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.

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Tale Weavers: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) — “Full-Hearted” #amwritingpoetry #taleweavers #MLMM


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver’s this week with his theme: all things bright and beautiful & what it means to us. Also, thanks to MindLoveMisery’s MenagerieMindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Music Prompt #41 “This Is Not the End” by MILCK.


Credit: Joshua Fuller via Unsplash


This is Not the End by MILCK


All things bright and beautiful cleanse; this is not end.

Star’s leap, shrinking violets shimmer tall, lively bend;

Despite storm’s ahead, summer’s heat,

Deepens azure; the sky still beams,

Wide-eyed giggles, cherub children;

Bells tinkle joyful, dreamscapes mild.

Your schemes aren’t the end, despite a shameful purpose;

Sickening plots — lies, your ugly’s gone; I’ve more worth.

****

This isn’t the end, of all things bright and beautiful,

I’m not afraid of monsters, your cunning half-truths.

I’m a survivor furnished,

In sweet trappings of God’s spirit.

I fear not your Slytherin tongue;

I’m a warrior inspite your drugs —

Candy words, lethargy, crafted bitter-bliss —

You’re daft, such a nasty trick; too late — you missed.

*****

All things bright and beautiful, life moves, expands,

Beneath snow spring trickles in streams; ice cracks, your damned.

Wicked man against roaring lion,

His might rages, light that defies.

I’m not afraid of ruthlessness,

For I’ve inhaled His brilliant truth.

You can’t snuff it out, you can’t beat it’s flames; feasting on–

Destruction, your falsehood revealed; I’m no man’s pawn.

*****

Sweet lamb am I, protected from plots; your slaughter —

Without regret, dishonest; I win you falter.

This lapse isn’t the end; I’m free.

Once blind, I stare eyes pitying;

Your tricks are done, for I have sun.

Wild winds, tangled grass and I’ve won —

Space to wander in aqua dawn, white sands beautiful.

All things bright, I’ve chosen a door and key — heart-full.

*****


©️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.

Tale Weavers/Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Stardust Love” #amwritingpoetry #TaleWeavers #PhotoChallenge


Thanks to Michael from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver’s on the concept of night or the evening. Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting photo challenge.


Credit: WeHeartIt


Starry night, veil across smooth skin.

The evening tide arrives,

Darkness rides on velvet wings of charcoal-black.

A midnight hour lit with dreams,

Stars that glisten and glitter;

The star of all stars shines truest.

Jewel of golden light, snarled in a crown of thorns.

Hope of tomorrow, every child, & every person passed;

For ages awaiting an infant mild.

Mirth in the twilight, the evening passes,

With brushes and paint,

A muse of mystery and dancing light, crosses the canvas of your skin.

A rare and glorious place,

Where painted medium engraves each curve.

The dip of your back, shoulder blades relaxed.

Breath respired as the paint dries; the lense snaps your beauty.

A Vangoghesque masterpiece, and the light of a brilliant star.

Our Christmas miracle in a moment,

For now, left adrift by the pendulum of time.

A lover’s dusk for —

I with my brushes and cherished paints;

You humming centuries old melodies.

A Holy night, Angels crying glory, as Three Kings journey.

Miracle in a stable; thus, miracles for mere humans.

They’re what we breathe and live,

Blessed in evening tide,

With stardust love;

Gloria Excelsis Deo.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: Part One, December 2018 #notablequotes #pinterest #quotes


Welcome, this is late, better late than never I suppose. This week is my last Steeped Tea Event for December, except maybe Boxing Day. My last 2018 charity event is Monday, called the ‘Snowflake Ball’ for a children’s hospital wing, in the University Hospital in my city. I’m excited, but I know it will be a long one by the end of the night. Enjoyable too. There are so many worthy causes out there and I love that I can be apart of them. Looking forward to the fashion at this one too.

I have a couple of stops left to Christmas shop before the 24th, & also Christmas baking, cards, and special foods, those kinds of things to prepare once work is done for awhile. This year has turned out to be so different than many other years. Both, in ways I’m glad about and also in taking giant leaps — I’m still in the process of figuring life out. I wish this involved writing more, but I’ve gained experience in other areas I hope will be useful in the future. Here and there I get to write a poem, and comment. These are the most relaxing times for me. Sometime I will have a lot more to say then, what I can say right now. But it’s been a good year — answered prayers, and time to catch up on some quotes.


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©️Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 24/ Saturday Mix: Poem -Quadrille – “Winged Flight” #amwritingpoetry #SaturdayMix


For OctPoWriMo Day 24 the prompt is based on opening. Combining with Saturday Mix, Opposing Forces. Today’s words are Our words this week are: simple and complicated, and vowel and consonant



Open the gates,

Explain walls, deception;

Explain complicated questions.

Hurt riveting our senses,

Failing daily, but still–

Church-bells chime with consonance;

Symphonic Jubilee.

Perhaps, you’ll heal?

Our worlds will collide, amplified.

Perhaps, you’ll comprehend?

Torn butterfly wings;

Silent assonance screamed.

Featherless despite hope’s,

Winged flight.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 22: Poem – Free Verse – “More than Poetry” #amwritingpoetry


For OctPoWriMo Day 22 the prompt is betrayal.


Credit: Mark Zimmerman via Unsplash


It’s not betrayal is it?

Your visage, your sweet face?

Crinkled laugh lines with delicate hands you sew;

The quilter mending patients square by square.

It’s no lie is it?

