Photo Challenge: Poem — Free Verse “Sky-Waters” #amwritingpoetry #MLMM


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ for hosting photo challenge.


Credit: Google


Sapphire bubbles float in the sky,

Dreamland ships are at port; the clouds laced with gold.

We’re journeying where I cannot know, to that unknown somewhere.

It might be difficult but there’s healing in these waters.

Davey Jones can’t escape his wretched locker,

And the seas are clear, crystal, and diamond.

And up we float from ocean to sky,

No lightening here, only the suns wayward blaze.

And breezes blow us away from the frothing,

Creatures yanking us below to perish.

Each day is fraught with the difficulty, but only a few with great pain,

And we learn to climb the mast, to let fly the sails too.

Maybe we’ll surprise the moon, let the light beam a tad longer.

Keep the darkness from falling, and the stillness of ice-cold waves —

Lovely the dawn with its orange pale-blue glow,

The waters of dew and the waves of the sun;

The storm might’ve wrecked us, but we’ll travel on.

We’ll traverse until the ship divides into whirlpools,

Or into green brilliance of atmospheric northern lit skys.

For now we ride sapphire wings shoot enemies with gold canons,

Giant fishes and vulture, both gather teeth gnashing all ’round.

Somedays grim frowns, soar backs weigh us down–

But so much learning can be absorbed in the sky-waters of morn.

Marmalade sky’s or savage seas.

It’s okay to be drowsy in sunrise,

The red horrors of morn fade, and the day somehow —

Builds endurance and progress,

Possibility, even if it’s minute.

A ray of hope jumping from skyline to shore.

Bringing tranquility though they’re be dim sights ahead,

And the black holes of brokenness.

But oh, never mind fear in the sky-waters —

For dawns brilliance is a mere moment;

But, our captain He keeps us,

In the gold-touched cloud atmosphere or watery deep;

In faithful hearts and prayer we discover profound relief.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Three Line Tales: Fiction — Without You #amwritingfiction


anks to Sonya from Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: Naitian (Tony) Wong via Unsplash.


Garret was unsure and perplexed wondering where he should drive the motor home to next; it had been his and his late wife’s dream to travel everywhere.The trouble was Minnie was gone, her cancer abrupt and hopeless; still, she passed one morning serenely. It was Garret’s legacy to continue their retirement trip: “Where to Minnie, where to — it’s not the same without you.”


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse — “Learning and Dreams” #amwritingpoetry


Credit: Vincentiu Solomon via Unsplash

Sometimes certain words fade to silence,

It’s a battle to complete each task, each day.

There are mornings I almost weep, but I grapple against each storm;

Somedays mean from morn to night exhaustion quivers,

My legs shake and I’m too tired to run –too agitated to sit;

Though you might think I’ve done so little.

And, thoughts and plans leave me pondering all night;

Tossing and turning in the blankets grasp.

But other days I rise, and I’m alive with sunshine;

The learning process of endurance is half the battle.

I try to succeed, hope most days they’re moments that to other people matter.

I’m prepared for hard work, as long as my body’s alert

And if I’m here now in the present; I must be in the right place for now —

For however long I am.

Here to learn, blossom, grunt, and groan against all challenges.

Although, certain days my eyes are sand-weighted,

Aching for tomorrow’s responsibility, a notion of grande design;

I’m surviving today, that’s something.

Existing in an extended vignette, eyes not glazing left alone.

And somehow unseen footpaths meander to freedom, faith for tomorrow:

Then, he grabbed my shaking hands anyways,

Before I tumbled, and off the ledge we rode.

Tucked in goose feathers, silken fibres —

Into the midnight sky we flew.

To chase the dreams of starlight’s cosmic kiss;

Then wake flourishing on a comets tail.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Melinda’s Battle.” #amwritingpoetry


Written awhile back and not entirely sure what I meant, but have edited and see what you think?


Credit: Xuan Nyguyen via Unsplash.


Peering above the clouds,

Her mane in chopped disarray;

Melinda takes a vow, as her eyes blink glassy grey.

The eagles circle round,

There caws thrill in the dawn.

And all across the ground,

Her body is adorned, trails Velveteen-rouge satin.

While the faeries sparkle, and their bright visions abound.

Melinda marches towards the sun scorching,

A peasant swathed in morning dew.

Satin trickling behind her feet, she’s drawn —

Down the steps wearing broken-in boots;

Her path unending in the circle of lust.

