Three Line Tales: Poem – Bop – “Golden Haze” #amwriting #poetry #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting this week’s #3LineTale. The Tale became an entire poem.


Credit: Sharon McCutcheon via Unsplash.


Gold” by Imagine Dragons


Now you’re blessed, so confess all your lost dreams,

Diamonds, emeralds your curse, tearing your seams.

How do you know it’s all real, that you still feel?

How do you cry, when you’re numb and reeling?

Too much gleam of Ag, shallow and false,

You heart doesn’t thump; Midas stilled its pulse.

When everything you’ve got turns to cold gold.

Such appeal of golden apples faltered —

You can’t eat metal, push away your faults;

Hide your cursed shining touch, voices hush —

No more lies; who now can you even trust?

Everything you graze turns to gold, gold, gold.

You’re a statue bathed in it, no old —

Friends by your side; ruler of cold and stale.

No wine and meat, it’s as ash chewed, inhaled.

When everything you’ve got turns to cold gold.

Hollow, bathing in liquid gold streaming,

Trying to define it meaninglessness.

Your void in life, as you fade down the corn maze,

A woman hopeless, in a smokey haze.

Life’s no dream when your touch destroys all inane,

You’ll not escape — greed’s your ever-long shame.

When everything you’ve got turns to cold gold.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “A Story of Change” #amwriting #poetry #MLMM


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the SWP, a collage prompt.


Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


Twisted,

Fractured due to —

Difficulties life wrought.

Damage cracked; leather skin, lips torn,

He aches for sleep, to wash, and renew himself.

To slay his hideous demons,

They haunt him, every step.

No rest, he’s too —

Twisted.

*****

Life once,

Satisfied; free —

For him to chose his trails,

To beam in personal glories.

Life’s pinnacle, his wild dreams, finally,

Found fruition; until he fell,

Soul keening in ash.

No desire for —

Life once.

*****

Vivid,

Morado hues;

As yesterday’s wrongs haunt;

No escaping his palled fears.

Thinks he can’t measure up as he once did.

Bitter life’s high-points cost him dear.

Voice silenced, will fading;

Ashamed; his pain,

Vivid.

****

Balance,

Distorted as —

He slurps canned food, silver —

Cutlery from his Nan, most sold to live.

Survival his concern, laughter gone;

He’s wilted, rose petals of dust, a ghost;

No will, no path, hope to —

Restore life’s old,

Balance.

*****

To God,

Man weathered prays,

Forgetting God hears, listens —

To fervent Hail Mary’s, begging for —

A chance, an opportunity.

To find life beyond dusty roads, his bike;

Seeking grand possibilities.

To have life flourish once,

More, reaching to —

To God.

*****

Sweet rain,

Soaks him fast.

A shower well needed,

He’s determined for renewal.

Trims off his wild beard, foam heals;

Now, his plans are clear; he blossoms.

Back home she’s thrilled; he’s here —

Returned; her own —

Sweet rain.

*****


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Writing: Poem – Licentia – ” Plastic Drowns” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to ScribblersDip of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this last Sunday’s Writing Prompt quote/collage.

———

Credit: ScribblersDip MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——

“Stuck in a generation where loyalty is just a tattoo, love is just a quote, and lying is the new truth.” 

——-

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Games insane, thinks she’s Queen, now breath wanes. 

Her long voluminous eyelash extensions sweep, 

Dyed hair weeps silver strands on botoxed cheeks. 

Ingenuine smile teeth veneers and braces;

Blond bombshell Marilyn’s plastic twin races. 

Against the clock to keep her youth, nips tucks —

Child’s facelift, brow lift microbladed must. 

Hearts and flower tattoos, she’s loved a few but, 

Never many, not one recalled past lust. 

Queen Bee, they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 

——-

Her long voluminous eyelash extensions sweep, 

Dyed hair weeps silver strands on botoxed cheeks. 

Today she thinks she’ll dye her hair as red, 

As the hair on princess Ariel’s head. 

Red, red with gown to rival ocean’s surf, 

Sea-green, topaz-mint silk fabric unearthed. 

Some taffeta so dress floats, one-strap to bare, 

More skin, her bodice diamond encrusted layers. 

Lenses to make her eyes seafoam green dots, 

Corset pulled tight, plastic chest pulled up-top. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 
——

Ingenuine smile veneers and braces;

Blond bombshell Marilyn’s plastic twin races. 

