Sunday Photo Fiction: Poem – Italian Sonnet – “Autumn Forever” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: Alistair Forbes – A Mixed Bag

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Crumpled bits of paper bags, butterscotch, 

Vermilion, ocher, brunette leaves rumpled. 

Gone are days of verdence lush, now muffled —

By decay; pungent scent, Autumn rotting. 

Such beauty, such fear of summer days lost. 

Imagining patio, sangria’s stumble. 

While in the new cold, fingers they fumble. 

Finding right key before cold’s biting frost. 

Radiant decay stay awhile and crunch —

Underfoot; wandering through rivervalleys. 

Temperatures perfect, breezy days fun, 

The crinkle of Autumn’s shedding grande. 

Where the cold and warmth linger sharing grace, 

Fall forever as I meander trails. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.


Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

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

——-

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. 

 

Finish Off Fridays: The Summons #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting FOF. 

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Credit: Lorraine

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“I had never been summoned to Number 208 [by the park] before; I nervously adjusted my coat . . .” A person could book a pick-up online or by phoning into FedEx but you couldn’t summon a particular delivery person, could you? 

“April, it means what I said,” Becky from the warehouse told me on the phone, “I’m not being rude, the lady who lives there wanted you, specifically, at her home.” 

The door was open when I arrived. “I’m here,” a frail female voice rasped. 

Walking into the house I heard the respirations of a woman on a ventilator. She was all hollows and sallow skin. Her hair was whispy white and thinning. Eyes the color of blue-bells greeted me but they were bloodshot. 

The woman grasped a yellow envelope with a trembling hand. She shook the envelope and a key dropped out. 

Her shaking fingers held it out, “For me?” I asked. 

I took the key staring at it in confusion; it appeared ancient. As I examined it I heard the woman gasp something. I moved closer to her and held her hand attempting to hear her strained voice. She shook her head with a ragged sigh and breathed her last.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weavers: Fiction – A Bit of PDA #amwriting #fiction #taleweavers


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s Tale Weaver prompt which is a story about why touch is important. 

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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I didn’t understand it, we’d been dating a year and Raph never touched me in public. He didn’t mind when I rubbed his back in the mall or if I made the effort to lace my fingers through his. When I first pecked him on the cheek in public he blushed bright red. 

I asked him one day why he didn’t touch me in public. In private he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He didn’t mind cuddling at home and he often tangled his hand in my hair or massaged the back of my neck while we watched TV. I adored these touches but didn’t understand why he was afraid to initiate small bits of PDA. 

I explained to Raph how it was important to me because it made me feel like I was his, that he loved me, and didn’t care what anyone else thought of us. He was angry at first and confused, but the next day as we grocery shopped he linked his pinky through mine while we waited to pay. 

Two days later he casually put his arm around my shoulders at his friend’s house. I snuggled into him kissing him when his buddy went to grab more beer. I linked my pinky with his and smiling, Raph returned the kiss as his friend walked into the living room. I was thrilled Raph understood how much these small touches meant to me. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 


Photo (Collage) Prompt: Poem – Free Verse – “Angel Down, Angel Down” #amwriting #poetry #angeldown #ladygaga


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

http://www.mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com

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Lady Gaga Live – ” Angel Down” 

I’m so thrilled with Lady Gage’s new album. I love her dance and pop-music stuff but her new songs, some of them go deep. This is one of those songs and I used the lyrics “Angel Down” for this poem. What I love is how in the video she is live, and sounds the same as if you were listening to her on her new album. Talented singer! 

——–

She built her life, she built it strong, made it so —

It wouldn’t fall;but you can fortify —

The keep, make it so no one can slip in, 

There are always cracks within perfection; 

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

——-

You can see the lines forming before she breaks, 

Memories from the past she thought would save. 

