#NaPoWriMo Day 30/Photo Challenge: Free Verse – “A symphony Intrinsic” #amwriting #poetry #photochallenge


For NaPoWriMo Day 30 is: ” to write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinatingfact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird.” I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’sPhoto Challenge.


Credit: Nicolas Bruno


We didn’t have smartphones, flip-phones,

No second lines or iron rotary phones.

Just a ‘can’ to yell back and forth,

Every kid in every neighbourhood had one,

And gossip was damaging;

Persistently strangling its victims.

But, we had no internet or wifi, no dial-up modem,

We penned epics in burnt-sienna cursive.

Our handwriting perfection,

As the pages stretched for hours.

Your morada -inked letters rumpled in my hand,

Holding the ‘can’ to my ear,

As morse-code clicks bullets at pigeons.

And we drifted near drowning in our childhood pond,

Too many words said, too many left unsaid;

Too many deeds done, too many left undone.

I never dreamed we’d split;

That pliers and scissors could strip string and wire —

That alone we were too weak,

To go beyond what our fathers said,

And the fears our mothers chided.

I didn’t know what we had together existed

But then, it was gone.

The water rose higher,

Warm water crushing breath;

Until I snuck out at night if only to survive,

To repair the damage wrought.

I forgot about technology,

The meaning of symbols or alphabets.

I climbed over your window sill,

I woke you with all those words,

The phrases I couldn’t keep inside.

Languages long lost but to us —

Centuries of unexpressed thoughts.

I listened as your morada-handwriting,

Echoed in silver-glitter when you spoke.

A melody that flew as butterflies,

Mediterranean giants with cobalt, crystal wings.

It was eons until everything bled-out,

Then, we were silent.

Lying together, limbs, lips, and laughter,

Bodies loving.

Saying all other words with sensation.

As the sky became serene, and sunlight filtered in,

And you traced my lips in awe,

I trembled and nipped your thumb.

For once we perceived the best tool for understanding,

Was to speak in person;

To converse, cry, yell, and observe–

Each other’s quirks and emotions.

The subtle signs we once knew,

Of sensuous appeal sublime and expressive.

Of rose perfume and musty libraries;

Of summer’s swimming and sunscreen,

Grass sharp and tangy in its freshness.

Your lips as berries devoured,

As forever lengthened our bones,

Made are skin supple, curved and honed.

Your hands on five-o’clock’ shadowed cheeks;

Wistfulness and whispered prayers.

Sins of afternoons and mornings lost,

Of nights spent miserable and alone;

Because we did not sit face to face and talk.

Our greatest gift — our human bodies,

Machines of the grandest designer,

His ‘plans’ can’t be derived, copied or improved;

And all sense of confusion,

Streamed past as estuaries scurried into oceans;

Our pond overflows with fresh water.

Hands wrapped as ribbons, never letting go,

Hazel-eyes to azure knowing the way we are now, is much more —

We were never meant to be alone.

Forlorn in this age of deception,

Forlorn without guidance in the dim.

No ‘cans’ to listen or letters written,

We’re humans at time’s dawn,

Our voices a rhythm sanguine,

A symphony absorbed and intrinsic.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poems – Lunes – “Puffin Miscommunications” #amwriting #poetry #3LineTalesj


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


Credit: Wynand van Poortvliet via Unsplash


A day for puffins,

Sky clear blue;

With awkward words coo.


Conversing on life,

Verdant grass,

Violet, yellow weeds.


Life isn’t simple,

With caws, clucks,

Language misconstrued.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: Special New Years Edition – January 2018 #pinterest #quotes


Happy New Years! As I put this piece together we have about ten minutes to go in Alberta, Canada. Mother Nature, as she did in many parts of the world, decided to make it more than minus forty degrees Celsius with the wind chill so most of the New Years events here were cancelled.

The fireworks, I believe were still happening, but they were supposed to be earlier this year for families and kids, but I didn’t hear any fireworks popping and crackling yet. I usually do from where we live. Anyways I hope you enjoyed your New Years celebrations tucked snug in your home, at a party, or at New Years events. Wishing you all much happiness and joy.

