Saturday Mix: Poem – “Goddess Pup of War” #SaturdayMix #amwritingpoetry


Thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting #SaturdayMix. Her theme today is Personification.


Credit: Action Vance via Unsplash.


They told me it was easy — that a wolf was born to run,

Never once did they talk about innocence, a scattering of light shunned.

When all the darkness mustered, and drove forth as Roman armies.

They told me I had to do it, but my frail hands shook.

My eyes peeped through my lashes, venom running through my veins.

For no one told me about the spilling,

The loss of life and gore; men now faceless, missing limbs.

Life left them in a quickening, and I peeked through the brambles;

Thorns stabbed into my paws, the moon haunted by shadows as if it too, hid.

I wandered around the copse, limbs prickling and tongue mute.

An anthemyst sky drew forth night, a small end to battle; and to camp for today they returned.

No side was bad, no side was good; each believed their god gave glory;

But I was pup who lay on crumpled leaves, moaning in the blood-scented air.

I was but an observer and the scenes were obtrusive; never failed to numb me.

They overcame my sleep, no place for pups as down to sleep.

And in the night I heard them weep, beg for life and help;

For moms to hold them close, for lovers to sing one more note.

And the night was a cacophony, until death silenced some;

And others fell into fevered sleep.

Yet, the crimson morning came with an ominous bells knell; I failed to close my eyes all night.

The clashing of metal, the tangy smoke of guns,

Invaded my nightmares as the half-dead lay silent, if only to live through one more day.

And a tiny wolf crept forth, and through the carnage lunged.

She lengthened each foot and grew tall, silvery fur huge snow-white teeth clasped, titanium claws split bone.

And she knew in the end all had been lost, but she was born to run — to hunt;

She was the goddess of war, and hers was a warrior’s life or death to give.

It never mattered that through each year,

She was still a babe crying in the darkness numb, half-dead after battle.

Half-dead of heart to survive such gore; so, she let loose her demons,

And the fates chose the victors, if there ever are any?

She knew too well as cherub tears fell, nothing was just or fair in war — suffering was the only assurance.

Suffering and the fairy-man’s boat rowing, as if he had all time,

All the time in the world, because he did; and she howled as the dusk once again swept.

She lay down in the copse, a wolf pup again; goddess of war without a pack.

Lady whose job was to perpetually morn, to pick and choose, and forever feel the pain.

Knife and gun, nightmares and terrors, for peace was an infinity — the only dream she had.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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


Credit: Wikia

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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

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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

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Challenge: Poem – Blitz – “Still As Your Breath” #amwriting #poetry


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s photo prompt. 

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Credit:SIrLounge.com

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In dress of Emerald green unfurling, 

Unfurling and scampering, the forest behind 

Behind her hair of onyx locks

Behind her the forest forms, her dream image 

Image of imp, earthen worm silk for her gown

Image of child feet bare on the ground

Ground echoes as she pants and runs 

Ground misting with fog on grey lake

Lake where the monsters swim

Lake where they slither and with trickery bid

Bid her come swim 

Bid her come beneath the surface

Surface of lake reflective mirror

Surface of mind, smoke cascading from hair 

Hair the metaphor of her thoughts

Hair rising with caustic smoke

Smoky, the sky is dim and grey

Smoky, her thoughts show disarray 

Disarray of the mind and she scatters

Dissray of her feet on dying grass

Grass beloved in spring

Grass lush and wild around her

Her the woman, the sprit

Her the goddess –only in her mind

Mind overflowing she burns black thoughts

Mind recreates as she destroys smoke black 

Black as her hair, the ravens are jealous

Black as her pupils, focused on running

Running from life, imp of nature

Running until lungs burst

Burst with her blackness inhaled

Burst with the need for fresh air

Air breathed in and out

Air the forest created

Created as she makes trees 

Created to help her and us breathe 

Breathe the freshest lake air

Breathe and feel free to live

Live but how? 

Live but why? She’s black soot scent

Scent of tar from smoke

Scent of wildflower and rain

Rain and her dress greener still grows

Rain and her tears are diamonds 

Diamond of nature stop fleeing 

Diamond of nature flawed — just stand 

Stand silent and inhale fresh mountain air

Stand and inhale new beginning — be still

Still as your breath and the silence gives rest

Still as your breath and the silence gives rest. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: Of Gods and Storms #3Linetales #fiction #mythology


Thank you to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting 3 Line Tales.

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Breno. Machado

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1. A heartless cruel, brackish purple sky, alight with the lightening bolts Zeus aims. 2. He’s fried my heart, cupids arrow couldn’t restart, the lightening sizzled and cooked me alive –her choice to end me. 3. I look at you lovingly, Hades, coming softly; a purple blanket to cover my wounds, enwrap me soundly in love; who knew she’d be the one to end me, purple orchids my favourite flower, smothering me in death; jealous Persephone, goddess of spring. 

———

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: The Ferry to Hades #3LineTales #greekmythology #ferry


Thank you to the lovely Sonya of 100 Words or Less for hosting 3 Line Tale prompts each week.


Ferry
Charlie Hang

Come ride the ferry cross the Acheron, the boundary between earth and Hades; come all souls, Charon assures you may enter; your relatives paid your way, placing in your mouth a coin; once entered Hades in the gorge, you can never leave.

Come ride the ferry where the five rivers meet – Styx, Phlegethon, Acheron, Lethe, Cocytus – converging in the marsh called Styx; the river, the marsh, the goddess, all gods swear upon it when they make their oaths, to keep their promises; come ride the ferry dear ones.

Come, where they say, the goddess Styx has healing powers, bathe in her river Styx, become invulnerable; see how Achilles mother dipped him in the Styx, so no enemy could end his life, there was just the exception of his tiny heal; come lost souls take the ferry to Hades, eternity of joy or pain awaits.

Source: Wikipedia Styx

*To give credit: Angie Trafford doing TLT this week used a bit of Greek Mythology and the character of Hades in her TLT sentences. Check-out her blog in the link above. Thank you to Angie for the idea of using Greek Mythology and the afterlife; your idea allowed me to explore the concept in a different direction. 


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: Winged Nike


In the silence of the graveyard where Nadia stood, most people would see a statue of an angel, chaste, with arms crossed. But remembering the Art History of sculpture, Nadia could see a goddess. She could picture the statue she was thinking about now. She saw one of the greatest Hellenistic statues carved by the ancient Greeks: The Winged Nike of Somothrace.

Nadia had seen the Nike at the Louvre in Paris. She could imagine the arms (no longer existing) one flung out, the other at the Nike’s mouth, shouting for victory. The Nike had been a part of the Somothrace Temple and had stood on a pedastal, the prow of a ship. She commemerated a great navel battle. The Nike captured both wild momentum and absolute stillness.

Nadia looked with pity on the angel presently. It had no movement or flare. She caused Nadia to feel only heavy misery. Perhaps, the difference was that beneath the angel lay no victory, only a small grave. But if Nadia pictured her daughter, she would rather see the winged goddess Nike and her victory song, then the angel who showed chasteness, covering the grave of a baby who never even cried. 

Word Count: 205 words (sorry!)

 

  

“Winged Nike of Somothrace,” http://www.en.m.wikipedia.org

Thanks to Priceless Joy who is our host for FFfAW.