Collage Prompt: Poem – Cascading Etheree – “The Inner Child” #amwriting #poetry 


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

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Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie; Bottom Right – Jeremiah Morelli

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You might think it peculiar to let kids,

Be small, to let them be silly, weird,

When most of their life is spent in,

‘Adulting,’ learning how to,

Be big, responsible,

I say as Auntie:

Let them be them,

Creative,

Full of,

Fun.

——

Let,

Them be,

Wild beings,

Think of stories,

Imaginative,

And implausible, but —

Believe them because you’re,

Playing along, taller tales,

Demonstrate creativity,

For kids, it keeps them young, growing older.

——

Think of tilting towers, Big Ben in blue –

Green prairie sky, a storm brought him here.

But he bends, tilts just because and,

Storm brought along a grand,

Gothic cathedral roof,

Pointed top I’m sure —

Missed somewhere; hot —

Air balloon,

Holds our,

Dreams.

—–

Where,

We live

With such rich,

Possibility.

Imagining,

Tall towers floating in,

Moon lit skies, princesses,

Saving themselves, jumping from,

Clouds, the moon indeed smiling so proud,

Girls and boys — escape from their own towers.

——

Locked fortresses floating, new challenge,

Escaping by flying pirate ships old,

Never turning back to the light,

Of a trapped home, wishing most,

To be little, secure,

Not worry about,

A dragon’s fire,

A port in,

Mid-air,

Light.

—–

Sought,

In night’s,

Binding grip,

All children search,

For understanding,

A hug and kiss when they’re lost,

Hurt, or at least a safe place works.

For home; mom’s gentle touch when,

Nightmares thrive; become to real, kids hide;

But parents are there, provide a haven.

——-

So encourage kids to harness their,

Creativity, to paint and draw,

To find their passions in life, so —

Maybe they can live them too.

Or find a haven in,

Their talents, their skills,

Urging away,

Stress; relief,

‘Cause life,

Hurts.

—–

So,

We teach,

Live your dreams,

Let them unwind

You; be as free as

Butterflies; don’t be tacked,

To a board on the wall kept.

Fly lovely, safe, remembering,

Humanity is indeed so —

Delicate at times; you’re not invincible.

—–

But in the power of the imagination,

You can always escape the threads,

Binding you to reality.

You can have liberty,

Smile, eat your cake too,

And hopefully,

Your partner,

The one who,

Loves you,

Most.

—–

Has,

Their own,

Inner child,

Understands and,

Knows, love is gentle,
Love is fiery, bold,

Love and creativity,

Both hold; let you be dauntless, free,

Full of life, security to —

Be held; be wild both as adult and child.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Saturday Mix Flash Fiction: Soliquey – Blank Verse – “The Con” #amwriting #soliliquey #fiction #SaturdayMix


Thanks to Bastet from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. This week’s prompt is a soliloquy at a train station. I’ll be using blank verse or unrhymed iambic pentameter as the Bard did. 

—–

“Imagine a scene, a train is pulling out of the station and a person standing on the platform looking dejected. What can have happened. Perhaps this person is someone in the station wishing to leave but for some reason hasn’t. “

——

Credit: GSK 2017

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So leaves the train, so leaves my heart, 

Why him I once loved, now I know not? 

Must have been his eyes so brilliant a green, 

Gems such as emeralds, a sea-green storm brewed.

Was it his cavalier smile, his laugh? 

With him I felt wanted, weak in the knees. 

I was his Queen, he my adoring King. 

He cared for me gently, said I shouldn’t stay —

On my own, for he loved me; fooled me, 

Underestimated a woman cruelly scorned. 

I saw cracks in the vase, facade crumbled, 

An artist’s dream of beauty such a fake, 

He left, emptied my pockets of money. 

This con thinks he’s safe going to Bahamas, 

Since he betrayed me, I say differently. 

He’ll be doing some flying, and me thinks he’s done. 
Thrown off the tallest bridge, out of the train. 

Expensive was his end, but I’m appeased

I watched his train moving away, still —

Missing his voice, his touch, time spent loving. 

But I know he never loved me, I was ‘means’ —

To an end; yet, the ‘real end’ was his own. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – Thoughts of the Mockingjay #amwriting #poetry #fiction #symbolic 


Credit: Wikia

———

Mockingjay, pretty bird or elegant deadly queen? 

A woman, a creature of dystopia and mythology

If there’s one bird to be, it would be a Mockingjay

Though I know they’re imaginary,

Mockingjays are real as symbols of courage.

