dVerse, Flash Fiction, Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer, My Thoughts, Nature, Photography/Visual Art, Poetry, Quadrille - 44 Words, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Poem – Quadrille – “Winged Hope” #amwriting #poetry #dVerse #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW August 29, 2017. Also, thanks to Paul Scribbles of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for hosting a poetry prompt on magic

——–

Credit: Jade M. Wong – FFftAW

——–

Art bleeds, 

Nobody’s seen before —

Winged ring,

Mortally wounded.  

Some kids arrows —

Embedded. 

Forever trickling,  

Whenever someone’s — 

Dying. 

Knives, gunshots wounds. 

Whether they’re sick —

On pain medication. 

Or dead in sleep.

Winged circle bleeds, 

For generations. 

Weeping blood,

For death is —

Constant. 

Yet in darkness, 

Gleams old magic, 

Hope’s recourse, 

Heals. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Health, My Thoughts, Photography/Visual Art, Relationship, Three Line Tales, Writing, Writing Challenges

Three Line Tales: A Thousand Was Not Enough #fiction #amwriting #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. 

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Credit: Dev Benjamin via Unsplash

———-

Scattered in vivacious colors, a thousand was not enough, but would’ve a thousand paper cranes healed you, done anything? I guess they weren’t for you, they were for me, to keep my hands busy as your eyes glassed over and the pain meds kicked in; they stopped me from crying out from asking, why you didn’t even try to heal, for you, for me. I leaned over your bedside the paper cranes around us and you gave me a half grin with your dimpled cheek, somehow there when all other reserves of flesh were gone; then you were gone before I could  memorize your last smile. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Current Events, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Tale Weavers Fiction/Poetry, Writing, Writing Challenges

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!

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Credit: Google images for Reuse

Credit: Google Images for Re-Use

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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. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, Joseph's Star - 1,3,5,7,7,5,3,1 syllable, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 16 – NaPoWriMo/A toZ Challenge/FFftPP: Poem – Joseph’s Star – “A Poison Tale Penned” #NaPoWriMo #AtoZchallenge #poetry #flashfiction 


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to ” take your inspiration, like our featured interviewee did in the chapbook she co-authored with Ross Gay, from the act of letter-writing. Your poem can be in the form of a letter to a person, place, or thing, or in the form of a back-and-forth correspondence.” The A to Z Challenge letter is O for GoodRead’s quotes and I’m combing these prompts with Roger Shipp’s FFftPP

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Credit: Roger Shipp FFftPP

——–

These bits of paper are covered with lies. They poison your minds. And so long as they exist, you cannot hope to see the world as it truly is.(…)You turn to them for answers and salvation. (…) You rely more upon them than upon yourselves. This makes you weak and stupid. You trust in words. Drops of ink. Do you ever stop to think of who put them there? Or why? No. You simply accept their words without question. And what if those words speak falsely, as they often do? This is dangerous.” 

― Oliver Bowden, Assassin’s Creed: The Secret Crusade

———

Read your short, 

Letter, it’s awkward, 

It reminds me of us, 

How the two of us are when —

We’re together, 

It’s why I’m, 

‘I.’

——

Why, 

‘I,’ isn’t us, 

And your words they hurt, 

Didn’t know you felt so strongly

Had no idea ‘us’ was, 

So much more to —

You; asking —

Why

——-

You 

Never said, 

As much, why you held —

Back; I guess to not be hurt? 

I didn’t mean to hurt you. 

It’s just I was more, 

To you, than 

You —

——-

Meant

To me; I —

Try to understand, 

How I led you on; when I —

Should’ve stopped this charade. 

Didn’t know you what,

What you felt, 

Meant

——–

So, 

Now I —

Read your words, 

Poisoned tongue you have, 

Poison words too in this —

Inked letters; they are —

Killing me, 

So.

——

Not, 

Only my —

Realization. 

I should’ve seen the ‘writing, 

On the wall,’ but I was living

Loving another, 

I loved you, 

Not.

——

Now, 

Your poison

In ink hides easily. 

Poison you’ve written with and —

You’re probably smiling now, 

Because I’m dying, 

Are you glad? 

Now

——

You, 

See I; peer —

Into the past, I —

Know now you were hiding in —

Plain sight; wickedness masked, 

You never loved me. 

And I loathe

You. 

——

Truth

I was not

Attracted to you, 

I was being nice, I thought —

We were great friends until now. 

I know the real you, 

Ignoring, 

Truth.

——

Hours, 

Later my, 

Family finds my corpse. 

I’ve written one word down for 

Your hours of freedom

Are waning, 

Hours.

——-

Lost, 

You’ll only, 

Be free a short while, 

Then justice will reign, they’ll find —

You; you’re not the only one —

Who kills with poison, 

In death you’re —

Lost

——–


——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, History, My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Sunday Photo Fiction, Wrapped Refrain, Writing, Writing Challenges

Day 7 – NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/ Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) – “Live Eagerly” #amwriting #poetry #NaPoWriMo #AtoZChallenge #flashfiction


Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge prompt is to write a poem about luck & fortuitousness. The A to Z Challenge GoodReads quote is from an author whose name begins with the letter F. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag

——–

I think we consider too much the luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm. —Franklin D. Roosevelt

———

You can see them swooping from the trees up high, they hope they’ll —

Find a tiny morsel, a scrap of food to eat, to sway —

Nature in their favour to —

Live another busy day through. 

