#NaPoWriMo Day 21: Free Verse — “The Writer” #amwritingpoetry


For NaPoWriMo Day 21, the prompt is:


“Try to play around with writing that doesn’t make formal sense, but which engages all the senses and involves dream-logic.


Credit: The Chronicle .


It’s not up to you, to point out black holes,

Name the constellations, and mark each glimmering star alive or perished.

Some stars can’t be named the North Star or apart of mythical stories, there constellations too;

For Never-neverland maybe imagination, but it soared, became more than a bubblegum dream.

If you’ve not struggled, you can’t realize,

How verbs, syntax, nouns, adjectives, punctuation, character, setting, and ambience —

Connect, form a string each a crystalline sentence that aligns and meander as champagne bubbling.

Writing’s not only selling New York Times novels, nor a stilted profession of the tearful unaccomplished.

Not everyone can do it, become JK Rowling or Carrol Lewis — but many succeed in unaccomplished glory.

Wonderland’s not where we live because we write, the everyday is clear and time counts;

The ruby-red snarls of many ‘Queen of Hearts” are far too real to avoid.

Bur, not having lived it, you can’t define an accountant, a banker, an assistant, a poet alone or how words of struggling flow.

Still, wise experience nods a teacher, it creates flushed fools for judging.

Hopes and dreams aren’t for the gavel;

Wasp words, those who stomp out candle light, don’t define reality or illusion as they intertwine.

Hours, sweat, tears, mental blockage, palms ink-stained, and effort –to finish but a sentence, they’re lived;

Writers aren’t mere dreamers, simple poets or wordsmiths;

Artists decide their titles, their boundaries.

People aren’t opinions, so let judgement float into words unsaid; instead, — hasten positivity.

Life’s understood by all uniquely, both in practicality and summer days’ swarming.

It’s not formed by popular opinion, social media, a hostile or forgiving world.

It’s a story that blooms and it’s not for anyone to say what is or isn’t,

For you’re not you’re opinions, and I don’t define you, thus;

People are multifaceted, sharing life’s uneasy ride;

So, keep your conclusions, define your passion and ambitions — not mine.

Unless you’ve walked in my shoes, are the hand covering mine as I jot –the nomenclature isn’t yours.

It’s mine, and I’ve been a writer since I was young,

Yet, the world remains both contentious and compassionate for any career,

I only wish the latter won, somewhere the ethereal and everyday combined in creative culture.


©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.

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Three Line Tales: Nonfiction – Of Encyclopedias and Great Poets #amwritingnonfiction #3LineTales


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.


Credit: David Cantelli via Unsplash


In university, most professors agree that encyclopedias are not proper scholarly sources, but they work well as background information; to discover facts that require further support. Old books waft certain aromas, a headiness, but also a mustiness, an acrid reminder of the past and all the knowledge these encyclopedias contain; knowledge judged inaccurate and unreliable alone.

I was studying the poet Samual Taylor Coleridge, and I paused, thinking if in the academic ‘encyclopedia’ of my Literary Criticism textbook, Coleridge’s writing was valid and acclaimed by modern peers, or if he too spouted words too many scholars scoff at and ignore; does his literary criticism require more validation — the answer is simple, nothing can be read at face value, not even the musings of great poets.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

#NaPoWriMo Day 10/Photo Challenge: “Rabbit’s Play” #amwriting #poetry #photochallenge #MLMM


For Day 10 NaPoWriMo the Prompt is: to ” write a poem of simultaneity – in which multiple things are happing at once.” Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.


Credit: Alpha Coders


You locked the door shut;

I threw away the key.

Door slamming, the house shook,

It wasn’t rejection —

Claws of tiger digging,

It wasn’t the ache spiralling,

A corkscrew in my clavicle.

It wasn’t fatigue,

The floating leaves crackling,

Fall’s sudden chill,

Winter’s stark sting.

Words uninviting,

But a spade is a spade;

Your kindness a shark,

Large teeth, tail flicking.

