Sharing another SpillWords published poem called “The Maiden and the Dragon.” If you enjoy my work, please make like it (choose a rating with stars) on the SpillWords website. Thanks to them for another collaboration.
Credit: SpillWords.com
©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.
Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting TaleWeavers and a prompt/theme where light is the focus. Also, combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie May 12, 2018 Double Take Saturday Mix Prompt on the homophone words: cedar – an evergreen tree with seeder – one who broadcasts seeds, and days – more than one day with daze – to bewilder.
Credit: Samantha Lynch via Unsplash
I’ll never trace the curve of your lips,
Where it dips, and lick my thumb;
Your nip, a playful bite.
Your brows wiggle; eyes sapphire.
While we slide past maybes,
Sleek condos and greenery;
Cedar trees that sway,
A seed in my heart nourished.
Sharp grass intoxicating —
You claiming my mouth;
Sweeping of lips,
Slow and exquisite.
Sweat makes us stick.
I ache as I’ve never.
Your hand rests ‘neath my throat,
My pulse rapid and wild.
You’ve etched my heart,
I’ll never forget.
The wind rustling, and the flapping of wings,
Our breath in syncopation.
Fighting for air against —
Little deaths.
In a moment, a few minutes,
On a train—
Where we two met.
Potential flared; I turned —
Flustered.
The pain in my chest,
Will it lessen?
Dazed as the days drift,
I didn’t know your name.
Know the flame you kindled,
Would burn me.
My hearts lit with your light,
But the mischief in me,
Craves you both in deepest night,
And the blinding day;
Beneath the Mexican sun,
On tequila beaches.
Daylight to overwhelm,
The throb of pain,
Of possibility snuffed out.
©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.
For NaPoWriMo Day 30 is: ” to write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinatingfact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird.” I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’sPhoto Challenge.
Credit: Nicolas Bruno
We didn’t have smartphones, flip-phones,
No second lines or iron rotary phones.
Just a ‘can’ to yell back and forth,
Every kid in every neighbourhood had one,
And gossip was damaging;
Persistently strangling its victims.
But, we had no internet or wifi, no dial-up modem,
We penned epics in burnt-sienna cursive.
Our handwriting perfection,
As the pages stretched for hours.
Your morada -inked letters rumpled in my hand,
Holding the ‘can’ to my ear,
As morse-code clicks bullets at pigeons.
And we drifted near drowning in our childhood pond,
Too many words said, too many left unsaid;
Too many deeds done, too many left undone.
I never dreamed we’d split;
That pliers and scissors could strip string and wire —
That alone we were too weak,
To go beyond what our fathers said,
And the fears our mothers chided.
I didn’t know what we had together existed —
But then, it was gone.
The water rose higher,
Warm water crushing breath;
Until I snuck out at night if only to survive,
To repair the damage wrought.
I forgot about technology,
The meaning of symbols or alphabets.
I climbed over your window sill,
I woke you with all those words,
The phrases I couldn’t keep inside.
Languages long lost but to us —
Centuries of unexpressed thoughts.
I listened as your morada-handwriting,
Echoed in silver-glitter when you spoke.
A melody that flew as butterflies,
Mediterranean giants with cobalt, crystal wings.
It was eons until everything bled-out,
Then, we were silent.
Lying together, limbs, lips, and laughter,
Bodies loving.
Saying all other words with sensation.
As the sky became serene, and sunlight filtered in,
And you traced my lips in awe,
I trembled and nipped your thumb.
For once we perceived the best tool for understanding,
Was to speak in person;
To converse, cry, yell, and observe–
Each other’s quirks and emotions.
The subtle signs we once knew,
Of sensuous appeal sublime and expressive.
Of rose perfume and musty libraries;
Of summer’s swimming and sunscreen,
Grass sharp and tangy in its freshness.
Your lips as berries devoured,
As forever lengthened our bones,
Made are skin supple, curved and honed.
Your hands on five-o’clock’ shadowed cheeks;
Wistfulness and whispered prayers.
Sins of afternoons and mornings lost,
Of nights spent miserable and alone;
Because we did not sit face to face and talk.
Our greatest gift — our human bodies,
Machines of the grandest designer,
His ‘plans’ can’t be derived, copied or improved;
And all sense of confusion,
Streamed past as estuaries scurried into oceans;
Our pond overflows with fresh water.
Hands wrapped as ribbons, never letting go,
Hazel-eyes to azure knowing the way we are now, is much more —
We were never meant to be alone.
Forlorn in this age of deception,
Forlorn without guidance in the dim.