So, here we go . . . Oh the fireworks have started. 🎉 Some of these quotes are a bit cheeky, as well.


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© Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

Day 26- NaPoWriMo/A to Z Challenge/Tale Weavers: Poem – Wrapped Refrain (2) – “Under the Same Moon” #poetry #AtoZChallenge #NaPoWriMo #future


Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write about wondering what “future archaeologists, whether human or from an alien civilization, will make of us . . . exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist.” Thanks to Michael of last week’s Tale Weavers from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie who provided a prompt about the moon. As well for A to Z Challenge for a GoodRead’s quote the letter today is the letter W. 


The Moon
Credit: Michael – MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie

” . . . All that is now / [a]ll that is gone/ [a]ll that’s to come / and everything under the sun is in tune/ but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

“There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it’s all dark.”
Roger Waters


Gazing into the future, ‘neath a pale moon gleaming bright,

Hard to believe, people who were, saw the same moon’s shining light.

They had houses, electricity.

So many ethnicities.

It’s different now, the gene pool changed,

Those who look unique all estranged.

All look like us, all brown eyes, dark hair, and medium skin too.

I can scarce picture blond, red-haired, green eyes, or eyes so blue.


Genetic defects they called them, so now we’re all plain, the same,

It’s weird to think, they dyed their hair, all colors, none went gray.

How was it to be individual,

Not for the whole good — sacrificial.

What makes a person now is,

Incredibly different knowing this —

Society of people who fell as those before left their cities,

Frames of what once was, rusted metal, not all that pretty.


Their language full of slang, we cannot pin down lingiustics,

Cannot find words, spoken globally, their lyrics I sing.

But their music is strange, listened —

To some and our technology it fits.

Technology they had weird, but we —

Discover strange things, sound gleaned.

Words not understandable but melodies clear and bright,

 Music is forbidden, I sing in secrecy to ancient tunes light.


Some days we watch their stories, their films, when the moon is round.

My favorite days, those brilliant plays, words with lovely sound.

And we find little toys, scrapbooks, phones,

While in the distance the guns drone.

Each man, each woman a soldier,

Controlled by who knows? With no souls.

No hope as those gone far ago had, of a war ending soon,

Gazing into the future, we lived under the same moon.


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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Collage Prompt: Poem – Rictameter – “Books and Cherries” #amwriting #poetry #collage


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Collage Prompt.


Collage MLMM
Credit: Shawn Van Deale the woman on the left: Johnny Palacois the woman/aloe vera plant on the right.

Humming,

As the bird who’s —

Thrumming in the air,

Struggling for each flutter so

Rapid; so utterly fast it’s blurring.

My wings in flight are haze to you,

You don’t see underneath;

Desperation,

Humming.

——

Darkness,

Arising in —

My stomach, spiraling,

To the surface out of my —

Broken soul that I mend in those worlds found,

In each and every story, novels —

Ending hiding; I’m no —

Crab in my shell’s —

Darkness.

——-

In dreams,

I writhe, I twist,

Tales of old and new —

Follow me when enters Sandman,

To calm adventures stripping me of sleep.

But just as I live in my books,

I live in nightmarish —

Tales at midnight,

In dreams.

——-

Awake,

Oh, sheltered one.

Let the black smoke rise, cleanse

Your body from your shattered self,

Set free your mind, let your spirit live,

Life’s the greatest adventure,

Stories read fill gaps;

Burst forth spirit,

Awake.

———

Cherries,

You’re sexy  as,

Women who curl cherry —

Stems into knots with skillful tongues.

Unafraid to bare your body,

When it’s appreciated.

With love, you expose your —

Soul; All for ripe

Cherries.

—-

As books,

Sweet red cherries,

From the Okanagan,

A valley of delicacies.

Driving through B.C. in summer, you —

Stop at every fruit stand,

Selling juicy fruit — truths;

Cherries savored,

As books.

—–

Smokescreen,

Floats up swirls as —

Papal smoke; the blackness,

Forgiven reading thousands

Of tales, every genre, every language.