Thought of need for actual dental design, 

Never entered mind, pristine teeth inclined. 

No thoughts of cost, credit cards, her wealth, 

All for looks, a beauty drowning herself. 

Procedures, weekly treatments, face, body; 

Hair coiffed, eyebrows plucked, tinted; applauded —

By those like her who in shallowness confound. 

In ankle deep depth succumb and all drown. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane game, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes. 

——

Against the clock to keep her youth, nips tucks —

Child’s facelift, eyebrows high microbladed must.

Could one drown, sputter, choke on water just —
Because they’re steeped in procedures, a must?

Plastic to fill the cracks where natural beauty, 

Flourished; sweet, beautiful, but not enough, 

Now fakeness hides inner trauma, no trust. 

Grew up in the snake pit of Divas; ‘subtly — 

Enhanced,’ language unknown, tears burn eyes, flood —

Place she can’t be saved, where the cost is blood. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes

——-

Hearts and flower tattoos, she’s loved a few but, 

Never many, any one recalled past lust. 

Her love was herself, no one else mattered, 

Life reveals and such vanity shatters. 

Until she realizes the heart must be built, 

For the body ages becomes as ash, silt. 

She can fake youth or be classically

Lovely, elegant, forever dazzling.

Graceful aging,with minor repairs, 

Youth found in caring, she’ll not drown despaired. 

Queen Bee they said, she’s so unashamed —

Insane games, poor Queen drowns, now her breath wanes
——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Bop – “For A Spark” #poetry #dVerse #amwriting 


Thanks to Paul Scribbles of Poet’s Pub for hosting the #dVerse prompt on “the end.” 

———

Credit: Roksolana Zasiadko via Unsplash

——–

The end is never the end. It’s always the the beginning of something.” ― Kate Lord Brown, The Perfume Garden

——-

There once was a beginning, but for us, I think;

We never were, until we were, created in a blink.

Once upon a time there was the Word, 

The Word was God; It was with Him to be heard. 

All was darkness but the Word was the light 

The Word was the cure, it was omniscient insight.

Every spark becomes darkness, but His fire brings dawn. 

In the first beginning, his light lit uncountable sparks, 

That eternal, all-knowing ‘start’ burning through the dark. 

Where beginnings take place; journeys are revealed, 

Where life is born, ideas form, the masked are unconcealed. 

Beginings that inspire and conspire to grow and leap,  

Sparks choosing to expire, or to burn on in the deep.

There is the ‘lighter’ of the spark and the ‘spark’ itself;

Knowledge too that sparks turned cinders, have eternal help. 

Every spark become darkness, but His spark brings dawn. 

Who knows of endings but that they’re already won, 

The ‘Candle-snuffer’ futile fights, his end already come.  

He decided his ending forever, when our spark was new, 

He’s the one temptation slithered, damnation to all construed. 

The eternal light is present, no cinders who ask will end up ash, 

Faith is fuel that forever burns, so the term ‘end’ has passed.   

Every spark becomes darkness, but His spark brings dawns. 

 ——–

©Mandibelle16 (2017) All Rights Reserved. 


Poem: Free Verse – In Memory of Evelyn #amwriting #poetry #elegy


Credit: Amanda Eifert
——–

A few months ago a dear friend passed away at 98 years old. She was a grandma, my great godmother, and in these last few years, a genuine friend. I miss her very much and writing her letters to mail with a poem or small story. It was our thing and I visited her as much as I was able. The last time I saw Evelyn we visited a few hours in her room. Then,  I was leaving and I couldn’t get out the door to reach the elevators. Finally, I got to the elevators went out the front time and stopped. 

I looked back at the wonderful care facility she’d been staying in these past three years. She was in her own home until she was 95. I had this strange feeling that I woldn’t see her again. I gazed back deciding all I could do was hope that in a month or two, she would still be alive and well. I do wish one more visit might have been possible. 

She was a wonderful, outgoing, and opinionated person. She demonstrated great care with people and her hospitality is/was famous. She even drove big trucks and was a mechanic in her day besides working at the Woodwards Department store for many years. For much her life, she was a single mother. Evelyn had many talents, her cooking, her unpredictability, and a spirit that kept on shining and pushing through life’s miseries. 