No ‘cans’ to listen or letters written,
We’re humans at time’s dawn,
Our voices a rhythm sanguine,
A symphony absorbed and intrinsic.
©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.
For NaPoWriMo Day 27 the Prompt is: “to pick a card (any card) from this online guide to the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.” I’m combining this prompt with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Music Challenge #25, “Man Eater,” sung by Nelly Furtado.
I’m way behind I know lol.
Credit: http://www.pinterest.com
“The sun shines in the zenith, and beneath is a great winged figure with arms extended, pouring down influences. In the foreground are two human figures, male and female, unveiled before each other, as if Adam and Eve when they first occupied the paradise of the earthly body. Behind the man is the Tree of Life, bearing twelve fruits, and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil is behind the woman; the serpent is twining round it. The figures suggest youth, virginity, innocence and love before it is contaminated by gross material desire. This is in all simplicity the card of human love, here exhibited as part of the way, the truth and the life. It replaces, by recourse to first principles, the old card of marriage, which I have described previously, and the later follies which depicted man between vice and virtue. In a very high sense, the card is a mystery of the Covenant and Sabbath.
The suggestion in respect of the woman is that she signifies that attraction towards the sensitive life which carries within it the idea of the Fall of Man, but she is rather the working of a Secret Law of Providence than a willing and conscious temptress. It is through her imputed lapse that man shall arise ultimately, and only by her can he complete himself. The card is therefore in its way another intimation concerning the great mystery of womanhood. The old meanings fall to pieces of necessity with the old pictures, but even as interpretations of the latter, some of them were of the order of commonplace and others were false in symbolism.” — Sacred-Texts.com
“Maneater ” by Nelly Furtado
She tips her head long curls flying,
Owning the floor with each sway and dip;
Her eyes gleam light and pale-blue sight;
You’ll never understand — this seductress saved your life.
She completes your being as she sings off-key,
And her body entices, teasing your thoughts —
Down trails of searing delight.
She’s a maneater stealing your breath,
She’ll make you sweat hard, make your fists clench;
Biting her lip before she sips vodka-neat.
The tan of her skin speaks of wandering,
Of foreign cities where she was a siren calling.
She’s a maneater whose perfected her skills;
She’s completion and desire,
Her skin glowing in moonlight.
She’s the comfort in your heart, and she’s only yours.
She’s a maneater, and you fell hard for her love,
When her lips, and her hips — her generous heart’s core,
Caught yours and clasped on in a vise.
Now, your sipping your beer as she puts on a show,
Practised dance-steps enthralling you still.
Lifting her hair, mahogany thick,
Heated stare all consuming;
As her dewy skin melts makeup’s glamour,
Revealing the girl beneath her eyeliner.
She’s a tiger-woman laughing with her friends;
As they twirl and spin, wide smiles, toothy-grins.
Yet, she’s the only woman that grabs you,
Cradles your heart within hers.
She’s the one who loves you,
Who moves skin-to-skin when you’re too warm.
She was a maneater, but now she’s yours,
Her body and love yours to adore.
You suffer and rejoice,
See her limbs lift and twist.
Her love pulls you deeper,
You yank her off her heels, desperate;
The car speeds home to night’s bliss.
The maneater’s tenderness,
Her head ends on your heart.
Blood thick in your veins,
She caresses your soul.
©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.
For NaPoWriMo Day 26, the Prompt is: “to write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the “feel” of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear.” I’m combining with Bikurgurl’s Week 67 for #100WordWednesdays.
Credit: Bikurgurl
Hibiscus flowers in tawny-hair;
A red bloom fastened in the twilight,
Beneath marmalade sky’s ablaze,
Or raspberry fires in the morning.
Tempting Margaritas dosed,
You’d swear you’d imagined ghosts;
One drink too many —
You’ll order four more.
Skirts of grass woven,
From foliage thick and lush.
The beat of drums pounding,
As belly-dancing interrupts;
The Ukulele’ s strum echoes,
A language unknown;
A beauty in not knowing.
As waves blast the sand,
The surf rises cerulean.
And miles out a creature whirls,
His flip an act of showmanship.
And sweet drinks ingested,
Carry lotus flowers, and in-depth conversation,
On topics no one recalls hereafter.
A language of islands,
Of salt air, the musk of giant fish;
And underneath lies pink-tangerine reefs.
Where fish of rainbows dart in and out,
In an immensity of sizes and looks.
Swimming into shore,
Basking in warm salted-water,
Head beneath waves,
One blinding sting, and another.
For too soon comes home,
Where the world is gray-toned;
It never alights with Hibiscus — red or fuchsia.
No purple orchids,
No waves that soothe the soul.
