#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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Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “Seven Times Seven” #amwriting #poetry #PhotoChallenge #MLMM


Thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Photo Challenge.


Credit: Gamze Bozkaya via Unsplash


Pumping legs into the azure,

O’r mountains of snow and rock,

O’r the lush valley below.

Sweat dripping, hands clenched,

Thin cord strung to a wooden plank.

Legs bending, back and forth,

Lungs gasping as I fly.

Seven times seven, as fresh mountain air inhaled.

Breath respires,

Wondering if after seven times seven,

I could soar as the hawks or the jays?

Or would I crumple? A boulder colliding with the ground;

A meteor splintered.

Bones snapping, pine’s lashing.

Seven times seven; I’m not afraid.

But, in our cabin above the valley,

They’re yelling, and she screams.

The blows fall; I cringe, heart flutters rapid.

Pushing my legs forward and back,

Seven times seven, how long can she survive?

Each fight’s more grim.

Seven minutes, then she’s crying, and wounded;

I wash away the blood.

Bandage and set the bones beneath purpled orchid skin.

She says to forgive seven times seven,

But, my hate has increased sevenfold;

His fists mutilate her each time.

Seven-years trapped up here,

But, in seven-days we’ll run.

No more soaring, no more crystal skies,

For seven times seven,

For her life and mine.

I must steal her away —

Not to die with each sip of his rye.

We’ll lose ourselves,

Seven times seven million miles away.

He’ll never find us — not in his forty-nine years.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: A Place to Fall #amwriting #fiction #SPFo


Thanks to Susan Spaulding for hosting SPF.


Credit: Susan Spaulding


The catacomb walls were thick and confining. Iris let out a lungful of pent up breath as sunlight filtered through a doorway. The tunnels with so many bones of the same type stacked on other bones, frightened her.

She wondered why in such an ancient country, human remains were not given the respect of a grave for more than a year or two — or at least cremation.

Iris wheezed as Don, rubbed her back. “You having an attack?”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes. “You say that every time we visit tight spaces. You’re claustrophobic.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Iris was close to the exit, but the air she breathed was too stale; there wasn’t enough fresh air in the Catacombs. Her body collapsed and she couldn’t control the darkness that overcame her.

Then, Don was lifting her. Her eyes opened as he carried her into blinding daylight. A tiny ‘V’ furrowed between his gray ones.

He stroked her hair. “I got you.”

“Always?” Her voice was faint.

“Always. I know you better than you think.”

She inhaled cool air and let Don cradle her weight.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Tale Weavers: Views on Death by Emily Dickinson and John Donne #amwriting #poetry #JohnDonne #EmilyDickinson 


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this Tale Weaver’s Prompt based on the figure of death. Emily Dickinson’s poem “I could not stop for Death” and John Donne’s Holy Sonnet – “Death Be Not Proud” seem to say exactly what needs to be said for me on the prompt. And whatever I do, I can’t think of something I could say better than these poets due regardimg the personification of death. Please enjoy!

——-

Credit: Google images for Reuse

Credit: Google Images for Re-Use

——-

1. Because I could not stop for Death (479)

By Emily Dickinson, (1830 – 1886)

http://www.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

 Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me –  

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –  

And Immortality.

*****

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility – 

*****

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –  

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –  

We passed the Setting Sun – 

*****

Or rather – He passed us – 

The Dews drew quivering and chill – 

For only Gossamer, my Gown – 

My Tippet – only Tulle – 

*****

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground – 

The Roof was scarcely visible – 

The Cornice – in the Ground – 

*****

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses’ Heads 

Were toward Eternity – 

*****

(www.poets.org)

———

Holy Sonnets: Death, be not proud

BY JOHN DONNE

wwww.poetryfoundation.org 

*****

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

*****

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Music Prompt #6: Poem – Free Verse – “Not My Defeat” #amwriting #musiccprompt #poetry 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Friday Music Prompt. This week’s song is “The Cave” by Mumford & Sons. 

——

Credit: Rosemary Valadon

——-

“The Cave” – Mumford & Sons

—–

Your broken walk, your deceptive talk, 

You meat-eater, man-eater,

Frigid walls of your heart echo without beat. 

Cowardly harlot of bitter teeth,

Take all your bites, 

Leave the bones picked clean.

Starving the peasants,

In your shallow retreat. 

Malice, miscalculations, 

Your sins they visit your neighbours. 

The harvest is barren,

No fruit bursts eaten. 

Devouring the land,

You think no one knows,

But I know your shame is complete. 

And for some odd reason,

I pity the weak.

I pity your barren soul attacking, 

Then, retreating.

I’ll not be the swimmer,

Drowned by your weighted pulls, 

Clawing acrylic fingers. 

——-

So I will hold on to hope, 

No noose will scrap your delicate throat. 

I’ll find strength in pain, 

I will change my ways. 