Birds which don’t break, they carry on;

Nature outlasting outlandish experiments,

Reinventing, Mother Earth evolving and re-working, 

What humans would call a mistake; 

Yet these Jays cannot be hidden away, they’re fierce warriors risen. 

——

As a Mockingjay, could I fly close to the sun? 

Icarus (I think) burned off his majestic wings doing such a deed, 

 I’d think a celestial queen of Mockingjays is smarter

She’s a stealthy bird whose whistle, repeats any tune heard, 

Her mimickery can be confusing to her enemy. 

A Mockingjay queen, would keep her scars hidden, 

Safe beneath feathers which float, as hope; 

Now fuzz, falling furiously as she grows, dropping downy —

Fast, no longer a chick adorned with puffiness

Now a full-blown black and white glory who sings life’s story, 

The story of pain, betrayal, and loss;

Your average adventure and most tantalising tale. 

Oh, what a Mockingjay can truly be, 

When her heads adorned by sunlight and truth,

Choosing her battles and using her melody

The Melody you’re humming to yourself. 

The sweetest songs of tears, quicksilver and liquid gold, 

Molten metal glimmering

She burns with fire in her soul, though she is no mythical Phoenix;

Yet she rises from the ashes of society and science

She repeats your tunes, the echoes throughout her wild lands. 

——

Credit: http://www.nerdist.com

—–

You’ll never catch a Mockingjay, there’s wrath in her footprints, 

Her anger caused, ignites an inner flame brilliant. 

She’ll swoop from above and end you below, 

The dignified woman, no longer laughing,

Going to battle, her war song a trill

The Mockingjay flies her wings fluid, her form grace designed. 

A legendary bird of modern times,

Survival of the fittest crossing genetics; 

Nature re-designs better than a science lab of horrors

Mockingjay is more than bird she is the huntress

The symbolic warrior of Ancient Greece and Rome – Artemis;

Bow with blazing pyrotechnics and lethal skill, pointed at her kill. 

She lives and she dreams of the day, the war is long ended, 

Where revenge and the cold stone hearted have no meaning. 

Her desire is the melody so beautiful it thrills and heals

Enraptures a soul with clearly sung words. 

She’s a warrior with golden platted lashes, winged at her pray;

A sultry seductress and and goddess flying free. 

Mockingbird walks, she sways, feathers flocked close, 

She’s as precious as the sparrow, calling lonely for her love.

She’d scarred, her heart torn

So strong but in need of help most of all. 

Even symbols of strength such as her, 

Who mimick a fictitious tune with ease;

Need more than survival to hope for. 

She needs more than, a gilded bird cage. 

—–

Credit: Laces and Tiaras

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – “A Congested Mind” #poetry #amwriting 


http://www.pinterest.com

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They call it the unknown

The future lying before you. 

No matter if you’re psychic, 

No one knows what happens. 

There are varied scenarios,

Ways it could play out, 

But truly we don’t know the future

It’s a mystery creeping forward, 

And it pulls us along on our knees.

Whether we go willingly, 

Or go kicking and screaming;

Time marches in to the beat,

Of father time’s own drum. 

****

I don’t know what’s coming, 

I know worrying won’t help. 

I think sometimes I try to give advice, 

Reassuring myself in kind. 

There are bright possibilities, 

Hoping people become, 

More kind than they are mean to each other. 

Pray people look-out for each other, 

But sometimes I think society is self-centred. 

I admit to such fault and others too,

But I’m still fearful;

When I think of a year or two ahead, 

I’m afraid what if it’s not the right plan? 

Experience deftly taught me,

Plans are dim outlines of reality. 

Mostly, life goes where it goes

And God only knows where or why. 

Leading us through dark valleys, 

Into trenches with piercing bullets flying. 

Into classrooms with screaming kids, 

A gunmen on the loose. 

He leads us through to people, 

Whose power makes one nervous. 

How even democracy isn’t safe —

A tyrant could rule all. 

Maybe the world will surprise me, 

But I fear for the little person. 

*****

My own personal fears weigh heavy, 

Though others bear pains greater. 

Of lawyers and cases, 

Of corruption and crime. 

Those crimes we deem terrible;

Those crimes brushed under the rug. 

Greed and all those other sins,

Abhorred but freely ignored. 

Though I can never say what’s worse —

My own flaws or imperfections

Or those I’m faced with. 

Stress shows through cracks, 

Egg yokes running. 

No one likes raw eggs except in cookie dough

The future is overwhelming. 

But at least they’ll still be cookie dough, 

And I don’t know why —

I’m particular and observant

Why I know it’s better to be alone

Than be truly alone with another. 

Why I wait for that spark

Why I wait for the morning dawn. 

A smile in his eyes which is genuine

Wherever he is. 