No greenery or fruit so sweet,
Pineapples and mangos,
Slices of heaven.
Where the tides create summer dreams.
When mornings with sunlight cascades,
Into a rhythm no other place knows.
©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.
For NaPoWriMo Day 23 the prompt is: Today, is to “write a poem based in sound. The poem, for example, could incorporate overheard language. Perhaps it could incorporate a song lyric in some way, or language from something often heard spoken aloud.”
I’m combining with #100WordWednesday Week 68 by Bikurgurl.
Credit: Bikurgurl
The lights flick on tonight,
They echo amidst the streets.
Cars trailing exhaust as rubber grinds,
Zooming off into the night,
Stars blaring, their peacefulness overpowered by —
Flashing lights and strong voices.
Mixed together, some a cacophony,
Some a flowing symphony.
Girls laughing in the bathroom,
Slicking on gloss, smacking their lips.
Men’s voices rumble, lined up at the bar,
Gruff with meaningless discussion,
Jokes interspersed with loud laughter.
Glasses clink and drinks rush,
Pouring cranberry juice and vodka,
A whizz of ginger ale popping;
Scotch on the rocks knocking,
The suck of lemons from tequila shots.
Hoots, cheers, and whistles,
The whoosh of the puck in the net,
A slap-shot slams, a snapshot of time clicks.
Others banter, search for twilight patios,
Voices a “Mmmm,” as steak’s devoured.
Trendy appetizers, the crack of lobster shells.
Drinks raised ‘Slante,’ and with the beat,
The thump of the music a steady rhythm,
A driven rap-beat, a sonorous divas addition,
Soft-heated lyrics, a hopeful passage;
A shiver and, “Ah,” as favorite songs roll on.
The DJ keeps playing,
Sweat-slicked bodies brush past each other,
Hands sweep past bodies, and nobody cares,
In the sultry muggy air inside,
Or the warm sweet-air outside, night’s sigh.
No one can hear,
But the glimmer of voices are never hushed;
On the streets lit up,
Lights reviving a city, a nightly rebirth.
©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.
For #NaPoWriMo Day 20 the Prompt is: ” to write a poem that involves rebellion in some way. The speaker or subject of the poem could defy a rule or structure that’s been placed on them, or the poem could begin by obeying a rule and then proceed to break it.”
Also, combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie TaleWeavers Prompt “exploring the concept of longing. What is it you long for? Health, holiday, freedom, love, understanding, acceptance.”
Credit: Robert Lukeman via Unsplash
These cubicles, they’re full —
But outside there’s fresh -air and freedom.
A world to explore, to engage to the core,
Outside these thin walls is liberty.
No more work burdens to bear,
So, the mountains and city steps I’ll climb.
And these cubicles, I’ll slice them full of holes,
Tacking up scenic pictures to inspire my soul.
Nature’s vibrant purple-skies as storms roll in,
Waterfalls that crash, and streams that gurgle.
Cars that absorb the grind of the rocky-road,
Spring zipping through the highways on four-wheels.
All in all, I’m forlorn, for the wide-great outdoors,
Scented pine-needles and decaying earth.
Wings of bubble-bees as they hit the breeze,
And flutter into pale-pink roses.
I’ll knock down these walls with hammers and saws,
Because no architect supposed workers crave sunlight.
No builder thought windows were essential to breathe,
That these gray walls, dense recycled air —
Aren’t places for humans to exist;
To flourish and grow, to be creative and problem-solve.
They’re the prisons where we labor to earn —
The visage of sunlight on rippling waters.
Oceans crashing against rocks —
The flow of rivers down the banks,
And the hustle of people as they swarm live-festivals,
Scamper for cool beer and watermelon.
When we peer to the ceiling, we’re searching for the sky,
So, you can call security, but either way, I’m escaping.
The green-grass is sweet and calling to me;
My heart beats for the tides’ ankle-deep caress.
And a tangerine sunset, it lives inside me,
The ember of glory that leads the way,
Through the dull-dread of each dreary workday.
©Mandibelle16. (2018).All Rights Reserved.
For Day 10 NaPoWriMo the Prompt is: to ” write a poem of simultaneity – in which multiple things are happing at once.” Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.
Credit: Alpha Coders
You locked the door shut;
I threw away the key.
Door slamming, the house shook,
It wasn’t rejection —
Claws of tiger digging,
It wasn’t the ache spiralling,
A corkscrew in my clavicle.
It wasn’t fatigue,
The floating leaves crackling,
Fall’s sudden chill,
Winter’s stark sting.
Words uninviting,
But a spade is a spade;
Your kindness a shark,
Large teeth, tail flicking.