Lies the black stripes,

Safari orange fur —

Mangled with spite,

Hidden behind decency.

The beast maimed;

Honesty infringed.

No intelligible motives,

As teeth rip to shreds.

But she set herself up,

And a spade is a spade.

The true queen reigns,

Not in dungeon’s keep.

The lady in red,

On her pedestal;

Floats and crackles,

Autumn’s crisp maple leaves,

Ragged and torn.

You’re better than that?

But he’s not.

Obese — vile words,

A tiger disgusted.

A question —

I crept into the den,

He was offended,

And I was prey,

Amusing —

With no matter.

His last words, claw cuts–

Sinking inside deep,

Where my stomach turns.

The ruby sun rose,

Blood flowed and flowed.

All because I have no control —

Because I was not born,

Demure and petite;

He spurned my art,

Thus, spurned my chest.

Three-years younger,

He’s thirteen years too young —

Inside.

But I bated the beast,

Naturally, his teeth revealed.

Tiger perplexed,

Slinking back to the den.

His side gapes,

Licking his wounds;

No winning against him,

In this game —

Not his type.

Inside his ribs,

Fat where is soul should be —

Deceit.

He thinks he knows,

But he can’t envision.

He has judged,

Growling a retort.

She laughs,

The rabbit slips away.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Published Poem: Free Verse – Spillwords.com – “Giants of Hypocrisy” #spillwords #poetry #history #NewColossus #amwriting


So blessed to have another poem on http://www.spillwords.com. This poem is based off the poem “New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus and is a commentary on current immigration policies in the U.S., now, and in the past, but particularly, in the late 19th century where many Europeans immigrated to the U.S. to escape poverty, persecution, and starvation. Unfortunately, the U.S. was not much better than where they came from. But it was better enough that they could survive even in neighborhoods such as the brutal and famous 5 ‘Points District’ in New York City.

The poem was published in late November and I missed it. But here it is now for your thoughts and enjoyment. It’s called “Giants of Hypocrisy.”


Credit: SpillWords.com


©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Poem – Rondeau – “Playing The Part” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction #fiction


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

——

Credit: http://www.unsplash.com

——

You may not notice, I’m a work of art

My body my canvas, I define my part;

My vision for my world; Mad Max who darts,

From posers surrounding; their judgment.

Skull rings which frighten, mean I’m them nudging, 

To think outside what they perceive; cold remarks. 

They’ll swear vindictively, “That punk, upstart;

Who’s he think he is? His ink such a lark.”

I’ve tuned them all out, their words toxic sludge,

I’m reckless, I’m fine; I’m a work of art. 

I’m older now, I’ve forgotten their darts

Aimed to hit my stillrock hard diamond heart.

Dress shirts, ties, hide tattoos; I’ll not begrudge,  

Rough nights aided, their beauty never smudged. 

I know too well, what it’s like, to play a part.  

I’m reckless, I’m fine; I’m a work of art. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 
 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Escaping Society #flashfiction #amwriting


Thanks to the lovely and gracious Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW this last week. 

——

Credit: Louise – The Storyteller’s Abode
——
Violet read the letter her daughter had sent her in disbelief. To fathom a girl of Elizabeth’s quality of breeding would do this to her family was unimaginable

Harsh Victorian society could never know the truth of what Elizabeth had done and Violet wasn’t sure she could bear to keep in contact with her daughter.

She would focus on her other children. Violet’s sons had married well. Three of her daughters were also married suitably and having more children. Her two youngest daughters were courting wealthy gentlemen. 

Elizabeth if not cut-off from her family, could ruin them all. Violet reread part of her daughter’s letter once more in disgust: 

“Did you know Mama, there is such thing as a circus? Freaks of all kinds, but I love them because they’re genuine, not like the society you so desperately try to trap me in. Years of dance lessons have left me flexible. I pirouette far above the ground and dance in the air; I ride the elephants. 

