Sunday Writing: Poem – English Sonnet – “The Jungle Fight” #amwritingpoetry #SundayWriting


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this prompt.


“These mountains you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.” Najwa Zebian


Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


They’re mountains that weigh, on my heart to slay;

To grieve me despite, all that’s suffered mute.

Pains of malice crawling, with pincers raze.

My eyes wander, collide with yours for clues.

How can we escape this unending hike?

Death march, end unknown; follow the leader.

Or, slip away through vapid mindless might;

Catch melodic tweets, delight a dreamer.

Let not endless trees’ tangle– no ‘good-death’;

Let not poison Venus shrill;

wildcat’s bite.

Leave heat-exhaustion, shallow fettered breath,

Pincers lingering, swipe through brushes –fight.

For we’re warriors fierce, Amazonian’s who thrive;

Not aimless birds, astray in shallow wilds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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Three Line Tales: “Tucked Near” #amwritingpoetry #3LineTales (x2)


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


Credit: Nick Fewings via Unsplash.


I’m down-trodden, weakling child;

Until head eases,

Lethargic fog clears; you’re near.

Days are dim, dead dreary,

Dickenasian smog dour.

Gloom plucking my heart’s curves.

***

Yet, within darkness rustles notes,

Silver breezes chime,

Your words are balmy bliss.

*****

As Elijah cowering, cave hiding,

Whisper wind Holy,

Your presence revered; I’m safe.

*****

Calm cooling waters, drench coal —

Stricken sadness; lips —

On my forehead so dear.

*****

Lungs filled with tar-blackness,

Eucalyptus-oxygen cures.

Pain collapses tucked near you.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poem – Lunes – “Hollow Liberty” #amwritingpoetry #3LineTales


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


Credit: Robert Hickerson via Unsplash


Barbed wire tongue, crescents bleeding;

Crimsons stains wrung,

Scratches, scrapes, gouges; fight wounds.

*****

Scars criss-cross, linger; priceless

Liberty gnawing, piercing;

Glittering eyes, barbed-teeth maim.

*****

Cages, prisons, iron bars, steel barriers,

Keep-out; empty —

Victory; they’ve decided Lady Liberty’s hollow.

*****

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

100 Word Wednesday’s: Fiction – Star Gazing #amwritingfiction #100WordWednesdays


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays


Credit: Unsplash.com — Ian Parker

The driver had spun off the road decades ago and the grass climbed the old Ford’s wheels as each rainfall it grew like vines to the window sills in the cow’s pasture. The current farmer, not able to haul the truck from his fields, began to mow around it with respect for its rusted history; the story was, witnesses 50-years ago, didn’t see the driver leave. Upon examining the wreck they’d been shocked to see the driver’s seat empty, and now and then, the farmer’s daughter watched the stars from the front seat: she swore a young man in suspenders peered at the sky beside her, his hand grazing hers.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Writing Prompt/ Music Challenge: Poem – “Never Forgotten Twilight Hours” #amwritingpoetry #musicchallenge #MLMM


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Sunday Writing Prompt. For this week’s Prompt we had to choose 4 terms, and I chose the texture jagged, the occasion just because, the feeling expectancy, and the sound grinding. Thanks also to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Music Challenge using the A Star is Born’ song, “Always Remember” sung by Lady Gaga.


Credit: Darryl Brian via Unsplash.


Always Remember” sung by Lady Gaga


Hot red rock, stacked sediment,
A river ran through it grinding crimson, mango, snow-white gleaming;
The Arizona sky blends in painted fusion; you’re alight with night fire.
The scars on my arms lashed, from the welts of the past;
But you love me as gold, see there’s light inside.
I can’t find it, it hides; but your eyes peer through.
It hurts, a jagged line of bruises –I can’t read past the shadows of addiction in you.
A lifestyle that’s claimed you, makes a monster sometimes.
But, I’ll never forget those night’s when we were done strumming our melodies and dived.
I won’t forget those ethereal evenings, stars shooting into the bluish-blackness beyond; the blood moon rising against maroon midnight-blue.
And just because, I’ll remember us always; just because, I won’t forget your azure eyes.

Together we rhyme, croon the words as they form in our muddled minds,

Dream, as our skin brushes close, sweat drips, as the cliffs glow in layers, sediment crushed grande.

In Arizona we rise, together here — there’s no expectancy, no need to hurry, scurry in time.

We hope this occasion is better that the crimson and marmalade sky won’t stop glistening, as fireballs glint on.

We’re lovers in the night, sometimes were poets singing, delineating a phrase or line.

Sometimes we’re opposites screaming, and no words describe the knife slashing; the war wounds are mutual.

But just because I love you still; just because we’re each other’s glue, I’ll never forget these forever nights.

We attempt to rhyme, splintered sounds bite, but we keep writing our, hands entwined.

I don’t know who wrote our ambitious story, but I don’t want to be without your arms, your stardust eyes.

In the ink of night I sigh, as it doesn’t matter where you go, the part of me that’s you won’t die.

Just because, I’ll never forget the fire dancing in the twilight, the jagged edge of morning, ’cause I’ll never forget our time — just because.

