Daily Prompt, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Free Verse –  “Fraility Flailing” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt Frail.

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http://www.nited-academics.org

——-

We walk the golden path; we’re frail, 

Is there any other way to wander?

No one stronger or wiser left to fight?

But we’ve aged within minutes, 

We forgot to gaze behind us, 

To see what the past left for us;

Wisdom and knowledge with a bloody trail. 

Instead, we’re continuing on a broken path, 

We’re frail, aging humans by the seconds;

Counting our tomorrows,

Before we have them granted.

Not listening to our elders;

Who lost life, limb, peace, to war and grief.

We don’t look skyward to the heavens, 

We watch our own feet tremble.

Stuttering we stumble down the trail.

Dragging our canes and walkers;

We’re riddled with bullet holes.

Wounds we never felt, 

We never gave up our guns;

Never thought what “security,” meant,

For our children and grandchildren.

We’re all exceedingly frail, 

As if we were ancient beings;

We carry their genes but their wisdom, 

We breathe out like carbon.

The hurricane winds blow through our ears, 

Blocking out what we don’t want to hear. 

Truth is a dangerous weapon, 

The truth can change direction.

The truth can smart and hurt, 

Our lungs can barely breathe.

It degrades and humiliates, 

It stings our eyes and it turns, 

Focused vision, to grey static.

The truth it always is revealed, 

Until all we can see is real.

But real has no pertinent meaning, 

When what you’re used to, 

Lies promoted and shouted.

Lies built upon lies, 

More colourful than, 

The Grande Canyon’s layered rock.

We hide behind our lies, 

It makes us distrusting.

Flailing, we cannot believe in anyone;

Not even ourselves to do what’s right.

We cannot elect using logic; 

No true king on this earthly realm, 

To lead us to glory and home.

We don’t even have faith in, 

Our own minds and bodies.

We’re so frail, as paper cranes crushed, 

As tissue paper torn without thought.

We cannot lift our fingers to point, 

To teach unlearning children lessons, 

Before they end up like us.

We’re frail; yet we don’t know the meaning, 

But as assuredly as the world turns, 

Our ashes and dust, 

Will blow away in the wind.

The sands of time keep swirling, 

And we’re growing ever closer, 

To our own cremation;

We think we have forever, 

But our steps are forgotten memories, 

Or thoughts not even the silt of dirt.

Frailty so visible, we lumber around slowly, 

In our slumber losing memories.

We forget to see where yesterday led, 

Blindly we falter and walk where we may;

Into tears, and traps, we’re used, betrayed —

Abused and hopeless.

But we reap what we sew;

Our harvest was distrust and darkness, 

A black-hole eating consuming all good.

We’re frail, until we fall where we walk, 

Because life is faulty and frail too;

And our short time, 

Has been for not;

If we cannot learn from our past, 

See how history repeats no matter the leader.

But we are human, 

So we do not learn, 

Thinking we’re invincible; 

Until the day we’re not.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Travel, Writing

Poem: Italian Sonnet – “Desert and Oasis Art” #introtopoetry #amwriting #sonnet


For the last poetry 101 post the theme is the future, and to he the form of a sonnet. I’m also using The Daily Post prompt words Glass and Desert.

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http://www.calixebe.com

——-

Desert air burns bleeding cracked lips; so slow, 

Annoying pain, causing heat stroke quicker.

What’s in the future, dry dust, sand sifting?

Tiny grains grating in my mouth, wind blows.

Does this desert end? Sun baking skin whole?

Am I done penance, my soul much richer?

Water, oasis found; soul weeps bitter.

Are my thoughts real? Or am I dying slow?

——

Future ahead, sandstorms, I see swarming;

Into crystals of glass where artists make, 

Such beautiful creations colours forming.

Glass in flowers; blown shapes delicate made.

Where presently, I’m in need of some shade.

Torment cease; dancing, at last, rain storms! 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

  

Daily Prompt, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Quatrain -- abab abba ccdc dddd., Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Free Verse (Quatrains) – “Slow Sweet Burn of Life” #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to The Daily Prompt for the words Burn and Pleasure.

——–

http://www.pinterest.com

——-

Pleasure it awakes in swirls of dreams, 

Our thoughts hold the key to a slow sweet burn.

To our wildest and most tempestuous scenes.

Seductive and entralling time, causing rug burn.

——–

Who plays the Queen of hearts, the lady prestine? 

As our hearts smoke, cinder and ash burn.

Or wish we only for, human contact; no pipe dreams,

One hand holds another with compassionate concern.

——-

A tiny fist squeezes back, dressed in winter white cream.

The pleasure in the laughter of baby’s unreserved.

The precocious and precious delights of a child us appease.

Giggling with exuberance, gurgles for future ice cream.

