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.

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#OctPoWriMo Day 15/ Three Line Tales: Poem – Senyru – “Sickly Fog” #3LineTales #poetry #amwriting 


OctPoWriMo Day 15 is a Prompt on fighting the urge to throw up. Also, combining this prompt with #3LineTales from Sonya of Only 100 Words

——

Credit: Kira Aud Der Heide via Unsplash

——

5,7,5

Fighting to write, hands —

Aching, mind floats without food;

Words feel too vital.

—-

Glass corners, eyes tired, 

Hands cut, sharp letters,

Indigo tip sticks. 

——

Head spins, stomach turns, 

Pause — stomach needs sustenance;

Mind clears sickly fog. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.


Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – To a Special Woman


She was sitting alone on a beach and she felt different than she had ever felt. She was young and beautiful and she was perfect; her beauty had no flaws. She was eternally youthful and magnificent. She could do anything she wanted her body was limber and strong.

The beach was the most peaceful place she had ever been. The tide washed up, but the water was transparent. The sand was white like pearls and glimmered. Her perfect eyes took in everything; her vision so sharp she could see far away. And where her vision stopped a seeing in her mind took over.

That’s when she realized she felt no pain. No pain, it was the strangest feeling. There was no aching in her bones. No headache and no sickness. Their was a sense of well-being and harmony within her. She knew then that there was only one place she could be, and she smiled in her radiant youth and walked towards the brilliant orange setting sun.

In Memory of Barbara Beacham.