Photo Challenge: Fiction – Spectre of Death #amwriting #fiction #death


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

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Credit: “Minutes to Midnight” – http://www.hunternif.deviantart.com

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Time’s clock is forever ticking above death’s throne. The clock’s glass face absorbes the colours of the landscape where death resides. The greyish-green of the stone mass, a floating island, and the pinky-red fire of the sky above and below, reflects on the clock’s face. 

The figure of death sits soberly in his throne. The stone carved form a perfect fit for his lanky tall body. Beneath death’s left and right hands, the leering skulls of his first two victims sit. They are from our first two ancestors, people who lived exceptionally long compared to the humans living in modern times. Adam and Eve had tried to evade death, even though they knew he was coming for them. They had been ignorant and had no idea what death actually meant until they breathed their last. 

Their souls he’d had to let fly in heaven, gold birds with giant wings exploring their freedom and return to painlessness. He had kept their skulls, though one day he knew he would have to return them. For now, Adam and Eve’s skulls peered eerily out onto whichever soul was before death seated on his throne. Together with the dying person, death watched their last seconds of life tick away. He towered over them in his realm and let their soul sour to heaven or to hell, there was no inbetween except him. 

Some souls who stood before him were not afraid. This always amazed death. He was an imposing figure, giant and fearsome, his red hair as consuming flames, and his eyes burning coals. Some humans gazed up at him with what frightened death as wisdom, something they had gained, which few knew, not even him. Their souls flew away and he knew he would never see them again. Other people crumbled before him and he took time to torment them whether they went below or above. He was death after all, a fearsome being. 

Yet, he had no control where a soul went. Death had no power to choose or to do as he wanted. He had a job, a task. He was death, he killed; but he was not merely an end. He was also the beginning. What he valued most of all, freeing those souls trapped in decaying bodies or in bodies injured profusely. Death was a contradiction of terms, both good and evil. Souls of faith went above and souls of disbelief went down to hades. Even death was afraid of what lay far beneath him in the abyss. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 10 –  Tanka – “Air Space” #amwriting #novembernotes #music #poetry


Today’s prompt song is “Air” by Rayvon Owen. 

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“Air” – Rayvon Owen

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http://www.pinterest.com

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Holding onto air, 

Nothing even their, it’s all–

Turning into air.

Can’t make something from nothing. 

Can’t take back time, do-over. 

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Your silhouette, 

It’s disappearing into —

Air so thin, can’t breath. 

All we have is a shattered–

Empty past, hanging by a thread. 

—–

We were never whole, 

The definition of good. 

We were always flawed, 

We never healed, didn’t —

Accept, when we saw the end. 

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Splinters of glass hurt, 

When embedded in my skin, 

Pieces of the past, 

They’re a pain felt rawly, 

A pain that doesn’t improve.

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The clock ticking by, 

You grasp for my form — I’m air, 

You can keep trying. 

You know your holding thin air, 

Us, we’re gone, invisible. 

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Let the lights burn out, 

We can’t raise what’s  cold and dead. 

The past remains gone, 

Stop holding onto air, it —

Isn’t real; we’ve both dissolved.

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Life’s not fair, I’m sure —

Later we’ll know we did right. 

Now we gasp for air, 

Let conversation cease, fade. 

Nothing to say, it’s been said. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016)All Rights Reserved. 


Poem: “Midnight New Years.”


 

http://www.taskcomplete.com
 
What shape is midnight, when the Owls come out. Hooting to each other to see if there mate is there?

What shape does the night take when you stayed in instead. I quite relief to keep peace in your soul. But too much thinking in bed. 

While the world all around rings with laughter and cheer. You hear Auld Lang-sine as the clock strikes the hour, 2015 has disappeared.

The fireworks start with a sparkling of lights. The people and the snow are alight with holiday glow. Then you hear a recessive bang as one by one the crackers glitter the black sky.

And what happens when the fireworks quiet? When the last toast of champagne has been given. When the treats are all eaten. When the last ring of smoke is blown.

Another year begins with goals to do and do not. But I’m still in the hour between twilight and night when the soaring stars glimmer over crisp tree branches. 

I’m still in the time as I did my last bend on a yoga mat purple to end the year with Namaste. I’m still in the moment I drank a big glass of wine. Lush red, bold with a bite. 

