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. 

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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. 

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Credit: Laces and Tiaras

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Poetry: She That Went Away


These words can’t be unsaid, she pondered over fourth cup of coffee.
They are the words that needed to be heard or else her thoughts would go round a Ferris wheel of phrases
Making her old, her mind as dusty parchment crumbling and from Rome
One touch to the parchment and the entire piece powders and falls a part
All knowledge of that particular subject lost in the spaces and edges existing in time.
It was about persuasion, the way she had to say it to form the words as curvatures connected like handwriting.
The staccato breath puffing from her lips, poison ivy to what needed to be said being told.
Awake my soul and sing, the things I mutter that cannot be unspoken, make them warm and lovely
Find a better way of saying – I’m going away and will not be returning.
Find a tangible way to express the moments of fragility this will leave everyone with.
The cold stab of words, oh yes words can hurt, the sharpest all the quicker.
And the phone rung a harsh ring in the phonetic tongue.
I cannot answer calls right now, for I have gone to Icarus and I cannot return.
I am lost to the sun it will burn my rapid wing span.
Some words can’t go unsaid, they must be told.
Regretted and mourned.
For that part of her life was over and only smiles remained.
The darkest hour turning to the blazing dawn as she admitted her most horrible fears and with them became one.