Animals/Pets, Current Events, Event, Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, Memories/Childhood, My Thoughts, Nature, Religion/Morality, Three Line Tales, Writing, Writing Challenges

Three Line Tales:  The Good Shepard #3LineTales #flashfiction #amwriting  


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. 

——–

Credit: Gemma Evans via UnSplash

——-

Oh, little lamb so marked for slaughter, with downy wool and bleating softly. Why do you release your life so easily, so innocent, not knowing you are meant to eat. Oh, silent babes, I understand now — it’s not you who die but the Good Shepard who lays down his life for his sheep; his flock he knows and marks them well, his own blood the price paid, the enemy felled

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Free Verse – “The Darkest Faeries” #amwriting #poetry #faeries


http://www.villians.wikia.com

——–

The wings of a faerie, a delicate lace.

Transparent and glowing with,

Each faeries myriad colour choice.

You can see their wings flash,

When the sun begins to set;

When echoes of the rainbow,

Give one the illusion of colours bold.

But it’s the faeries who are —

As beautiful as they’re deadly,

Luring children to their faerie lands.

Turning your infants to faeries,

To live many ages;

To play the wicked games faeries play.

—-

They’ve no offspring so they steal,

A babe fed; left in their crib.

And you a mother are distraught,

Be not surprised; it’s what faeries do.

You’ve heard the tales and watched,

As your mother, and her mother before her.

Still you cry and sob;

Picking-up your biggest kitchen knife.

Faeries are terrible beings,

We read false truth about,

They don’t actually want to help.

They’re evil when alive too long.

——-

Faeries so tiny,

Keep their race alive.

Promptly, wave their hands;

The wisps of their garments,

Sleeves like streamers trailing long.

Chanting magic ancestors taught,

They curse your darlings with bright wings.

And turn you and you husband away,

Searching for,

Your their stolen little ones.

Though you, broken-hearted mother,

You keep up the fight.

You want your children to grow,

Not become an evil faerie and —

Live a Millennium to burn.

——-

Faeries lead astray those,

Who try to capture them.

You who yearn for your babes,

To get your children home.

As faeries, your darlings grow in the blink of an eye;

Become adult faeries in days,

Not knowing they were humans young,

Merely days ago.

——

Mother’s sorely missing kids,

Are wandering the forest for —

Where ancient faeries hide.

Faeries lie to stolen babes,

Say they were unwanted,

So the faeries gave them home.

And rainbow wings to one day,

Catch the eye of yet more babes.

Lost before a parent sees,

A child stolen gone.

——

Faeries change your young,

Dawning them with gossamer wings,

Knowledge of mischief and celebration.

A faeries life is of none-stop festivity,

With little meaning;

And no knowledge do faeries posses,

But the knowledge to take;

Those you hold so dear–

It’s why you burn their wings,

In the candle lit at night;

So, they will never curse your home,

And bring you a mother’s tears,

——

Why you learned to take your knife,

And kill the old faeries weird,

To end their malicious games.

Take back your children,

Undo the magic faeries formed.

You’ll burn and stab their wings all night,

Until your children,

And your neighbour’s young,

Are finally, safe at home.

So the faeries fade away.

Die out with no offspring,

Because of you;

Your child lives.

And never will you cry again,

From a fairy interfering.

You, most feisty mother,

For your perseverance, you have won.

———-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Free Verse, My Thoughts, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Poem: Sky Haven 


http://www.pixebay.com

When each night a passage of poetry can be written, you stand in the darkness and for a second or two listen.

There are many ways to say what you want. You are waiting for the correct words to form, to blossom as buds do and give birth to splendour.

A whimsical ethereal story, of the magic that cannot be understood by all. The painfully slow process of making words live.

Try as I might, I can’t sleep right now. I came home so worn; but I think I’ve repaired to listen to the dishwasher hum.

And to hear the flame that burns eternal at the plants in the distance; the sound the outside makes, when wind wallops window pane.

If that doesn’t lull you to sleep, the cars racing by will; and the tiny ones stuck in their cribs will not sleep and they can relate.

What it is to be wide awake and not know how to say: I need to be entertained now; you in your own house know how to make time shift.

You know what moments are like as you fall to the dreams; the sandman comes whisking you into a nightmare, behold.

And the moon in the sky, an orb of glass above, paints the starry sky in pinks, greens, yellow, orange, and blue. Light fills the abyss of the night.

Standing below a painting gifted by nature, you stare and you wonder. What words will satisfy to describe a blend of paint on the largest canvas. Can my words do justice to a haven in the sky?

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.