She didn’t choose a tyrants will,

She wasn’t given hers; and her terrifying experiences mean, Melinda will forever distrust.

Still, she keeps marching on,

A soldier in sequinned glory.

A dagger hid in her starched gown;

Her long sable locks adorned with roses.

And she can’t trust herself, her mind is a concrete cage;

She’s twisted, rusted —her silk gown small protection from menacing beasts;

A prowling force she battles with and makes livid.

But, Melinda never quits, she chooses not to give-in.

The beast lets up, but she knows she can’t an eternity win;

While her skin is marbled beauty, she’s haunted by grim creatures;

Everyday is a battle and she’s quaking,

Such carnage, a war not her choice.

There’s slaughter in her soul unmanaged, leaving her visage ruined;

Ruined as rouge lipstick dripping as blood,

Melinda nearly chokes slashed by the monster beside and the monster inside her.

Both destroy her, both leave her exhausted;

Her glassy grey eyes drop, and only tears froth.

Her pain too vivid, unconcealed, a dagger in her skirt no protection.

She’s worked years to climb a valley;

Then, life tossed her careening down a gorge.

Now, her words only linger in sadness;

She yearns to curse, throw glass —

She can’t think, she’s lost and never safe.

She’s become mere prey —fighting tears, fears, demons always.

Never mind tyrants who snuff out bursts of salvation’s light;

She’s caught in a nightmare, her mind astray;

A moment she fears will lock hopes door,

Then forever, melt the key, and she’ll never escape the circle;

But she might, for some wars are only figurative,

And she’s made of more steel than a carnivores tyrant and menacing literature.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poem — Lunes “After the Storm” #amwritingpoetry


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


Credit: Sarah Riano via Unsplash


Down the walkway lies oblivion,

Rainbow buoyant bright;

Follow the streetlights, puddles splashed.

*****

Ocean rose, fell with tides,

Tides’ hush lulls,

All eyes on ethereal sky.

*****

Something calming walking after the —

Callous livid storm;

Peace pervades, now we promenade.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Fiction — You Can’t Buy It #amwritingfiction


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


Credit: Alina Fedorchenko via Unsplash

A monster of a turquoise staircase rises before me and my lungs burn until the staircase ends; a mellow light appears from a doorway at the top. An inexplicable serenity pervades my body overtaking all worry until I discover a mysterious thousand dollar bill in my pocket; a malicious wind rises as I clench it. Window shutters slap and glass cracks around me as a lone man approaches and nods his head at my pocket, his voice unearthly: “You can’t buy the stairway to Heaven, you know?”


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Stone White Witch” #amwritingpoetry


Credit: Jen Theodore via Unsplash

It’s the brokenness you cannot see,

The trail of hearts behind me.

Or, perhaps it’s fairer to say, a trail of lust turned cold;

It burns bright gold, a beach and a boat, the sun on my skin, Jackie-O frames.

There’s laughter, conversations, playful negotiations made.

Walls tumble, a connection is raised, a pale thread thin; Hope for the more.

Yet, there is no skin, no breath on lips, no warmth;

I can’t feel you, it’s imagination — your absence, your glowing presence snuffed.

And, I’m not one to lead on; I can’t give what you want —

For you can never hold my hand, and love me ‘here.’

Nor take all your obligations; bear my burdens with me — I’ll bear yours.

I wanted to converge, but you’ve needs, they crush me — until the real me erodes;

I’m no longer your woman, I’m a picture, an image — crushed until she bleeds.

A splattered painting, impressionism ruined; canvas punched in.

Throw scarlet paint over me, my details, my person — she aches;

A meaningless chit, sinful — not whole, but she’s learned she needs to say when;

Her body bends, but you’re not here; we’re both lost.

You forgot about me, while I was trying to satisfy our yearning.

Brokenness and trust, I gave you half my secrets;

There’s too many miles to share the rest;

You so so real, but I’d rather live in harsh reality, than be a siren of our misery.

And in the end I know, you’ll prosper; you’ll not miss me long — though you said so.

I’m still caught in these silken webs, little threads, they never form a tapestry;

They only snap until there’s nothing; I’m stone and I can’t return to life.

And worst of all you’re decent, you could’ve been just right;

But it’s the end and I’m my own white-witch;

Stone is our relationship.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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.

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.

.