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.

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#OctPoWriMo Day 29/Three Line Tales: Poem — Lunes – “Cascading HeartBeats”#amwritingpoetry #3LineTales


For OctPoWriMo Day 29 the prompt is the meaning of numbers. Also, combining with Sonya of Only 100 Words #3LineTales. I’ve a actually 6 lunes, but, oh well.


Credit: Lichun Kirb via Unsplash


Strumming notes; beats pulsing inside,

Guitar picks busted.

Fingers burn, keening rhythmic tunes.

*****

My instrument sings electronic meaning,

Strums touch inside;

Travellers dreaming, tapping toes, humming.

*****

I awaken, each morning crooning;

Records propped behind,

Writing mine; melodious notes capturing.

*****

I’ve got soul, I’ve crescendoing —

Harmony, musical concertos;

Promenading strangers, remember my anthem.

*****

Sweet words of dew glisten,

Off velvet tongue;

Butter melting, heartbeats propelled, lingering.

*****

Life lyrics, haunting, melding euphoria;

Hope sung, understanding —

Echoes; anthem compels cascading heartbeats.

*****


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Day 12 – NaPoWriMo/ A to Z Challenge/FFfAW: Poem – Free Verse – “The River’s Course” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #poetry #flashfiction


Today’s NaPoWriMo is to “write a poem that explicitly incorporates alliteration (the use of repeated consonant sounds) and assonance (the use of repeated vowel sounds).” For A to Z Challenge the GoodReads quote is from the letter L. As well, thanks to Pricless Joy for hosting FFftAW.


Water and Rocks FFftAW
Credit: Maria of Doodles and Scribbes

“The thing about love is that you will never run out of it. It’s an ever-flowing river. So go ahead and LOVE. What are you saving all this love for — death?”
Kamand Kojouri


 

The river she flows fluent, flourishing in her mad descent,

Rapids, water reeling past rocks leading her to a path of providence.

Fast, and fleet, a river rivaling; I’ve experienced —

On the weary trail, the river cutting, crushing the rocks.

She carves her path, ploughing silt to the shore,

Debris of dramatic, erosion deciding on the the crooked carved path.

The water, she must flow, finding her fabulous spark in the light of —

Lumionous sunlight, searing in the afternoon heat.

For this river runs through the desert, the orange, organic trails,

Mixed with red-rock, rizing in the Arizona afternoon.

Cliffs creating a canyon so deep and wide, where the water dances through.

No one to stop her destruction of rock, her pounding so hard it hurts,

But the river rivals all, keeps on carving her way —

Through the canyon cringing, when she chops off more silt.

Off its brilliant fire, she finds a place where the —

River rests in waterfalls crashing and carniverous,

Then she wanes as she reaches shore and and lays back breathing,

At ease, she is pleased and settles,

Against the sand of some beach, somewhere; she’s oblivious —

Simply sliding against sand,

No more cutting of solid rock required,

Tranquility is in the tide, easing in and out,

The river finds, rests with her lover,

Her and the shore are silent heart beats.


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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Are Reserved.

Writing 101: Poem – Free Verse – “Many Worlds We Meet” #everydayinspiration #amwriting


The Writing 101 prompt for today was to mine your own material. So, as suggested, I took a peek in my unfinished drafts.

——–

Alive in a small small world; sentimental wounded creatures.

Black tar of my soul poisoned; such venom it features.

The words I held back, these words were suffocation.

And I am letting them free; I need restoration.

You see all my pieces, jagged from all matter of places.

You’ll be safe love; you’re Herby ahead in the car races.

I flea, I fly, with you to wherever the road lies.

Regarding our destination Mr. Tumnus’ Narnia, unimpressed; its wise.

——-

No expectations; surprise, a journey worth the wait.

The trek through Diagon Alley, helps me relate.

To the Aztec’s Tenochtitlan; walking miles for no reason.

Gleaning vivid sensations in the green summer season,

Can you see beyond ease, to the road less travelled in Ithica?

Crossing paths with strangers, on dusty trails and gravelled–

Side-walks between silver sunlite windowed buildings sprawled, 

Winding staircases into the sky never reaching heaven’s snowfall.

——-

Beyond there are treasures hidden in mountains beneath,

The tunnels, dwarves lived in once upon a time; further seek —

Lands beyond humanity;  you and I, revelling in freedom, 

Life returned to Middle Earth; muggles and pixies sailing around Neverland’s sun.

And down under Broadway and a futuristic Chicago

Jazz bands play tunes, humming music with beats which glow.

A pounding precision of dystopian notes, 

Singing in the sky, the stars ignite and your kind words devote.

Inspire a brilliant vision in our minds connected, which in us exists.

You see intelligent design behind all of nature’s gifts,

Maybe, some others ought to search beneath the Tuscan Sun and deeper? 

Discover reasons why we’ve knowledge of a keeper? 

A being and knowing above and below, and beyond belief.

It is because of what is and was; will always be.

—–

Let us not conform, not walk-the-line; step over, we’re not confined.

I need to be able to fly fantastically, to grow.

Until I’m used up and facing the glow,

Your dear eyes light in the dark, 

Knowing my soul and its wretched depths seen, 

I’m just a woman; you’re my hearts reprieve, my dream.

Relaxed in your arms, rolling to our own sides, 

Connected by breath; skin of our hands glide, 

Your smile my weakness and my relief, 

Happily Ever After in a burst of the budding leaf.

You and I, 

Sleep and sigh.

Together know peace, 

In our own Wonderland

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Literary Lion: Sun and Water


The sun is high in the sky when I awake. A summer sun that leaves you aching for days on the lake, houseboating, cabins, and beaches. I arise with tanned skin from my days vacationing here. Sylvan Lake is a wonderful little place in Alberta. It’s a place that crawls with locals and tourists when the sun first hits it and warms the temperature to a toasty twenty-six degrees celsius in June. The hotter it becomes the more people who roam here. They sit on the grass by the lake, young people in bikini’s and boarder shorts. Also, families with little kids running around and eating the famous ice cream. It melts down their bare torsos in rivulets of color, whatever crazy flavour the kid chose– tiger or bubblegum maybe.

I am neither those young people anymore, nor am I a family. I am somewhere in-between. Young but not college age anymore. I came with a couple of friends and we haven’t been here in years, since those days of campus shenanigans. We are lying on towels on the grass and the sun beats down on us, thirty-five degrees celsius. It’s a hot one today. My pale skin is red from the rays that beat down on me. I never notice sunburn until it is too late. But at least I noticed soon enough that I won’t have blisters or second degree burns such as I had as an eight-year–old in the Okanogan.

I put on my shirt so my shoulders won’t burn anymore and walk out into the lake water which is lukewarm. I walk until my hair goes under. Then  I float gently in the water as the sun hits the afternoon crowd with its rays. Kids are floating on little rafts and blow up crocodiles. I hate the lake but it is a balm to my sun burn. I hate the things that live beneath its watery veil. The fish and God knows what else.

I’m out pretty far out in the lake when something pulls on my leg. I swim towards shore but the thing keeps pulling at me. I am closer to shore and swimming faster than I’ve ever swum. My skins aches from the burn of the sun underneath my t-shirt. Then I’m pulled under the water, again, and again. I’m yelling and screaming, but my friends just wave. They cannot hear me. And then I’m pulled down to the depths of the lake. I’ll never see the sun again, the water was my fate.

Thanks to I Smith Words for the prompt sun.