#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 1/ Sunday Writing Prompt/ #PhotoChallenge: Poem – “Death’s Twilight” #amwritingpoetry


For OctPoWriMo Day 1 the theme is surrender. I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt on the poem, “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath. Also, using a photo prompt from NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.


Credit: Natalia Ruka

She rises, you think she’d shrink,

Lose her footing with knobby bones, bloody footprints;

But, she’s a miracle and survives despite —

The annihilation of her heart.

No surrender, no train cars full of the sick and dying;

No camps of death will kill her.

She won’t surrender, she’ll paint you a dream,

A masterpiece of despair and scribbled features.

A portrait or less, no seashell rocking shut;

She rasps, vapours of her lost innocence.

Herr who?

With battered purple sockets.

Herr who?

A dream or nightmare trawling.

I have no dreams of innocence, only a suffering spitefulness for your hate.

Words that shattered the cracked mirror,

Seventy times seven bad luck.

Herr who?

Miss Plath, your words are riddled traps.

Herr who?

She fakes death, blood and bone snapped;

Flesh from hands shredded.

Your terror camps and eyes of sunken sin,

Can’t make her alive, though she’s not yet, dead.

Be on guard for those caught in-between;

Those who aren’t afraid as the breath in their lungs rattles.

Beware of those who see death and leave life;

The exact meeting of one leaving the elevator, while the other travels home.

Beware of hair as hellfire, she the angel of death;

No surrender, for none was given her.

Beware her yawning grin,

And hollow eyes as she devours men like air;

Destiny with her twisted wings,

Her opalescent fluttering, a sheen that hides the bitter.

Her charcoal hands twitching as they sketch the twilight of death.


“Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath

*****

I have done it again.

One year in every ten

I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin

Bright as a Nazi lampshade,

My right foot

A paperweight,

My face a featureless, fine

Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin

O my enemy.

Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?

The sour breath

Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh

The grave cave ate will be

At home on me

And I a smiling woman.

I am only thirty.

And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.

What a trash

To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.

The peanut-crunching crowd

Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——

The big strip tease.

Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands

My knees.

I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.

The first time it happened I was ten.

It was an accident.

The second time I meant

To last it out and not come back at all.

I rocked shut

As a seashell.

They had to call and call

And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.

I do it so it feels real.

I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.

It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.

It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day

To the same place, the same face, the same brute

Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’

That knocks me out.

There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge

For the hearing of my heart——

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge

For a word or a touch

Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

So, so, Herr Doktor.

So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,

I am your valuable,

The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.

I turn and burn.

Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,

A wedding ring,

A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair

And I eat men like air.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Tale Weavers: Poem – The Blitz – “The Maiden and The Dragon” #amwriting #taleweavers #poetry


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Tale Weaver’s prompt about a quest, such as the ones JRR Tolkien writes about in his famous books. 

———–

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——-

Dragons are here, I know it

Dragons beware, my sword is sharp

Sharp as the knives hid on my body

Sharp as the tongue of my wife

Wife said, “Do not go” 

Wife begged, yet I went 

Went through the haunted forest dark 

Went through the storms, muck, and mire

Mire as quicksand, sucked in my body

Mire that almost swallowed my life

Life burnt a flaming hole so wide

Life’s flame would not flicker out

Out of the muck and mire pulled

Out of certain death to rescue a princess

Locked in a tower for my Lord, my King 

Locked in a tower and languishing

Languished she did for centuries

Languished as a spell had been cast

Cast, so she would always sleep

Cast, because evil always hates

Hates beauty and goodness

Hates who this princess is said to be 

Be afraid though, I warn you, friend 

Be vigilant in your task to save 

Saving the princess isn’t the challenge

Saving her, I wondered, where is the dragon? 

Dragon she rose from the depths of beauty 

Dragon was the the princess herself 

Herself screaming, “I am the dragon”

Herself shouting, “I will eat you whole” 

Wholly she transformed in that fiery beast

Wholly she was a scaled, sulphereous demon

Demon who cried, “I am no damsal in distress”

Demon who seethed, “I protect me” 

Me, I gazed upon the languishing beauty 

Me, my eyes met the dragons yellow-eyed stare

Stared into my soul, saw I was a ruin 

Stared into my heart, saw I was wretched

Wretched cursed princess, the dragon? 

Wretched as the princess waiting 

Waiting and no one came so she grew tired

Waiting as she wrecks her vengeance 

Vengeance because no hero is true 

Vengeance, she can depend only on herself, no heroes 

Hereo, the archetypal kind who abuse poor maidens

Heroe, is there such a man who ever existed? 

Existed a hero she once did love 

Existed her hero but he never came — she remains cursed 

Cursed though she be, I could not destroy the beast

Cursed, she knows not why she is punished, cursed. 

Beast but still a girl, so I left, ashamed I could not save her. 

Cursed, she lingers on my mind, the maiden, the dragon as one

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weavers: Fiction – The Eyes of What Now? #taleweavers #amwriting #fiction #IdesofMarch 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s Tale Weavers. The theme is the a tale on the lighter side of things.

——-

Credit: Gary Larson

——-

Steve walked into English 311 wearing a toga and a gold spray-painted crown of leaves.

Dr. Lawerence, their English Professor, laughed at the front of the room along with some of the other students.

“Why is what Steve wearing funny?” Ambrose asked Jen, “Its not like this is some party.”

“I think it might have something to do with Julius Caesar. What about you?” Jen said dryly.

“The play we’re studying?” Ambrose’s asked. His friend, sitting behind him tittered. “Shut up, Dan,” he said.

