Day 15 #NaPoWriMo/ Saturday Mix: Poem – Triquin Chain – “She’s A Witch” #amwriting #SaturdayMix #poetry


For Day 15 NaPoWriMo the Prompt is: “writing a poem in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation, and is revealed to be human (but still evil).” I’m combining with Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie ‘s Saturday Mix Prompt on Triquains.

Triquain Chain

A string of 2 to 4 Triquains, a space between each triquain.

2 stanzas – 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3

3 stanzas – 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3

4 stanzas – 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3

—-

Credit:Lucas Sanky via Unsplash

—-

She’s a witch,

She burns and she twitches.

Fire glows, sparks raise, burn high into morn.

She doesn’t feel, because she’s real; she burns all day.

Clergy stoke fire, she doesn’t expire;

The rabble wish her pain —

She’s a witch.

But not finished her time,

For real spell-casters can’t be murdered.

They drowned her, she floated; they hung her, her neck snapped.

Then, when they untied her, she laughed;

Her neck clicked in place, her spine healed fast.

She’s a witch.

*****

She burns fields.

She’s not kind, far too real.

She misled children, gave everyone pox.

It wasn’t her plan, to be mean and vile –to kill;

But those ‘Holier-Than-Thou’ tortured —

Dismembered her family —

Powerless.

They untouched with dark arts.

And all those woman not real villains,

Masked in their veins wasn’t witchcraft or evil brews.

Perhaps, they were too pretty, too —

Wealthy; had much power.

Then, she flipped.

***

She’s truly —

A witch; they made her one.

They buried her alive, let her sink,

Chocking in the putrid river with their repulsive waste.

She’s seen the flesh on innocents burn crisp;

The crackle of their hair.

Tied as she,

On a pier, with hellfire;

To destroy her vengeance, her wrathful ways.

She’s evil, sins with peasants, priests, their hateful hearts.

Cursing their Lords, besieging her home;

Survives fire, lives to smite,

Twisted witch.

****

——–

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 14/Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Italian – Sonnet – “Dream Wisps” #amwriting #poetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 14 the Prompt is: “to write entries for an imaginary dream dictionary. Pick one (or more) of the following words, and write about what it means to dream of these things: Teacup, Hammer, Seagull, Ballet slipper, Shark, Wobbly table, Dentist, and Rowboat. I’m combining with SPF hosted by Alistair Forbes.

—–

Credit: Alistair Forbes

—-

Teacup held in hand, she murmurs vespers,

Ballet slippers lifted, a child’s fond hopes —

A tutu twirled, spun, clouds that gleam and float.

She dreams of diving seagulls, their whispers,

Voices, sharp tongues drill; sharks with winged-flippers,

Sailors, those unafraid steering rowboats.

Hammerheads drift, they alter in remote,

Albatross’ signs of woe, slight wisps;

Reality and memories weave lost thoughts.

Wants, needs, and everything time forgotten,

Awaking to find the Albatross cawing.

As ethereal moments wake, warble —

Albatross unblinking, sailor he shoots;

He quakes and trembles within blackened boots.

—-

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 8/100 Word Wednesdays: Poem – Quadrille – “The Apple Tree” #amwriting #poetry #100WordWednesdays


For Day 8 NaPoWriMo the prompt is: “write poems in which mysterious and magical things occur. Feel free to incorporate crystal balls, fauns, lightning storms, or whatever seems fierce and free and strange. Also, thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays from March 14, 2018.


Credit: Annie Sprat via Unsplash


In our yard,

An apple tree,

Not forbidden.

Branches grafted,

Enchanted apples.

Not with poisons;

But, healing charm.

Our family left,

Apple’s retreated.

The new owner,

Destroyed innocent magic.

Now I know,

Why he’s cursed;

While in our garden

Nature’s verdant.

In haste,

Self-imposed drought,

His yard —

A desert weeping.


©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 3/100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Free Verse – “Devouring Candy Up High” #poetry #amwriting #MLMM


For NaPoWriMo Day 3, the poetry Prompt is: Today, we challenge you to try this out yourself by writing a list poem in which all the items are made-up names. If band names don’t inspire, how about a list of titles for romantic novels?

Thanks also to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday Week 61.


Credit: Yeshi Kangrang


M&M’s, Hubba-Bubba Gum, Gummy Bears, and Sour Patch kids,

Reese’s Pieces Peanut-Butter Cups, devoured with Junior Mints.

