Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “A Story of Change” #amwriting #poetry #MLMM


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the SWP, a collage prompt.


Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


Twisted,

Fractured due to —

Difficulties life wrought.

Damage cracked; leather skin, lips torn,

He aches for sleep, to wash, and renew himself.

To slay his hideous demons,

They haunt him, every step.

No rest, he’s too —

Twisted.

*****

Life once,

Satisfied; free —

For him to chose his trails,

To beam in personal glories.

Life’s pinnacle, his wild dreams, finally,

Found fruition; until he fell,

Soul keening in ash.

No desire for —

Life once.

*****

Vivid,

Morado hues;

As yesterday’s wrongs haunt;

No escaping his palled fears.

Thinks he can’t measure up as he once did.

Bitter life’s high-points cost him dear.

Voice silenced, will fading;

Ashamed; his pain,

Vivid.

****

Balance,

Distorted as —

He slurps canned food, silver —

Cutlery from his Nan, most sold to live.

Survival his concern, laughter gone;

He’s wilted, rose petals of dust, a ghost;

No will, no path, hope to —

Restore life’s old,

Balance.

*****

To God,

Man weathered prays,

Forgetting God hears, listens —

To fervent Hail Mary’s, begging for —

A chance, an opportunity.

To find life beyond dusty roads, his bike;

Seeking grand possibilities.

To have life flourish once,

More, reaching to —

To God.

*****

Sweet rain,

Soaks him fast.

A shower well needed,

He’s determined for renewal.

Trims off his wild beard, foam heals;

Now, his plans are clear; he blossoms.

Back home she’s thrilled; he’s here —

Returned; her own —

Sweet rain.

*****


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

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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.

Photo Challenge: Fiction – Alice and the Tea Cup #amwriting #fiction #photochallenge 


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo Challenge. 

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Credit: Source Unknown

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Wonderland had been a delight for Alice. It always was, but she expected that when she returned to the real world, she would come back as herself — her correct size.  

Instead, Alice stepped through the looking glass as her regular 5’7″ height and found herself the size of one her mothers miniature ornamental figurines. Moreover, when she had taken a few steps she found herself falling from a tremedous height before making a great splash in what she discovered was a tepid cup of green tea. 

She didn’t recognize the face of the sullen man who was drinking from her mother’s rose china teacups. His hands surrounded the cup Alice was in and he hadn’t even realized when she landed in his tea, sloshing it all over his hands. 

Alice was soaked and feeling warm, the tea wasn’t as tepid as she thought. The man sighed and she heard her mother’s booming voice talking to the man about some cause she was recruiting donations for.

She screamed shrilly as the man lifted the cup to his mouth, struggling in the water and flailing her tiny arms. The man didn’t see Alice and as she continued screaming, the cup moved closer to the man’s mouth. As tea surrounded Alice covering her head, she had no choice but to bite the man’s lip. She sunk her teeth into his flesh, biting as viciously as she could with her minature teeth. 

The man gasped, suddenly in pain. Blood dripped from his lip where Alice had bit him. The tea and teacup flew out of his hand in surprise and Alice was flung out into the living room landing beside her mother on the couch. 

Her mother gazed at Alice with wide blue eyes before gently stroking Alice’s soaking body with her pinky finger. 

“Alice?” she asked, before fainting on the couch. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Day 26- NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Tale Weavers: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) – “Under the Same Moon” #poetry #AtoZChallenge #NaPoWriMo #future


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write about wondering what “future archaeologists, whether human or from an alien civilization, will make of us . . . exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.” Thanks to Michael of last week’s Tale Weavers from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie who provided a prompt about the moon. As well for A to Z Challenge for a GoodRead’s quote the letter today is the letter W. 


The Moon
Credit: Michael – MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie

” . . . All that is now / [a]ll that is gone/ [a]ll that’s to come / and everything under the sun is in tune/ but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

“There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it’s all dark.”
Roger Waters


Gazing into the future, ‘neath a pale moon gleaming bright,

Hard to believe, people who were, saw the same moon’s shining light.

They had houses, electricity.

So many ethnicities.

It’s different now, the gene pool changed,

Those who look unique all estranged.

All look like us, all brown eyes, dark hair, and medium skin too.

I can scarce picture blond, red-haired, green eyes, or eyes so blue.


Genetic defects they called them, so now we’re all plain, the same,

It’s weird to think, they dyed their hair, all colors, none went gray.

How was it to be individual,

Not for the whole good — sacrificial.

What makes a person now is,

Incredibly different knowing this —

Society of people who fell as those before left their cities,

Frames of what once was, rusted metal, not all that pretty.


Their language full of slang, we cannot pin down lingiustics,

Cannot find words, spoken globally, their lyrics I sing.

But their music is strange, listened —

To some and our technology it fits.

Technology they had weird, but we —

Discover strange things, sound gleaned.

Words not understandable but melodies clear and bright,

 Music is forbidden, I sing in secrecy to ancient tunes light.


Some days we watch their stories, their films, when the moon is round.

My favorite days, those brilliant plays, words with lovely sound.

And we find little toys, scrapbooks, phones,

While in the distance the guns drone.

Each man, each woman a soldier,

Controlled by who knows? With no souls.

No hope as those gone far ago had, of a war ending soon,

Gazing into the future, we lived under the same moon.


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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner:  Wing Walker on the Stairway to Heaven.


 Fighter airplanes were used by the allies in their efforts against Hitler and the triple axis. 

When the plans arrived home and were repaired, wing walkers such as Genia performed acrobatics on the wings of the fighter planes. 

The boys who flew them were a gas. Genia had great times with them at the nearest dance hall. That’s where she met Andy. 

