NaPoWriMo Day 17/ Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “The Raven’s Meeting” #amwritingpoetry


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ, from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie, Photo Challenge. For NaPoWriMo Day 17, the prompt is:


“Today, I’d like you to challenge you to write a poem that similarly presents a scene from an unusual point of view. Perhaps you could write a poem that presents Sir Isaac Newton’s discovery from the perspective of the apple. Or the shootout at the OK Corral from the viewpoint of a passing vulture. Or maybe it could be something as everyday as a rainstorm, as experienced by a raindrop.


Credit: Gabriel Isaak


Because you brought hope too,

I thought we were meant to meet.

Your foot prints deep diagonals in the sand,

Trails of hair caught in the winds thrall.

Eyes caramel touched by ebony,

Mirrored my eyes of coals marbled, my ravens plumage too.

Your locks dance, as my wings reach towards you.

You were my olive branch, but you stood there starring as if —

You were caught in the storm too,

Feet weighted to the ground, cement.

My claws didn’t indent your fine sweater — the wool could’ve snarled my talons.

Your lids flutter, strange, wide as if I’d surprised you.

And when I chirped, (squawked to some), you understood my peril,

The angst of having nothing left inside to fly.

Not to bleed and call forth the ocean’s tyrants.

For a while I stood, peered —

And on your arm, my ruffled feathers rested,

Your strange white-talons graze my head,

And my feathers are swept a moment by skin.

Maybe, you could understand a moment,

Survival without security.

Your eyes translated a kind of pain, our loss both,

Mine without a mate to soar, or the immortality of eggs;

Yours what? A loss I did not know except a need to rest,

For hours I stood shaking, your face nuzzled mine,

Any your limbs folded under, we slept soft on your coat.

Then, the slender sun lit,

You stretched one arm, head tilted,

Our eyes met, as you turned your other limb, and laughed ( ravens laugh too, you know),

I teetered awhile and the conversation clear, despite my peeps, your chatter in response.

Then, you turned, squelching footprints marked your trail from the sea.

So, I arose, and in dawns flight I left behind the blight before your presence;

I didn’t feel alone, I didn’t feel so lost,

I cawed once more.

Then, I drifted with gentle currents and thought,

We were both the better for our nights rest, our meeting.


Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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#OctPoWriMo Day 31/Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem — “Plain Sight” #amwritingpoetry #SundayWritingPrompt #MLMM


For OctPoWriMo Day 31 the Prompt is the word endless. I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt based on the Sylvia Plath letter quote: “I talk to God, but the sky is empty.” so glad to be done OctPoWriMo two-months later. It took awhile, but I’m happy it’s done in time for Christmas. Lol.


Credit: Paulo Brandao via Unsplash


Words in the tumbled breeze,

Chatter of birds in early light;

Blinding my ears to fright.

Intense azure glows, I cover my eyes;

It burns, it burns,

What a fright, what a fright.

Restless, my ears ringing as if I’ve spent all night,

With giant speakers, there jarring blare.

And oh, my eyes how they sting,

Such terrible light blinds me in fear.

How can such gleaming light be wonderful?

For me, it’s a curse.

No afternoon delight, but hellish nightmare.

The hammer’s swift; I the rock pit —

It’s pulsing, the rhythmic pain seething.

Lips moaning pleas,

Make it stop, but its unceasing.

Not after strong coffee as my stomach lurches,

Nor over toast I spit-out disgusted.

My skin, elephant tusks envy such paler.

No wine or liquor could cause,

A tinge so blue as the veins in my wrist.

Such hopelessness,

A putrid cycle of faithlessness.

Once I believed, now I am lost;

Lamb to the slaughter, must I too sputter?

Have my heart carved,

Gurgling water, blood in the tide.

But the tawny bird near my ear,

He flew inside my broken pane.

He cocks his stubborn head,

Eyes rapid; he mutters, words pained.

His left wing slops,

Tossed from the nest, now he rests near me.

I’ve not the heart to twist his neck,

Though his wing be his death.

But oh, he chirps, eyes rapid,

He sings despite his tepid clawed-steps.

Tiny talons gripping my pillow.

He sings, peers outside,

Aware he can’t fly;

We both can’t.