——

Of love and light and fascinating swirls gleaned.

Pleasure seeking knowledge, conversation purred.

Inspiration; genuflection to God, alter the flaws, appease.

Right the wrongs, make what’s true everyone’s concern.

——-

Ambiant light; the truth in fog, bliss in dreams.

Lovers kiss, and delight in beloved’s eternal burn.

With desire and, touch, and scent, all streamed.

Only for a deep, true love, do some lucky, yearn.

——-

Embrace, scintillate soulmate; live in love’s esteem.

 Imperfections, what makes us human? To aid, serve.

Endorphins, serotonin, results in passionate beings.

But the true-love is rare; seeing life’s wheel turning.

——–

Adoration of fractures in each other; lost words breathing.

Pleasure in such imperfect cracks of others learned.

Pleasure in memories; in night’s hectic moonbeam.

Yourself, thinking back; ignoring anxious concerns.

——–

Of Pleasure indulge; of moments in life, redeeming.

Treasure seconds; breezy, blowing freedom unreserved.

As the light shines on, linger in pleasurable daydreams.

Feel yourself lost in thought, of life’s slow sweet burn.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

A L' Arora, Daily Prompt, Fiction, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Travel, Writing

Poem: A L’Arora – “The Wanderer Who Yearned”


Thank you to The Daily Post for the prompt words Natural and Struggle.


wander-the-world
http://www.thechangeblog.com

A wanderer navigates far on her journey,

She traipses from stars luminous in ink darkness,

Across natural hill she can’t not climb,

In lush valleys sleeping, dreams whispering in,

Travelling far, in-between, in the world down below,

Knowing not peace; restless she artfully treads,

Breathing the life, new civilizations she learns,

Tracing the moon, it dips to to her hands; she treads.


Wanderlust a vise; no peace yet, no worry,

In the sky’s plashless flamingo pink, fire orange stark;

Tranquility masked, in the eyes of young and old; she finds —

Wisdom in their tongues so foreign, not to her akin;

Grass, scented sharp and fragrant; an afternoon’s soft pillow,

She shares not, a fear of ‘what’s out there;’ no dread,

Roaming each day, hopping off trains, nothing her concerns;

Inscrutability of the world hails; she goes wherever, not knowing dread.


In Paris, she didn’t bother climbing the Eiffel Tower leery,

Of crowds, and people overwhelming; she’s a lark,

Free spirit, sweet melodies trailing; requires space to fly, to find —

Her life abroad, journeying towards the sun as it sets in Berlin.

Abundance of pints in Germanic territory; laughter she borrows,

A smorgasbord of people, faces to greet before bed.

Memories composed  in songs of the moments; she burns —

Companionship,she’s persuaded; singed remnants in bed.


Through Italy and Greece she did not falter, clearly —

Used to travelling trails, which ever road ingenuity sparked.

Nothing, exquisite as midnight’s blackness, in her mind,

The ruins of Ancient Greece in Athens alight; interlude in Santorini.

Riches of Rome, what need has God of golden sorrows?

A few nights idle, in soft hotel bed; relaxation as she read,

Of home, the place she missed the most; yet she yearned —

Struggling within; wanting more of the world, of new places read.


Climbing the Alps; mountains so high, a drop shear;

Below the air, not but wind, as she embarked.

Her mind in the beaches of Spain white; now resigned.

Searching forever, not to discover, real truths in the wind,

Traversing, strong, full of vitality; healthy to the core.

Until her ankle, tottered over, with a sprain and scratches bled.

Relishing in the Netherlands, a peaceful place to learn.

Sleeping in, and delighted to pause; until scratches never bled.


Of Nova Scotia’s Atlantic ice cold waters clear,

She gazed on architecture as Europe’s in Quebec, and parks,

Of pristine nature, trees, and flowers; but nature’s blind,

To the tumult of thought occurring inside her; she’s on a tailspin —

To Australia’s Opera House in Canberra; heart sore–

Journeying in the Outback; most treacherous place led,

By tour guides; and journeying in Melbourne earned,

Photographs caught on Instagram; further travels led.


Down to the Dominican, all inclusive; drinking slush and beer,

Reacting as she roamed where Inca’s lived, Mexican landmarks,

Insider herself, she perceived a need to still her being, and find,

Her place in a multicultural earth; her home, she grinned —

Such knowledge absorbed; little she knew, remaining ashore.

 Determining home, in the vast open prairies she once fled,

Traversing infinitely; it was a greed which no longer in her burned.

Home in her heart; she soars, a new trail found, where she before fled.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

 

Daily Prompt, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Dial on the Metal Desk #amwriting #fiction


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW. Also, thank you to The Daily Prompt for the prompt words Rebuild and Understanding

——

Nonnaci

——-
“What do you think it does?” Wallace asked Ed.