It’s amazing travelling the world and I won’t be returning to London, except for an occasional visit of course. I’ve married one of the men who runs the circus. He is like me, gentry who has run away from a society of judgement. I love you and hope we can write, but I can’t be the woman you want me to be. . .” 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Picture (Card) Prompt: Fiction – Don’t Judge #fiction #amwriting #disrespect #namecalling 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this week’s card prompt, “judgement.” 

——-

“The Judgement card calls for a period of reflection and self-evaluation. Through meditation or quiet reflection, you may come to a point of deep understanding about the common themes throughout your life and what you can do or change to avoid these situations in the future. Judgement tells you that you are close to reaching a significant stage in your own journey. . .” 

——–

MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

——–

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you,” Jared told his girlfriend Ashlen. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He hated having to apologize to her; it made him panic. 

“Are you really? I’ve heard that so many times before from you, Jared. Are you sorry because I caught you or sorry for flirting with Sara and leading her on?” 

Jared stared at his feet and scrunched his eyes. He didn’t mean to flirt with Sara. She was one of those girls, the kind who put out easily and hit on every guy she thought attractive. 

“I’m sorry Ashlen. I don’t like Sara that way, she’s just like that you know –a whore; she hits on every guy and probably sleeps with many of them too,” Jared said. 

“Well, why didn’t you brush her off right away?” 

He shrugged, sighing.”She doesn’t mean anything to me. I love you Ashlen and I’ve been with you two-years; I’ve told you — I want to be with you forever.” 

Ashlen blushed, Jared had said exactly the right words. But something he said about Sara earlier, bothered her. 

 “Okay, I forgive you for flirting with Sara, but don’t let it happen again,” she said. “If Sara bothers you too much when we see her, wave to me or text me in the bar — I’ll get rid of her fast. I don’t flirt with random guys, Jared. So, don’t flirt with girls like Sara, is what I’m trying to tell you.” 

“But I will say this:  I think when you and your guy friends pay attention to Sara –her sexually explicit behaviour, her ittybitty clothes, and when you guys all let her touch you —-you’re all leading her on. She thinks she has a chance with one of you –but you all have girlfriends or fiancées.” 

Jared started to get mad. “It is what it is, Ashlen. I can’t control how Sara acts. If you forgive me, let’s not talk about her. I don’t want to spend our night talking about some girl who doesn’t matter to me. I’m grabbing another beer.” 

(10 minutes later)

“Jared, you know you not wanting to talk about Sara, it’s kind of a problem for me at the moment,” Ashlen said. 

“What? Why?” 

“Listen, you and your buddies call Sara a slut and you’re really just being disrespectful to her as a woman. When you openly call her names, especially to her face, you’re encouraging her to act exactly like the names you guys call her.” 

“If you ignored Sara and acted uninterested and normal around her, she’d stop acting how she does.You guys flirt with her and call her names, instead of finding a way to politely tell her to get lost,” Ashlen explained. 

“She’s a skank and isn’t going to change her ways because of how my friends or I treat her,” Jared reasoned. 

Ashley punched him in the shoulder, not too hard, but hard enough. 

“What was that for?” Jared asked. 

“You’re not paying attention to what I’m saying,” Ashlen remarked. “How you treat Sara, your judgement of her, directly correlates to how she acts. Understand ‘College Boy?'”

Jared started to speak and Ashlen cut him off, “She’s not a slut. No woman is, even if she chooses to sleep around. I mean presumably if she is doing it as a career, it’s different. But what I’m saying is, don’t call women degrading names, especially, when you don’t know anything about Sara forsure.” 

“She may talk and flirt a good game, but it doesn’t mean she’s slept with all these guys you think she has. I think most of her bad reputation is nasty rumours. She thinks acting how she does will get her friends and guys –what she believes is the right kind of attention.” 