You peer in my eyes, the whole world fades black, nothing is left slack, and we argue and snap.

But, I don’t want to be without your laugh-lined smile; I don’t want to be only a memory, beneath the sun-jewel morning.

I want to be forever, together no matter the time, don’t make me a memory — I’ll never forget these twilight hours we’ve espoused.

*****

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Prose-Poetry – “Orreries and Moonscapes” #amwritingprosepoetry #SundayWritingPrompt #MLMM


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Sunday Writing Prompt. From the choice of terms I’ve chosen the words: orrery (solar system model) & Divan (sofa without end), Alice blue (color), Eucalyptus (scent), circle (shape), photograph (item in purse/wallet).


Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


“Hope in the Air”


She traced the gold paint bitter,

It gleamed as didn’t dirty pennies.

Her measly sum was but a crumb,

And she had risked it for a piece of man-scum.

She returned, here, always — never too far;

Her childhood land of faeries; her home.

She approached the library orrery,

Spinning the sun’s gleaming gold orb.

A sigh escaped her diva-dream lips; she bit them.

Don’t let a woman fool you,

Scarlet lips, they never stay put,

The lipstick travels, blips.

But, masks blood if you chew them;

If you forget the earth’s relation to the sun,

Your relation to reality.

So, she dreamed adrift,

In knotted flannel shirt and skinnies;

Stroking grandma’s velvet Divan,

As if she could fashionably faint.

As if she could divine meaning, stroking Alice-Blue upholstery;

In cup of tea tumbled, crushed nearby;

China splinters dust, fancy tea spilled.

Some relief in eucalyptus leafs soothing;

She can, finally, breathe in her favorite tea;

Nose no longer useless.

She flips off patined-ruby shoes;

Kitten heals meowing, released.

Wiggling her toes painted with satin-ribbon;

Bemoaning her lost love, traitor, worthless, and without guile.

“I never would have done what you did to me,

To anyone, not ever.”

Last words she thinks, but never hurled.

Her Alice-Blue eyes darken,

Trace the doors golden pattern;

Images she modernized, decor, and memory intertwined.

Turquoise-tranquil dreams as her head burrows in velvet;

Arm thrust over head, maiden helpless — but she’s not.

The Orrery still twirling in a circle as —

Red-herring anger flashes.

Red-lips torn, pain to forget frustration,

Tears as a Phoenix waiting to burn, to discover renewal.

And not enough fresh air in the room,

Library dust, mildew, overpower eucalyptus.

She peers at her gram’s patined heals cherished,

They’ve escaped bone-China chips;

Their antiquity safe on Robin’s-egg plush carpet.

A peculiar aroma, dust, eucalyptus, book spines, horse-glue;

Ancient editions, thrown away,

In her family the women restored; she does to this day.

Yet, the photographs of history split her childhood dreams,

Summers here, years of tea parties, and creamy-egg-salad sandwiches.

Wuthering Heights, The Moonstone,

Peter Pan, and The Sun Also Rises;

Scattered between old-editions, photo-albums,

Pictures, preserved photographs; her addition to family history.

Saving literature, pictures, from sunlight, and tears;

She lies back, stretches and dreams,

Alice in Wonderland, Anne of Green Gables,

The Yearling, and Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes.

She’s humming a tune,

“There’s hope in the air,

There’s hope it the water,

Not even for me. . .”

Until she yanks out her wallet,

Throws out two twenties;

Penniless, but beyond rich with orreries and moonscapes.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: December 2018 Part Two #notablequotes #quotes #pinterest #poetry


December’s passed. Happy New Year 2019‼️🥂Keep going. ‼️🥳


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©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry


Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.


Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash


I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Mental Health: Searching for Answers at the Bottom of A Bottle – By Patrick Bailey (Guest Post) #mentalhealth #addiction #alcoholism


Searching for Answers at the Bottom of A Bottle


Credit: Nicolas Pereyra via Unsplash


The Solution in a Bottle

A bottle can be the answer to a lot of problems. The issue for alcoholics, however, is whether or not their solution to life’s problems comes from good counsel. Among countless questions, they can ask themselves is if their next series of drinks makes them feel better now or long term?

Feeling better right now is a normal desire, especially when a person hurts; it’s instinctive. Physical pain, for example, signals our brain to ‘take our hand out of the fire!’ It is a form of deep desire where we react involuntarily, and don’t pause to consider our reaction. We simply do.


Sacrificing Well-Being and Health

Nevertheless, too much alcohol consumption can override our instinctive sense of self-protection.  If a person drinks compulsively, they can harm each realm of their well-being and health — emotional, mental, physical, social, and spiritual (etc.). One’s entire humanity can be damaged with enough bottles of liquor. Often, a person’s quest for ‘answers’ is the core reason alcoholics seek the bottom of a bottle. Sought after solutions become pressing issues — not just for answers, but wise ones.