Birds hoping to find worms to eat, 

Survival filled with such screeching

Wings drifting on the wind, their tweets now satisfied they ate —

Today was a lucky day, a game of chance they’re sated

——-

Fortune favours the brave so they say, but is it the brave —

Who triumph or their prey, having such a terrible bad day? 

However, we try, birds diving, 

Can’t save the fish from dying

The birds eat, fish already gone. 

Bad luck today, forever they’re gone. 

In the cliffs in the distance, I watch birds swiftly fly, 

Plunging, gliding higher, for soon they’ll be prey in sky.

—–

For fortune knows, on certain days we win and on others —

We lose, so the birds they’re a meal ticket too, so discovered, 

By bigger birds with talons sharp, 

By the ocean’s creature’s smart. 

Waiting for the birds to dive low, 

Then gulping them down, never slow. 

Call it the circle of life but it’s a necessary

You can see them, so survive while you can, live eagerly

——–

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Health, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Synchronicity Poetry - 8,8,2, -- surprise ending last 2 stanzas, Writing

Photo Challenge: Poem – Synchronicity – “The Thief” #amwriting #poetry #fiction


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting. 

—–

Credit: Anja Buhrer

——

“But how can one regret what, to the mind, has never existed? Even loss is an inaccurate description, for what loss is without the awareness of losing?” – Nicole Krauss 

——

Reflections or shadows briefly stand,

Together as soulmates, us two

Lovers.

——

Your illusion captivates,

Your splendour resilient,

Eyes bright.

——

Even mirror images,

Destain to show your glory told, 

Goddess.

——

Knew you once as a child laughing bold,

Called you names and pulled your hair,

Cute girl.

——-

You’ve grown and you’ve changed,

Hair black and sweeping, shoulder length,

Glossy.

—–

Green eyes telling a story of —

Smiling lips, straightened teeth gleaming

Perfect.

—–

Stubborn chin, lovely breasts rising,

Fluted waist, lush body, legs —

Stellar.

—-

Curves run imagination wild and I, 

Stare, hopeful to hear your lilting voice —

Whisper. 

*****

I examine our reflections,

How strange you hate your beloved —

Husband.

—–

Caring for you as Alzheimers, 

Steals your lifememories; you’re —

Forty-nine.

——-

Synchronicity Poetry — A type of poem with events simultaneously related. The last two stanzas reveal a twist and the syllable count for each stanza is 8, 8, 2. 

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, History, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Writing, Writing Challenges

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


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

——

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. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

My Thoughts

Poem: Free Verse – “Young and Beautiful” #music #poetry #amwriting 


Credit: Chemo Madoz – http://www.pinterest.com

——

“Young and Beautiful” – Lana Del Rey 

——-

Such a wish have humans, 

For the fountain of youth. 

Retaining our vivacity, 
Twenty-something good-looks. 

To maintain an image of fresh faces, 

Yet carry the wisdom age gains. 

I think if we knew anything, 

We’d know it’s a curse to be young forever. 

For all such wisdom acquired in life, 

There’s a price to be paid. 

Experience taught and it —

Marked us with age spots, 

With wrinkles and scars, 

With under eye circles, 

Nightmares and inner trauma. 

Journeying through life we learned

 Our lesson, or perhaps we haven’t yet? 

When we are young, 

We are carefree and full of vigor. 

Not thoughtful in how we think or react,

No maturity, no flash of pain;

The liberty of youth suits the young. 

But to be a man or woman-child with —

The eyes of our great-grandparents,

Bearing several lifetimes of burdens;

I think, for a mere human, 

Would be too much grief to bear. 

For the older we become, 

We learn from birth we’re dying. 

Life is a quest and it’s meant to end

We’re meant for the heavens, 

Free of our lifetime of issues

Emotional, psychological, and physical decay, 

The exhaustion of life. 

The old realize when their time is coming —

That it is right. 

A lifetime of sorrows, to have so many years,

Would break a soul completely;

Nevermind a physical body. 

That’s why the young are beautiful,

Life hasn’t wounded them. 

They are too ignorant to see — 

Life isn’t meant on earth to be eternity —

The light shining to restore body, soul, and mind, 

In heaven shines for all,  

In timelessness we will be young,

All of us appearing how we ought;

No imperfections, 

Perfect creations.

Handling both knowledge and beauty,

Eloquent and graceful;

Gods children thankful

And only those who die young,

When life is torn by accident

By atrocity and ill health, 

(And the aged)

Understand this concept. 

As their grandparents did or do, 

Only the ill and dying, have vantage of this, 

Life is so frail;

A wisp of a veil torn, 

We’re all too busy living to see. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Diamanté, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Nonfiction, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Travel, Writing

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. 

Fiction, My Thoughts, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Three Line Tales, Writing

Three Line Tales: You Gave Me Your Time Piece #amwriting #fiction #3Linetales


Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.

——-

Rachel Crowe

——

1. You gave my your time piece, a silver heavy object, you kept in your suit pocket watching it often as time tick-tocked away; you were healthy, smiling, said you needed me to keep your watch close. 

2. You gave me your time piece and I did not understand why at first; it was only a silly pocket watch and it ticked and it tocked as you feverishly slept in bed, growing sickly, pale, thinner, and telling me your time was coming.

3. You gave me your time piece, I knew what it meant now; we’d no children to pass it onto, we were both so young; yet, here I am, holding your ashes in an urn and as I throw them into the troubled ocean, it occurs to me in the silence –the time piece stopped ticking. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.