Ashley studied her nails before continuing to talk: “I don’t like Sara because she hits on guys she knows have girlfriends, namely you. But on the other hand, I can’t judge her entire character because I don’t know her. I wouldn’t want to be a called a whore over rumours about me. And I don’t want to put-down other women just because,” Ashlen said hands on her hips.

Jared listened to Ashlen, he knew she’d be mad if he didn’t. Plus, what she said made sense strangely. He wouldn’t want anyone to judge him, when they didn’t know what circumstances he came from. He probably wouldn’t care, but he knew from having a younger sister, judgement of a girl’s reputation was exceptionally tearful and mean

“Okay fine. I’ll be nicer to Sara and I won’t flirt with her again,” he said carefully, hoping he’d chosen the right phrase for Ashlen. 

She smiled and hugged him around the waist, her head resting on his chest. “Yeah, in fact, if she tries again, lets tell her she doesn’t have to act how she does to have friends or a boyfriend –in a nice way.”

“Sara may not care, but then again, it might help her and us.” Ashlen mused. “She can actually find a guy who’s single and likes her, and leave my and my friends’ boyfriend’s and fiancé’s alone.” 

Jared nodded subtly, taking a swig of his second beer.”We could try. Maybe it’s better coming from you, than me?” he said.

“I think those words coming from a guy might be more effective actually. We’ll see how it goes.” 

“Okay babe. Sounds like a good plan for next time we run into Sara. Do you want to go home now?” Jared asked, draining his beer. 

“Yeah,” Ashlen said. “2:00 am is a long night with work in the afternoon tomorrow. I’ll drive don’t worry.” 

The couple headed home, satisfied with how they would handle Sara in the future. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Shadorma – “Woman War Not Alone” #amwriting #poetry #women


http://www.fatiguestofabulous.com
—– 
Such times as,

The ones she lived through.

She conformed, 

Wanted More.

Saw how hurt perpetuates;

Never healing whole.

—-

Self-harm, self-

Hate common;  inside –

She is hurting, 

Inner pain.

Gossip and judgement used.

She never thought to —

—–

End the pain

Close hateful doors tight.

Lock malice, 

Outside her.

An unforgiving night, reminds —

Her, fight gently.

—–

Keep working; 
Her inner battle. 
It’s as old,

As the earth.

Woman who fight for, 

Equality.

—–

A dream, 

She thinks having both,

Pax, and rest.

She is wise,

For seeing tomorrow’s pain;

Unburdens those lame.

——-

Light in the,

Darkness, shines, provides —

Glimmer of,

Hope, assured —

Fighting, with her words and sword;

Hoping for happiness.

——

Good prevails.

Light’s glow permanent.

Good’s older.

She drinks wine;

Thinking of mornings, sunrise —

Reminds her she’s loved.

—–

Leaves on tree,

Dusting her path yet,

Leaves mark the —

Passing of,

Seasons; on each she shines light,

Earth keeps turning while —

—–

She worries,

Weeping in bad times,

She doesn’t

Forget what,

Was fought for at heavy cost,

She lives; others fought —

——

For her now.

Because in their time,

They had few —

Rights at all.

Doing wife’s duty despite,

Desire for freedom — rights.

——

She looks for,

Light in the tunnel,

At the end–

Of the war.

She fights not alone; she holds —

Strength in her faith, bold.

——

For her God,

Never forgets her, 

Woman so —

Precious; God–

Created Man and her, equals —

Partners; she’s not less.

——-

Complement,

She smiles because she —

Knows inner —

Completeness.

Remembers God’s son best knows,

Inequality.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Story Continuation Prompt: Flash Fiction – Judged


Thanks to Wandering Soul for hosting this prompt challenge. This week’s challenge is up to a 500 word piece of writing with the beginning sentence: “The delicious aroma of the freshly baked croissants wafted through the near-empty café.”

——-

The delicious aroma of the freshly baked croissants wafted through the near-empty Cafe. It was Sunday morning around 9:00 am and the majority of people weren’t up this early. Many church services did not begin until 10:00 or 10:30 am. Giselle thought about her home church while eating a buttery croissant and drinking a cappuccino.