Dan kept laughing, “How can you be reading Julius Caesar in English 311 and not understand why Steve is wearing that getup?”

Dr. Lawerence overheard his student’s conversation. He chuckled, ” ‘Beware the Ides of March,’ Ambrose. Remember what I said in Monday’s class?”

Ambrose shook his head, “Eyes of what now?”

The student’s around Ambrose and their professor laughed. Jen sighed. ” Caesar was assassinated on the ‘Ides of March.’ The seer in the play told him to ‘beware’ of it, but he was still stabbed and killed.”

“I thought Brutus murdered Caesar? Now you’re saying a seer did?”

Dr. Lawerence peered at Ambrose concerned, “Are you sure you want to major in English Literature, Ambrose?”

He looked up and shrugged. The professor sighed and returned to the front of the room. There was always one in every class.

——–

©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poem – Cinquin – “The Dim Below” #amwriting #poetry #3LineTales


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

——

Credit: Sean Tan via Unsplash

——-

Danger

The water’s cold, 

Something down there swims;

We’re not sure what it is; sharp teeth —

Razors

——

Beware, 

Don’t step into —

Murky dim deep water, 

You won’t be returning home, 

It bites. 

——

Below, 

Far down it moves, 

Stay out of the lake; your —

Light isn’t meant to turn dark; stay —

Alive. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 22 – Ninefold – “Free Fallin’ Long Gone” #amwriting #poetry #novembernotes #writing 


Today’s song prompt is “Free Fallin’ ” sung by John Meyer. I adore the original classic by Tommy Petty so that’s the video I’m going to post! 

——-

“Free Fallin'” – Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers 

——

http://www.pinterest.com

——–

Good girls, so gorgeous don’t know beware; 

Long brunette locks, emerald eyes flutter.

Curves and hips swaying, breasts thrust up high. 

He feels the wind through his hair, smells the pine, 

Their bitter perfumes oversprayed gone. 

Road trip –he’ll never return to her. 

Good girls crush his spirit, expecting —
He’ll remain; he’s long gone, free fallin’

Never hold him down, his soul must soar. 

——


——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 


Maydays: Poem – Shadorma – “Could Be You Some Day” #Maydays #amwriting



———

Thank you to the wonderful K.L. Caley of new2writing for hosting #Maydays prompts. This prompt I mentioned in today’s #Maydays prompt. It concerns all things geek.

——-

http://www.theenquirer.co.uk

———-

Geek sheek is, 

There such a term we, 

Simply don’t —

Care to know, 

Because we don’t want to be a geek.

Memories; childhood.

——-

Bullies, 

Abused the, 

Geeks who in, 

Our schools, were —

Nerds shoved into lockers and, 

Forgotten about ’till —

——- 

Mr. X let, 

Nerdy guy out; he —

Never helps, 

Much, Mr. X —

Won’t stop bully from hurting, 

Kids; he pretends it’s play.

——

Movies don’t, 

Aid kids who become, 

Targets at —

School because, 

For some reason geeks stand out, 

Fate aids her bullies.

——-

Why are some, 

Children left —

Alone? While some, 

Lose their lunch —

Money, to mean kid who made,  

Them bleed, inside out.

——

And parents, 

Who don’t see their child, 

Bullying —

Beware your, 

Child’s cruelty leads kids to die;

Commit suicide.

——–

What makes a —

Geek? I’ve never been one, 

So it’s hard,

For me to, 

Generalize; perhaps, you can’t?

Bully choose prey anyways.

——

Call them geek, 

Not sheek; teenagers, 

And children, 

Abused by, 

Jealous, mean people; it’s fine —

To bully, they think. 

——-

Now they pick, 

On geeks online on,

Their Facebook,  

Snapchat and, 

Chat rooms; abounding with hate. 

But change in adulthood.

——-

World turns,

When that geek you hit.

Is your boss, 

Separating,

You from promotions deserved.

Shouldn’t have punched him.

——

Now the geeks, 

Are truly sheek and, 

Are making, 

Millions and —

Millions more than your pay cheque.

But the difference here–

——

Maybe they —

After some payback,

Have pity, 

On you and —

Your friend, who work under them.

They know what it’s like.

——–

So kids when, 

You’re attending school, 

Think ahead, 

You’re not young, 

Forever; the geek you hurt —

One day, could hurt you.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Quatrains – “Fight and Fly”


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt fight.

—–

Flying Birds
http://www.pinterest.com

—-

Troubled pearl, thoughts awhirl,

Spinning fast, life makes you hurl,

Never stops, never just right.

Make your own moments, win that fight.

—–

Sifting sands go through my hands.

Spheres off beaches, white grande.

Dreams of blue water, clear and dense,

Without sharks, that makes sense.

—-

Sharks of land so much sicker,

Make a woman fear as life flickers,

Red red roses, blood dripping down,

Trickling lifelessness without a sound,

—-

Daggers thrust in open hearts,

No one goes far, not able to start.

Words of fear and words said in haste,

Looks like living, isn’t chaste.

—–

Tricked clever, by events out of control,

Lessons learned from life’s list of roles.

Talking quietly, whispering secrets;

Who needs those words — awful secrets.

—-

Blazing eyes go forth and vent,

Tell me the way to happiness, invent —

New ways to find strength, and flight

Don’t you know the best way, fight.

—-

Hidden hands, bowed in prayer,

Why is life so utterly tinged, `beware,`

Go the way angels do, dive in blue skys,

Flutter with purpose, learn to fly.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.