Devouring ‘reads’ as cherries,

Demons gone; living with —

Wisdom taught, no —

Smokescreen.

——

Light’s glow,

In each tale read.

Nourishes souls; keeps me —

Aching to learn, wanting to know,

Of worlds, fantastic characters —

With hubris, compelling charm.

While some characters are —

Searching hard for,

Light’s glow.

—–

Writing,

It filled holes,

Torn in souls, in hearts wrecked,

The reader became author,

Discovering within her fingers lies a —

Haven, a solace of peace, rest;

Because the story grows —

In her, exposing —

Writing.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved

Photo Challenge: Poem – Wrapped Refrain(2) – ” The Perks of Floating” #amwriting #poetry 


Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the photo prompt challenge.


Credit: Josh Hayes

 

I have a great deal of trouble staying straight up grounded,

If you got to know me, you’d see at times I feel confounding.

I don’t understand it myself,

But imagination is wealth.

So I know it’s okay to fly,

Up into the grayish sky.

Because I know how to make black and white turn colorful,

I can make a life of gray tones light so wonderfully.

——

It’s not that I’m anything unusual, different,

Then anybody else or even those who write proficiently.

But anyone who inks the page,

Knows what writers create engaged,

It’s exciting, magical,

Uplifting, and illogical.

The writer illustrates, cuts, folds, does the restitching —

Of stories; ripping out seams until what is left enriches.

——

It’s not easy to comprehend the scribbles and —

You find delicious cake baked, chocolate rich and grand,

Icing so sweet, flavor melding,

A creation vivid felt.

Picture perfect, read with pride,

And more delightfulness resides,

Hidden inside these golden words so captivating,

Intoxicating, ethereal, rising enraptured.

——-

Perhaps it’s not clear, why I let a balloon carry me floating,

It’s just, I’m seduced by language, writing, hopeful words wrote.

So protecting myself from —

Life’s elements thrumming,

Inside me, around me — I’m safe,

Despite trolls, odd notes of hatred.

I keep honing my craft, in my prettiest flats,

My comfortable wool coat; the writing it lifts me enwrapped.

——-

I let the fates lead me where the wind blows me, knowing,

I could be entrenched in editing woes, left moaning.

But I keep going with my muse,

Taking all of her abuses.

‘Cause they teach me burying —

My secrets, is so worrying.

My inspirations keep the balloon drifting, rising,

I have a great deal of trouble, but my writing makes me smile, surviving.


©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: The Trouble With Fences #quotes #3Linetales #amwriting 


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales. Sorry I’m behind this week so you end up with some killer quotes instead of writing!
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Credit: Jake Oates UnSplash

 

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1.

Credit: Fence Sitting Quote – Digital Citizen

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2.

Credit: QuotesGram

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3.

Credit: http://www.pucturequotes.com

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Awakening the Dragon #flashfiction #amwriting #dragon


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

——

Credit: A Mixed Bag

——

Sophia hid in her closet, it was her only safe place. Hanging on a ceiling was a mobile with a handcrafted dragon. She remembered thinking the dragon was frightening, but whenever the darkness in her room swallowed her, the dragon’s eyes flashed; the shadows were obliterated. 

She also remembered when her mom first hit her. She scrubbed Sophia’s cut and it was excruciating as was the burning stringent liquid her mom poured on it.

 Suddenly, Sophia heard yelling and stomping. The closest door flew open — her mother was drunk again. 
Instantly, the dragon’s eyes above her caught fire. He grew into a monster with golden scales and the scent of fire and ash, spreading and filling Sophia’s entire bedroom. He blew a blaze of fire at her mom but only the bottle of Kirkland Tequila (1.75 Litres/$20.00) in her mom’s hand disintegrated. 

In words veiled in smoke the dragon hissed at Sophia’s mom who nodded; she understood the dragon’s warning. He breathed out his last plume of smoke and except for the acrid smell, it was if Sophie’s dragon had never awoken. 

She crawled out of her hiding place and petted the handcrafted dragon hearing him purr.

——- 

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

November Notes: Poem -Day 13 – Etherees Cascading – “I Don’t Understand” #poetry #novembernotes #amwriting #writing #music


Today’s song prompt is called “Shell Suite” by Chad Valley.