So, we stare in confusion,

Peering at each other, eye to eye.

Both defenselessness,

We know will soon be cut down.

Yet, while I groan, bird tweets,

The funniest chirps, as if conversing.

He’s livid until I arise, bring him a saucer;

Sups his water, munches sunflower seeds.

He try’s to flutter, my heart leaps —

He flails to the floor.

His eyes see cerulean horizons,

Not wretched revolt.

I’m mad at God,

He made the bird disabled.

But as I curse — bird’s tawny head shakes, beak twerps.

It occurs to me,

He sees more than ‘something’ out there.

If he can chatter at me unperturbed by my size,

Then, fling himself towards the sky —

Only to fall,

Perhaps than, faith can also fly again?

If God can mend my wounded heart,

With nails, grit embedded deep,

Can my feathered mate,

Have his wing set straight?

Perhaps, yes?

Then we can both soar,

And peer to the azure, the Heavens.

Recognize that this ‘something,’

Isn’t intangible, isn’t hiding,

It’s in plain sight,

Crystalline truth sudden,

In opulent morning breeze.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.


Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Collage Prompt: Poem – Tankas – “Not Perfect and Better For It” #amwriting #poetry #fiction 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt.

——-

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——-

Poor little Anne tried,

So hard to fit in; she can’t —

Conform to their look.

Sense of presence in her glance,

Terror; they don’t know freedom.

——-

Yet Anne tries and tries,

To be a cardboard box just —

Like all the others.

Left alone at recess eating,

Ripe oranges, she’s exotic fruit.

——

But they don’t invite —

Her to their parties, Anne cries,

She doesn’t see why,

She has to be so different,

A plant from foreign soil torn.

—-

Anne grows into her —

Self; she stops being afraid,

Sees her beauty is —

That she’s unique not like all,

Those other girls, loathing her.

——

In grade school there’s this —

Small boy painted in war paint,

His Dad went to war,

He didn’t return home, saddened —

Anne helps him; he remembers —

——

So years later they’re —

Attached — those girls all want him.

But his friend is his —

Love; she was with him,

All along; the handsome man,

Love’s different, not perfect Anne.

—–

Though she struggles hard,

Hoping for female friends, he says,

He loves imperfect her,

Because she doesn’t have to

Be ‘like them’; she can be good.

——

Then she starts meeting —

Others, women who become —

Her tribe, with her guy.

The gazes of jealousy —

Double, but Anne doesn’t care.

——-

Anne is as a bird,

A swallow singing sweetly.

She’s lively, vivid;

Her eyes shine bright; he loves his —

Anne, contently, completely.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – Thoughts of the Mockingjay #amwriting #poetry #fiction #symbolic 


Credit: Wikia

———

Mockingjay, pretty bird or elegant deadly queen? 

A woman, a creature of dystopia and mythology

If there’s one bird to be, it would be a Mockingjay

Though I know they’re imaginary,

Mockingjays are real as symbols of courage.

Birds which don’t break, they carry on;

Nature outlasting outlandish experiments,

Reinventing, Mother Earth evolving and re-working, 

What humans would call a mistake; 

Yet these Jays cannot be hidden away, they’re fierce warriors risen. 

——

As a Mockingjay, could I fly close to the sun? 

Icarus (I think) burned off his majestic wings doing such a deed, 

 I’d think a celestial queen of Mockingjays is smarter

She’s a stealthy bird whose whistle, repeats any tune heard, 

Her mimickery can be confusing to her enemy. 

A Mockingjay queen, would keep her scars hidden, 

Safe beneath feathers which float, as hope; 

Now fuzz, falling furiously as she grows, dropping downy —

Fast, no longer a chick adorned with puffiness

Now a full-blown black and white glory who sings life’s story, 

The story of pain, betrayal, and loss;

Your average adventure and most tantalising tale. 

Oh, what a Mockingjay can truly be, 

When her heads adorned by sunlight and truth,

Choosing her battles and using her melody

The Melody you’re humming to yourself. 

The sweetest songs of tears, quicksilver and liquid gold, 

Molten metal glimmering

She burns with fire in her soul, though she is no mythical Phoenix;

Yet she rises from the ashes of society and science

She repeats your tunes, the echoes throughout her wild lands. 

