NaPoWriMo Day 27/ Three Line Tales: Lune – “Stalled” #amwritingpoetry


Thanks to Sonya of Three Line Tales.


Credit: Les Anderson via Unsplash.


She’s stalled, shapely yellow dress;

Lips scarlet, cheeks —

White heels; dazed diamond eyes.

*****

Hands clenched, lashes flicker midnight;

He’s there again,

Lies snicker, smoke daylight — fake.

*****

As if his fist slipped,

Bruised purple without —

Admitting truth; he maimed her.

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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Fiction: Morning Runs and Bad Memories #amwriting #fiction


Another piece from my class with edits.


Credit: Zac Ong via Unsplash


He’s hot. Go join him.” Jacklyn filled Yasmin’s coffee.

“Sam’s weird. He keeps perfect running pace behind me at the park. Even worse, he comes in here for coffee.”

Yasmin pulled her sleeves over her hands. “He makes me skittish.”

“Talk to him.”

“I’m scared to, I think.” Yasmin adjusted her ponytail as Sam ambled to the front counter. He paid for one of Jacklyn’s gourmet Cinnamon buns. He caught Yasmin’s eye and winked.

Jacklyn’s eyebrows raised. “He was ogling you. That’s why he’s been running behind you. Oh, and he’s always had his morning coffee here.”

Yasmin peered at Sam. He smirked, inclining his head. “What’s so good about him?”

Jacklyn winked. “He tells me he loves my buns.”

Yasmin smirked. “Oh, yeah? He rubs ‘me’ the wrong way.”

“You’re thinking about him rubbing you?”

Yasmin rolled her eyes.

Jacklyn sighed. “Sam doesn’t have a creepy bone in his body, and he’s intriguing and well built; you have to admit that. It must be those long runs chasing you.”

“He asked Robbie about you. Sam sees you every day and thought you’d be more comfortable with him by now.” Jacklyn prodded.

Yasmin squeezed her fists tight, her breath rapid.

Jacklyn kneeled. “What’s wrong? Sam’s not trying to hurt you. Why does he make you so anxious?” She clasped Yasmine’s hand. “Robbie said that sometimes women have a good reason for reacting how you do. He’s a retired cop.”

Yasmin froze. Fractions of memories flashed through her mind. “There was someone. I didn’t expect it; he came from behind.”

“Do you mean?” Yasmin nodded, and Jacklyn wiped at a tear. “I’m sorry. Have you talked to anyone?”

“I have, and I’m okay. Robbie’s right. Sam’s brings back bad memories.” Yasmin chewed her bottom lip. The tang of blood made her halt. “I was walking home when the other guy attacked. Sam looks nothing like him. But, he makes me nervous, both in a good and bad way.”

“Maybe, you should chat with Sam? If only to see he’s harmless? Robbie says he wants to get to know you. He knows Sam because they play Rugby league together, and ge’d kill him twice if he hurt you.” Jacklyn squeezed Yasmine’s hands. She moseyed behind the front counter to help a harried barista.

Yasmin stood and stretched, she tossed her ponytail. Sam’s glinting eyes remained glued to hers. She sat across from him.

“Hi, I’m Yasmin.” She quivered and her pulse soared.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NovemberNotes Day 2: Poem – Free Verse – “Of Abuse” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse


For November Notes Day 2 the song is “New Rules” by Dua Lipa. I’m combining this prompt with Björn from #dVerse Peet’s Pub on defining a monster you fear. 
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Credit: Miranda Whiperfurth via Unsplash
—-

Dua Lipa – “New Rules”

—-

I saw him walk, 

Saw him fire randomly. 

Searchimg for specific victims, 

Fear was palpable, hanging heavy —

In the sunlit air, deceptive for the scent of blood. 

Pungent, stinging my lungs, 

As if breathing in a mustard gas. 

No one should ever have to know —

Deaths putrid scent. 

See it pooling, 

From a loved one or friend. 

No one should have to see, 

How medicine cannot always heal; 
By knowledge or by quickness. 

That the scariest monsters are the ones, 
Seemingly kind, normal, 

Even attractive humans. 

Those who cannot function, 

Losing control by illness, 

Or by self-indoctrination. 

Breaking to pieces, 

Flipping their humanity switch. 

Or lost in a terrifying nightmare, 

Blurring into their edges.

They’ve nothing soft left, 

No heart remaining, 

In cold blood or insanity. 

He may have been a gun man, 

Or perhaps, he was a manipulator? 

A lesser monster whose pain, 

Transformed into rage. 

A monster stealing peace of mind, 

Security and safety. 

Through vile methods. 

He’s the twenty phone calls your ignoring, 

Sleeping with him anyways, 
Just so he’ll go away. 

Because you don’t feel anything, 

Cringing at his touch. 

Under him it’s all to clear,

Your never over him; 

Until you don’t let him return ever. 

But he enjoys the tatters,

While regret knots in your stomach, 

Grows agonizing when he —

Doesn’t hear all your “No’s” and “Stops.”

But you stay with him, 

You let him believe, 

Because has the power to harm, 

A craziness in his eyes. 

Different bullets than the gunmen, 
Bullets just the same. 

Ban the ballots, the gunpowder, 

Save those trapped, 

By gun toting diehards,

And fools who take advantage —

Wielding obsession and abuse. 

—-


—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Healing Touch” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt challenge.

——–

Credit: Laura Williams

———

Many faces have I, but don’t let me evaporate.

Too many masks I wear within to cover the scars that bind,

The twisting vines of ruined skin,

Not even plastic surgery could heal.

And the whispers of the dreadful night,

They haunt me in my sleep.

Each nightmare worse than the last, entrenching me in madness.

Crying and shaking, in a world I cannot escape.

My screams echoeing from the domed ceiling,

In St. Peter’s Basilica, my heart a kindled pyre.

Does God hear me, my fervent prayers without pride?

I know if He did, he would answer what I seek,

Provide relief from the cruelty of my suffering;

Of the ache and the burn in my skin.

He’d be a cooling gentle wind to end the burning flames,

I hope in my meekness for God as Elijah knew.

I try to forget. to move on, hiding behind masks so I’m safe.

My scars are not physical but they hide beneath skin,

Where plastic surgery cannot salvage a broken soul.

I’m a wretched bloody mess and my stomach is churning,

Why are the worst injuries, the ones you cannot see?

Why do people only see skin deep?

Not many will peer beneath the perfect layers of white ivory,

To see the layers underneath charred and scorched.

Many will not look past the words on your lips,

They are not interested in how a person says certain words,

Or why they say what do.

Many people hear only what they want to hear,

And if you choose to scream,

Than you’re the crazy one seeking attention.

But many screams are silent,

Before they are ever heard out loud,

This is why we need listeners and those with empathy,

To overcome those overflowing with ignorance and apathy to life;

To realize there is meaning in helping your neighbor out.

For we all have hidden scars and screams,

And most of them are dug deeply within our souls.

They wind around a person’s heart, a choking vine envokes —

A cry for help, so please hear it, long before we shout out loud,

Be still for a moment and listen well.

Respond before the masks hide many other faces and mine;

Act before you start cutting into our hearts,

Doing much more harm than good.

Watch your words and carefully avoid —

Assault and battery, for refusing to help those in need —

Refusing to help those lost in their pain. 

Heal with laughter and conversation,

A piece of your precious time.

Do not forget the meek and lowly,

We all need help discovering pathways into stardust.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.