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat. 

——-

My faults, my fears,

Pummeling my face.

But I am numb, 

I weather the war. 

The suffering you’ve caused, 

Tears droplets from heaven. 

You are not forgiven,

You cannot make me deaf, 

I see all your faults and all your fears,

You cannot mask wretchedness, 

Not change until it’s admitted. 

——-

So I will hold on hope, 

No noose will scrape your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways.

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat. 

——

I’ll invade the darkest cave,

Find your hiding place. 

There’s no safety in your chambers, 

Come out walking on your hands.

Do you comprehend,

The nature of dependence

When you see the Creator’s plans

The makers hands? 

So much mightier than your, 

Waifish fingers wringing. 

Crawl and then arise,

I’ll ignore your Siren’s call,

Your voice a hollow sound,

Wounds my ears. 

Aches my heart, 

Heart of diamond rock.

Freedom’s a melody that calls to me,

A treble cliff in the sky, 

Floating music notes that speak of remorse. 

Your siren’s lure,

Has been escaped. 

The magician knows, 

Reality’s illusions. 

——

So I will hold on hope,

No noose will scrape your delicate throat.

I’ll find strength in pain,

I will change my ways. 

My name will be no whisper,

You will not be my defeat.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Quadrille – “The Catacombs” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse


Thanks to Paul Scribbles for hosting the ‘underground’ poem prompt theme for this week.

——-

Credit: Paris Trip Adviser

——-

In catacombs roaming, 

Creature of the dark decay. 

Sun burns flesh from bones, 

Igniting funeral pyres. 

We all must wander, 
I choose the catacombs;

Underground inhaling,

Dust of rotting flesh. 

Piercing tranquility, 

Screams of dead long past. 

Lullabys send us to bed,

Before yellow sapphire rises. 

Waiting for pitch coal;

Good becomes evil too easily. 
———

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Saturday Mix: Poem – Wrapped Refrain – “The Demon Spawned” #amwriting #poetry #saturdaymix 


Thanks to Bastet from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting today’s prompt, a “gothic” tale or poem — the macabre.

——

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——

Was such a dreary night forewarned,

In dirt squiggled both bugs and worms.

For they too felt doom bemoaning,

To be out on this night groaning.

A monster from hell was spawned, a demon seething,

Earth felt the heaven’s warn, evil darkness speeding.

——

Why such a night did I choose,

To walk my scrawny pooch?

In a fight she would run straight home,

No blind love, she left me alone.

As twilight bubbled as witch’s brew steaming,

An evil curse my bones hurt knowing it was too near.

——

Our little neighbourhood was vast,

In pitch black terror I was cast.

My prayers mumbled beneath my —

Breath; I begged this night not to die.

Starlight and slim moon were covered by creeping thick fog,

Oh, how wished, for even my cowardly scared dog.

—–

Felt I the breath of evil reek,

A touch of frost open my young cheek.

Of something old, of catastrophe,

An ancient wicked masterpiece.

A monster so dark, it did me choke, both claws squeezing,

All life from lungs, bones crushing while I was bleeding.

—–

And now I’m nothing but my soul,

I choose — serve eternity bold.

Be not afraid as I was of dark,

For now I’m light, a fighting spark,

Giving courage, weapons to those facing monsters,

Sending back the most damned beasts, to hell launching.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “A Congested Mind” #poetry #amwriting 


http://www.pinterest.com

——–

They call it the unknown

The future lying before you. 

No matter if you’re psychic, 

No one knows what happens. 

There are varied scenarios,

Ways it could play out, 

But truly we don’t know the future

It’s a mystery creeping forward, 

And it pulls us along on our knees.

Whether we go willingly, 

Or go kicking and screaming;

Time marches in to the beat,

Of father time’s own drum. 

****

I don’t know what’s coming, 

I know worrying won’t help. 

I think sometimes I try to give advice, 

Reassuring myself in kind. 

There are bright possibilities, 

Hoping people become, 

More kind than they are mean to each other. 

Pray people look-out for each other, 

But sometimes I think society is self-centred. 

I admit to such fault and others too,

But I’m still fearful;

When I think of a year or two ahead, 

I’m afraid what if it’s not the right plan? 

Experience deftly taught me,

Plans are dim outlines of reality. 

Mostly, life goes where it goes

And God only knows where or why. 

Leading us through dark valleys, 

Into trenches with piercing bullets flying. 

Into classrooms with screaming kids, 

A gunmen on the loose. 

He leads us through to people, 

Whose power makes one nervous. 

How even democracy isn’t safe —

A tyrant could rule all. 

Maybe the world will surprise me, 

But I fear for the little person. 

*****

My own personal fears weigh heavy, 

Though others bear pains greater. 

Of lawyers and cases, 

Of corruption and crime. 

Those crimes we deem terrible;

Those crimes brushed under the rug. 