——

Credit: http://www.nerdist.com

—–

You’ll never catch a Mockingjay, there’s wrath in her footprints, 

Her anger caused, ignites an inner flame brilliant. 

She’ll swoop from above and end you below, 

The dignified woman, no longer laughing,

Going to battle, her war song a trill

The Mockingjay flies her wings fluid, her form grace designed. 

A legendary bird of modern times,

Survival of the fittest crossing genetics; 

Nature re-designs better than a science lab of horrors

Mockingjay is more than bird she is the huntress

The symbolic warrior of Ancient Greece and Rome – Artemis;

Bow with blazing pyrotechnics and lethal skill, pointed at her kill. 

She lives and she dreams of the day, the war is long ended, 

Where revenge and the cold stone hearted have no meaning. 

Her desire is the melody so beautiful it thrills and heals

Enraptures a soul with clearly sung words. 

She’s a warrior with golden platted lashes, winged at her pray;

A sultry seductress and and goddess flying free. 

Mockingbird walks, she sways, feathers flocked close, 

She’s as precious as the sparrow, calling lonely for her love.

She’d scarred, her heart torn

So strong but in need of help most of all. 

Even symbols of strength such as her, 

Who mimick a fictitious tune with ease;

Need more than survival to hope for. 

She needs more than, a gilded bird cage. 

—–

Credit: Laces and Tiaras

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Alouette – “A Scare” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s photo prompt:

——

Credit: Natalie Deprina

—–

She’s only twelve, bright —

The only girl separate from,

Her brothers four.

Parents her adore,

Their last child, girl comes, 

For Mom she’s a sight.

—-

A surprise one spring;

Thought there’d be no more kids born.

They so much wanted,

Girl so undaunted;

By elder brothers‘ scorn.

Bird fluttering wings.

—–

She laughs so cheery,

Going about her day, she’s teased

By family with love. 

Animals adore, 

She’s the darling who pleases,

Makes life less dreary.

—-

Out feeding horses, 

Then, rides with such glee calling,

Her dogs following. 

Danger in shallows, 

Ocean so near, tumbles, falls;

Swims smart, resourceful!

—–

Into warm arms pulled,

Mom near lost her dear, her pearl.

Dad is so wrathful, 

She wasn’t thoughtful

And where were her brothers? She —

Was grounded some. 

—–

Didn’t think enough;

She’s safe, all is well, she’s hugged,

Held close by her Mom,

Told, “Be careful hon!”

You’d be missed, you’re much loved.

Mom again gives hug.

—–

She’s happy again. 

Learned she’s human, as others. 

Preteens can die too.

Better to ride through —

Ocean waves, with friends, brothers. 

So life it remains

—-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – ” Yaya Mockingjay” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s photo challenge: 

—-

http://www.pixebay.com

——

Have you cast all your doubts? 

Decided what’s best? 

An old women has regrets, 

There is no life without them. 

It’s difficult, knowing what’s right, 

I just tried my best. 

Listened to my elders, 

As my mother always said.

But there are days I know, 

My best is not enough.

I’m pushing and pulling,

No strength in my bones. 

I’m yelling and shouting, 

But my words aren’t enough,

“We don’t speak your language Yaya.” 

My grandchildren laugh. 

They always need more,

More than dry-bones can provide. 

I feel drained and drowned, 

In lost potential. 

Yaya down and she can’t raise herself up. 

Drenched in such evil, 

Of those with no conscience;

Their knowing looks, eyes that know nothing.

They’re missing my years, my wisdom learned, 

But I’m stuck in thick sticky mud, 

And no one helps an old woman up. 

There’s no hand to help comfort Yaya, 

Her life was tough and unsparing. 

The mud is the only spa I know or ever have, 

A facial mask of sludge and worms. 

An archaic beauty mask. 

Somebody hear, what I’ve learned — listen: 

Your mistakes and your ills you repeat, 

Each day I try to tell you but it’s not enough. 

You smile at me empty eyes, 

My words pass through your ears, 

The wind blows loudly there.

What’s enough? 

Until I’ve drawn my last breath? 

Until I’m lying here still — dead, 

Knowing some journeys such as mine, 

Must be made alone and for naught. 