She’s safe –an illusion broken when the mirror —

Of life shatters within her face, she’s beat; 

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

——

Trapped in a birdcage, no song to sing, 

Her tunes aren’t lucid and her wings are clipped, 

Such dreams as a young woman, such glad times, 

Now she’s angry, so frustrated — life’s a lie; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

——

Paints her makeup mask, hide the mirror’s blood tracks, 

She thinks she’s imperfect tries to conceal —

New dress, she’s pretty, long legs on display yet, 

She can’t hide feelings, she doesn’t fit in here;

Angel Down, Angel Down

—–

He said heels were stupid, girls can’t walk on —

Four-inch needles; yet they made her happy.

Night of the dance, stumbled; wore light blue chucks,

Sitting on the radio at the party crying; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

——

Years pass, another day spent sifting in, 

Her see-through life, on clothing racks, she —

Attempts to find the perfect fit,  but she —

Knows like her, it’s elusive, can’t be found; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

——-

Music saves some, for others it magnifies

A hurt and hole inside her –can God even fill? 

Remembering hideaways, experiences —

To fill the void within, smile with tears dripping;

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

——-

Time in lavish living rooms, won’t make her, 

Feel love she’s so denied; she can’t even —

Love her own body, isn’t what it was, 

She fingers trinkets bought, fears with tears smear; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

—-

Jewel she thought would invoke good memories, 

Fill her with hope and joy again; sharp pains of —

Her past; but now her wings have been pried off,  

She’s a habiscus plucked and dying slow; 

Angel Down, Angel Down.

—–

Packing suitcases, her body trembles, 

She’s going on journey; her state of mind —

Broken; but she’s trying to heal and she —

Prays new memories, stop her rapid descent; 

Angel Down, Angel Down. 

—–

Please somebody, please help an Angel Down and —

Unlock her cage –the one she created, 

Show her some love, let her taste freedom. 

Be someone she can trust, so she won’t fade;

Angel Down, Angel Down 

—–

Angel found her feet and flew, 

Sailed above clouds anew;

The sun glints of her smile and–

She’s brand new bird who trills;

Angel Found,  Angel Found. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Tale Weavers Prompt: Poem – Octelle – “Story Line Wrote”


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this weeks prompt — Paper Back Writer:

” What is your great novel/novella/collection of short/flash fiction/poetry/ pulp paperback/graphic novel? Of course, you don’t have to write it, just write about it.

Weave any sort of tale;  in the abstract or concrete; as you or a character of yours; being accepted for publication; editing process; book tours – remember you ‘just wanna be a paperback writer.'”


paperbackwriter
Credit: http://www.revolutions5.com

I’m still working on a novel called: How Was Last Night For You? I’m editing it in second draft. Still a lot of work to do and haven’t had the time to work on it lately. This Octelle poem illustrates the story line roughly:


She wants love, but it keeps slipping,

Through her fingers, the Sirene dripping.

She’s a regular girl, too kind,

Believes in people and magic finds —

In her paranormal world sound,

Curses, mermaids, sea witch found.

Nina narrator, life gripping,

Focus and ire of a mer-witch.


John wasn’t smart at twenty-five,

Lied about girl, she cursed him live.

Where ever he wondered,

Strange events encountered.

People got hurt, women injured.

No love; witch’s wrath incurred.

Sees Nina drinking Flirtinie,

Sparks, passion, between them ignite.


A mermaid she is, sea witch too,

She’s experienced pain, heart broke through —

Victorian romance; cad —

He’d a mistress, kids they had.

Clued in after his death –cried,

Traveled, came home to new guy.

Adare never changed, men still lie.

No broken girl now -she’s Talise.


Characters wrote, story occurs,

Talise hates Nina — it’s inferred.

She cursed John left his soul burnt,

She wants John back, she’s a flirt.

Evil, she’ll never gain him through,

Her magic; Nina loves John true.

Witch’s wrath, all will suffer –die?

No one can say; writer yet edits.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Planting Seeds #amwriting #flashfiction #gardening


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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The Storyteller’s Abode – Louise

——–

Gertrude is a beautiful child with chubby round cheeks. Her hair is the white-blond children get from being in the sun. She is three and likes to show you how old she is with her fingers.

