Photo Challenge: Poem – Free Verse – “A Nightmare of Ink” #amwriting #poetry #nightmares

Thank you to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the his week’s Photo Prompt chalkenge.




She holds the flowers teaming with a life force all their own, 

Knowing the ombré blue blossoms will escape; 

Flutter into the world carried on the wind, 

Pettles and fluffy white seeds blown across the land. 

Messengers of hope and artistry, a beauty undefinable. 

Her hands tightly grasp the stems, no thorns to prick errant fingers. 

She can’t let go, however, she she tries, 

Hands entrapped on rough stems holding too hard. 

So rigid are her hands, blood comes forth, 

The pressure of her grip too intense;

With great thought, he watches her, observes her reactions, 

She doesn’t understand why he’s hurting her; she needs help. 
She’s dressed in her navy dress and in life he loves it, 

In her dream, he picks at the fabric of her sleeve in disgust. 

Mumbling to himself, then struck with a thought, 

He’s found a thin fluted vase in blue to match her flowers. 

She doesn’t conprehend the symbolism or the reason, 

When ink he pours onto her flowers from the vase. 

He stains her hands until they appear black, 

The flowers are ruined and slicked with ink like oil. 

The streaming ink is everywhere, 

Her beloved smiles at her, he chucks her chin and winks, 

Takes the flowers and places them in the vase. 

The ink is all over her hands and arms;

Hers and his, and he’s laughing. 

Saying how difficult ink is to remove from one’s skin, 

So he cradles her face and he kisses her long, 

But then she awakes in her dream, 

To permenant ink stains all over her face and hands.

He smirks at her, walks away no care for the ink staining him. 

The moon gleams in the sky and it rains — buckets of tar black ink, 

Caressing her body, covering as sludge, dripping and spilling. 

What value is ink if she has no pen’s cartridge to put it in? 

She’s not able to use it to write. 

The world around is flooded by this precious commodity, 

And when she finally awakes for real, all is forgotten. 

Yet, the hands she holds up to the sunlight, 

Are stained dark black;

She’s tattood in the memory of a dream, 

Nightmares and reality never giving way to truth. 


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 



A Prayer Answered

Prayers the words that drip from my lips
How long must I wait for an answer
What is the substance of of my circumstances
That you, oh immortal eye, should judge to give me release
A prayer for the bystander as she stands and waits in ragged glory
A story perhaps, you can tell me how the plot rises
Tell me how the characters develop, or disappear into literary oblivian

A sigh, a confession, a platitude of mercy to an idol of love
Trying to demonstrate the right path to follow
Use me, make me, an example. I have some understanding
Charity is the epitome of love, to give and to give
And to accept charity, when we are given the gift
Grace, how shall I describe it, an undeserved mercy from above
Broken cries, no alibis, will repentance release the sinner

And I cried many nights, heal me and darkness met my eyes
A quietness bore through the night and no answer have I devised
But that grace is sufficient for me, that weakness makes us reliant on God
With such anger did I reject these words, there must be a solution
God did not make me to give up and give in…
But he held me like a little child and carried me in the sand
And I cried in his arms for wings to fly to be like every other child

Never did I feel deserted until I loved someone who did not know Him
Though I begged to have my beloved’s heart opened
Even though we made plans and I had this sinking in my chest
That God would have me choose between my happiness and my soul
I left the world and all I had in His hands and begged another way
All the while wondering what I leave behind
But with infinite care God picked me up again
And carried me down the beach, the answer a whisper
I was to wait and lean on God for understanding.
Drip, drip tears from these lips.