Lies the black stripes,
Safari orange fur —
Mangled with spite,
Hidden behind decency.
The beast maimed;
Honesty infringed.
No intelligible motives,
As teeth rip to shreds.
But she set herself up,
And a spade is a spade.
The true queen reigns,
Not in dungeon’s keep.
The lady in red,
On her pedestal;
Floats and crackles,
Autumn’s crisp maple leaves,
Ragged and torn.
You’re better than that?
But he’s not.
Obese — vile words,
A tiger disgusted.
A question —
I crept into the den,
He was offended,
And I was prey,
Amusing —
With no matter.
His last words, claw cuts–
Sinking inside deep,
Where my stomach turns.
The ruby sun rose,
Blood flowed and flowed.
All because I have no control —
Because I was not born,
Demure and petite;
He spurned my art,
Thus, spurned my chest.
Three-years younger,
He’s thirteen years too young —
Inside.
But I bated the beast,
Naturally, his teeth revealed.
Tiger perplexed,
Slinking back to the den.
His side gapes,
Licking his wounds;
No winning against him,
In this game —
Not his type.
Inside his ribs,
Fat where is soul should be —
Deceit.
He thinks he knows,
But he can’t envision.
He has judged,
Growling a retort.
She laughs,
The rabbit slips away.
©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.
For NaPoWriMo Day 9 the Prompt is: “to write a poem in which something big and something small come together.” Also thanks to Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix March 24, 2018, with her Same but Different Theme,to take the five challengewords and NOT use them in your writing; to find a synonym for each word instead.” The words are: 1) Lie, 2) Dive, 3) Realize, 4) Pass, 5) Red.
Credit: Catherine McMahon
Falseness of sound,
Tears glisten as —
Mermaids parade into ocean’s curve.
Waves echoing, golden sand glints;
Resolve to know.
Deliberate without inhibition,
Sweep the sands, as tears forge waters;
A crimson sky blossoms,
The rose thorn drawing blood.
Recognize I not,
The void of your eyes glistening;
Hollowness resides.
Simmers through flesh;
Leaping through dawn,
As sailors are warned.
Salt water incites —
Saline tears, as the sea’s violent waves.
Tiny droplets recognize,
Pain doesn’t end.
Drops of wine,
Mineral lakes where all do float;
Nothing dissolves,
Fear of the giant montage.
A glistening gate —
A screenshot of life.
©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.
For Day 4 of NaPoWriMo the prompt is: “to write a poem that is about something abstract – perhaps an ideal like “beauty” or “justice,” but which discusses or describes that abstraction in the form of relentlessly concrete nouns. Adjectives are fine too!
I’m combining with Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver #162 about an item of magic. To me, something that is ‘ideal,’ has a kind of magic.
Credit: Yuiizaa September via Unsplash
Helen of Troy,
Fairest woman.
The ideal as —
The poet Homer,
The Philosopher Plato’s ‘just’ society;
Yet, the word means,
Not enough;
Not,
Mr. Hawkins’ anomalies,
Nor Virgil’s Aeneid,
Leading Dante on the path —
Purgatory, Hades, and Paradiso.
Yet both were ideal teachers,
For Milton’s Paradise Lost.
Or, consider Coco Channel,
Sewing pockets,
In women’s suits,
Not for decoration,
A utility, women of old —
Weren’t given.
Or Cleopatra the seductress,
Survives Caesar and Marc Anthony;
Her beauty, their destruction; her death.
Or, Shakespeare’s plays,
Ideal comedies, with —
Brilliant histories and tragedies;
Satisfying Queen Elizabeth I’s whims.
And Beowulf’s writer,
Binding the need,
For heroic deeds, boasting —
Revenge and deeds as immortality.
Clashing with,
Holy Scriptures;
And the lone ideal, one man,
From Bethlehem.
Who many still claim,
“He’s a fraud — for freeing me.”
Forgiveness, with heroism,
We have the modern Ulysses;
James Bond, Jason Bourne.
Disney Princesses,
Merida, Elsa and Moana;
Yet, there is no ideal,
On earth we can prefect.
It’s inherit in our existence,
Ideals are lost.
Twisting Milton’s truth,
To Pandemonium.
While Helen’s stare,
Perceives angel- skeletons,
Blaspheming prisoners;
Jews worked, starved to death;
Their figure’s the epitome,
Of models,
Even, ‘Twiggy’s’ bones rattle, and rage.
Yet, Helen smiles,
With visions of new ideals,
Yet, no ideal,
Is ever ideal;
For, to be ideal is to be in paradise.
Not, alive as we are now —
Imperfect as we are.
Our flaws bind us,
In fallibility.
©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.