I came to visit her Grandma from my farm, and walking to her Grandma’s door, I spied Gertrude hunched over in the garden. She has her Grandma’s big floppy hat on to keep the sun out of her eyes. 

Gertrude carefully picks beans. She has a look of concentration on her face and she giggles when she finds the right bean to pick.

Her Grandma notices me outside and comes out to greet me. We both gaze at Gertrude picking beans and hear her every laugh every once in a while.

“I told her not to pick the really fat ones,” Gertrude’s Grandma Joyce says to me. “She’s so careful about which beans she picks now. She’s only made it a quarter way down the first row.”

I laugh and wave to Gertrude’s Grandpa, Arthur, digging in the large garden.

“Your planting seeds,” I tell Joyce. 

“Seeds?” 

“Yes, in your granddaughter. Maybe, she’ll grow up and garden too.” 

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Windows, or Opportunities”


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt window.

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http://www.pinterest.com
 

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Windows, or opportunities?

Soft winds blowing in, kiss your cheeks,

Tangle through your hair, airy fingers.

Wind chimes jingling, every slight gust.

—–

Windows, or opportunities?

Walking a certain path, changing direction.

At a crossroads, which trail to take?

Each road leads to whimsy, grace, ideas.

—–

Windows, or opportunities?

She saw a warm soul beneath his icey cold,

They nurtured the tiny flame as it grew,

There were fireworks and heat to enliven them both.

—-

Windows, or opportunities? 

It wasn’t her dream, not the one she pictured.

But life moves, people change.

Dreams, our desires, can change in an instant.

—–

Windows, or opportunities?

He cheated on her, too many times to count.

She tells herself, ” I stay for the kids.”

The greatest gift she gave, taking them all away.

——

Windows, or opportunities?

A window is a second chance,

When a door shuts before you, look to the side,

A window awaits, but you have to decide to climb out.

—-

Windows, or opportunities?

One in the same, you’re climbing down to the unknown.

Leaving locked doors on your way.

Outside is a ethereal magnificent place

—–

Opportunity and new beginnings await.

Don’t forget to look for the windows in life. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Kyrielle “Breath Again.”


wew.jyoti7208.wordpress.com

—–
Here I was beginning again,

To breath and hurt and want more rain,

The kind that washes away everything,

Rain as the tears you dry and wring,

—–

Out of hankerchiefs and feel.

Life is sordid, wish I could heal.

And taste a future in my tears.

Hidden within saltwater, my fears.

—–

Have you gone away, will you seek,

Me out now, you’re busy all week,

Days roll by, we grow apart, breathe. . .

Each day you’re gone, my hope it leaves.

—–

Life feels empty without the scene, 

I had of you and me and I lean,

On the weeks work never complete.

Constant activity, replete.

—–

Where are kisses that burn like fire,

Where are moments found of fierce desire,

Waking each morning to an empty,

Bed, where you and I lay gently.

—-

Oh for the feelings of fingers,

Kneading stress out of my neck, please linger.

Caste kisses on my skin, trails you make.

While I’m asleep, smiles I awake.

______

Who said you can’t eat cake in bed,

Chocolate icing, endorphins fed.

And smear some on your lips so soft,

With perseverance lick it off.

—–

And dull afternoons turn to skin,

So near and full of many sins.

I won’t tell your secrets if you keep.

Your promise to be with me, leap. 

—–

Where bodies tangle and embrace,

There is a connection of grace.

And lips swollen with kisses.

Your heart beats and I have a wish. 

—–

To be closer still and find what’s true,

Close as lips upon your chest grew,

To your fingers and their tight grasp, 

Digits in my hair, pull — I gasp. 

—–

You and me we are partners in,

This game of life, with cheerful grins.

Our comings and goings,

Together we are, only knowing. 

______

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.