R.I.P Evelyn. I’ve been trying to finish this last poem for you for a few months.  It’s taken me awhile to get right! I’m so happy you are with our Heavenly Father and no longer suffering in any way. 

——–

A monument falls, crumbles, 

Although, she was strong. 

An impenetrable force, 

A spit-fire, a trail blazer. 

You can press your hands against thick steel, rock, or concrete, 

Wonder how such monuments are designed, 

Buildings of beauty, fortified through time;

How could they fall? 

Then you realize that soft skin isn’t stone, 

And a woman isn’t a superhero. 

When you gaze into the past, into beloved photographs, 

You see how smooth marble crinkles, 

As fine lines, directions on a map. 

The most elegant calligraphy, 

Words muted in the unforgiving sun. 

And photographs appear in memories, 

The warming light of conversation, 

Over hearth: satisfying food and laughter. 

Yet, still I attempted to see how her puckered lips,

Were once plump, young, and beguiling.

Long gone are her cherubic child’s lips, 

Nearly a century ago. 

And flawless cream skin is marked, 

Lines settled in, can be followed, 

A pattern of an Autumn leaf. 

No monument left to be seen, no eyes sparkling, 

With a smile uniquely hers, 

Never to be repeated;

Only in whispers of genealogy. 

A monument stood and —

She was significant. 

Someone who was seen and not afraid to be, 

A grandma who paraded around, 

 In forty two pairs of shoes — probably more. 

Her body could be strengthened with steel, 

Knees and hips better off with fabrication; 

The real ones worn out. 

Do stone monuments feel the pain of lost children? 

Of polio’s grasp, sucking the life out of a small boy.

Of a little girl who passed away a whisper. 

And of one child who survived, 

A reader, a teacher, a traveller, a builder. 

One who is imperfectly perfect as her.

My godfather with his wife, 

My godmother, both I adore.

Yet, the stubborn cheerfulness, 

Of this monument lives on in her family, 

In her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, 

And beloved relatives and friends;

Partners who marked her life, always leaving early. 

Sisters and brothers, marrying others becoming new brothers and sisters, 

How she adored and missed all them all, 

Passing away before she could blink.

For the most part, she was unsurpassed in years, 

She mourned her family and friends gone first, 

But reunites with them now.

And when she fell, the monument’s pieces scattered, 

Although all feels lost,

She needed her relief in heaven. 

And no one ever thinks that day will come, 

Until it crashes upon those left behind. 

Monuments fall, it happens every minute of every day, 

For every type of personality, 

To each person someday;

Special and authentically themselves. 

It’s okay to morn the monument’s empty place, 

To hunger for her caring advice, 

Her kind words. 

The silence is hard, her not being, 

In her home or in her room.

Now she’s aged, is dust of the earth, 

She is the ideal of herself, the creator’s perfection. 

Her life was imperfect, as we all are, 

It was shadowed by pain and misery; 

Yet her optimism always pulled her through it. 

Remembering her and taking comfort within, 

Her greetings to all those she meets again. 

The suffering and sorrow has ended, so do not cry your tears. 

For every monument is eclipsed, 

Heaven’s radiant light filters into the cracks, 

Rebuilds the rubble. 

Her figure of faith and grace. 

The love she had, that does not die, 

But multiplies in eternity, 

Waiting for her family someday. 

And for her her dear friends. 

 When we arrive, 

She’ll wonder what took us so long. 

Offering a piece of pie, uncooked fresh blueberries in a crust, 

With soft dollops of whipped cream. 

Her timeless love in cooking, baking, hospitality, 

Everyone was always welcome, 

If you weren’t, she’d tell you so. 

True monuments may appear hard and resilient, 

Underneath they are as the rest of us, 

They are frail and human. 

Time will catch up with everyone, 

And we pray we can meet our deaths, 

Mansions prepared in the sky. 

God the only monument, 

 Not our crumbled lives. 

————

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo (Collage) Challenge: Poem – Tankas – “The Mountain’s Wrath” #amwriting #poetry 


Thank you to MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s double prompt:

Laura Bloomsbury

———

Black and white can change, 

Become the most flaming bright of —

Colours; yet we’re like —

Dorothy on her Kansas —

Farm, not realizing life is grey. 

Never seeing technicolor.

——–

If mountains are but smoke, 

No one who said those words knew, 

How burning orange and —

Yellow looks when your skin is —

Seared; the mountain spit lava clear.