It’s interesting that people soon don’t recognize what came first when they began chasing answers through overconsumption of alcohol. It’s the proverbial issue of the chicken or the egg, and drinking becomes a sequential cycle. Their need for a ‘remedy’ leads to alcoholism, and alcoholism leads to a need for remedy. Eventually, heavy drinkers spin in circles, and the exit ramps speeding down a deadly highway, disappear in a blur.


Credit: Sanjeevan SatheesKumar via Unsplash


Seeking Answers and Confronting Trauma

Moreover, it’s not only that the pursuit of a remedy that is hard-wired into people’s brains, but wanting a thoughtful answer too. People want to improve their minds, seek meaning, and to have assurance for their decisions. The ability to perceive information, analyze it, and problem-solve is key. But some people have their exquisite mental abilities hijacked and compromised due to alcohol addiction. Bottom line, people can’t access their best decision-making skills nor find a peaceful mental place in a bottle of booze.

Some people also come to ‘a bottom of a bottle solution’ compromised due to trauma in life. Trauma, particularly longstanding trauma that occurred when adults were young, effects how they learned to cope in the world. Many people who chase their solutions through heavy drinking have had traumatic childhoods. They arrive at a bottle having problem-solving abilities, which are stunted. It is vital to discover solutions for people’s mental and emotional difficulties—from managing bad feelings to making healthy behavioral choice. Nonetheless, this can result in a lifelong and desperate struggle for those who wrestle chronically in their heads and hearts with alcoholism.


Seeking Hope and Support Through Alcohol

Consulting oracles is a longstanding practice in human history, and by no means has disappeared. Everyone searches for hope when they’re afraid, confused, in pain, and worried. People seek answers that will relieve them of difficult feelings and will calm their agitated minds. They want their unknown questions to be answered, and a way to move forward despite life’s difficulties. Most alcoholics desire something or anything, to find serenity and relaxation in their days.

Sadly, alcohol is not often a reliable resource for short-term stress. Why else would we continue to ‘consult’ it? If a way of coping works for people initially, they will continue to turn to it; they will reach for it to work again and again. Every compulsive drinker once was supported by alcohol in a better way, no matter how short-lived that support lasted.

At one point, alcohol was a solid, accessible, and steady support system. It worked, improving life for a time — even for an evening. But often, alcohol is never a reliable support-system for people; still, they cling to it despite knowing better. Sometimes copious drinking is only helpful for a gulp before it’s magic fades, but alcoholics appreciate that brief moment if life feels terrible enough.


Credit: Ben Hershey via Unsplash


Finding Sobriety and Support Outside the Bottle

Former alcoholics, such as myself, can be loyal to liquor to a fault. I can hang on to it until I’m shaken loose, clinging, kicking, and screaming. Until I finally, chose a road to sobriety, which also provided me with satisfying answers and wisdom (from a variety of sources) about life’s larger questions. I let go of alcohol, my ‘trusted friend,’ who had betrayed me too many times to count. Prior to rehab, my release from alcoholism was a bone-shattering experience. It’s not a mandatory way to become sober, but that’s how I did it. I was frightened to see how huge the iceberg underneath me was. I wanted to stay on the tip, happy in my denial of what lay beneath the waves.

One of the aspects about AA I liked was that members were encouraged to visualize alcoholism as more than drinking — as an iceberg, where the bulk of their problems were hidden underwater. I found this difficulty in my over-drinking. No matter how much I drank; in the end, there was still horrendous pain I couldn’t drown with any amount of liquor. Drinking was my problem, but it was not my key problem. At the root of my alcoholism was my life and how I lived it. No matter how worrisome my emotional state or my behavior while drinking, alcohol seemed as if it were always a suitable solution for my personal issues. Even in my desperate days, when alcohol failed me more often than not, I still clung to it.


Solutions Beneath Alcohol Addiction

Moreover, peering beneath my drinking solution, peeling back the layers through detox and early recovery, I discovered I was a scared and vulnerable person. I was ill-equipped to handle everyday life, haunted by trauma, and filled with deep shame. In addition, I was angry and sad. My regular excursions to the bottom of a bottle had induced tremendous stress, but I came to the solution of ‘the bottle’ already weighted with pain. The first time I became drunk was the first time I can remember feeling at ease; I was a young adult, and my over drinking continued from there.

Nonetheless, I’ve learned the true solutions to life and life’s questions don’t live in the bottom of a bottle. My story is one of countless stories, all told from someone who felt worse than most other people imagine they would, as an intoxicated person. However, there is hope and recovery is a real possibility. No problem hiding beneath anyone’s stream of alcohol is too difficult to confront and solve. With the right help, recovery is a real possibility.


Credit: Syndey Ray via Unsplash.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poems – Lunes – “Untamed Reality” #amwritingpoetry #3LineTales


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


Credit: Joshua Coleman via Unsplash.


Streetlights, sunshine succulent Daisy’s swim,

Beneath backsplash hues,

Blends rainbow-blues; happiness mellow.

*****

Smiley-face smirks, sunflower haze,

Artificial artifice; installation,

Pales before dawn’s authentic azure.

*****

Happiness hides, sunshine succumbs —

Night she divides;

Darkness delights, oozes untamed reality .

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.