Writing 101: Poem – Free Verse – “A Day is A Life Time.” #everydayinspiration


The prompt for Writing 101 today is to write about an event that takes place in a single day. Also, I will be including The Daily Post word prompts Phase, Dream, and Grain. I’m trying something with poetry and I hope the result isn’t tedious.

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It started in the morning ending at —

Evening; children who were born with —

A scream on their lips, removed from —

The womb; swaddled in blankets.

——

Life is a day and each day we spend —

One single day, representing —

A lifetime; not knowing each day —

Could end in a moments glance. 

—–

Babe once born, phase into toddler, 

Sucking on bottles, weened off.

Already, personality —

Forming; individual who tantrums.

—–

Couldn’t get her way playing in her —

Pre-school; no hitting allowed there. 

Prepares her for kindergarten, 

Where she better know her typing.

——

To write her name proudly with her,

Markers scribbling future —

Artist; parent’s dream but she’s holding —

Building blocks; then she’s finished–

—-

Being a kid, now screaming to —

Her brother, ‘stay out of my bed —

Room;’ texting her friends, their all —

Nearly sixteen, appearing twenty-one.

—–

She’s been drinking since thirteen-years, 

Not weird to her; she’s been there before.

Degree in engineering of —

Structures; dreams building stream-lined.

——

Caught the eye of a man where she works, 

He’s ten-years her senior at his —

Prime; another engineer, they’ve —

Two kids, girl and a boy, on their —

——

Own journeys; and she’s divorced.

Only thirty-five, raising teenagers, 

Tiring of her career; her daughter–

Pregnant; along comes grandchildren.

—–

She’s only forty and remarries, 

Her true soul mate she says, kids hate —

Him; replacing father they never see, 

Grandma raising baby of her daughter.

——-

Mom is forty-five; son marries girl,

A beautiful blond, into fine art.

Mom doesn’t like her; girl’s a phase.

Son has three kids and stays married.

——

Daughter won’t talk; sends home one more —

Squalling infant for Grandma to —

Care for and work too; step-Opa glad, 

Never had kids, he loves his grandbabies.

——

The grandbabies grow and she’s pushing —

Sixty-five-years; grandkids moving —

Out; hoping they do better than her —

Sweet daughter; dead, needle marks proof.

——

She wants to travel, she’s been all —

Over the world but only for work.

So Oma and Opa see the —

World divine; slowing down in life.

——

She teaches, a class or two for —

Dumb first-year engineer students, 

Doesn’t know how they’ll fill her shoes, 

But they’ve all this technology.

—–

Eighty-six and she’s alone; her soul —

Mate, he passed away; time speeds through, 

She has a dog that keeps her happy, 

But she out-lives the dog as well.

—–

Grains of sand sifting, her time comes, 

In hospital they can’t believe she’s, 

One-hundred-and-one; she dies with —

Great-grandkids crying for their Oma.

—-

This, is a lifetime you say not —

One single day, but you don’t see,

How with such quickness, a lifetime —

Is reduced to one significant —

One magnimounous little, 

Day before God; finally, wandering home.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – “Words on the Stairway ” 


 

http://www.alexmulder.eu
 
——

Back to my favourite rhymes I go,

Keep the rhythm quick as we flow,

Appeares that writing voice is back,

No need now for all your life hacks,

The refrain encapsulates vision, souring high.

The grandest place to thrive, creativity cries.

—–

Incased in suits, all bullet proof.

Meaning of powersuit, not aloof.

Fluttering new wings of glory,

Touching heaven, sparks gold stories.

Raining down vocabulary, feeling prose.

Writing anyways in poems, how this writer’s mind grows.

Round in circles, form graceful dances ever-glowing.

——

Phoenix rising, as he spins.

Diving down, prey on fish with fins.

Consuming all the rhymes precision.

No one can claim indecision,

Choose the words, that force you far into a whirlpool.

