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.

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Credit: Reylia.deviantart.com

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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. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

 

Poem: A L’Arora – “Lover’s Afternoon” #amwriting #poetry #relationships


A L’Arora, a form created by Laura Lamarca, consists of 8-lined stanzas. The rhyme scheme for this form is a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f with no syllable count per line. The minimum length for the poem is 4 stanzas with no maximum length stipulation. The A L’Arora is named after Laura Lamarca as “La” is her signature. “Aurora” is Italian and means “dawn” – “Arora” is derived from this. This form is dedicated to Chad Edwards.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

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http://www.pinterest.com

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Two of us, we one world in us create.

Timelessness, a feeling we want not to escape.

Not minding how seconds bleed, seemlessly into hours;

Our exploration, decadent; our time spent, 

Meandering paths on skin, journeys in memory well preserved.

The lazy summer days completed, wrapped in your arms hold.

Connection of body, mimics engagement to heart.

I’m safe; limbs meshing with yours, arms hold.

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Your each finger wandering my skin, I anticipate, 

In kind, returning the favour; your body I sate.

We two beings, unity forming; while it pours, rain showers.

Rain the melody; bliss an aspiring presence.

Leaving fire in my path, past your hip bones swerve,

Wetness of your mouth past my stomach, bold.

Can’t protect my heart but wisdom of touch you impart,

No hiding; you perceive my naked soul, so I’m bold.

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Enthralling euphoria of twilight; I burn, don’t wait.

Kissing shoulder blades; your cheekbones carved of slate, 

Breasts, hands take your fill; lips rapturous devour.

Stroking limbs, both are hands spark, pleasure sensual.

Evocative areas found, your body with desire I observe;

Tongue tracing small of my back; gratified, I won’t withhold.

Laughter, exchange; the language of touch, adoringly imparted.

Revelling in silken skin, with you as no other; nothing I withhold.

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Our minutes keep stretching; nipping skin, heat burns, captivated.

Bodies combined, as moths to the flame; cannot hunger sate.

Sure hands, wandering mouth; inbetween, all around, retains prowess, 

Your body never leaving me; your kisses across fragile skin ascend, 

 Scared to be known, body, spirit, heart; you’ve me without reserve.

Tender eyes see through me, arms defined, clasp me tight, enfold; 

Ages later, we’re dressed, faces on; a soul wrenching kiss; you depart, 

My lover safekeep; our lives in each other, now enfold.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Kidnapped


“What is this place?” Alec asked. 

“Oh, um, meeting someone here, is that okay?” Robert said.

“I guess, so man.” Why did you have to meet somewhere so deserted? Alec wondered. He  felt as if he was separated from the entirety of civilization in this empty parking lot. “Why is there a parking lot here anyways?” 

” Oh,” Robert said, he looked nervous and was fidgeting, “there is big concert near here every August. Big Valley Jamboree, have you heard of it? It’s actually quite fun, I’ve been a few times.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alec said. “What kind of music is it? Seems to me this is one of those huge music festivals that goes on for days.” 

“Exactly, man,” Robert  muttered, wringing his hands and rolling his shoulders,” it’s country music. This year I think Carrie Underwood is the big act, last year it was Lady Antebellum . . . oh here’s the guy I’m supposed to meet.” 

A black pickup truck parks haphazardly and a guy with dark sunglasses approuches.He looks at Robert and then at Alec. “This him?” The man asks. Two other men bald and large like bouncers are behind him. Alec begins to back away.

” What do they want with me, Robert?” Alec asks confused. Robert shrugs and smiles, walking away to his red car. The men grab Alec and blindfold him. A rag full of chloroform is put up to his mouth and nose.

When Alec wakes up, he is in a club, his favourite in Las Vegas. He is dressed exceptionally and all his buddies are around him drinking and being loud. 

Robert approaches Alec remorsefully. “Sorry to do that to you buddy, but we wanted it to be a total secret. I really wanted to surprise you. Happy Stag party.” Alec grins.

” You’re a dead man Robert!”

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http://www.publicdomainarchive.com
 

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.