She hadn’t been to church in a while. It wasn’t because she stopped believing in God or his son Jesus. It didn’t mean she didn’t have a few Christian friends or that she didn’t miss some of the people she grew up with in church.

Other issues were at work in Giselle’s life and a place which had always felt peaceful and inviting to her, became a place full of judgement. There was no forgiveness to be found in her old church and Giselle felt heavy hearted. People she had fondly thought of as Aunties and Uncles growing up, now gazed upon her with severe disapproval. 

Giselle believed it was God’s right alone to judge a person’s sins. Other Christians in her life could guide her and warn her of where her actions might lead, but she didn’t deserve hatred from them, to be the subject of gossip. Her best friend Ivy especially, had turned on Giselle.

Giselle had read a meme on the internet that read: “Thou Shall Not Judge Because Thou Has F$&#%d Up Too.” It was pertinent. When Giselle admitted to Ivy she had been attacked and raped by a stranger in an alley one night, Ivy had given her a stunned stare. 

“Are you sure?” Ivy had asked, then later told her parents and other church members Ivy ran into. Giselle had told Ivy she was pregnant with the rapist’s child. Rumours and gossip spread. Ivy, her family, and many other church members thought Giselle was having an abortion when she was admitted into hospital. 

The reality was Giselle’s pregnancy had failed; the tiny baby growing within Giselle had died. A doctor informed Giselle there had been complications. She could never have a child again. 

An elderly man at church had told Giselle, “You sew what you reap,” when he had heard the gossip Ivy had spread about Giselle having an abortion.

Giselle was suffering inside and some of her best friends were ‘outing her.’ The only people who knew and believed the truth were Giselle’s family and they were judged harshly for supporting Giselle.

She attended her home church for the last time that Sunday, enduring cat-like behaviour from the women and men who told her she should be ashamed. Shouldn’t they be helping her and ‘lifting her up?’ Did they no longer care about her? 

Giselle thought it ironic her church wondered why Christains were not attending church. Couldn’t they see, the world had become a kinder place than their church? That Jesus’ light was brighter out among strangers? People Giselle had known and trusted all her life had become like ‘a den of vipers.’

Looking up one last time at the cross and steeple of the church Giselle had called home, she left her church for good; Giselle had hope she would find a kinder church someday.

—–

Note: There are great Christian churches with kind and understanding people attending them. They are good neighbours who through God, help people like Giselle heal. This story is fictional and hopefully, a worst case scenario.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Wrapped Refrain – ” Glaring Light “


unknown

—–

Reigns of my courage lives, you don’t —

Know my plight, expectations won’t,

Be lowered for your quarrel, your fight.

Bending rules, wield arms for the right.

The demons abandon with light, with light I’ll prevail.

Darkness hides from being shone upon, darkness wails.

—–

Pushing black-night into harrowed,

Blood run wild, enemy finds woe.

At turn of the tide light blossoms,

Carving out spaces, reveals one, 

Staring into the face of evil, shadow fades, runs.

No fear in sun’s glorious glow, darkness hates sun.

——

Let beams of white with their might,

Tell wicked hiding, no more night.

Streets safe, bathed in fearsome moonlight,

Vermin slink back, abandon flight.

The turn of moonlight in an orb, causing such fright.

Vermin cannot return to old ways, flee on sight.

——

Morning dawns, birds echoing their songs,

Revealing darkness, won’t take long.

Shadows fade into sun’s rays bright.

White light calms, with it’s sight.

Darkness does not understand that which it is not,

Decay no more in pitch, light overrides, becomes sought.

—-

Showing every evil force light beckons,

Calling to those who would be reckoned,

Judgement of the darkness coming,

No place not to be found, running.

Brilliance and luminescence revealing truth,

Reigns of lies you’ll die; truth is elder, light gives proof.

—–

Thanks to The Daily Press for the word prompt Abandoned.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.