Andy was handsome and he cracked Genia up. He was an ace pilot who hadn’t returned from his last mission months ago. Genia knew he’d been dropped.

She was light on her feet and Genia lived for adrenaline, performing for the airforce and providing entertainment to keep people’s mind off of the war.

A pilot who liked Genia, Chester, had taken her up that day as the crowds clapped and shouted from below. 

Genia worked on her new routine, knowing she was attached to the plans wing if she fell. She heard something snap and the snapping caught her off balance. 

Chester watched in horror as Genia fell from the sky, an acrobatic beauty on the stairway to heaven. 

Genia felt “she’d been waiting years for this day,” to be with Andy at last.

——-

http://www.pixebay.com

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Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.  Also, thank you to The Daily Prompt for the word prompt stairway.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

A Late Night’s Tale: Memories of What Was


  
 You can let yourself be stressed out and take everything upon yourself. You can force yourself to do too much when you know that you should stop. You don’t think “me” time is needed; you think it’s a bit selfish. Then you break, you shatter. The person you become is not someone you recognize. It is you at rock bottom and you wonder if there is a method of putting yourself back together. You wonder if you can ever be whole again. Because right now you are empty. The busyiness and fast rhythm of time ticking  can never be stilled. You were never told to be careful, to slow down.

 

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You ignored the signs that things weren’t right. You thought maybe you had a bad flu or ongoing cold. You thought a trip to the medicenter would make it all better. That you could put band-aids over the ever widening crack in your persona. You thought you could hide behind laughs, smiles, and declarations that you were feeling terrific. You never said how tired you were, how you lay awake at night. How this ‘thing’ started to creep up on you until it owned you and had you shuddering and suffering, bracing for impact. Your breath was shallow, you were lost beneath the pain. You became your pain and the torture of what you had become ate at your insides so that you wouldn’t eat; you weren’t interested. You thought it would make it easier on everyone if you would fade away. You suffered. No one is able to handle suffering at first but you grew used to it. You entertained suffering in the drawing room of your mind over endless cups of tea. Your world was a dark dank prison that you couldn’t escape. You wished for light to rain on you but all you got was a few cinders of fire. You became angry, blamed God, blamed the world, blamed your parents for giving you such genes, for your existence. And when you were at the deepest and most pitifullness of your trial you saw a candle in the window of your soul and held your frost bitten hands to the flame and began to soak in the warmth.

 

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You lit more candles. You felt the heat rise through your limbs and pierce the empty places you had inside of you. You began to morph into a creature you scarce dreamed you could be. You changed, slowly, and methodically. It was a process but soon the darkness became twilight and you knew the worst was over. These were waters you could swim in now. The shore was close at hand, and landing on the beach you cried tears of joy. Your frail body was regaining strength and mobility. Your tortured mind became clear and your thoughts became peaceful and you smiled for the first time in ages. The sun came up that day, and didn’t go down. It was a special day. You had recovered yourself and found in your suffering that you were stronger then you knew. Strength was in your heart and soul. You were fortified and built up. And the next time you fell, you got back up. You didn’t let yourself get sucked down into the prison you left alive. You didn’t let your life become over run thinking there was always something you had to do and couldn’t miss. You learned to cope and learned what you were missing wasn’t as good as you thought it would be. You made choices for the better. You lived to tell your tale; others do not.

 

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——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Hiking the Hill


I wish you were here at the top of the hill, where the sunset gleams on boulders and rocks.

This place that we hiked to is far out of the way, there’s not a soul for miles either way.

So, we sweated and breathed in the humid air, yet we kept on walking through heat and sunshine shower.

You fell once as we stepped over circles or rocks and forest debris, you may have twisted your ankle,

But you continued just the same, and we both kept on going though you limped as we strode.

The wood was alive with the smell of pine, and a rabbit just stopped to stare at us hiking.

We were panting and dirty and there was a moment or two, I thought we’d have trouble with a little brown bear.

When we reached the hills summit, we looked down below, the great hill (a mountain) was glowing in sunset.

We camped for a day or two, you hated that the most, rocky hills are not places for sleeping your best.

And stiff and stumbling we came back down the hill, many hundred pictures, and aches and pains later.

The hill is a memory, that I fondly look upon, the time that I spent with you, now that your gone.

Suffer Alone


In response to Hastywords prompt: Theory of a Deadman IN RUINS

Were falling into bliss, kiss, destruction of our lives.

Do you know I’m ready to cry, there are no stones beneath my feet.

Hit, miss, you were something, now we’re nothing.

How could it be you who swept me off my feet, and then you dropped me,

What kind of gentlemen are you?

Release, I beg, release.

For, God’s sake, leave me in some kind of peace.

We are finished cold, and broken.

I have glass in my feet, from our shattered devotion.

You’re a liar and a thief, you took everything you had from me.

You’re a cheater, you’re a cad, you broke a girl and made her mad.

If you ever cared why did you come into my life like wind in the night,

carried me away like a dream wave, like the best thing that ever happened to me.

And now you dropped me as giant pearls falling off a string, bouncing into loneliness.

Did you even care at all, did it matter to you about the fall?

I fell hard, there was no one to catch me, and pick me up again.

You sing about our lives, you sing about your grief,

But you’ve never suffered the way I suffered, without relief.

How can you make promises, the moon and the all the stars,

How can you laugh the way we laughed, so hard it hurt to breath.

Now I can’t breath for shades of grief.

Release, release me I’m about to fall.

The hardest part about being alone, there’s no one to catch you,

you just crash and burn and suffer.

I fell, now I feel ageless, useless, tender and destroyed.

When there’s no one to catch you, you fall on hard stone.

All you do is suffer alone.

All you are is ruined.