A solo expedition, my entire culture lost, 

Must I stay on the roads of antiquity? 

Can I grow with the changing world? 

Give me a reason to deviate: 

I must stop the mudslide from coming.

Spitting sludge from my lips, 

Lord, why don’t they hear? 

The roar of doom and pain approaching. 

It will wash them away, 

When I’m safe in the heavens. 

Does being old make me invisible? 

The crevices of my face are a map, 

And my eyes the lights to yesterday. 

Learn from the past, I pray. 

Where is the light? 

Where is the hope? 

I’m just an old bird, a simple sparrow, 

How do I become a Mockingjay? 

I saw her fight in the movies, 

We need a Mockingjay today, 

A bird of pray who acts, 

Not sleeping through each day. 

How do I bring hope, become a symbol? 

How do I teach my young, 

To mimic a wisdom long past. 

You won’t like what I have to say I know, 

But you would hear, a Mockingjay. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo (Collage) Prompt: Poem – Free Verse – “Angel Down, Angel Down” #amwriting #poetry #angeldown #ladygaga


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s collage prompt: 

http://www.mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com

———

Lady Gaga Live – ” Angel Down” 

I’m so thrilled with Lady Gage’s new album. I love her dance and pop-music stuff but her new songs, some of them go deep. This is one of those songs and I used the lyrics “Angel Down” for this poem. What I love is how in the video she is live, and sounds the same as if you were listening to her on her new album. Talented singer! 

——–

She built her life, she built it strong, made it so —

It wouldn’t fall;but you can fortify —

The keep, make it so no one can slip in, 

There are always cracks within perfection; 

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

——-

You can see the lines forming before she breaks, 

Memories from the past she thought would save. 

She’s safe –an illusion broken when the mirror —

Of life shatters within her face, she’s beat; 

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

——

Trapped in a birdcage, no song to sing, 

Her tunes aren’t lucid and her wings are clipped, 

Such dreams as a young woman, such glad times, 

Now she’s angry, so frustrated — life’s a lie; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

——

Paints her makeup mask, hide the mirror’s blood tracks, 

She thinks she’s imperfect tries to conceal —

New dress, she’s pretty, long legs on display yet, 

She can’t hide feelings, she doesn’t fit in here;

Angel Down, Angel Down

—–

He said heels were stupid, girls can’t walk on —

Four-inch needles; yet they made her happy.

Night of the dance, stumbled; wore light blue chucks,

Sitting on the radio at the party crying; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

——

Years pass, another day spent sifting in, 

Her see-through life, on clothing racks, she —

Attempts to find the perfect fit,  but she —

Knows like her, it’s elusive, can’t be found; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

——-

Music saves some, for others it magnifies

A hurt and hole inside her –can God even fill? 

Remembering hideaways, experiences —

To fill the void within, smile with tears dripping;

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

——-

Time in lavish living rooms, won’t make her, 

Feel love she’s so denied; she can’t even —

Love her own body, isn’t what it was, 

She fingers trinkets bought, fears with tears smear; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

—-

Jewel she thought would invoke good memories, 

Fill her with hope and joy again; sharp pains of —

Her past; but now her wings have been pried off,  

She’s a habiscus plucked and dying slow; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

—–

Packing suitcases, her body trembles, 

She’s going on journey; her state of mind —

Broken; but she’s trying to heal and she —

Prays new memories, stop her rapid descent; 

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

—–

Please somebody, please help an Angel Down and —

Unlock her cage –the one she created, 

Show her some love, let her taste freedom. 

Be someone she can trust, so she won’t fade;

Angel Down, Angel Down 

—–

Angel found her feet and flew, 

Sailed above clouds anew;

The sun glints of her smile and–

She’s brand new bird who trills;

Angel Found,  Angel Found. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – “Walls and Wings” (Reposted from Aug 2013)  #poetry #amwriting #relationship


This came up on my FB feed. I wrote it three-years ago and actually am happy with the way the poem was written, with some small changes. 

I was in a relationship and felt trapped. I longed to escape. I did; for this reason, I smile when I read this poem.

I broke free and things are all the better because I was given the strength to fly.