Round you’ve spun, twirling; time granted swirling jewels.

——

Another verse rises, ascending,

Riding stairways, crescendoing.

Flying the stairway to heaven,

Lyrics, mana, and nectar; times seven.

Wings of angels, spirits, enchant; singing —

Back to my favourite anthem of life, song ringing.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Acrostic – “Not the End”


Thanks to The Daily Post for the word prompt friend.

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Acrostic Poetry is where the first letter of each line spells a word, usually using the same words as in the title.

Please see Shadow Poetry for further information.

—–

Feeling as if I didn’t want to be alone, so I went and talked to you in the back of the old store.

Remembering  all the fantastic times we shared together, that you never let me down; memories layered upon memories, even in the tough times.

I‘m worried because you’re sick now, and the fight against some diseases is an awful fight; you’re one of the strongest women I know and I pray for you each night.

Empathy, is the best word that describes how I feel for you; you are a champion and you fight for your family, your health, you fight to win.

Nothing would take my friendship away; years of ‘us’ have been built and are iron tough; time will go on and though we’re apart we connect as always.

Death won’t even be the end because you’ll be with me in heaven too; but not until we’re both old and grey, for now keep pushing ahead with my love, the love of all who love you,  behind you.

Savouring the moments we share, laughing, drinking wine, and thinking back on all that has been and all that will be; seeing a bright future ahead for you; don’t ever think this is the end.

—-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: “The Good.”


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A personal matter, what you believe,

What is the fire in your furnace,

And why keep it a secret, if you think you’re right.

Perhaps, you’re afraid that you think the wrong thoughts.

Perhaps, you’re prejudiced and say the wrong words.

Maybe you talk, about that which you don’t understand.

Maybe, you don’t really know what you believe.

It’s okay, but you shouldn’t be ashamed.

—–

Where does the good go? It isn’t for reward,

It’s because you believe in a God who is the word ‘good.’

People aren’t good, don’t you see the news?

Sin and badness is within us — from Adam innate.

Even when we try, the good isn’t always good.

It’s hard to explain, but I won’t keep quiet,

Why should I keep my faith locked up, when others could benefit? 

Good deeds have no reward, but they make you feel good.

They are needed in a world where many things are wrong.

And are to be done because it is for the moral good to do.

Also because it was commanded by God to be good neighbours.

—-

You may not believe in a heaven.

Good deeds won’t get you there, but faith could be the cure.

Didn’t you ever wonder where the good came from,

Don’t twist what is truly good, evil is simply good twisted.

Don’t tell me faith is personal and should be hidden.

That’s like being caught in the darkest deepest blackest hole,

And having a candle that could light the way out,

But never lighting it because that candle is ‘personally yours,’

Someone else might find your light, and benefit from its glow,

I share my faith, because my light could lead others home.

So, where is your light, when your candle isn’t lit.

You’ll never find your way out of prison walking in black pitch.

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Life Lost


 

http://www.galmeetsglam.com
 
When life flickers out as a candle flame,

It’s easy to think that life is all in vain.

When life takes a turn you weren’t expecting,

It’s easy to go about the problem dissecting.

—–

We don’t get to choose when we die,

Life flickers, leaves are body with a sigh.

In the hands of the ultimate time keeper,

We throw up our hands and weep.

—–

It’s not our choice, it is not for us,

To see our futures, to know when we go to dust.

Every death is a shock; God help us if it’s not,

To end a journey on this earth is frought,

—–

With our bodies we trust, falling apart and breaking down.

It doesn’t mean we should lose all hope and frown,

We need to pray for grace, and wisdom in life.

To live our lives to the fullest the best way we can in constant strife.

—–

Please believe, if you have Faith in God and follow His ways,

You will see your loved ones in heaven some day,

Time apart will be minimal,

Time in heaven is subliminal.

—-

There is life, and there is hope don’t be scared, 

Only consider we have so few years to be beared,

Earth is full of broken people with open hearts.