“I don’t know,” Ed said thoughtfully, ” It’s odd, don’t you think? A dial in the middle of a metal desk? There has to be a purpose for it.”

“I’m sure it has a purpose. I’m not sure we should be the ones finding out what the purpose is. Rivers was a bit crazy. He was in intelligence in the army during WWII. My Grandma Milly always said he had claimed to have uncovered something world changing.” Wallace remarked.

“I didn’t know Canada had spies in WWII?  But what I really want to understand what this dial does. Rivers died last May, and this desk in his old garage is the only furniture left in his entire home.”

“Fine!” Wallace said exasperated with Ed. He turned the dial on the desk fully around until in was in line with a red mark.

“Rivers probably thought his property would stay deserted. It was closed up the by health and safety shortly before he passed on,” Ed muttered, waiting for something to happen.

“Click! Click! Click!” The sounds were loud and ominous in the abandoned garage. The young men turned to each other eyes wide.The garage floor began to lower with Wallace and Ed standing on it. 

Beneath the garage, was the most terrifying and fascinating thing, Wallace and Ed had ever seen.

“We can’t tell anyone about this,” Wallace said afterward shaken.

“Agreed,” said Ed, “We need to hide it better. This information could force the entire world to rebuild.  

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, Mirrored Refrain xaBA, xbAB, xaBA, xbAB, etc, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Mirrored Refrain – ” Babe to Little Girl”


Thank you to The Daily Post for the prompt words: Playful,Smooth,and Connected.


Baby Girl
http://www.pinterest.com

Softest, palest skin, girl with bright blue eyes,

Tiny, huddled, swaddled in blankets tight.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.

Smooth, delicate artistry; babe thrives.


Connection between child and mother strong,

Small babe in pink, flaxen blond hair curls.

Smooth delicate artistry; babe thrives,

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.


Developing, playful; peering, curious eyes,

Sits up on Mama’s lap; with head up right.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide,

Smooth delicate artistry; babe born, thrives.


Seated in bumbo, gurgling smile, laughs,

Lifted into the air, Dad’s hands girl whirls,

Smooth delicate artistry; babe thrives,

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.


Time to crawl around, then up on her feet,

Flaxen hair lengthens, tiny teeth start to bite.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide,

Smooth and delicate artistry; babe thrives.


Independence forms, play-dates, swimming lessons,

Not a baby long; connects with other girls.

Smooth and delicate artistry; babe thrives,

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide.


Away to playschool and kindergarten,

Babe a moment; small girl in Mama’s sight.

Gossamer fabrics, plush and fluffy, hide,

Smooth and delicate artistry; babe thrives.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

 

Daily Prompt, Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Wrapped Refrain, Writing

Poem: Wrapped Refrain –  “Relationships and Childhood” 


Thanks to The Daily Post for the prompt words Childhood, Sky, Purpose, and Angry.

——


——-

What made us now, this moment past

How’d we become so frail, like glass.

Feelings torn, mended, stitches —

Reopened, wounds our glitches.

Remembering yet, we’re sky high humans so lost.

Can we find, the purpose of us charred, at what cost?

——

What is it to have faith, to believe?

Words your lips intone I perceive? 

See we only through the looking —

Glass; are reflections picture books, 

Children read us, seeing clearer, we’re angry and —

Getting madder; if only sky cleared, clouds not sad .

——

Our faces to the little ones, 

Need appear smiling, not loathsome.

Bring back laughter, joy, and pleasure.

Find every day peace, time treasured.

So their childhood vision is happiness and light.

Through our faces, read clear, inner peace, delight.

——

If in each other we peer past, 

The anger each possess and fast, 

Find paths through shadows dark and grim, 

Maybe, then we search beyond sin.

See the rain drop on cool skin, sliding, patterns desire.

Eyes are opened wide; blast of furnace, passion fires.

——

Our own mystery of life we guard, 

Though life throw many dangers hard.

We prevail, faith our purpose and —

Each other’s love; though time stand —

Not still for anyone of us on earth, who’s living, 

What made us now, taught us in childhood to forgive.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Writing 101: Poem – Free Verse – “A Day is A Life Time.” #everydayinspiration


The prompt for Writing 101 today is to write about an event that takes place in a single day. Also, I will be including The Daily Post word prompts Phase, Dream, and Grain. I’m trying something with poetry and I hope the result isn’t tedious.

——

It started in the morning ending at —

Evening; children who were born with —

A scream on their lips, removed from —

The womb; swaddled in blankets.

——

Life is a day and each day we spend —

One single day, representing —

A lifetime; not knowing each day —

Could end in a moments glance. 

—–

Babe once born, phase into toddler, 

Sucking on bottles, weened off.

Already, personality —

Forming; individual who tantrums.