Cabernet-Sauvignon by Louis M. Martin, last bottle of the year before the sandman comes calling. Last bottle to crisian the new year, 2016. 

And while it is early yet, the party dresses have been chosen. The suites and tyes pulled out and the world is awaiting. Change fast midnight isn’t stalling. 

Down in time square, the famous ball will drop. The people are packed in like rats. But it would be an experience. To let the hours tick by with the best live entertainment.

But I am the mouse in a blue house and I am writing poetry of the midnight kind. The poem is as quick silver and it runs through my lips. This word, now that phrase, think harder, repeat.

What kind of words are caught in a moment, in the twinkling of eyes filled with mirth and red wine. When does the world return to normal. Not ever, not only. My reply.

Keep on crushing those jello shouts inside of strawberries. Never say I don’t get my fruit or veggies. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The clock is calling, for midnight is where we will meet. 

There is no reprieve you are “stuck in a moment and you can’t get out of it.” Sing it like Bono. U2, I’m not into them so much anymore. Ever since they gave me their last album for free.

Consequently, the Owls are about to fly. The moon is a giant disk of white light in the sky and the man on the moon is smiling in delight. 

The whole worlds turned up to see him in the spotlight. Appear for the moment the ball drops in New York. Appear for the moment the Opera House in Camberra lights the sky with explosions.  

Appear as the Northeran Lights spread a green- purple wash of watercolours across the sky and you are struck by the thought. This moment in time will never repeat.

A moment takes place and then is done. So live it up, be where you are in the present time. Sing loud and sing honestly as the year flashes by. Remember the old times the bad and the good. 

Remember that as my year slips away, in the midnight we embrace and a new day a New Year has begun. 

We have a blank space to live our lives in so smash it with colour the bright and the bold. Crash it with wet paint and make your surrounding beautiful and magnificent. 

Build the New Year of your dreams. At midnight for a moment, we can touch the stars and make a wish in 2016.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry – Time and Vibrant Color


Waiting, it drains me, I wish I could abstain from the anger I feel.
But illness changed me, and my patience left me at odd angles freely
Floating up into the sky, all I have is anxiety and no reply.
Commit to a time of day, and realize you can’t change those plans swiftly.
Because my life’s concentrated, generated so that I’m always looking forward, dancing in circles for events.
Not in these distended lines, that you might run your life into.
What’s the deal? I could have kept you company, wouldn’t that have been the worst idea?
Don’t try to separate me out such as eggs, yokes left in a tiny dish and only the whites suffice.
I’m not just for a date, I’m for everyday, but nothing changes, time flits away.
Don’t you know the daytime is the zenith of my rise?
And it’s hard to get my way when you only pick the dead of night to live.
A place I fade away twilight into coal, it’s not always a solution but a thick choking smoke.
I want to live in a chorus of sunspots and rays upon my back, shining in my eyes.
Don’t you understand when you get tired and when I become tired, it’s not the same weakness?
You’ll never understand how it feels to be me, wishing for an energy to cradle and use,
In beauty bold streams of light and the dark deep night.
I wish not to be forgotten as reels of film spun until age has stripped them of their former glory, it’s gory living this way.
Waiting for people to understand, knowing that wind whistles through their brains.
Understanding gone as trains passing overcoming the wale of the night time owl.
His eyes are wise, until the hawk gets a hold of his feathers, and whether you get the beat of my life,
I wander, too many nights I’ve squandered waiting for the time to hit a certain hour.
Only to be tricked and mercilessly a coward, trying to make you comprehend the pain gently,
That hits right about this time, when I have nothing left as 4:30 pm chimes and I collapse until 7.
You move at your own pace, I think I want someone to leave me out of this chase.
Because I am meek and nothing will make me less then hollow
And years in the future I believe, you’ll never know me inside out
Because you’re so focused, you’ll just forget past elegances and glance away
And leave me to solitude, confined to the room, giant habiscus waiting to flourish.
Someone few understand needs you to keep time, to make time tick past single dots on a clock – punctuality is not a crime.
Show respect and suddenly, learning happens if you let others help you engage.
Instead of living life alone, unto yourself, picture a life with pulsing color and vibrancy, picture this…
Just because we need live in the hour of the glass, doesn’t mean life will be boring.
Why just the opposite – red, and magenta, and turquoise blue all these colors I dream with you.