloves floated; he contemplated whether he was nearer to his maker here or on the cerulean orb below.


–A.M. Eifert


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Fiction — “Sea Dragon” #amwritingfiction #flashfiction


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Photo Challenge.


Credit: sound-dream tumblr.


The freeway lights gleamed in the darkness, blending with celestial blurs of stars. Giselle drove home, bit by bit across the bridge. The air was tinged with sea salt, while impatient drivers honked their horns. Giselle was amazed that each night people never tired of the cacophony. A ship horn blew across the sky and she edged her car forward.

Then, a harrowed screech from the bridge had her and other drivers screaming. In another second, the bridge swayed and cars slid towards each other. Giselle bit her lip as a roar thundered and the bridge swayed.

A massive yellow eye blinked, and the ancients lizard’s tongue flicked against reptilian lips. Giselle lay her hand against her beating heart; it was only the local sea dragon. He’d swum under the bridge and his ridged form had scraped the bottom. Giselle stepped out of the car as did many others, to watch the monster swim on into the sea amidst the starry light.

She noted others stepped out of their scraped and battered cars. It wasn’t uncommon for the dragon to hit the bridge, it was built to handle his force. No one had more than minor injuries; the police and national guard kept him tranquilized.

Now and then, the dosage was too much and the dragon was woozy as he hunted small creatures in the sea. Giselle stepped into her vehicle, and the traffic moved again, quicker this time. A part of Giselle ached for the dragon, too prehistoric ( perhaps, medieval) for the modern world; the only sea dragon left.

A.M. Eifert


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse — “How To Be A Bird” #amwritingpoetry


Credit: Roland Denes via Unsplash.


The wings of summer come flying soft,

Puffs of feathers fluffed towards the sky;

I do not know, or not know not how,

Such warbling birds, with limps can fly.

I don’t know why they limp as babes,

Tossed from the nest, before the cat eats;

Whiskers dripping in homemade cream,

Somehow at times we fly as much as we need,

Up into the sky, to breathe;

But, sometimes we are stones, we sink to the floor.

And the world around us explodes,

Fur, yowls, claws as life takes another bite;

What goes on in the mind, is a curious thing.

Pathways misfiring, and there’s no end of ammo to spark,

Images, fear, flatness, some kind of pain,

Mental, a darkness physical that grabs at the mind;

And birds might fly for a limited time —

But all of us fall, at the end of he day.

And sleep cannot always solve,

Sometimes, light hurts your eyes, as if the world’s a giant;

Ray exposing you for every sin, and vice, every deed ever done wrong —

Every lie, and every past sin, no matter that you’ve turned;

I’ve no idea how life can revive, when I’ve already asked for so much.

But there are no words,when you’ve been robbed,

When there’s hurt but you can’t find the cause.

When part of you is broken,

And you can’t fuse the cracks;

And the world spins, and flows,

Dizzy from the ride, you always feel as if you’ll puke your insides.

When the past repeats, and you think you’ve healed,

When the cat gets it’s cream, and only feathers remain;

When your eyes can’t see, or the mind can’t connect,

What then, each path, the doorway shuts,

Then what? Positivity aside —

Then, somehow a glimmer reveals;

New wings rebuilt, fragile –no one knows why,

But they’re a gift, and such mercy means you can become,

That a future has possibility,

And warbling birds trill a tune,

No matter the storms or trials.

The cat will have to wait,

This bird’s wings flap for miles.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.