Your eyes how they sparkle,

Crinkle at corners I caress.

It’s no lie is it?

Your fervent prayers to God, your blessings?

Tell me you’re for real.

Once too many times, the knife has slipped between my ribs —

I know your heart it’s battered too,

Betrayals slick slim choking your breath.

But, it’s okay, you and I can unfurl our wings together, and fly without feathers.

We’ve wings of greater substance.

Though scar tissue worsens each wound, we’ll strive on and on, and on.

So, please don’t snap me — or woe on you who would betray.

For now, night creatures chirp, rumple leaves beside our hiding place.

This Eden amidst midnight stars; morns unfolding rays —

You’re for real aren’t you?

Fingers trace your jaw, your shadow,

Absorb the sun heating your skin;

Later, the moon reflects within your inscrutable eyes.

And life is too raw and too real — a brokenness revealed.

So, please be for real, more than words; for people are not poetry.

Be more than verbal affluence,

Be the poem that’s twilight and sweet whispers true;

A place to rest even in struggle;

Let us not betray confidence, let us not scatter our love to the four winds’ turbulence.

Stay near, your breath warming mine,

Let’s tend our love, and be gentle amidst life’s destructive storms.

Let’s be more than poetry.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 23/Photo Challenge: Free Verse – “You Might” #amwritingpoetry #photochallenge


For OctPoWriMo Day 23 the Prompt is see me.


Today’s prompt is See Me. I love the simplicity and strength of this statement. What is it that you wish others knew about you? What would you want those in your closest relationships to acknowledge? What is your truth?


Credit: Michael Matkezo

You might see me,
You might not.
You might peer behind paintings,
Under the table,
Into the cavernous closet,
Darkness swiping with claws.
You might see me,
You might not.
You might have a sense of humor,
Drifting down the hallways,
Laughter trickling, a babbling brook,
A bridge that draws me closer.
You might see my bare face stained red with tears;
You might see me in classic makeup,
Or the hollowness under my eyes —
Too many endless nights settling.
You might experience the execution of words;
Cut ruthlessly unheard.
The ruins that form a masterpiece,
If only in my dreams.
You might see me, you might not,
As the tsunami crashes in,
A wall of glass, of water hovering.
A wooden doll who’s splintered,
As mere gossamer threads support.
You might see me, you might not.
All the foreign lands I’ve wandered,
With flashlight under the covers.
Reading contemporary romance and adventure;
Classic books scattered with historical texts,
Fashion magazines and journal articles.
The fine pull of modern literary works,
As they entice in ever-altering persuasion.
You might find Milton and Donne,
Next to Atticus or Lang Lev.
E. Hanson next to Hemingway and Frost.
You might see me, you might not.
Because, perhaps, the eye of hurricane,
Isn’t a disaster storming?
Perhaps, it’s a secret hideaway,
And suddenly, after everything,
After every step and stumble;
Clarity rings as bells.
And the water rushes in,
A ruthless baptism;
A tale told by survivors.
You might see me,
You might not.

©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#OctPoWriMo Day 19/Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Free Love” #amwritingpoetry #photochallenge


For OctPoWriMo Day 19, the prompt is “What Do You Want?” I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ’s MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge.


Credit: PrettyScary@DeviantArt

They say when you breath slow, head between your legs,
When your mind works out things,
Your lost words will flicker home.
You’ll not feel drained, the sky’ll end hailing;
You’ll soak up the rain, a starving tulip, not cowering.
There are ways to feed your soul, and feed mouths.
And you try to listen inside,
to the conscience that knows only His tones.
I have plans, great journeys ahead;
I plan for you to prosper and bloom despite your frail limbs.
Yet, I scramble; I’m turning up rocks as I limp;
Tilling this garden, as my hands bleed life.
Dirt acrid, stuck in my nails, tattooed on my skin,
An oder I’ll not forget —fresh, as the dew on the grass after the storm;
Nose-wrinkling pungent, life’s essence.
I peer into the vastness, to the valley where I beg to rest.
I’m tumbling with trepidation; I’m scared of unknown sensations.
I’m pushing against the grain — I’m not easily killed, defeated as weeds by chemicals and garden gloves.
Lie near me on the peppermint grass, stroke my hair as it floats ‘round my face;
Loose on the grass as whiskey, as in the pale chinook winds, we find peace and relax.
Lie beside me, for I am weary of fighting alone;
I don’t know how to carry your burdens — our burdens or mine.
My eyes slip closed and I sleep in Neverland,
Lost girl fierce, but never little.
Still, I’m the determined pink daisy as a-new-day’s sunlight feeds my soul;
So, nourish it well dear one, and for your love, don’t ask so much that I break.
Feed my soul, hear my prayers, Lord.
Sometimes I’m the wilting violets, the frost slips in as fingertips black pluck at my leaves, my frozen petals.
Feed my soul, and answer its song.
Have I chosen right?
Or, am I gliding towards a ledge,
More than hanging my toes over a bit;
Am I free falling towards darkness and sin?
Or, am I trying to trust, to hope, and to love?
A entrepreneur for authenticity and someone whose love sets us both free.
Oh Lord, am I free wheeling to death?
A cat who’s twitched too late before the coyotes growl at bay;
Before mistakes will cost me dear.
Yet, in the end, my love and I are asleep in the grass, Protect our small worlds,
I can’t find the answers and each day we struggle.

Hear our petitions when we forget, you carry us both when we stumble — even when we can neither find free love, but from you.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.