Greed and all those other sins,

Abhorred but freely ignored. 

Though I can never say what’s worse —

My own flaws or imperfections

Or those I’m faced with. 

Stress shows through cracks, 

Egg yokes running. 

No one likes raw eggs except in cookie dough

The future is overwhelming. 

But at least they’ll still be cookie dough, 

And I don’t know why —

I’m particular and observant

Why I know it’s better to be alone

Than be truly alone with another. 

Why I wait for that spark

Why I wait for the morning dawn. 

A smile in his eyes which is genuine

Wherever he is. 

But maybe happiness is a puppy

Paws following me on the hardwood, 

Barks at random sounds. 

The glory of a puppy skidding down —

The off leash trail and wheeling;

Turning around to jump on me, 

To pick her up when she’s tired. 

*****

My bones are stiff and ridged

My dreams fall to despair

So many books and writers, 

And not anyone can compare

How to rise above the masses, 

Or fill your own niche contented. 

But perhaps one could be something

Success in small moments. 
Afraid and weighted

Need to cry, tears unshed, 

Because disease is cruel. 
Even if Heaven is the end of the tunnel,

So many words are left unsaid

The timing of it all, does it work? 

I feel alienated

Though I try hard to keep the connection

It’s all in your planning Lord;

So must I say, your will be done.

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Day 7 – Poem – Rondeau – “Stars In The Sky Reflect” #novembernotes #poetry #coldplay #amwriting


Today’s prompt song is one of my most favourite songs, “Yellow” by Coldplay.

——

“Yellow” – ColdPlay

——

http://www.gizgaleri.blogspot.com

———

So perfect, stars in the sky they reflect, 

Why God formed you, made you so perfect. 
Shining for you such beacons genuflect, 
The rightness so moulded, creation construed —

Your skin and bones, beautiful and true. 

Such dust and ash, made good, in all respects.

—–

Graciousness —He bled for our disrespect, 

Made you to be loved, adored though imperfect. 

That’s why this man looks, catching your eyes true.

So perfect, stars in the sky they reflect. 

——

Why he takes time, drinking you in –perfect, 

Wonders how you’re created with such affect. 

Made so he sees you and becomes unglued, 

Knows his world is changing, each day proves —

Love of you, his girl, how you both connect. 

So perfect, stars in the sky reflect. 

——

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Diamanté – ” Fire, Phoenix, Light, and Darkness” #poetry #amwriting #music 


“Just Like Fire” – P!nk

——

Fire,
Scorching, Singeing.

Destroying, Cleansing, Burning all. 

Sparks inside me, embers glowing.

Remenants of yesterday dying.

Acrid smell, Burnt scent, Dusty death.

Blowing winds, Becoming but —

Ashes.

——–

Fire,

Flaming, Fluid heat, 

Interrupting life, Avenging, Lighting pathways.

Devastating the place called home.

Lighting the way back to safety, when enclosed.

Luminous candle, Glowing street lamp, Gleaming stars.

Beaming, Brighten’s with —

Light.

——

Ashes,

Grey silt, Smokey remains.

Leftovers, Burnt black-wood, Coughing fits.

From the ashes, rises the grand Phoenix.

Still the Phoenix becomes the fire.

Spreading fast, Blackening souls, Killing life.

Warmth, Hearth, 

Fire.

—–

Phoenix,

Reddish feathers, Flying past, 

Wings spanning, Soaring fast, Exploring the sky.

The fire brings the smoke to rise in plumes, 

The smoke also signals rebirth — to live again.

Light in Darkness, Glistening stars, Glazing flame.

Hope in , Glory of —

Light. 

—–

Light 

Beaming, Revealing, 

Unravelling mystery, Untwisting falsehood, Enlightening knowledge.

Shadow has no place to hide from light;

Darkness loves the corners hidden. 

Nightmares, Souls which quake, Fear Whispers, 

Gloomy, Depressing, 

Darkness.

—-

Dark, 

Twilight falling, Shaded sky, 

Creeps in Shadow, Blackening, Opaqueness.

Not a breath of light or air to spare in life;

Darkness in death, leads to despair without hope. 

Taking Cover, Teasing Fate, Testing Boundaries.

The End, Fini, 

Death.

—-

Death,

Scythe wielded, Bones rattling,

Soul gone, Decaying body, Empty shell.

The dead will rise at the end of days;

But until then, those of light stay in rays. 

Breath of freshest air,  No worries, No sorrow,

Peace, Promise Kept, 

Heaven.

—–

Fire,

Blazing inferno, Uncontrollable, 

Crisp hearts, Burnt hands, Wild fire’s agony.

Fire cooks our food, the first discovery of man;

But fire too, is life and rebirth; death is not the end.

Renewing life, Forest regrowing, Animals returning,

Hopeful for, Breath of —

Life. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.