KitKat bars, ‘Oh Henry bars, Bubble-Gum tape, and sugar-filled Pixie Sticks,

Aero, Fuzzy Peaches, Pop Rocks, and Sour Worms, all eaten.

You might prefer Jelly Worms, while I suck on Sour Soothers,

While I lick my fingers after Sour Skittles and Smarties.

Peanut M&M’s, Snickers, Mar’s Bars, Mr. Big’s —

I like only the first and the last.

Three Musketeers, Slurpies from 7-11, Trident gum in coffee or pineapple,

Lick-A-Maid, Red Liquorice, Werther’s originals, Cow Pies, and I’ve tried them all.

Gummy Frogs, Raspberry Gummies, Lemon Drops, Chocolate Rosettes, and RootBeer Candy Sticks.

Mint Melties, Peppermint Patties, Sea Shell Chocolates, Macaroons, and Hershey’s Dark- Almond,

Lays’ Barbecue-Chips, Hostess Dill-Pickle chips too.

Many treats, each and every one I’ve tried.

I once ate them atop this towering building,

As the sunset with cascading rainbow clouds flashed — as I ate from my stash.

But, that was years ago,

Today I know, I must wisely choose,

Only the finest will I devour — or my youthful body will ’round.’


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Fiction – Falling #amwriting #3LineTales #flashfiction


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


Credit: Daniel Garcia via Unsplash


High up her limbs are languid flowing, body rolling, rising, and falling to a steady beat, without fear; the yellow construction beams match her treasured chucks. Then, her fluid movements increase, her limbs are liquid; she halts as the music pauses, then, speeds up. Her hands are sensuous, sliding down her thighs, her leg muscles rotating in elegance; she’s so caught up, she doesn’t realize she’s falling.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Fiction – “Nothing is Forever” #amwriting #flashfiction #3LineTales


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


Credit: Frank McKenna via Unsplash


She sits, humming to herself, thread licked thin into the needles eye; her keen eyes once sharp, blurring. She double threads the needle, then ties a thick knot, whispering the words of a beloved song, bringing the needle point in and out and stitching the quilt together. She fingers her roses, dried and fragile, wanting to save them, but recognizing that nothing in this world is forever; not her favorite worn books, nor the last roses her husband gifted.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Creep #fiction #amwriting


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting the February 11th, 2018 Edition of SPF. This is a bit of a longer piece. Written for a writer’s course, around 500 Words as opposed to 200 Words or less. I cleaned it up and changed the original a bit.


Credit: J. Carol Hardy


Charlene twists her hair. The potent drink on the bar is her fifth tequila shot in an hour. The hazy, dreamlike atmosphere in the crowded town bar confuses her. Most of the crowd puff away, smoke lingering in the air, twisting above her, a toxic dragon of cigarette stench.

An attractive singer who isn’t local, belts out tunes while strumming his guitar. His catchy music has Charlene humming, her fingers tapping to the rhythm.

When he plays a soft song, the crowd boos. Some men throw beer bottles that smash and scatter glass against the small stage’s back wall. The singer peers around the room, his eyes darting back and forth. A bouncer drags away one of the offenders and the singer resumes his music, belting out cheerful tunes once more.

Charlene chuckles. As per usual, the town bar echoes with boisterous laughter and harmless drunks telling tale tales. Then, the creep beside her, pokes her arm. “Drink it, drink the shot.”

She peers up at him and his putrid breath makes her sick. “I don’t want it. Go away.” He leers and Charlene shivers.

She turns, stumbles towards the cracked vinyl booth where her coat and purse lay. Grabbing them she fumbles, zipping up her coat. The creep follows her and pinches her chin, trying to pour the shot into her mouth.

Warm tequila dribbles from her lips, acrid as she chokes. “No more, I don’t want anymore.” She cuts off his words, the poison of the creep’s lizard-tongue. “I’m going home — alone.”

Charlene teeters, leaning against the worn bar. She presses her hands against the humid backs of people waiting to buy more drinks. In open places, she leans on the bar, tracing it’s antique carvings, the dents on its worn surface. Jerry, one of the bartenders, slides her a glass of water. She nods at him, and swallows, her throat aching.

Past the bar, Charlene leans against a lone stool at a table. The stool wobbles on splintering legs. She grits her teeth, than sucks out a sliver of wood from her thumb. A gift from the table top.