But maybe happiness is a puppy

Paws following me on the hardwood, 

Barks at random sounds. 

The glory of a puppy skidding down —

The off leash trail and wheeling;

Turning around to jump on me, 

To pick her up when she’s tired. 

*****

My bones are stiff and ridged

My dreams fall to despair

So many books and writers, 

And not anyone can compare

How to rise above the masses, 

Or fill your own niche contented. 

But perhaps one could be something

Success in small moments. 
Afraid and weighted

Need to cry, tears unshed, 

Because disease is cruel. 
Even if Heaven is the end of the tunnel,

So many words are left unsaid

The timing of it all, does it work? 

I feel alienated

Though I try hard to keep the connection

It’s all in your planning Lord;

So must I say, your will be done.

——-

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem – Day 29 – Septolets – “Love Bigger Than The Pines” #poetry #amwriting #novembernotes #music 


Today’s song prompt is “Hunger Of The Pine” by alt-J.

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“Hunger Of The Pine” – alt-J

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Credit: Aspen Snow Photography – http://www.pinterest.com

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Hungry trees, 

Flesh, bone,

Graves for —

Some.

Others, 

Jump from

Branches; they

Fly, liberated. 

Words echoing, 

Clench heart, 

Safe keeping, 

Locked. 

Hungry, 

Thieves, conspiring, 

Evil found, 

Hold me.

—-

Spirits flying, 

Running, screaming, 

Terror finds, 

Us.

Hurdling, 

Uniting bodies, 

Pillows absorbed, 

Warmth’s lack. 

—-

Hungry pines, 

Needles deadly, 

Grabbing greedily, 

Wanting.

This, 

Connection stubborn, 

Maddening laughter, 

Protecting me.

Pine’s hungry, 

We’re quicker, 
Sliding sagely, 

Loving. 

Deeper,

You’ll find, 

Us bends,

Your mind. 

—–


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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: A Day To Die #flashfiction #amwriting 


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Source: Ian Kelly

——–

“Are you sure we have to take this helicopter tour?” Glenda asked her husband Ralph.

 “How can we pass up a chance to do a helicopter tour of LA half-priced?” 

“The pilot seems to fly jerkily. I’m worried he hasn’t enough experience and there were dents on the side of the helicopter.” 

“I’m fully qualified and have been flying since the Gulf War,” Eddie the pilot said offended.”You two have no idea the battles I’ve flown through.” 

“You’ve offended the pilot Glenda. You should apologize, you’re afraid of heights,” Ralph muttered. 

Suddenly, the helicopter went sideways before nose diving between high rise buildings. Both Ralph and Glenda screamed.

The helicopter landed on pavement with a crash. Eddie managed to somehow land the helicopter rightside up. The couple were surprised to be alive with only a few scrapes.

“Eddie are you alright?” Ralph asked, unbuckling his seat belt and taking off his cans.

 He shook Eddie but winced, a shard of glass had sliced into Eddie’s head; he was dead. 

“Ah Eddie, you shouldn’t have been up in that sky.” Ralph said sadly.

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Free Verse – “Silver and Gold” #poetry #amwriting


http://www.thecollegeinvestor.com

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Please Listen Below: 

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​Forged in Silver and Gold,
My legs in Bronze wrapped.

Precious metals, the artist molds.

Silver and Gold; precious and cold.

You never let me attach;

Though you feel my skin,

Your most beloved metal.

The artist in me approves,

As you etch my form, and carve,

The length of my body in Silver and Gold.

The Gold of my hair, burnished with Bronze.

The Silver of my pale skin,

Gemstones for my eyes;

The bluest of Sapphires.

More shadow in the glitter,

Masks the deception we share.

Hides my introspection, pain on the inside,

How you could hurt me?

Sketching my soul?

With your golden hands;

So tanned from your heritage,

Creating art with our beauty.

As the Ancient Greek and Romans,

Perfection in Silver and Gold bodies.

You sketch and you etch,

You carve, curves and sensations,

With Silver and Gold,

Caressing my body,

Destroying my core.

My heart and my soul,

The edge of reason fading,

Quicksilver in my veins draining.

Etching you back,

Silver and Gold, for my chosen;

Highlighting your scars,

Diamond gems bright.

Silver and Gold; until I am old,

My body you fashion in Silver and Gold,

Taking and talking, performance art.

My artfulness; your artfulness,

Mutual thirst, for precious metals slaked.

Ag and Au the atomic symbols,

In movements like music,

Golden pixie dust brightens the air,

Silver dust on my eyelids, your cheeks.

Fly me to the Neverland;

Let’s escape the rabbit holes.