———–

http://www.motaen.com

——–

When the walls press in on me, cold stone, slimy, and grainy.

I search for the window which opens, when prison doors close.

Metal bolted tightly, oppression ripe in stale breath;

Little holes for air, aligned metal cylinder by metal cylinder.

I peer out the door and see a tiny hope blooming.

A Lilly in the cell corner opens slowly — white, soft, and curled.

Beautiful, lonely; the more you try to understand beauty, 

The more you see it’s fleeting.

 A Lily in the corner, with little light — it’s dying.

No window will shine sunlight on it’s glory, 

The cryptic darkness covers and creeps. 

The beautiful wilts, wanes, warped – a brown wasted mess.

Sitting in the corner, nothing pretty here — the pretty is ghostly.

The length of light, coming through, above the window sill fades;

All were left with is darkness, and dusk sets in quickly.

Purple bruises in the sky, which I can scarcely see, 

Slither into to a deep black dullness, 

No stars shine in the prisoner’s sky.

———–

Bracelets of steel, cold, and unforgiving — small wrists will not fit;

Through these round holes, which cut and divide, 

Hand from praying hand, at the 4:00 am hour.

I do not understand or know, how long I can take this.

To not want the fate of another, is it too much to ask? 

To be disappointed, not understood, used until I’m broken. 

To always be alone right next to another person, 

To always write these words sad and full of loathing.

Guns in the night, shoot me first.

These shackles are no golden bracelets, 

No silver charms adorn them;

You can’t buy this jewelry at Pandora

Steel is only made at rough factories. 

Oppressive, only manufactured, never crafted —

In grace and finery, with delicacy and laughter tingling.

Every time you shake the charms, tiny bells ring.

What do you do when charms no longer charm?

And brightness narrows into a black hole? 

——–

I think you run, slipping through the window.

You don’t look back,  though your feet hurt, 
To run on rocks and sand, and weep blood to be free.

I think you go, no matter how. 

Before you’re trapped, and chained to walls of slimy stone.

You turn and go, before those eyes see you; 

Those eyes you thought saw you but — don’t see you at all.

 And only have memories of days gone by.

You run because to be alone with eyes,

Is too alone; the stone angel trapped in fragility of life,

 Wasting her days, growing bitter and aged;

Never forgiving, the young, who see light with possibility.

The light rises over, a cold moon rises;

 Refreshes and results in absolution.

A crime has been committed, but sometimes laws, 

Must be broken to live in self – forgiveness, in self-acceptance.

This world is not black and white; my feet take off —

Crouch, then sprout talons, and white wings at my back. 

All of this for freedom, to become a bird, 

A lesser creature, all to fly in heavens glory.

All for that feeling in your chest, 

Where you can finally breathe. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Hope Scarred” #amwriting #poetry


http://www.brainyquotes.com

———

Please don’t give me hope,

Don’t come into my life a moment,

Leaving me with expectations.

You think I’d know better,

Having experienced this situation often;

Expectations are dangerous, 

Few people in life meet them,

No matter how basic, 

The expectation maybe.

Don’t set me up to fall, 

To get sucked underwater,

You the undertow drowning my sorry soul.

Should’ve known better, 

You weren’t a genuine Pearl,

Should’ve known by now, 

Those who care for me, make time for me.

Should have known by now,

But you made me believe, 

This time you were for real.

Now I’m deflated, hurt, and frustrated.

What is it with you? 

 I can’t even expect you to be, 

A dependable friend?

No, of course not, the fault is mine.

I can put expectations on myself,

But never on you, never on anyone.

Just let the pixie dust and fairytales, 

Burn into the night, a haunting fire.

But hope is not destroyed, 

It only burns brighter in the flames warm.

Keep your hope and your dreams, 

 I live in the real world;

It hurts me, scars me, damages me.

You totalled the destruction.

Tomorrow I rebuild torn, 

But knowing, no man —

Can expect anything from me, until I say.

Right now my hope is crushed.

You taught me to be hopeless, 

Made me feel lost and forlorn.

For now, a true fact, hope is the bird I scorn, 

Tomorrow, hope has *feathers, and will be reborn.

——-

* “Hope Is A Thing With Feathers” – Emily Dickinson

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.