Head spinning, Charlene lands in the quiet of the shuffleboard area, dizzy against the table. She presses her phone, fingers clumsy as she sends for an Uber. She downs more water from her purse. With some clarity, she wanders through sweat-soaked bodies towards the main door.

In the chill of the night, the creep is somehow beside her, waiting to follow her into her Uber. She ignores him, hobbling to a bouncer. “He’s following me, make him go away. He put something in my drink.”

The lie slips out; she doesn’t care. The creep who bought her five shots scares her. The bouncer’s blue eyes bulge. “No problem, Miss. I’ll ensure you get into the Uber alone.”

The bouncer offers the creep free beer to go back inside, and Charlene shivers, the wind biting at her face as flurries fly. She falls asleep inside the Uber, and the driver helps her into her apartment on the third floor. He takes the key from her hand and unlocks her door as she offers him a scrunched five-dollar bill.

“It’s fine. I don’t need help.”

The driver shakes his head. “That man you were running from, he’s bad. He has a different woman drunk each weekend night; he drugs many of them. The bouncer’s my friend, and he made sure you got into my Uber. We’re trying to catch him, but this a**holes too experienced to leave much evidence.”

The fact that the creep could’ve drugged her for ‘real’ makes Charlene ill. She rushes to the kitchen sink, throwing up multiple times.

The Uber driver ‘Ahems’ behind her. “I’m going now. Will you be okay?’

She nods. “Thank God, you’re a good man.”

“Stop accepting drinks from weird strangers. Don’t lead guys like him on. You have to think before you accept more than one drink; especially, in a small town like ours.”

Charlene nods, collapsing on the floor. She knows she’s asleep, but a sharp tempo beats against her temples. She’s half-awake, restless, afraid of the nightmares seeping in; the creep’s leering grin and eyes of a predator.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Lunes – “Sugar Plum Dreamer” #100WordWednesdays #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.


Credit: Bikurgurl


Tiny princess laughs,

Toes bloodied;

Sweet Ballerina —


You mustn’t eat much,

You’re soft feet,

Will not be pretty.


But you’re talent it —

Enfolds, shocks;

Tears, sweat, soar legs ache —


Shaking; muscled sleek,

No black swan,

Sugar plum waking.


Fair dancer bending,

Lifted high,

Bowing to her dreams.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesday: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Saved by A Song” #100WordWednesdays #poetry #amwriting


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesday.


Credit: Matthew Henry via Unsplash


On the path you get lost ’cause you can’t find —

Your way; no doors through the puddles find sway.

To open, reveal the road; thus, engraved —

With the direction, you’re hunting; rain blinds,

No better journeys exist than chill times —

Where your wet, but exhausted you find ways.

Though angry winds, with freezing sleet berate,

Wandering lost, you’ll burn in your mind —

Slippery trails, bricks steeped in sludge, than trills —

Of harsh winds chiming against grim sign posts;

Metallic melodies haunt, notes crescendo, thrill —

Calling to you, as you pray soulfully;

That your mind won’t panic, but think calmly.

Enlightened, finding Home through the rain’s song.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Heart Breaker #amwriting #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.


Credit: Yinglan Z.


The volcanic crater was a disfigured heart. Chance thought it resembled his own.

“Where are you going?” Chance shrugged. “Going to work for a month.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, no one wants to be alone today, not even me. I could have any man I want, but I chose you.” Giselle’s lively green eyes gleamed.

It was then he noticed the name tattooed on her wrist, within an ombre pink heart. “Who the Hell is Robert, and why’s his name on your wrist?”

“I’ll tattoo what I like on my body.” Chance strode towards Giselle, tilting her chin up so she’d meet his gaze.

“Robert’s the guy you’ve been sleeping with? The one you promised to break it off with, I assume?”

She laughed, grasping Chance’s hand. “We got to talking and had too much wine. Now, we both have tacky tattoos, but you know well Robert’s nothing. I haven’t seen him in a month.”

“You said it was over five months ago?”

Giselle’s bottom lip quivered. “It was, but we ran into each other that once.” He could see her pale cheeks redden; she was lying.

“Robert can have you; I’m done.”

Her eyes flooded with tears.

“I know well your crocodile tears. Don’t be here when I get home, Giselle, never again.”


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.