Actor/ Actress, Children/YA/Family, Current Events, dVerse, Fiction, Free Verse, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, Movie Reviews, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Tale Weaver: Poem – Free Verse – “Super Women” #poetry #amwriting #taleweavers #dVerse 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Tale Weaver Prompt #135 in Princess Charming, a female heroine saving Prince Charming. Also, thanks to Grace of Poet’s Pub for hosting open link night. 

——-

Credit: Google for Reuse

——–

They say that, 

Real heros have capes, tights;

Uniforms and Bat lights. 
They shoot webs, 
Like spiders but from, 

Their palms. 

Flying and leaping, 

Over tall buildings. 

Their technology is —

Top of the line. 

They’re stoic, tough, 

Bantering, 

Male bonding and showmanship.

Strong shields guard,  

Robatic armour too. 

Glowing hearts of uranium, 

And flying suits. 

Hands pulsing lasors. 

With green hoods, 

Piercing arrows. 

Strength that’s incalculable

They’re ages old, 

Hundreds or Thousands. 

There human or from, 

Other dimensions, worlds. 

Becoming angry, 

Mean and green. 
Are blinded but powerful. 

Yet few will notice, 

Female superheroes, 

Their tough outer layers. 
They’ve a solid insistence, 

For the good of mankind. 

They sacrifice as a —

Black Widow or a mutant, 

Causing storms. 

The Mockingbird or a Scarlet Witch.

The Wolverine’s friend, Rogue. 

Women know, 

How being gentle, 

Is as mighty as Thor’s hammer. 

How sensitivity with honed, 

Physical skills, 

Has an authentic glory. 

Not understanding, 

Why men keep warring. 

Even though —

They know they must. 

So, they do too, 

Wonder Womans and —  

Super girls, 

Their skirts shorter. 

Slipping into —

Dark corners, 

To hide their tears;

Heroic tears 

As in a man’s world —

Most men don’t recognize, 

The first Wonder Woman, 

In their life, 

Gave birth to them. 

Nurtured them, 

Their superpowers hidden, 

To be the best — 

Moms. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

——-

——

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Inside the Hill


There is this ugly hill that I peer out at whenever I look out my bedroom window. What tectonic activity put it there a millennia ago accidentally made this hill ghastly and abhorrent to my senses. 

The mountains and hills that are farther away, now they are something to look at. Gigantic rocks jutting out of the earth, elephant grey, white drifts of snow, pine trees, and treacherous cliffs where mountain goats cling to. There, I am free. 

I really don’t mind the hill itself.  I don’t hate it because it’s located where it is or because it’s boring to look at. I hate it for what’s buried in the hill – –  my husbands, numbers one, two, and three. Number four has it coming it’s only a matter of time. I look over at Charlie softly snoring away beside me on the bed. He’ll never see it before it’s too late. 

That loathsome hill, I can’t face what’s buried there. Their voices rise up to me when I sleep, condemning me, a black widow. But how can I disagree with the truth, I can only hate the hill. 

  
Thanks to  Alistair Forbes for hosting!