—–

Couldn’t get her way playing in her —

Pre-school; no hitting allowed there. 

Prepares her for kindergarten, 

Where she better know her typing.

——

To write her name proudly with her,

Markers scribbling future —

Artist; parent’s dream but she’s holding —

Building blocks; then she’s finished–

—-

Being a kid, now screaming to —

Her brother, ‘stay out of my bed —

Room;’ texting her friends, their all —

Nearly sixteen, appearing twenty-one.

—–

She’s been drinking since thirteen-years, 

Not weird to her; she’s been there before.

Degree in engineering of —

Structures; dreams building stream-lined.

——

Caught the eye of a man where she works, 

He’s ten-years her senior at his —

Prime; another engineer, they’ve —

Two kids, girl and a boy, on their —

——

Own journeys; and she’s divorced.

Only thirty-five, raising teenagers, 

Tiring of her career; her daughter–

Pregnant; along comes grandchildren.

—–

She’s only forty and remarries, 

Her true soul mate she says, kids hate —

Him; replacing father they never see, 

Grandma raising baby of her daughter.

——-

Mom is forty-five; son marries girl,

A beautiful blond, into fine art.

Mom doesn’t like her; girl’s a phase.

Son has three kids and stays married.

——

Daughter won’t talk; sends home one more —

Squalling infant for Grandma to —

Care for and work too; step-Opa glad, 

Never had kids, he loves his grandbabies.

——

The grandbabies grow and she’s pushing —

Sixty-five-years; grandkids moving —

Out; hoping they do better than her —

Sweet daughter; dead, needle marks proof.

——

She wants to travel, she’s been all —

Over the world but only for work.

So Oma and Opa see the —

World divine; slowing down in life.

——

She teaches, a class or two for —

Dumb first-year engineer students, 

Doesn’t know how they’ll fill her shoes, 

But they’ve all this technology.

—–

Eighty-six and she’s alone; her soul —

Mate, he passed away; time speeds through, 

She has a dog that keeps her happy, 

But she out-lives the dog as well.

—–

Grains of sand sifting, her time comes, 

In hospital they can’t believe she’s, 

One-hundred-and-one; she dies with —

Great-grandkids crying for their Oma.

—-

This, is a lifetime you say not —

One single day, but you don’t see,

How with such quickness, a lifetime —

Is reduced to one significant —

One magnimounous little, 

Day before God; finally, wandering home.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Travel, Writing

Maydays: Italian Sonnet – “Thrive” #Maydays



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Thank you to K.L. Caley of new2writing for hosting #Maydays prompts. Today’s prompt is a fortune cookie stating: “May You Live In Interesting Times.” 
——

http://www.youtube.com

——-

My friend: May you live in interesting times.

Let the shadows at night not overtake you, 

Brightness driving out with light, what shakes you.

Listen, the wind echoes trilling the chimes, 

To breathe fresh air and thrive is not a crime.

Holding your dreams close; with great flight pursue, 

Let life shimmer within, remember: choose! 

Don’t let life cage; chase ethereal sublime.

——

Out with sadness; out with cruel fate’s lies, 

There’s a future brash, hollering –go find. 

Feel grass beneath your cheek seek; realize —

Nature’s gorgeous beauty, freedom designed.

Chase the shores; eagles on cliffs thrilling cries, 

Live, not content to merely survive — thrive.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Daily Prompt, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Shadorma - 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllables, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Shadorma – “Sleep When You’re Dead” 


Thanks to The Daily Post for the prompt word Saga.

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Norse Sagas (www.medevilists.net)

——–

A saga

Harrowing epic,

Adventure, 

Legends live, 

Norse stories of old reborn, 

Each night by firelight. 

——–

But times change, 

Now it’s a detailed —

Story with depth, 

Assortment, 

Words you wish a person kept;

Instead they went on.

———

A saga

I wish you would say, 

What you need —

To say in–

Fewer words.

Time is wasting away friend;

I love to listen —

———

But you’ve breadth, 

I need brevity.

I care what — 

You say to —

Me; but I space out when you, 

Can’t cut your tale —

———–

Down from the —

Length of an epic.

Hook me or —

Don’t; now my —

Mind wanders and I want to —

Be a good friend too.

——–

I haven’t —

Ages to sit by a fire;

As our kin–

Folk eons —

Ago; there is work to be —

Done; I’m responsible.

—–

Love your tales, 

Adventures lived large.

But I have–

My own fights. 

My own epic sagas to —

Live through and survive.

—–

So you’ll please, 

Excuse me when I drift, 

Full of thought.

For your tales, 

Remind me, all I must do;

One can never rest.

——

Was it the

Vikings who said, 

“You can sleep–

When you’re dead.” 

A realistic saying, 

I’ve found it too true.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.