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“Shell Suite” – Chad Valley

——-

http://www.pinterest.com

——

Signs written on the walls, handwriting no —

One reads such a language anymore.

But you saw the signs, the moment —

Words in my head untangled. 

I don’t understood us, 

Myself, in this mess. 

My feelings confused, 

Time was short. 

Now we’re —

Gone. 

—–

Signs, 

Are so, 

Clear to you, 

I don’t need some —

Gifted seers dream.

Echoes in my head rhyme, 

Tapping my foot along in —

Rapid time, and I wonder where —

My search will begin, if I find us? 

Quarter past, rustle up — we fit or we don’t. 

——

Somehow I’m the one in control, I choose, 

I decide; I want to just go with —

The flow, not worry, not decide;

But at least I have my say. 

Yet life works out your way. 

Grand design heart beats, 

Perplexed by these —

Sounds, friends, foes, 

Yourself, 

Dazed. 

—-

It, 

Mattered, 

Not, writing —

So vivid and —

So crystal clear I, 

Felt resilience in, 

My chest; down to the beach, 

Our getaway, but rhythms ting. 

They keep echoing, it’s exhausting, 

Figuring out your charms, while packing for the sun. 

—-

You’re packing; feel the heart attack we live, 

A life I want not, I’m looking for the shore. 

For a place to get of off the flooding —

Boat before it carries me down. 

Where are you, where’d you go? 

Writings on the wall, 

Said it all well, 

They’re erased. 

You’re gone, 

Fled. 
——

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – “Vines and Truth” #amwriting #poetry 


http://www.dreamstime.com

———

If you’re trapped in this reality, 

The words you hear will never betray.

If you’re trapped here, 

You’ll never say the words,

You meant to tell me.

Soul words, which climb, 

 As vines through your lips.

Vines that keep growing, 

Whispering the language,

 You grew-up bilingually,

 Conversing and spelling.

The words you only say with friends, 

And the silly ones your family made up,

Nick names, pet names, 

The names a lover calls;

The words you speak,

 When you tell the truth, 

And the words you catch yourself saying, 

When you’re outright lying.

—–

Did you dream you could hide, 

So many secrets and so many tombs.

Bury us beneath words,

 With no proof, no truth;

Does anyone know real?

In the land of typed phrases, 

Spellcheck, and autocorrect,

 Are our words even ours?

When you can change the words,

 To mean and say, 

Precisely, what you want them to say,

When your body language, tone, 

And emotions cannot be seen,

What hides obscene and unseen?

——

And when I see such stunning eyes,

And they carry me away;

When your voice hits me there,

 In the bottom of my heart.

The growl on your lips, 

The tilt of your hips.

A glass of milk, brings tranquil sleep, 

More gentle vibes and vines invisibly, 

Through my mouth to yours.

As plants do crawl and sprout, 

So do we affect someone else.

And you wonder how can you build,

An Alice in Wonderland lost yourself.

With so many vines,

Caught on your tongue,

Like a hydra with far–

 Too many heads to chop off,

Vines as heads keep growing, 

No fire can consume the lies, 

Covering the truth. 

——

Find out, what is life here? 

There– with them? 

Or someone else? 

Listlessly browsing, areas meant, 

To be lonely and free, at a cost, 

Or joined together birds of a feather;

If “Hope is a thing with feathers,”  

As dear Emily Dickinson wrote;

Please fly to the safest and softest place.

And let’s lay unmoving, 

As vines wrapped around each other.

Not worried about our tomorrow’s,

Or finding more secrets;

Let the truth be our lips meeting,

Let the truth be in feeling our eyes, 

Engaged over cheese, bread, and wine later.

Sitting on the couch,

Wrestling with your dog;

Watching our favourite shows,

Until sleep calls,

In a world where no one,

Can be trusted completely, 

Where there are too many,

Half-truths and white lies.

Assure me at least,

You mean the best, and try,

To say the truth, as vines —

Wrap us together into,

The pitch dark night, 

Tangled tight.

——-

©Mandbelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.