Blew her top, melted downwards. 

——-

On to the town who, 

Had little idea but should —

Have known this day, 

No technology clued.

Their mountain could release Hell,

Sulphurous smelling, burnt Hell.

—-

Poisonous gases, 

Leaking down to the town folk, 

No chance had they when, 

Ashes fell like snow.

The worst kind of snow signals, 

The ire of the mountain’s breath.

——-

In stores, on boardwalks, 

Going about their day the same.

When she erupted, 

No one cared at first.

But the ash and gases came, 

Killing to begin, before —

—–

Lava reached familiar,

Buildings, the library.

Homes, grocery stores, work.

Yet the sky was filled, 

She billowed out her smoke rings, 

And she was just beginning.

——-

Threy should’ve known to —

Leave earlier but no one, 

Takes responsibility;

To late to lay blame.

Run far and fast, lava spews.

Keep going magma flows, kills.

——

No Dante’s Peak is —

This; only mother nature’s, 

Roaring and giving, 

Life as she takes it.

Many die unaware, don’t see, 

Never knew today would be —

The end: waiting done, 

Here comes the promised one near.

Yet some survived it.

Never took lightly, 

Those words: A Mountain is noth –

ing but smoke — they lived through it.

—–

Those who rebuilt knew, 

As the lava and fire burnt their —

Homes, loved ones to crisps. 

Beware the mountain;

Geologists trained don’t know, 

When she’ll yield furious wrath.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reseved 

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Earth – Etheree- “Caretakers Beware”


img_1070-3

And now for our (optional) prompt. Today’s prompt comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who also suggested our prompt for Day Seven. Today, Gloria challenges us all to write a poem in honor of Earth Day. This could be about your own backyard, a national park, or anything from a maple tree to a humpback whale. Happy writing!

For more information please see NaPoWriMo. The poem form is Etherees, repeated, and turned upside down, and written as they are.


Mother Earth
http://www.fitfitmagazine.nl

Calling her Mother, created in beginning,

Adoration is hers, our provider,

Gods hands formed, but yet she falters,

He said be her caregiver,

Taking more then we’re meant,

Using her until she —

Is broken, torn,

We gouged,

For fuel,

Earth.

—-

Child,

of her,

Beginnings,

Forgetting our place,

Nurture her as she,

Nurtures her caretakers,

Ignorance destroys beauty,

Creator so lovingly beheld and,

Let us name earth’s creatures — disappearing.

Don’t forget, protect earth, greed consumes her.


Through thousands, perhaps, millions of years past,

She’s shifted and shook, born massive waves.

Mother’s rage, brings disastrous tears,

Volcanoes spewing lava,

Mountains losing their face,

Forests, fires, and ash.

Tornado wound,

Earth torn

Lost.

Our,

fault true,

Had we not,

Eaten forbidden,

Earth would be perfect,

Sin infects entire world,

Blame ourselves for her eruptions,

Our Forefathers, corrupted nature complete.

Earth’s damage repair, or she self-destructs.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.


 

 

Flash fiction for Aspiring Writers: “Demonic Beauty”


Enclosed in the bar, eyes magnify; temptress in red, silk sliding on skin.

Sway in her hips, a tease of the senses. Men breathless consent, adoring sin.

Striding with ease, heels ruby with diamonds. Naked shoulders shimmer, anticipating.

Treading softly, fallen in red fire, elusive, and beguiling; illusion of flames sating.

Moving her hips, licking cherry red lips; coal glimmer in demonic eyes.

Sensations burning, engulfs her body; seething, writhing, building her disguise,

A vestige of power; she’s the tyger enticing, an allusion to Eden, of poisonus lies.

Decisive, sauntering closer, flicking hair, tar-black as the ash before Lent.

Peer into eyes, a glimmer of gold, metal men grieve for; silence, fire scent.

A vision, a curse, a whisper in vain — animating, the instrument on stage, 

Notes dance, music bleeding; breathing sweat, the melody of the enraged,

Fire rings, smoke engulfing; watch the woman despair, her voice entrances, beware–

Beauty enraged, a witch, incaged; performing she’s the beast, on stage no cares.

——-
 

http://www.pixebay.com
 

Thanks to Priceless Joy our wonderful host of FFfAW.

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.