Fill up their hearts with prayers and let hope start. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: A Terrible Beauty


On an acre of land behind my Grandparents acreage and Church, was a decrepit house. My Grandpa swore it was deserted.
One day when my Grandparents were both napping inside, I crept towards the decrepit house behind our land. 

I tiptoed slowly to the door of the ramshackle house and the door creaked loudly as I opened it. I saw a fireplace burning and in the corner a dirty bed with worn blankets. I noticed off to the side an ancient brass stove. It was hot when I touched it burning my finger. 

Suddenly, I bumped into a filthy old woman with pale eyes. She smiled at me with menace.” Just what I needed” she said, “God has granted me new life, he has given me you. I needed the heart of a young girl so I could be young again.”

I began to cry and back away but the old woman, a witch, was behind me fast.  I felt myself falling into a deep sleep. But I could see what was happening to my body. The witch reached in my chest and pulled out my glimmering heart and pressed it into her own chest. 

Instantly, I could see she was both terrible and magnificently gorgeose. She kissed my face, “Dear one,” she murmured and my body disappeared into thin air. She had a cursed beauty.

I awoke suddenly. I was in a tranquil place. My Great Grandmother, Molly, was brushing my hair.” She’ll kill again,” I murmered. Molly looked at me and grabbed my chubby cheeks in her hand.

 “Anna, she will receive her punishment in the end. Remember she is darkness, and light always drives out the darkness.”

Alistair Forbes
 
Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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“…though truth and falsehood be / [n]ear twins, yet truth a little elder is… (72-73)” – “Satire 3” John Donne.

——

©Mandibelle. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Monedy – ” Grandpa.”


A monody is a poem in which one person laments another’s death, as in Tennyson’s Break, Break, Break, or Wordsworth’s She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways. (Also see Dirge, Elegy, Epitaph)

Please see Shadow Poetry here.
 

http://www.thenota.deviantart.com
 
——

Dear Grandpa, you’ve been gone so long,

I was a teenage girl when you sang your last song,

I didn’t know all the things I know today,

I’m scared to know the things you knew when you went out of play,

——

Grandma cries every year on my Birthday,

She’s weaker now, but she still has her cheerful way,

Remember when we last played chess?

I don’t either, I suppose I could guess.

—–

I only beat you three times, once if I’m to be truthful,

Because the other two times you were having trouble getting a breathful.

It’s hard to remember your face, your eyes, the wrinkles on your hands,

But sometimes I want to cry because we had this connection and you and I, we understand,

——

Through reading books and playing games to challenge the mind,

That’s what you do when your not physically able to find,

Much way to be physically active how you want in life,

How I wish there was a life to live without strife. 

——

But ages past, I’m thirty now. I’m all grown up,

While you drink up your heavenly cup,

Life is hard some days Grandpa –you knew,

I wish it was something neither of us had to go through.

—–

Someday I’ll see you again when you’re young,

You’ll appear how you did when you had great lungs.

You won’t smoke, you won’t need nicotine carcinogen drugs, you’ll be fine. 

And I will see you there as the steps I take lead me closer to my end of time. 

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – To a Special Woman


She was sitting alone on a beach and she felt different than she had ever felt. She was young and beautiful and she was perfect; her beauty had no flaws. She was eternally youthful and magnificent. She could do anything she wanted her body was limber and strong.

The beach was the most peaceful place she had ever been. The tide washed up, but the water was transparent. The sand was white like pearls and glimmered. Her perfect eyes took in everything; her vision so sharp she could see far away. And where her vision stopped a seeing in her mind took over.

That’s when she realized she felt no pain. No pain, it was the strangest feeling. There was no aching in her bones. No headache and no sickness. Their was a sense of well-being and harmony within her. She knew then that there was only one place she could be, and she smiled in her radiant youth and walked towards the brilliant orange setting sun.

In Memory of Barbara Beacham.