Paint our trail flying in Silver and Gold.

I’ve nothing but my heart,

For you my most precious metal.

Silver, Gold, and gems, your body imparts,

Hoping there is more at your core;

In your heart, and in your soul.

Something warm and soft,

The dust from precious metals as pillows pulled of feathers.

Hurt me not; forget me not,

Love me with your Golden skin.

Your Bronze eyes alight and brilliant;

Silver and Gold, we’ve no control,

When the talk turns to whispers;

We blossom and glisten, sweat beading,

Golden and Silver;

My scars so deep glimmer,

Created to highlight the Silver in my skin.

Of Gold so entranced,

Your enthralling hands;

Touch me and multiply the treasure.

You cannot melt me down;

I’m quicksilver on your tongue,

Solid Silver in your grip;

Trapped by your Bronze eyes.

Silver and Gold, in the rise of sun,

King Midas, his work done.

Silver lips give you a kiss,

Beg for your shimmering touch.

As the sun beats down,

The most Golden light,

Of all the light known,

Creator has granted in Silver and Gold.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved

Poem: Cinquins (2,4,6,8,2) – ” A Place To Breathe” #wordhighjuly #amwriting



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http://www.galmeetsglam.com

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There are,

Places we find, 

The world scars our being.

Sanctuary is needed, 

What’s yours? 

——

In our, 

Minds overwhelmed, 

By everything we need–

To do, but relief comes with breathing,

In, out.

——–

Perhaps, 

It’s a place with, 

Grassy knolls and sun beams bright, 

Where yoga mats lay, and you pose and,

Stretch-out.

—–

Release, 

Everything pent —

Up inside your heart box, 

From the years, shoving secrets deep, 

Relax.

—–

Tell who, 

You must and let, 

Your friend know, these hard times, 

You’re letting them all go, melting,

Away.

—–

Perhaps, 

It’s a place with, 

A lake and fishing poles, 

And a serenity found in quiet, 

Have peace.

——

Maybe, 

You read books and, 

Spend the whole day absorbed, 

Letting time pass, body revives,

Mind rests.

——-

Maybe,

You run because, 

Endorphins flow and you —

Feel alive on pavement jogging.

Freeing.

——-

Perhaps, 

You spend the day, 

With an old friend, or your spouse.

Maybe you pretend you are both young.

Dreaming.

——-

Or you, 

Could travel far, 

See art, culture breathe new —

Experiences and let wanderlust, 

Take you.

——-

Wherever, 

You go, you need

Find your kalinai, 

Serenity, deep in your soul.

Peace be.

—–

©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Grounded


 

Train Tracks
All these thoughts unraveling inside. I don’t know how to make sense of them all. To find peace within a meaning or a person.

It goes to show, where you can go if you let your mind run away. No, epiphanies tonight. I’ll just sort through everything that is making my head spin.

I’ll tell you when I’ve unwrapped these tiny pendant chains that always knot.These strings here, there all crossed.

The tiniest strands of gold, are the ones that are most difficult to unravel. They are wound about each other in the most intricate of ways.

I don’t know much of anything I believe. When I can’t sort out my life. Plan things the way I need them to be planned. I do my best but it’s not enough.

And I get myself into situations. I know I’m headed for a train on the tracks. But I couldn’t stop myself from walking on the train tracks. It’s the feel of the wind beneath you in ignorance, before you smash.

And collisions are solid, damaging, and hurtful. I want to make the right decisions,  but I’m drawn towards the wrong ones. I want to let everything be, but I’m at loss for certainty.

How can you make the right choices, when you want songs of experience; instead of songs of innocence. There is something wonderful about the light, refreshing and tranquil.

But the blackness hides in a corner waving gold chains that entice you with their gilding and glimmering. The wrong thoughts call to you and set themselves in your mind. They make their desires known.

I’m only the age I am and the experience I have. I look to others, but still I do not know. They say experience is the worst teacher. But where have I to go?

So, that train keeps on coming and I am blinded by the lights and the moment before misery when I think I’ll be okay. But everyone knows train wrecks kill, and flying is for fools who didn’t think to wait at the train crossing.

Crash, bang! If you don’t make up your mind you’ll get hit from the otherside. Between a rock and a hard place. But for peace, I just want to sleep tonight.

The train is a metaphor for life. You can’t sit on the sidelines. Choices are here to be made. But you have to choose carefully.You can’t step out infront of an oncoming train.

You have to wait for the moment the train pulls up to the station. Buy your ticket and hope that your travels lead you to make choices with grace, and never let your feet step off the ground. Flying is for the dead. The intelligent stay grounded.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.